The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [15]
Still, the widower had obviously been in real pain, experiencing deep grief. He may not have been a particularly attentive husband … but he’d loved Bonnie.
Roelke slipped his notebook away. He wasn’t finished with Simon Sabatola. Next step: a visit to AgriFutures. Roelke was planning to attend Bonnie’s funeral, too, with eyes and ears wide open.
“This,” Chloe muttered, as she turned into the village of New Glarus on Saturday morning, “was a big mistake.” She already felt emotionally assaulted. The area had been settled by Swiss immigrants in the 1850s. Now, tourism based on Swiss heritage was a huge part of the town’s economy and identity. Many of the commercial buildings resembled Swiss chalets. Canton flags hung proudly from poles. Signs identified the Swiss bakery, the Swiss embroidery factory, the Swiss pharmacy and imports store.
Chloe inched her Pinto into a parking spot on Main Street and sat clenching the steering wheel. She hadn’t wanted to invite Markus into her world, but coming into his was just as brainless. Finally she took a deep breath, pried her fingers free, and climbed from the car. She wasn’t going to run away with her proverbial tail between her proverbial legs. She had a firm plan established: Meet her ex, say some things that needed to be said, and turn her back on him. Forever.
The New Glarus Hotel was a village landmark. The big frame structure, originally known as the Glarus House, had been welcoming hungry travelers for well over a century. Chloe walked into the dining room twenty minutes early. She wanted to choose her seat; wanted to see Markus before he saw her. She wanted to have the few seconds—as he approached the hotel, entered the dining room, scanned the room—to see how she felt.
Markus didn’t give her the chance. He already sat in a booth in the sun porch that overlooked Main Street, watching her.
Lovely.
Despite her intention to be cool and aloof, she stopped moving. For a year, now, Markus had been her past. She’d worked hard to construct a new life here in Wisconsin. Without him. But here he was.
“You can sit anywhere,” a waitress called.
Chloe made her way to the booth. Markus got to his feet, looking as if he might make physical contact—a hug, perhaps a friendly kiss. She slid quickly onto the vinyl bench.
A young woman wearing an outfit that suggested a Swiss dirndl, with Tess, Trainee printed on her nametag, appeared at Chloe’s shoulder. “Um, do you want coffee?”
“Please.”
The waitress splashed coffee into the mug with such vigor that some slopped into the saucer. “Oh, sorry! Do you, um, need time with the menu?”
Chloe shook her head. “I’ll just have some toast.”
“We’re only serving off the lunch menu now,” Tess said apologetically.
Chloe ground her teeth, looked at her choices, and ordered Kaesechuechli—a cheese pie served with fruit. Markus asked for Wienerschnitzel. Tess nodded, started to walk away, returned and snatched up the menus, left again.
“I thought you might not come,” Markus said.
“I almost didn’t.” Chloe became aware of the music being piped into the dining room, a lively Swiss folk collection with plenty of yodeling that hit her nerves like a band saw.
“You look good.”
“Thanks.” He did too, actually, although she didn’t feel like saying so. Markus Meili was slightly built, with a wiry strength that made him at ease handling draft horses and oxen and hogs. His face was still interesting, rather than handsome, although his gray eyes were more watchful than she remembered. His wavy hair was still thick as ever. Still worn a little long. Still displaying a tendency to fall forward across his forehead. It asked—begged, really—to be smoothed back. Chloe’s fingers twitched with silky remembrance.