The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [62]
“Anything else pop up in your research? Any little tidbit that didn’t make it into the article?”
Valerie spread her hands, showing a flash of brightly polished nails. Crimson, of course. “Sorry. Not a thing. A diamond was found. A woman got cheated. A jewel thief made a fortune. End of story.”
Chloe walked her guest outside. They’d reached the car when Chloe suddenly thought of something else. “You went to school with Bonnie Sabatola, right?”
“We were in the same class. I was really shocked to hear about what happened.”
“Were you good friends?”
“Not best friends, anything like that. But we had a small class. Everyone knew each other. Bonnie and I stayed in touch until she got married.”
“What happened after that?”
“Nothing. I was in New York, and didn’t make it to the wedding. I sent a gift, and she sent a thank-you, and that was that. I sent Christmas cards for a couple of years, that kind of thing. But I never heard from her again.” Valerie opened the car door, and slid inside. She started the engine … and then she sat, staring through the windshield, making no move to put the car in gear. Finally she looked up through the open window. “Listen, I—I hope I didn’t mess up the evening.”
“No!” Chloe said, striving for hearty cheer. “Of course not.”
“I don’t like myself very much these days,” Valerie said. “But I discovered tonight that I do still care about poetry. Thanks for that.”
Chloe was still groping for a response when Valerie pulled away. Chloe watched her turn back toward Eagle, back to her old bedroom in her parents’ house. If members of the Wine and Whine Critique Group were willing to let Valerie come again, it might be a good thing for her. But Valerie Bing had an edge that made Chloe nervous.
_____
The next morning found Roelke in a room at the Elkhorn hospital, in a very bad mood. “I’m getting out of here,” he told the plump young nurse who arrived to check his temperature and blood pressure.
“After the doctor makes his rounds—”
“No, as soon as my cousin comes to get me. I already called her.” He gestured toward the phone beside the hospital bed.
The nurse frowned her disapproval. Roelke ignored her. He was no doctor, but he knew he was OK. Bruised, banged. He had a goose egg on the left side of his head, and seventeen stitches in his left arm. But he’d come out of the wreck in surprising good shape, thanks in part to his training and in part to his compulsion to plan for the worst. “You’re such a friggin’ Boy Scout!” Rick had hooted, the first time he saw the sheepskin covers Roelke had added to his lap belt and shoulder harness.
If he hadn’t, Roelke thought now, the bruises left by the belt would be worse. And his headache was much better today. That was all that really mattered.
Twenty minutes later, dressed and dozing in the bedside chair, he heard Libby’s voice in the corridor. “I am immediate family! Just tell me where he is!”
“Jesus,” Roelke muttered.
Libby burst into the room. She wore old jeans and a purple tank top and running shoes. For a moment she looked ready to fling her arms around him. He braced for the onslaught. She stopped herself just in time. “Oh my God. Are you OK?”
“I’m OK. I look worse than I feel. Where are the kids?”
“At a neighbor’s house.” Libby scanned his face, his arm. “Oh God, Roelke. I’ve always been afraid something like this would happen.”
“I was off duty, Libs. I didn’t get shot. I got run off the road.”
Libby still looked stricken. It wasn’t a good look for her. “Did they get the driver?”
Roelke started to shake his head, but quickly switched back to verbal communication. “No. The guy—whoever it was—kept going. It was probably some drunk. Or some kid. Or some drunk kid.” He didn’t mention that there had been two drivers at the scene of the accident. One behind, one who came at Roelke’s front, seemingly out of nowhere. Neither had hung around.
Libby pinched her lips together for a moment. “If anything ever happened to you—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Roelke