The Heirloom Murders - Kathleen Ernst [97]
Roelke struggled to find context for that unexpected bit of information, and came up empty. “She wasn’t willing?” He shook his head, mortally stymied by the perfidy of women.
“She was—not—willing.”
Roelke lowered his voice another notch. “Mr. Sabatola, I have a lot of admiration for you. Now that your wife’s case is officially closed, I’ve been putting the file to bed and …” He spread his hands, palms up. “There are still some things, just a couple of little things, that don’t add up.” He paused, giving Sabatola a silence to fill.
“Roxie!” Sabatola yelled. “Bring me another one.”
“I gotta admire you, man,” Roelke said. “I think I know what was going on. You must have felt pushed beyond endurance. How did you manage to keep things hidden?”
Sabatola studied his empty glass for a moment, and then traded it for the shot Roxie deposited in front of him. “The secret,” he said finally, “is control. You must not ever let anyone steal your power. Especially not a woman.”
Roelke felt adrenaline throbbing through his veins. He almost trembled with the effort of appearing relaxed. “Yeah? I suppose that’s true in the business world. About not letting anyone steal your power.”
“You remember that,” Sabatola told him.
“How’s that thing with the Board coming?” Roelke asked. “Have they announced your new position yet?”
Sabatola’s jaw jutted forward like a truculent child’s. “That,” he said, “is none of your damn business.” He walked away. Conversation over. Game over.
Roelke left the bar. Dammit! he thought, as he started his truck. Sabatola had not given him anything concrete. Nothing he could track down or verify. Nothing that suggested whatever activity he so desperately did not want Roelke to know about. Whatever secret had been worth trying to run Roelke off the road just because he was hanging around.
There was just one small saving grace. Those comments about control and power and women—Roelke felt he could officially warn Dellyn Burke to stay away from Sabatola, now. Maybe that was why he’d needed to do this. Maybe that was enough.
But it didn’t feel like enough.
_____
Chloe went back downstairs and headed to Mr. Burke’s study, hoping to find some clue to Dellyn’s whereabouts. No luck on that, but she did find a deed to the Burke property. Chloe stared at it grimly. Why did Simon want this place? The Eagle Diamond, or even a second diamond, would have no meaning for him. Neither would the detritus of Eagle history tucked into the attic, or any personal Burke family heirlooms mingled among the other antiques.
Roelke thought the guy was capable of violence. Dellyn thought he was a nice guy after all. Was Simon Sabatola being kind to his sister-in-law, or trying to get her out of the way?
Chloe turned her back on the deed and headed into the kitchen. There must be a calendar or something around here! She scanned the cluttered room. She didn’t see a calendar, but at least it looked as if Dellyn was still busy with normal activities. Small labeled trays by the windowsill held seeds from various vegetables, laid out to dry. Custard cups held tomato seeds, moldering stinkily in their gelatinous sacs. The tops of several dead hollyhocks lay across the kitchen table. The blooms had been replaced by pods, each now open to reveal rings of dark seeds.
A telephone was mounted on the wall beside the kitchen counter. A pen and pad sat waiting. The top sheet was blank, but it held obvious indentations of whatever had been scrawled on the page above. Chloe scrabbled among the clutter and found a pencil. “This is so frickin’ Nancy Drew,” she muttered, feeling ridiculous as she lightly covered the paper with graphite. The last written note appeared as white lines: Meet Frietags, tomorrow, 5 PM. Driving directions were below.
Chloe felt her eyebrows rise. Dellyn was meeting the Frietags? Markus must have arranged that, although since the directions were to the farm itself, the plan must have been for Dellyn to go alone. Assuming