The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [74]
“This is a bad time,” Markus said at once. “We’ll leave.”
Martine shook her head. “No, he knew you were coming. If he’s better in a bit, you can say hello. If not, he’ll want to hear all about your visit.” She managed a smile.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Frieda added. “Johann told me to show you the chickens.” She cocked her head toward the beautiful old bank barn, with room for cows on the lower level and hay stored above.
The reduction of livestock to two cows and a handful of chickens meant the barn had become a storage place over the years. Just like Dellyn’s, Chloe thought, flashing on the image of her friend’s bleak expression when she learned of Harriet’s death.
Frieda told Markus about her flock, and her memories of her parents’ poultry. Markus taped the conversation and supplemented the recording with photographs. Chloe wandered out of audio range, struggling to control her emotions. The last thing she wanted to do was break down here.
Her curator’s eye idly took in the mélange of agricultural detritus. If the Frietags were up to it, she really should make arrangements to get Dellyn down here. Larry, too. In addition to a hand-plow and harrow, and an aging tractor, smaller pieces hung on the walls.
Suddenly Chloe’s breastbone thrummed like an electric wire. “Oh my God!”
Heads swiveled in her direction. “What’s wrong?” Markus asked. He stowed his tape recorder and came to join her.
“Um, sorry.” Chloe felt her cheeks flood with color. “It’s just that …” She pointed to a hand cultivator.
Markus looked at it, obviously bewildered. “It’s a garden tool.”
“I know it’s a garden tool.” Chloe stared at the primitive hand cultivator, homemade and horribly familiar. Martine and Frieda joined them, and Chloe willed her hand not to shake as she touched the rose carved in relief on the handle. “I—it’s unusual. Is it a family piece?”
“Well now, that’s hard to say.” Frieda planted her cane and leaned on it with both hands, considering. “It’s hung there as long as I can remember. It might have come down in my family, or Johann’s. Or it might have come from some other neighbor. When people sell their own place, they sometimes bring stuff over here.”
Chloe looked at Markus. “Have you ever seen one carved like that before?”
“No.”
Chloe tried to corral her thoughts. She didn’t want to tell Markus that she’d been attacked with an identical cultivator. And no way would she tell that to Frieda and Martine. “I saw one just like it recently. At my friend Dellyn’s place.”
“Really?” Markus brightened. “We should track down provenance on those two!”
That would be tricky, Chloe thought, with Dellyn’s cultivator in the Eagle PD’s storage locker. “Dellyn doesn’t know anything about hers. It was in her parents’ barn when they died.”
“I’ll ask Grandpa about it,” Martine said. “But I don’t know that he’ll remember anything.”
“No worries,” Chloe told her, and tried to smile.
_____
Roelke drove to Eagle that evening in his newly acquired truck, a 1978 GMC High Sierra, two-toned green. He’d wanted another Ford Ranger, but didn’t spot one on a dealer lot or in the paper, and he didn’t want to dink around. At least the color was good. And the mileage was low for a four-year-old vehicle, just 1,800 miles.
He checked his watch. Residents were making their way to the village park for Movie Night. Movie Night, for God’s sake. Chloe might have been murdered the evening before. She was likely being consoled right this minute by her stupid Swiss ex. Dellyn Burke might, or might not, be a killer’s target. Detectives were trying to discover who had killed Harriet Van Dyne.
And what am I doing? Roelke thought. I am about to set up a movie projector, and to make sure the volunteers handling the popcorn and sodas show up on time. Tonight’s film, Mackenna’s Gold, had been chosen by Skeet, who thought the name was funny.
“Just hilarious,” Roelke muttered. It would be a double joke if Skeet got the permanent position.
_____
Frieda toured Markus and Chloe