The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [6]
Dellyn grabbed Chloe’s hand. “Yes.”
“I’m Officer McKenna, and this is Reverend Otis. May we come in?”
Dellyn didn’t move. Chloe gently pulled her backward so Roel-ke could open the door. The four of them stood in the narrow hall. The walls were lined with old family photos, making the space feel even more crowded.
“You are Bonnie Sabatola’s sister?” Roelke asked. Dellyn nodded, her eyes wide.
This is going to be bad, Chloe thought. Bad, bad, bad.
1876
“Let’s go,” Charles Wood said brusquely. “The day’s getting away.” He grabbed his pickax.
You’re welcome, Albrecht Bachmeier thought. Sure, neighbors helped neighbors. And Charles was paying him, a bit. But was a word of thanks too much to ask? Digging a well on a hot day was harsh work. The two men had dug through almost ten feet of loose gravel the day before, and here Albrecht was again, neglecting his own chores, giving Charles a hand.
Charles began climbing down the shaft. Albrecht glanced toward the house. Clarissa Wood was turning sod with a shovel for a vegetable garden behind the small log house. Her dress was already dark with sweat. Her sweet face was hidden beneath her sunbonnet. She used one foot to force her shovel blade into the earth. It took obvious effort to toss the slice of sod aside.
Albrecht felt his fingers tighten on the shovel in his hands, aching—actually aching—to turn his back on Charles and help Clarissa instead. She was a thin thing, game for work, but not strong. It would probably be easier for Charles to dig a well alone than for Clarissa to dig her garden.
“You coming?” Charles called.
“Ja,” Albrecht barked back. Taking one last look, he grabbed the rope and started backing into the pit.
Eight hours after leaving Dellyn Burke’s house Roelke hesitated, his hand on the phone in his apartment. Should he call Chloe? Yes, he should.
No, he should not.
“Damn it,” he muttered, and dialed the familiar number. There was a time, after he’d met Chloe in June, when he would have simply driven to her house, wanting to see for himself that she was OK. No way could he do that now. Not with Alpine Boy in the picture.
While the phone rang, Roelke stepped to the window of his tiny apartment. It was early evening. After the shock of seeing Chloe standing beside Dellyn Burke that afternoon, Roelke had done what he needed to do at the house, and back at the station. Now he was off-duty. A pleasant twilight was slowly descending on the village of Palmyra, where he lived. It would be a good time to walk to his cousin Libby’s house, see her kids, play T-ball, grill brats, and try to forget about Bonnie Sabatola and Dellyn Burke. But first—
“Hello?”
She sounded a little breathless. Had she run from outside? Or was Alpine Boy—
“Hello?” Chloe said again. She sounded more impatient than breathless, now.
“It’s me. Can I come by?”
“Sure.”
Roelke felt a tight place in his chest unwind a notch. “See you in a few,” he said, and hung up before she could change her mind.
Chloe lived in an old farmhouse in the next county, a pleasant fifteen-minute drive through the Kettle Moraine State Forest. Roelke found her sitting on her front porch, a glass of what he was pretty sure was diet soda and rum in her hand.
“Hey,” Chloe said, and raised the glass. “You want anything?”
“I want to make sure you’re OK.” Was that too personal? Avoiding her gaze, Roelke latched on to something else. “Why do you have a piece of moldy wood on your porch rail?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “It’s not mold, it’s lichen. I brought it home because it’s beautiful.”
“O-kay.” He settled into the empty lawn chair beside her. Maybe he should clarify his first remark. “I want to make sure you’re OK after what happened this afternoon.”
Chloe sipped, staring out over the hayfield across the street. She was still too thin. The angular planes of her face were accentuated because she’d pinned her braided hair in a twist behind her head. Roelke couldn’t imagine a more beautiful woman.
“I’m alright,” she said finally, looking back at him. “Just sad for Dellyn. And Bonnie