The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [47]
Get up, she told herself.
No response.
She hid her face in the crook of one arm, staving away the growing brightness. Her brain insisted on cataloging her problems: someone had attacked her the night before, a good friend was grief-stricken and—perhaps—the target of more trouble, Markus had somehow wormed his way back into her life, she and Roelke had argued.
“But I am not depressed,” she muttered. “And I am not going to get depressed.”
Response came in the way of a nose-nudge from Olympia. Chloe opened her eyes and stroked the kitten under her chin. “And I have a furry little buddy.”
The alarm blared again. This time Chloe turned it off and struggled to her feet. Her palms stung. Her shoulder ached, and now sported an enormous bruise. She rolled it again, tried a careful shrug. Everything still worked.
“And I have a job,” she told Olympia’s backside—the kitten was already racing to the kitchen, giddy with the prospect of breakfast.
But Chloe couldn’t talk herself out of her funk. Being hit in a dark barn had scared the bejeebers out of her. Fighting with Roel-ke made her feel horrible. And she was getting seriously worried about Dellyn.
Dellyn had brushed aside Chloe’s offer of company that morning. The hell with that, Chloe decided. After breakfast for her and the cat, she dressed and headed to Eagle.
When she got to the Burke place she sat in the car for a moment. Even in daylight she felt skittish being here. She flashed again on the sound of her attacker approaching. The shock. The pain.
But today is about Dellyn, she reminded herself grimly. That comes first.
She found Dellyn sitting in the garden with Harriet Van Dyne, her favorite volunteer. “You, too?” Dellyn said, when she saw Chloe. But she smiled.
“I brought a coffeecake,” Harriet said, as Chloe joined them. “Dellyn and I were just talking about creating a blue memorial garden in honor of her mother and Bonnie.”
“Blue was Bonnie’s favorite color,” Dellyn explained. “And my mom’s too.”
Chloe searched her limited mental data base of ornamental flowers. “Delphiniums? Phlox?”
“And lupines,” Harriet added. “Definitely lupines.”
Dellyn managed a watery smile. “Thank you both for coming. It really means a lot.”
_____
Eagle’s yellow water tower—painted with an enormous smiley-face—loomed over the roof of St. Theresa Catholic Church. Roelke stared at the iconic landmark which was, he had learned yesterday, situated on Diamond Hill.
“The world is a very strange place,” he muttered, and got out of his truck. He’d leave the historical stuff to Chloe and Dellyn. All he wanted to do was catch bad guys.
Which was why he was attending Bonnie Sabatola’s funeral. He always attended the services for people killed while he was on duty, if he could. Sometimes he went in uniform, offering respect on behalf of the police department. Today he wore his best civvies. He was more interested in seeing than being seen.
The church reached perhaps half-capacity with mourners. Most of them looked like business acquaintances of Simon Sabatola, the men in expensive suits and the women wearing heels and dark dresses and lots of jewelry. Sonia Padopolous was there, and Roelke pegged a small contingent as Dellyn’s Old World Wisconsin friends. No one had come in costume, which he’d half-expected, but their clothing was less formal. Several wore glasses with old-fashioned wire frames. One long-bearded man wore suspenders and waistless trousers that gave him a vaguely Amish look. Chloe was wearing a denim skirt and light blue blouse that looked great, Roelke couldn’t help noticing, with her coloring. She sat beside an older woman.
Dellyn Burke and Simon Sabatola had settled in one of the front pews with Edwin Guest and a man and woman Roelke didn’t recognize. Simon stared at his lap through much of the service. When the priest began talking about “the lovely light that was Bonnie Burke Sabatola,” Dellyn’s shoulders began to shake, and the sound of muffled sobs drifted