Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [98]
Chloe felt a thickening in her throat, and hot tears in her eyes. Had Gro felt a fierce pride in her work? Had she been happily married, or had she channeled frustration and loneliness into these carved and painted lines? Did she worry about the fate of her daughter, finding her path in a male-ordered world?
Chloe blew out a long, slow breath, trying to think clearly. Speculation could wait. Right now she needed to get the ale bowl to a safe place. She crept down the stairs with the artifact held in front of her like an offering. She eased the bowl to the porch floorboards long enough to replace the Plexiglas barricade, then cradled the artifact back in her arms.
But as she walked around the log farmhouse, she saw a car in the distance beyond the sheep pasture, driving along the site road from the south—a car that had evidently just entered the grounds through the Norwegian gate.
A white Chevette.
Chloe froze as she saw Nika’s car approach the Kvaale drive. Keep going, she urged silently. Don’t turn left.
The Chevette turned left.
Chloe darted back behind the house. She didn’t want her intern to see this ale bowl. Not yet. Not without explaining some things.
But where could she hide it? If she tried to enter the main house, Nika would see her. There wasn’t time to climb back up into the stabbur and re-hide the bowl.
Tires crunched on gravel as Nika drove up the long drive.
“Shit!” Chloe scanned the back farmyard. No time to fish her keys out and unlock the summer kitchen or the corn crib or the barn—
No, wait. The barn. Both bays of the structure were locked, but there was a small wooden door cut low into the front wall of the bay nearest the stabbur—probably used to shovel out manure. Chloe raced to the barn, dropped to her knees, scrabbled at the wooden latch, opened the door.
At the last moment she balked. No way was she going to put this holy grail of ale bowls down on a manure-dotted stable floor. She leaned into the opening, arm blindly flailing … and her palm hit something rough and scratchy. Burlap. The interpreters used burlap sacks to camouflage the fire extinguishers kept in every building.
Perfect. Chloe pinched the sack between thumb and forefinger, jerked, and felt the heavy extinguisher fall. Grunting, she pulled the sack free, made a nest, and deposited the bowl inside the stable.
A car door slammed just as Chloe re-latched the little wooden door. She wiped her palms on her trousers, preparing to meet her intern with a smile on her face and a lie on her lips. Hey, Nika. Delores asked me to look at that fanning mill in the breezeway. What brings you to Kvaale?
But something stopped her. A twinge of unease, a flicker of intuition, an unheard whisper from Gro—something beyond conscious reason took over. Chloe darted back into the breezeway’s shadows and crouched behind the fanning mill.
Footsteps pounded through the peaceful afternoon. Chloe stopped breathing. It sounded as if Nika was running straight to Chloe’s hiding place … but then the footsteps passed the barn. A few seconds later Chloe heard Nika race up the stabbur steps.
Chloe leaned her forehead against the fanning mill. Nika knew. How? How had Nika learned that some long-gone interpreter had stashed the bowl in the stabbur? Chloe felt something cold in her stomach, a sinking sensation.
A minute passed, the stillness broken only by the Ossabaw hogs rooting grumpily in their pen behind the barn. Chloe tried to think. She had to get away while Nika was up in the stabbur. Just grab the bowl again, and make a dash for her car.
Chloe shot to her feet, took one step, stopped. Her car was blocked from behind in the narrow drive by Nika’s Chevette.
Footsteps sounded from the stabbur again, pounding back down the steps. “Chloe? Where are you?”
Chloe froze.
“I know you’re here, Chloe!”
This was all wrong. She crouched back behind the fanning mill.
“I know you found the bowl! Just come out