Heritage of Darkness (25 page)

exactly where she was. But for the first time since she’d seen flames leap from the red can, she felt hopeful.



When Roelke turned onto Water Street he saw a big city fire en-

gine, aerial truck, rescue truck, and a police car parked in front of the Education Center. As he approached he heard a familiar voice,

209

rising with an intensity that could not signify anything good. “I

am quite positive about that!” He slid through a small crowd gath-

ered to see the excitement and saw Chloe, Howard Hoff, and a fire-

man wearing chief ’s insignia huddled against the building. In the squad car’s pulsing light, Chloe’s expression looked mutinous.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Chloe, are you all right?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “But I’d be better if these gentlemen

believed what I was telling them.”

“But what—happened?” Roelke growled.

Before she could answer, several firefighters pushed through

the door. “Fire was already out,” one reported. “Cole’s still up there, but we’re clear.”

“Good response, men,” the chief said. He was a burly man with

an air of competent calm. The firefighters began stowing their

gear, and the chief moved away to speak to them.

Roelke took advantage of the lull to grab Chloe’s shoulders. He

could smell smoke on her coat, in her hair. “What
happened
?”

As she explained, something in his chest went very still and

hard. “Once I finally got out,” she concluded, “I ended up in the

textile classroom and found a fire extinguisher. Then I saw How-

ard—”

“I came by to make sure all of the students had left for the

night, and check that the main door was locked.” Howard was

wringing his hands with anxiety. “After what happened to Petra—”

“Was the door locked?” Roelke asked.

“Yes. I went upstairs, and you can imagine my horror when I

saw the classroom filled with smoke, and—”

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“Howard called the fire station,” Chloe said. “Then we grabbed

fire extinguishers and he unlocked the classroom door. The fire

was out by the time the first firemen got here.”

Roelke glared at the building. “But why wouldn’t the fire escape

door open?”

“It was jammed,” Chloe repeated. “And the door to the lounge

must have been too. I should have been able to open it from the

inside.”

The fire chief rejoined them as she spoke. Unlike his men, who

were attired in black from head to toe, he wore a white helmet.

“The door on the fire escape opened easily when we tried it.”

“It—was—
jammed
,” Chloe insisted.

“Ms. Ellefson.” The fireman shifted his weight from foot to

foot. “Is it possible that because you felt panicked—”

“No!”

A lone firefighter emerged from the Education Center. “Chief?

Got a minute?” He cocked his head. The two men walked out of

earshot as the aerial truck pulled away from the curb.

Chloe glared after the chief. “I know what happened.”

Roelke put his arm around Chloe’s rigid shoulders. He needed

to feel her, safe. “What were you doing here at this time of night anyway?”

“Well, I decided you were right about some things.” She

sounded a bit defensive. “So I came to work on my painting.”

Great, Roelke thought. A fine time for Chloe to decide he was

right about something.

“This is a nightmare,” Hoff moaned. “What will I tell the

Board?”

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The chief returned and introduced his companion. “Cole here

is our fire marshal. He’s on the squad, but he also works for the

State of Iowa. He’ll be investigating the fire.”

That means he’s already found something to investigate, Roelke

thought grimly.

Marshal Cole asked Chloe and Hoff to go back upstairs and

walk him and the chief through the evening’s events. Roelke went

too. Chloe talked. He eyed the smoke patterns on the walls and

ceiling, the charring on the wooden cabinet, the scraps of oily rags.

When Chloe and Hoff had shared all they knew, the chief

thanked them. “We’ll call if we have any more questions, Miss

Ellefson. Director Hoff, we’ll need a list of everyone who was in

the building today—teachers, students …”

Roelke took Chloe’s hand. “Come on. I’m going to walk you

back to Sigrid’s place.”

“I’ve got the car.”

“Then I’ll drive you back.” The point was, he wasn’t letting her

out of his sight until she was safely inside.

At the car, Chloe slid into the passenger’s seat and slammed the

door. “Someone set that fire and locked me in.”

“I believe you.” Roelke didn’t want to believe it, because the

very thought sucked all the air from his lungs. But he did. “Fasten your seatbelt.”

Chloe did. “I think someone snuck into the classroom and left

oily rags in a spot where they might spontaneously combust.

Maybe they did that when everyone was taking a supper break.”

“But there’d be no way to predict when, or even if, the rags

would burst into flames,” Roelke mused as he pulled away from

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the curb. “And if the bastard actually crept upstairs to toss a match into the can, he would have seen you.”

“I
did
take a bathroom break,” Chloe reminded him. “That

might be when Sigrid’s last students left, not realizing I was still around. Or maybe they left earlier and I didn’t notice. Anyway, in theory, an arsonist did have enough time to toss in a match, leave the can lid ajar so the fire got a bit of oxygen, and disappear before I went back into the room. It’s also at least possible that if he

waited around, he could have closed and wedged the classroom

door without me noticing. I was in the zone.”

“If he tossed a match on the rags while you were in the ladies’

room, the fire would have started at once.” Roelke tried to think of everything he’d heard about arson. “Maybe he used a cigarette as a fuse, or something similar that would burn down more slowly and

give you a chance to get back inside before the rags caught.”

“I smelled smoke almost right away after I got back to the

classroom, so that might be it,” Chloe said. “I suppose the arsonist could have been one of Sigrid’s students.”

Roelke didn’t know anything about any of Sigrid’s students, so

he set that possibility aside. “But assume, for now, that this guy was hanging around. Wouldn’t Sigrid’s students have run into him

when they left?”

Chloe shook her head. “Not necessarily. Most people use the

elevator, and he could have been in the stairwell. Also, the layout up on that floor is sort of circular. I got out through a little hallway at the back of the building. It leads past a couple of offices and into the textile classroom, and on to the front hall. A bunch of

looms are in that room. If someone had wanted a place to lie low,

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waiting for opportunity, it wouldn’t have been hard to hide in

there.”

