The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [27]
“That would not be good.”
“No.”
“Well, try to forget about it for now. This will be fun.” Markus slowed to let a couple of motorcycles blitz past. “Johann and Frieda were born here in Green County, but English is their second language. Once the last of these elders pass on, Bernertüütsch—the Glarner dialect—will disappear. Help me watch for the turn, OK? You can’t see the house from the road. Look for a red mailbox with ‘Frietag’ painted on it.”
“Sure.”
“The community is very protective of them. Johann’s health is quite bad. I was in New Glarus for weeks before the folks at the historical society decided I was worthy of meeting them. Then it took me some time to connect with them. No telephone. I had to work through their granddaughter, Martine.” Markus flashed her a grin. “Don’t you love the sound of that?”
Chloe managed a small smile. “Do they have goats?”
“If I’m lucky. The earliest immigrants were primarily laborers in Switzerland, not farmers, so nothing goes back that far. But the settlers purchased cows and chickens upon arrival. And Swiss people continued to come. I might find some old-breed animals. OK.” He flipped on his turn signal. “Here it is.”
Johann and Frieda Frietag lived in a small frame farmhouse—perhaps 1870s, Chloe thought, although several haphazard additions had changed the profile. As Markus parked the car a woman about Chloe’s age stepped outside. She was big-boned and muscular. “Mr. Meili?” she said cautiously.
“Please, it’s Markus.” He gave her one of his warm grins.
Chloe stepped forward. “And I’m Chloe Ellefson.”
The other woman’s posture visibly relaxed, and she extended a hand. “I’m Martine.” Her grip was too strong, but obviously welcoming. “I live about a mile away, over that hill on my folks’ farm. But I keep an eye on things.”
“It’s kind of you to let us visit,” Chloe said.
Martine made a wry gesture. “I get calls for Gran and Grandpa all the time these days, and I almost always say no. I had to tell the historical society not to give our names to just anyone wanting to do research. Gran and Grandpa love company, but they both tire easily.”
“We’ll keep our visit short,” Markus promised.
“I’d appreciate that.” Martine shook her head. “The vultures are circling. I’ve found developers trespassing on our property. Someone writing a book spent ten minutes trying to impress me with how important he was, and how I was obliged to let him come interview my grandparents. And just this morning an auctioneer called me and offered to come ‘assess the household.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “For only a nominal fee.”
Bastards, Chloe thought. “I’m so sorry.”
Martine gave a small smile. “I am interested in preserving what my grandparents know about agriculture. I’ve been learning to make cheese the old way, and Gran knows everything there is to know about gardening.” She nodded at Markus. “So when you called and said you were from Ballenberg, and that you had a friend from Old World Wisconsin who would come also … well, that appealed to me.”
So, Chloe thought, Markus mentioned me to Martine before he even asked me to come. Chloe looked at him with raised brows. Jerk. He gave her a tiny, apologetic shrug, looking only slightly abashed.
Martine led them through the house to the kitchen. The room was hot enough to take Chloe’s breath away, but also welcoming in a cluttered and comfortable way. “Gran?” Martine said. “Here are the visitors I was telling you about.”
A tiny wren of a woman with stooped shoulders turned from an iron-and-enamel wood cook stove. Speaking Swiss, Markus made introductions. Frieda beamed at him, then turned