The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [77]
Roelke opened the door, braced an arm on the car roof, and leaned over. “Your girlfriend says all she did was say hi to somebody she knew. And that you went ballistic.”
T.J. stayed mute, evidently fascinated by the composition of denim.
“Listen,” Roelke said. “It’s time for you to man up. You’re about to start a family. You may not have planned it, but there it is.”
No answer.
“T.J., you are right on the edge of making some very bad choices. You are right on the edge of going down a road that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“I just …” T.J. gave a weary shrug.
Roelke crouched beside the car. “You gotta step up, now, and do the right thing. Your girlfriend needs to know she can count on you. And your baby will need a dad who’s around, not locked up somewhere because he wasn’t willing to take responsibility for his own actions. You ready to be that guy?”
Finally the young man drooping in the back seat heaved a long sigh. “I suppose,” he muttered. “Yeah.”
“All right. Come on out.” Roelke helped T.J. to his feet, and removed the cuffs. Then he fished one of his business cards from his pocket, and pressed it into T.J.’s hand. “Listen, I know it can be tough. You got handed a whammy. If you feel like stuff is closing in sometime, give me a call. We can talk things over.”
T.J. didn’t answer. But he shoved the card into his pocket before walking away.
_____
Chloe was melting butter that evening when the phone rang. She added a splash of maple syrup, poured the golden-brown mixture over a bowl of warm popcorn, grabbed it, sprinted for the living room, managed to avoid stepping on Olympia, and snatched the receiver on the seventh ring. “Hello?”
“Where’d you run from?” Ethan asked.
“I was fixing popcorn.”
He laughed. “That brings back memories. You ate popcorn for dinner once or twice a week when we were in college.”
Chloe popped a sticky piece in her mouth and licked her fingers. “Still do.” Sometimes comfort food trumped nutrition.
“So, how’d your day with Markus go? When the phone rang so many times I was beginning to wonder if you’d brought him home.”
“Um, no. I am not ready to invite Markus Meili into my home.” Chloe slid into the chair by the phone and put the bowl on the floor, suddenly no longer hungry. “Ethan? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“Is that because you’ve got feelings for Roelke?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” She closed her eyes, trying to parse her thoughts. “Roelke’s a great guy, but he’s a cop, for God’s sake. We don’t have anything in common. He … he always seems to be connected with the bad stuff.” Even as she said the words, they felt unfair. It wasn’t Roelke’s fault that Harriet Van Dyne had been killed. And Roelke was the one who’d shown up, and held her, and gotten her safely home.
“You still there?”
“Yeah. But geez, Ethan! I don’t know how to handle this situation.”
“Oh, sweetie. I can’t figure that out for you.”
Chloe sighed. “I’m just starting to like myself again, you know? Just when I was getting some energy back, getting some focus again, Markus shows up.”
“Maybe you should back off from both of them,” Ethan suggested. “Give yourself some space. Time to think.”
Chloe heard a tiny lapping sound: Olympia, joyfully licking butter from the popcorn. Chloe pushed the kitten away with her foot. “That’s not a bad idea. Besides, I really need to spend time with my friend Dellyn.” Not that it was that simple. Both of the men he was suggesting she avoid had some tie to Dellyn Burke. Roelke was investigating the attack in her barn, and Markus was meeting her on Tuesday for a garden tour of Old World.
“How is Dellyn?”
“Not good.” Chloe tried to distract Olympia by tossing a fuzzy ball across the room. No sale. “A friend of hers, um, died unexpectedly yesterday. She’s taking it hard.”
“How’d the friend—”
“You saved me, you know,” Chloe said, both to forestall the question and because her gratitude toward this man suddenly bubbled up so fierce and hot that she had to put it into words. “When I was at the end of my string,