Read Online Heritage of Darkness by Kathleen Ernst - Free Book Online Page B

rolling pin found in the trunk was the proba-
    ble weapon—”
    Roelke cleared his throat. “It’s a lefse pin.”
    Buzzelli looked at him.
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    “For making lefse. ” Roelke added helpfully. He liked being helpful. He really did need to find out what lefse was, though.
    “Let’s move on,” Moyer said. “Family, Buzz?”
    “Lekstrom never married, had no known children,” Buzzelli
    continued. “She attended Luther College here in Decorah. Next of
    kin, a sister in Seattle, has been notified. The sister hadn’t seen the victim in eighteen months.”
    “How did Ms. Lekstrom support herself?” Roelke asked.
    “Largely through an inheritance from her maternal grandfa-
    ther.”
    Roelke considered. “Was it enough to kill for?
    “We’re not talking millions here.” Buzzelli waggled one hand.
    “But Lekstrom’s house in Preston is paid for, and she doesn’t have any known debt. She got interest payments every six months. Otherwise she had a business doing genealogy for people. Sometimes
    she taught art classes, and she sold some of her painted stuff.”
    Roelke made some notes.
    “One of the DCI agents is talking to acquaintances in Preston,”
    Buzzelli added, “but he’s not getting a whole lot. Lekstrom’s neighbors are elderly. Very polite, but not very talkative.”
    Moyer leaned forward, forearms on his desk. “Yesterday the
    museum was closed from four o’clock until five-thirty, when the
    reception began. If Miss Lekstrom was assaulted before the
    museum closed, the assailant was likely either an employee or
    someone who purchased a ticket.”
    “Or,” Roelke countered, “she might have been attacked by a
    volunteer who helped with the reception, or one of the students or instructors who attended.”
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    Moyer picked up several stapled pieces of paper and handed
    them to Roelke. “This is a list of everyone known to be inside the museum yesterday between noon and the time the victim was
    found. It is incomplete. Obviously any museum visitor who paid
    for their ticket with cash, and did not sign the guest book, left no identification behind.”
    Roelke scanned the sheet, typed on a machine that produced a
    solid circle for every O. Each name was followed by a designation: visitor, volunteer, museum staff, class instructor, student. It was a long list.
    “I wanted you to have a copy,” Moyer added, “because you may
    hear something about one of the people on this list.”
    The older man shifted in his chair again. “I don’t think—” he
    began, then closed his mouth. Either Buzzelli had second thoughts
    about what he was going to say, or he truly did not think.
    Roelke filled the silence before it could become awkward.
    “Petra Lekstrom won a medal in that big-time rosemaling exhibi-
    tion last summer. You probably know this already, but the object
    Ms. Lekstrom painted for the competition was an immigrant
    trunk.”
    More silence suggested that the other men had not known that.
    Moyer’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Buzzelli grudgingly pulled a
    small notebook from his pocket and scribbled a note. Nobody
    thought to ask, Roelke thought. But hell, he hadn’t either. That tidbit might have sailed by if Chloe hadn’t picked up on it.
    After a moment Moyer asked, “Anything else?”
    Roelke tapped his thigh with his thumb. “A woman in my carv-
    ing class knew Ms. Lekstrom for many years, and clearly disliked
    her.”
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    “Who?” Buzz asked.
    “Lavinia Carmichael.” Roelke kept his tone mild. “If you can
    give me another day, I might be able to learn what caused the dis-
    cord. She might respond better to casual conversation than formal
    questioning.”
    “Investigator?” Moyer asked.
    Buzzelli looked bored. “Sure.”
    “Another else, Office McKenna?”
    “No.”
    Buzzelli stood. “I have work to do.” Moyer nodded, and the
    older man left the office.
    A moment later Roelke heard the front door open and close.
    He looked at the chief.
    “I serve as Decorah’s police