The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [72]
“We’ll get him. And we’ll get answers.” His voice was hard.
“It’s obscene. Things like this shouldn’t happen here. Old World Wisconsin is a—a gentle place.”
“I know.”
“And all those cars … we’re going to have tire tracks everywhere.” She let her head sink back onto his shoulder. “I am so tired.”
“Come on. I’m going to drive you home.”
“Don’t you need to stay?”
“Skeet’s here, and the chief too. Besides, either the county or the state police will take the case. I’d just be in the way.”
“Wait!” Chloe jerked erect so she could look at him. “Are you OK? Libby said—”
“I’m fine. Come on.”
Chloe let him haul her gently to her feet. Before leaving, Roelke huddled briefly with the ginger-haired officer and an older man in plain clothes—Skeet and Chief Naborski, she assumed. Chloe leaned against the pasture fence, staying far enough away from the barn that she couldn’t see the interior.
“Miss Ellefson?”
Chloe jerked upright as someone approached—Ralph Petty. Oh, Lord. She did not have the energy to deal with Petty right now. She really and truly did not.
“I understand you found the body,” he said.
“That’s right.” She clutched her hands together, which was not nearly as comforting as holding Roelke’s hand.
“It’s just … horrible.” Ralph Petty sounded so distraught that Chloe felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy for him. Then he added, “God only knows what the auditors will make of this.”
Chloe blinked at him. The night had just climbed a rung on the surreal ladder. She opened her mouth to spit nails, but discovered she didn’t have the energy. Instead she said, “What’s going to happen tomorrow? I mean, will the site be open?”
“I don’t know yet. The Historic Sites division director will be here soon. The barn will certainly be closed. And the Garden Fair is canceled, of course.”
“Of course,” Chloe echoed. “Poor Dellyn. She worked so hard …”
Oh, God. Dellyn.
_____
Once Roelke had checked in with the chief, he settled Chloe into the loaner Chevy he’d picked up that afternoon. He was acutely aware that she was in shock. She had never before allowed him to be so protective. He knew better than to think that it would happen again anytime soon. But God Almighty, it had felt good to hold her in his arms. He hoped she would at least remember how well they had fit together.
“Where’s your truck?” she asked.
Roelke did a tight three-point turn and drove from the farmyard. “Totaled.”
“It was that bad?”
“The cab got knocked hard enough to totally mess up the alignment. Insurance company declared it a loss.”
“I’m really, really sorry.” She put her hand on his arm.
He appreciated that. He didn’t care much for stuff, but his truck and his gun—those things were his, and not to be messed with. He needed them.
They rode in silence until he drove from the site. Then Chloe asked, “Has someone contacted Harriet’s family?”
“It’s been taken care of. Skeet said there’s a grown daughter.”
“I have to tell Dellyn.”
Roelke didn’t want Chloe to tell Dellyn. But he was pretty sure that nothing he could say would dissuade her. “OK. We’ll go together.”
Dellyn took the news as well as he had expected—which was to say, not well at all. “Is it me?” she demanded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Of course not.” Chloe sat next to Dellyn on the sofa, an arm around her shoulders. Both women were wearing their old fashioned costumes. Roelke had the feeling he was seeing something timeless, this way women had of comforting one another.
“No, really,” Dellyn said. “Am I cursed, or something? Did I do something bad in a past life? Why are so many people I care about dying?”
“Come home with me tonight,” Chloe urged.
“No.” Dellyn shook her head. “I’ll be OK. I want to bake something for Harriet’s daughter. A casserole or something. I’ll take it over in the morning.”
Soon Roelke and Chloe were heading back toward her farmhouse. “In the morning, I’ll ask Libby to look in on Dellyn,” Roelke said.
“Good,” Chloe said. “That would be good.” She stared out the window until they were almost to La Grange. Finally she looked