The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [48]
Roelke wished he had a better handle on Simon Sabatola. The man couldn’t name a single friend of his wife’s, or provide any real details about how she’d spent her days. Roelke was still inclined to pin an ‘abusive husband’ badge on the widower, despite his grief and tears. But … was that only because he’d found no other trigger for Bonnie’s suicide, and the spouse was always the first place to look?
Roelke wanted to be thorough. He also wanted to be fair.
At the end of the service he followed the mourners to the fellowship hall and lingered at the end of the straggle of guests, listening, watching. When he finally reached the head of the receiving line he saw Dellyn’s eyes widen in surprise. “Why …
Officer McKenna!”
“I wanted to pay my respects.” Roelke told her, and then offered his hand to Simon Sabatola.
To his dismay, Sabatola’s eyes filled with tears. Again. Edwin Guest, without even meeting his boss’s gaze, discreetly passed a fresh handkerchief into his hand. Then Guest stepped into the background again, silent and unobtrusive, gaze lowered.
That guy’s borderline creepy, Roelke thought. Unless … was it possible that there was more to the relationship between Sabatola and Guest than met the eye? If so, and Bonnie had found out …
Hunh.
“It was kind of you to come,” Simon said, when he’d blotted his eyes. He turned to the man standing beside him. “Alan, this is Officer McKenna. He investigated Bonnie’s death.”
“Alan Sabatola,” the man said, pumping Roelke’s hand vigorously. He was mid-thirties, perhaps, with tired eyes. “I’m Simon’s brother.”
Half-brother, hadn’t Simon said? Roelke chewed on that as he retreated against a wall. The two brothers settled at a nearby table with some of the AgriFutures crowd. People began to filter to the buffet spread on folding tables by the church ladies. Alan Sabatola’s voice rose as he talked with a heavy-set guy. “We are positioning ourselves to increase the productivity of subsistence farmers
all over the world! Branching out from pest management to crop genetics is essential. We’re going to replace old cereal grains with higher-yield crops.”
Roelke listened with some disgust. Couldn’t business wait until the reception was over? Maybe an impromptu board meeting was underway. Simon, he noticed, never looked directly at Alan. The two men kept more than casual space between them.
“Hey.” Chloe poked his arm with her index finger. “I saw you, and just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi.” He tried to gauge her pissed index while still keeping an eye on the Sabatola brothers.
She pleated her skirt in her fingers. “Listen, I’m sorry we quarreled last night. Would you like to sit with us?” She glanced toward the Old World people.
“No.” That sounded terse even to his ears. He lowered his voice and tried to back-pedal. “I mean, not right now. Can I join you in a little bit?” Simon Sabatola said something to his half-brother that seemed to sit poorly. Alan’s face set in hard lines. Discreetly, letting his body shield the gesture from most of the guests, Alan stabbed one index finger toward Simon’s chest and said, “Stop it, Simon.” Roelke didn’t hear Simon’s response.
Roelke suddenly realized he hadn’t heard Chloe’s response, either. She was gone.
Damn.
Before Roelke could decide if he should submit himself to introductions to the Old World crowd, Simon Sabatola stalked out the door. Then a skinny woman Roelke didn’t recognize got up from a nearby table and followed. She paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder, and slipped out after Sabatola.
Well, now. Even more interesting.
Roelke followed the woman outside in time to see her hurry after Sabatola, who was striding away from the building. She wore a plain skirt and sandals with a white blouse that seemed too large. Her dark shoulder-length hair was worn straight, with heavy bangs. She didn’t fit the rich-business-acquaintance set.
She caught up with Simon in the middle of the parking lot, and put a hand on his arm. Sabatola