Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [99]
Chloe tasted something metallic on her tongue. If Nika had followed her to Kvaale, she hadn’t come alone.
Where was she?
Roelke sat in his squad car, trying to look inconspicuous. He shouldn’t be here. He could get away with circling the Old World Wisconsin parking lot while on patrol. But to park here, waiting—no, that was bad. He attracted too much attention.
He glanced at his watch again. Almost five-fifteen. Had Chloe blown off his request to meet? Forgotten about it altogether? Plunged headfirst into trouble?
He flipped again though his index cards. A missing ale bowl. A director who’d worked in Las Vegas. A maintenance supervisor who might, or might not, be involved with a gambling operation. An embroidered apron. A murder in Dane County. An intern with an arrest record, who’d recently had her tires slashed. Jesus! Roelke stuffed the cards back into his pocket. If there was a pattern here, he was too dumb to see it.
Two interpreters walked through the gate and gave Roelke curious looks as they headed toward their cars. He nodded politely, trying to look both unalarmed and unalarming. He needed to talk to Chloe before someone asked why he was here. He needed to talk to Chloe before his radio squawked with a call about daffodil bulbs or road kill or some other damn thing.
So where the hell was she?
____
Crouched behind the fanning mill, Chloe considered her options. On either side of her, a locked door led into one of the barn bays. If she climbed the fence into the hog pen behind her, the Ossabaws would come running in greedy anticipation, squeals and grunts proclaiming Here she is! Here she is! And straight ahead was the farmyard where Joel was waiting.
She had to keep him away from the ale bowl. So: there was nothing for it but to walk out into the yard and try to bluff her way out of this. She stood, and took two uneasy steps.
A gunshot split the still afternoon. Reverberations echoed in Chloe’s head. The saliva in her mouth evaporated. An angry blue jay squawked somewhere behind the barn.
“Chloe!” Joel yelled. “I want that damn bowl, and I want it now!”
Calm, Chloe ordered herself. Stay calm. She pressed a hand against her ribcage, trying to send that message to her thumping heart.
“You’re pissing me off!”
Chloe felt nausea ball in her stomach.
“You want to play hide-and-seek? Fine. I will find you.” His voice faded as he spoke.
Chloe put one palm against the log wall to steady herself. It sounded as if Joel was circling away from her in his search. That was good. And—and he must have come alone after all. You’re pissing me off, he’d said. I will find you. Also good. Maybe she could still get out of there. She could dart across the open yard, make a run for it through the woods—
No. The thought of abandoning Gro’s bowl to Joel prompted a fierce burn of anger in her chest. She had to grab the bowl before running. Chloe scrabbled in her pocket with shaking fingers, found her keys, darted to the door on her right. She’d been stupid to put the bowl through the pass-through—
A muffled bellow of anger—it sounded like Joel was near the summer kitchen—made Chloe’s fingers tremble as she shoved the padlock into her pocket. She cracked the door, wriggled through, and pulled it closed behind her.
“Chloe!” Joel’s voice was closer again.
It was already too late. Coming inside had been even more stupid. She was about to be trapped in a one-room stable with Gro’s ale bowl.
Maybe she could snatch the bowl and hide in the loft. Two windows lent only dim light to the room. Chloe frantically cast about for a ladder or stairway. Where the hell was access to the loft?
There was no access to the loft. No functioning loft at all. Half a dozen rough log beams ran front to back above her head. Smaller poles lay across them from side to side to form a low hay mow of sorts, but no sturdy loft. Shit.
Chloe needed a weapon. If she waited right by the door, maybe she could surprise Joel when he came inside. She hastily checked the three stalls—empty, empty, empty. No shovel to hit