The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [45]
In the living room, Roelke took a quick look around. Paperback romance novels filled two bookcases. A vase of red silk roses stood on an end table. A card table in the corner held a partially completed jigsaw puzzle of some European castle.
Sonia Padopolous had time on her hands. She was lonely. And she dreamed of people and places far beyond Eagle, Wisconsin.
No pictures of grandchildren graced the walls, but a framed portrait on the credenza showed a much younger Sonia posed with a trim, dark-haired man. A flag folded with military precision and encased in a triangular glass-topped box sat nearby, next to a black-and-white photograph of a man in army uniform, circa World War II.
“That was my husband,” Sonia said behind him. “He survived the Battle of the Bulge, came home, and died of the flu five years later. Here.” She held out a plate of cookies.
Roelke accepted one oatmeal cookie and a napkin. “How long have you lived next door to the Burkes?”
She perched on a chair upholstered with huge mauve flowers. “Since nineteen forty-six. Loretta—that was Dellyn’s mother—and I hit it off right away.”
“So you’ve known the family well.”
Sonia pulled a tissue from a decorative container, and used it to polish the base of a brass table lamp by her chair. “Well … I watched Loretta’s girls grow up. My heart just breaks for Dellyn. One tragedy after another.”
Roelke nibbled his cookie, and almost choked. Perhaps Mrs. Padopolous had mistaken salt for sugar? He coughed into his napkin, and tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “Bonnie’s death must have been especially difficult.”
Mrs. Padopolous rubbed fiercely at an invisible spot. “Yes.”
Roelke tried to decide the best way to encourage confidences. “I was the first officer on the scene,” he told her. “And I don’t mind telling you, I can’t quite shake what happened. Did you have any inkling that Bonnie was depressed?”
She began to cry. After a moment she sank back in her chair, and used another tissue to blot her eyes. “I should have known. I blame myself for what happened.”
That seemed harsh. “Why do you say that?”
Sonia tore a corner from the tissue and rolled it into a tiny ball. “A few weeks ago, Bonnie came to see me.”
“Did she seem distraught?”
“No, but … Wait just a minute.” Sonia disappeared, and emerged from the kitchen a few moments later with several folded pieces of cloth. “She gave me these. That’s Loretta’s work.”
Roelke accepted what appeared to be dish towels, each sturdy white rectangle embroidered with a different flower. Some were familiar—pansies, daisies, lilies of the valley—and some were not. But he had no idea why Mrs. Padopolous was upset. Not even a clue. You may win that full-time slot with the EPD, Roelke told himself, but you obviously are not detective material.
“Bonnie said she wanted me to have these.”
“Ah.” A light finally flickered on in Roelke’s brain. He laid the towels on the coffee table with due reverence. “She was distributing favorite possessions.”
“Right.” The older woman nodded fiercely. “Only I thought she was ashamed of these. Of me. Of her mother, even.” Tears brimmed over again. “But that poor child was struggling.”
Roelke’s job often put him in proximity of weeping women, but it never got easier. “Some people get very good at hiding their feelings,” he told her.
“Her mother was concerned. Had been, anyway. She wasn’t real happy when Bonnie married Simon Sabatola.”
“And … why was that?”
Mrs. Padopolous tugged at one nylon knee-high, which had pooled around her ankle. “Well, people don’t like to say so, but class matters. Simon was already a big executive. The Burkes were plain folks.”
Roelke remembered Sabatola’s home—the leather, the chrome, the oil paintings. “I see.”
“I think Loretta was afraid that Bonnie would get spoiled by all that money.”
“And did she?”
“I wouldn’t say spoiled.” Mrs. Padopolous exhaled a long sigh. “All I know is that she got more