The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [79]
“Then why’d you run?”
“I was scared, man! You came after me!”
“I came after you because it’s almost midnight, this isn’t your property, and you didn’t obey my instructions. What’s your name?”
No answer.
A light over the back door suddenly came on, casting a yellow glow that seemed blinding. Then the back door opened. “Hello?” Dellyn called. “What’s going on out there?”
Roelke began leading the asshole around the garden fence, toward the house. “It’s Officer McKenna, Miss Burke. I found someone lurking out here. Did you call 9-1-1?” She stood on the top step, barefoot, in shorts and a tank top. Holy toboggans, the woman was as foolhardy as Chloe. No wonder they were friends.
“No,” she said. “I heard the commotion and—”
“Go inside, lock the door, and make the call. Tell dispatch I need backup.” Roelke hadn’t seen any sign of a second intruder, but he wanted to be sure.
The cuffed guy attempted to pull free. “Let me go! I can explain everything!”
Roelke tightened his grip. “You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”
Dellyn visored one hand over her eyes, shielding them from the glare. Then she padded toward them.
Dammit all to hell. “Miss Burke!” Roelke began.
“No, it’s OK.” Dellyn stopped three feet from the two men. She folded her arms and regarded the trespasser with a mixture of weariness and disgust. “What are you doing here?”
“You know this guy?” Roelke asked. “Who—”
Another figure burst from the shadows, rattling past a huge lilac bush. Short, plump. Wearing a blue bathrobe over a lacy nightgown, and fluffy slippers. Sonia Padopolous froze when she saw the three of them.
And the night gets a little more surreal, Roelke thought.
Sonia let out an anguished wail, put her hands over her eyes, and sank to the ground. “T-take him to jail.” She squeezed the words out between shuddering sobs. “I can’t lie for him anymore.”
August, 1876
Clarissa pulled the curtain above the kitchen window aside, just a bit. He was here again. The German, Albrecht. He was shoveling rubble from the well into a wheelbarrow, steady and strong, his coarse shirt dark with sweat. Charles had gone to the blacksmith’s shop. The horse needed shoeing.
She let the curtain drop back into place. Turning, she leaned against the drysink and contemplated the food she’d set on the table. A simple meal of cold ham, potato salad, some juicy melon fresh from the garden. She’d offer Albrecht a meal. Maybe today he’d say yes, come inside, accept her hospitality.
And that’s all it would be. Clarissa knew Albrecht was in love with her. She loved him too, in a strange half-exciting, half-frightening way. She would never speak of it, or act upon it. She was a good Christian woman. She loved Charles, too. He was a good provider, this man she had promised to share life with. And in his own haphazard way, Charles loved her, too. Sometimes he made her feel special. She kept the pretty yellow stone he’d given her on the windowsill, where the sun played with it. It made her smile each time she saw it.
Clarissa walked to the front door, scanned the road. No sign yet of Charles. There must have been a wait at the smithy’s. And the flies were likely to devour the food she’d prepared.
She walked back through the house, outside, on to the well. “Mr. Bachmeier?” she called. “I’ve food prepared for a mid-day meal.”
Albrecht paused, wiping his forehead. Clarissa watched him think that over. He’d never agreed to come in the house unless Charles was present.
“Please,” she added. “You can’t work like a draft horse in this heat without taking some food. I’ve got ginger water, too. Charles will be along soon. He’ll join us then.”
Albrecht took one long inhale, blew it out. Then he tossed the shovel aside. “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he said. “I believe some refreshment will do me good.”
Sunday morning dawned hazy and humid. Between the weather and events of late, Chloe had spent a restless night. “What a waste of electricity,” she muttered, stabbing the OFF button on the bedroom fan. She pulled on a clean pair