“It was someone who knows the building well, then.” They’d

reached Sigrid’s house. Roelke parked and reached for Chloe’s

hand.

“I suppose so.”

Roelke stared at the porch blindly, visualizing an arsonist’s

path. “Once you were focused on fighting the fire, he could have

waited until you tried the door before removing the wedge. Same

thing on the outside. If he’d crept up the fire escape, he could have listened for you to try the emergency exit door and
then
removed a wedge before—”

“You’re hurting my fingers.” Chloe pulled her fingers from his.

“The investigator must have spotted something suspicious. He

may not be able to prove that someone wedged the doors shut, but

he’ll be able to tell if arson was involved. If someone splashed linseed oil about, traces will be left. It would burn into the floor.”

“Let’s talk more about this tomorrow, OK? I’m exhausted.”

“Sure.”

“And Roelke? I am sorry about the way our conversation ended

earlier, when we were up on Emil’s hill.”

“Me too.”

She leaned against him. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

“I’m counting on it.” He didn’t know whether to feel touched

or alarmed by her sudden willingness to rise before dawn. “I will

meet you here, though.” He wasn’t going to accept any arguments

about that. No way was he going to let her walk even a few blocks

alone, in the dark. Not until they knew what the hell was going on.

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twenty-three

Reassuring Mom, Sigrid, and Violet that she was truly all right

kept Chloe up for an hour. Memories of flames and smoke, sting-

ing eyes and locked doors, kept Chloe awake into the wee hours.

Why would someone want to scare her? Or even … well, best

not to ride that train any farther. But the key question remained:
Why
?

Maybe I wasn’t the target, she thought. Maybe I was collateral

damage. But if someone wasn’t after me …

That suspicion produced a new wave of anxiety. She thrashed

about for a long while before finally sliding into a fitful sleep.

When her alarm buzzed she opened one eye, shut it again. It

was cold. It was dark. Finally, moaning under her breath, she

forced herself to throw off the down comforter, dress, and face the day.

Roelke had promised to meet her on the front porch, but when

she turned on the outside light and peeked through the window,

she saw no one. Well, I’m not going to cower inside like a fright-

215

ened child, she thought. She flicked the light off again, stepped

outside, and eased the front door closed behind her.

Then she turned—and kicked something that hadn’t been

there the night before. Something that rattled across the porch and down the steps. The clatter inspired the German Shepherd next

door to a frenzied barking that suggested Armageddon, right here,

right now.

It took a moment for Chloe’s spiked heart rate to succumb to

cardiac gravity. When it settled back to a sustainable pace, she

tried to find in the pre-dawn gloom whatever she’d stumbled over.

She finally spotted a wooden canister, four inches in diameter and six or eight inches long. A loop of twine was attached to a cap at one end. A wicked metal spike protruded from its other end,

which was charred.

She jerked away as if the thing might leap to life and attack.

This was
not
good.

Still, she couldn’t let the thing lie there. She crept down the

steps and crouched to get a better look. The tube had been carved

with two symbols: a mitten and a bonfire. She sucked in a steady-

ing lungful of cold air, picked up the tube—and instantly felt a

wave of hot black anger reverberate from the wood, through the

thick wool of her mittens, into her hand.
“Oh,
shit
,” she whispered, dropping the tube again.

“Chloe?” Sigrid appeared at the front door, wearing fleecy slip-

pers, long wool robe, and an expression of sleepy confusion. “I

heard a racket.”

“Chloe?” Roelke turned onto the front walk, wearing boots,

parka, and an expression of annoyance. “I told you to wait for me

inside.”

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Chloe looked from one to the other. “I—um—I’m sorry I woke

you, Aunt Sigrid,” she stammered. “And Roelke, I just stepped out

on the porch. And I found this.” She gave Roelke a meaningful

look, pointing. Instant understanding flashed in his eyes.

“Why … it’s a
budstikke
!” Sigrid sounded intrigued. “An

antique, by the looks of it. I do hope it wasn’t jammed into my

front door, though.”

“It was on the doormat.” Chloe bit back a warning as Roelke

picked the horrid thing up, using the tips of his gloved fingers.

His face was hard, but he kept his voice level. “Why don’t we go

inside.”

The three of them settled into the parlor. “May I?” Roelke

asked. Without waiting for an answer, he eased off the tube’s snug cap and upended it over one palm. A small carved goat slid free.

Chloe flinched. Sigrid clapped her hands like a delighted child.

“It must be for you, Chloe. Last night Adelle mentioned how much

she enjoyed your visit. She said she wanted to give you one of her carvings.”

Chloe swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Maybe Tom brought

it over after we’d all gone to bed.”

“That’s just the kind of thing that would make Adelle laugh.”

Sigrid yawned. “I’ll see you early birds later.” She patted Chloe’s cheek before heading back up the stairs.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chloe muttered to Roelke.

“Wait.” He tipped his head, making sure Sigrid was out of ear-

shot, before poking a finger into the tube and fishing out a piece of paper rolled inside. He held it out for inspection. Someone had

written two sentences in flowery cursive:
These are the days of Thor.

Beware the power of darkness.

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Chloe felt ice crystals form in her bloodstream.

Roelke gave her a level look. “Do you know what
that’s
supposed to mean?”

She wished mightily that she’d never heard of Thor and his

damn Christmas goat. This carved goat was charming—just as

charming as all the
nisser
she’d seen at the Rimestad home. Still, there was something seriously malevolent about the whole thing.

Maybe it was faint ripples from her traumatic childhood incident.

Maybe it was the surprise of literally stumbling over the
budstikke
in the dark. Or maybe whoever had left this little trinket was so