Heritage of Darkness

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Authors: Kathleen Ernst
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lot of people were unhappy when Petra earned one,
    but not Violet.”
    “That hardly seems like motive for murder. Are you suggesting
    that Violet Sorensen—”
    “No!” The word burst out loud enough to turn heads. Chloe tried again. “No, of course not. I’ve known Violet for years. I’m
    just saying that in broad terms … some people might take the
    whole competition thing a bit too seriously.”
    Roelke sipped his water. “My grandmother and her friends
    took the Jefferson County Fair pie competition too seriously, but
    no one ever came to blows about it. Even though nobody ever beat
    my grandma’s strawberry-rhubarb pie.” He sounded a bit smug
    about that.
    Chloe made a mental note to trot out her own strawberry-rhu-
    barb- maple pie recipe come spring. “No disrespect to your
    grandma and the Jefferson County Fair, but this is a national com-
    petition. Gold Medalists are put up on a pedestal. Collectors and
    museums buy their work. They write books and teach classes.
    Petra had just taught a class in Norway, for crying out loud.”
    58
    “OK, OK.” Roelke made a few more notes on a new index card.
    “Anything’s possible, and jealousy can simmer for a long time
    before erupting. I’ve seen people fly into a rage for less.”
    Chloe eyed her last sliver of pizza with regret, too full to join
    the clean plate club. “Let’s talk about something else. If I can line up an interview for this evening, do you want to come along?”
    “Sorry, but I can’t. This afternoon I got a note to call Chief
    Moyer. He asked if I could come by the station tonight at seven.”
    Chloe used her straw to swirl the ice cubes in her glass. Just as
    she’d anticipated: cop stuff trumped gentleman-caller stuff.
    “That’s OK,” she said. “It was just an idea.”
    
    Roelke arrived at the police station at 6:55 PM. Buzzelli was run-
    ning something through a photocopy machine. Chief Moyer
    stepped from his office as Roelke stamped snow from his boots.
    “Thanks for coming by,” Moyer said.
    “No problem.”
    Moyer gestured both men into his office, which looked a lot
    like every other chief ’s office Roelke had ever seen: tidy desk (sloppiness did not send a good message to the visiting public), a few
    framed citations on the wall (certifications attesting to profes-
    sional prowess, and plaques of appreciation from the Kiwanis,
    Rotary, and Lions Club attesting to community involvement) and
    pictures of young children (because a family man understood
    problems on a personal level). Roelke and Buzzelli dropped into
    the chairs facing the desk.
    59
    “Twenty-four hours have passed since Ms. Lekstrom was
    found,” Moyer said. “Officer McKenna, I have explained to the
    investigator here, and also to the DCI agent in charge, that I’ve
    asked you to participate informally in this investigation.”
    Roelke nodded. Buzzelli did not. Definite friction here, Roelke
    thought. Thankfully, not his problem.
    “I have spoken with Chief Naborski in Eagle,” Moyer contin-
    ued. “He assured me that you can hold your own counsel.”
    That made Roelke feel good.
    “It would of course be inappropriate to share any confidential
    information we learn during the investigation,” Moyer added.
    “Of course,” Roelke agreed.
    “But discussing basic details might be helpful as you get to
    know people this week. Investigator?”
    Buzzelli opened a file folder, extracted a color photograph, and
    slapped it down on Moyer’s desk. “Petra Lekstrom, age fifty-four,
    of Preston, Minnesota.”
    Roelke picked up the head-and-shoulders shot. Petra looked to
    be wearing the same getup she’d died in—red wool cap, white
    blouse, green vest. She was what his grandmother would have
    called ‘a handsome woman’—hair a soft brown, face largely clear
    of wrinkles, dark eyes, full mouth curved in a smile that contained a hint of seduction.
    “The victim was five-foot-three and slight of build,” Buzzelli
    continued. “That big

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