The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [67]
“I’ll do that,” Chloe said firmly.
“But—”
Chloe put an arm around Dellyn’s shoulders. “Dellyn,” she said quietly, “please go home now. Eat a real dinner. Get some rest. It’s going to be a busy weekend for you. I can finish up.”
“That’s an excellent plan,” Harriet added. “Come along, dear. I’ll walk out with you.”
Dellyn wavered, but finally nodded. “All right. I will. Thank you.”
Chloe watched Harriet and Dellyn trudge down the lane. One great thing about working at historic sites: there were lots of jobs for older women and, therefore, lots of mother-figures around.
Chloe set out on the short walk to the Finnish area. The day had been hot and muggy, but now a cool breeze riffled leaves and discouraged mosquitoes. Songbirds flitted overhead. As Chloe approached the Ketola farm one of the pastured cows raised her head, then returned to grazing.
Chloe felt some of her anxiety slide away. Being on-site after hours was a special privilege. The past always felt closer without visitors and trams puncturing the landscape.
Before heading to the house, she unlocked the sauna and stepped inside. In the bathing room she sank onto one of the benches and closed her eyes. She felt again that quiver of something strong, something calm, something feminine. Help me, Chloe thought, sending the message out to whatever long-gone Finnish women might be listening. I want to take care of my friend Dellyn, and I don’t always know how. Oh—and my friend Roelke was just in an accident. I’m not too sure what to do about him, either.
Chloe’s breathing gradually slowed. The present-day, with its heartaches and problems, faded completely.
Later, Chloe wouldn’t be able to say if she was meditating, or communing, or simply resting. In any case, the sense of tranquil peace and warmth was so strong that it took several moments for the unexpected rattling noise to make its way through long-gone steam, and into her consciousness.
Once it had, she blinked back to the moment, struggling to identify the sound. Then she did.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered, scrambling to her feet. In the dressing room, she grabbed the door handle and pushed.
Nothing.
“Hey!” Chloe yelled, pounding the wooden door with her fist. “Hey! I’m in here!” She banged for at least a minute, pausing periodically to listen for a response. None came.
“Shit!” Chloe stared at the door with disbelief. She was locked in the sauna. She imagined an interpreter unlocking the building the next morning and finding her inside. Geez Louise. How humiliating that would be.
Who had locked her in, anyway? Probably a security guard who’d noticed the padlock she’d left dangling open on the outside hasp. She knew the guards checked every lock when they made their first after-hours round each day. She hadn’t heard a car … but then, no surprise there. She’d been far away from the here and now.
All right, then, surely the security guard would see her car parked in the main lot. He’d wonder about that, right? And come searching?
But … everyone knew her battered Pinto by now. The guard would know it wasn’t an intruder’s car. He’d probably think she’d simply grabbed a ride with someone else.
Chloe paced like a caged leopard. OK, think, she ordered herself. There was no handy emergency telephone hidden discreetly from sight in the sauna. No security keypad either. Her sound and motion would go undetected.
But in addition to one small smoke hole, the sauna did have two windows—one in the sauna chamber itself, one in the dressing room. Maybe she could still get out.
She pulled the locking peg from the sauna window first. Instead of sliding up, the pane angled inward to permit airflow. Short of