The Heirloom Murders (10 page)

“Just the rough edge of a stanchion, I think.”

“Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“No.”

No fear of tetanus or concussion, then. Roelke exhaled slowly. “OK. Let’s go back in the office.”

He ushered her back to Marie’s empty chair, and he dropped into the one the officers used. “You have no idea who hit you?”

“No, I told you! None at all. It was dark, and I got spooked. I was turning to get out of there when something slammed down. It brushed right by my ear—” Chloe gestured—“as I turned. Then it hit my shoulder so hard I fell.”

“Was it a fist?”

She sucked in her upper lip, thinking. “Something harder, I think.”

That was bad. A fist might suggest that Chloe had startled someone who didn’t belong there, but had no real intention to cause bodily harm. “Are you sure it was a guy?”

Chloe closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I can’t be sure. He hit me really hard. But I guess it could have been a woman.”

Roelke’s right knee jiggled up and down. “Can you think of any reason why someone would be in Dellyn’s barn? I’m trying to figure out what this person was after. And why he—or she—didn’t just wait and let you leave, instead of attacking you.”

“The barn is packed with all kinds of antiques.”

“How valuable?”

“I have no idea! I’d never been in there before tonight.”

Roelke stood, and extended a hand to Chloe. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see if Dellyn is home.”

Chloe struggled against another
spasm of unease as Roelke banged on Dellyn’s front door. Still no answer.

“Let’s go take a look at the barn,” he said.

Roelke had Chloe wait outside while he searched the building. It seemed to take a long time. She stood with arms crossed, clutching her elbows. At least the lights were back on.

Finally Roelke poked his head out the door. “All clear. Come show me where you were.”

Chloe stepped inside. The lights were doing their yellow best to dispel the shadows.

“Two switches,” Roelke told her. “One by the door, one in the feed room. Evidently whoever was here turned on the lights when he came in the main door, and then turned them off with the feed room switch when he heard you come inside.”

And then crept up on me, Chloe thought, and attacked. She felt a flicker of remembered fear, but just a flicker. She hoped that wasn’t only because Officer Roelke McKenna, über-cop, stood beside her. She wasn’t big on the whole distressed damsel thing.

“And where were you when he hit you?”

Chloe pointed. “Right here. He knocked me against that stanchion.” She pointed to a vertical wooden post.

Roelke crouched to examine it. “Here’s what ripped your shirt.” He pointed to a large knothole on one edge of the post. The bottom tip of the C-shaped curve that bordered the hole was sharp, and still held a couple of cotton fibers.

Chloe swallowed hard. “I’m glad my head didn’t hit that.”

Roelke played the beam around the cluttered aisle. He abruptly muttered something unintelligible and brought the light to rest on something on the floor nearby.

“Oh my
God
,” Chloe whispered. She crossed her arms over her chest again, grabbing her shoulders, warding away any remaining
evil. A primitive and obviously homemade hand cultivator lay
in the sphere of light, a heavy wooden handle with a wickedly pointed curve of iron attached at the head. Used while kneeling in a garden, it would simply be a handy tool to dig holes or hack at deep-rooted weeds. But used as a weapon … “He could have killed me with that thing!”

“Yeah,” Roelke said grimly. “Don’t touch it.” He crouched and carefully eased the cultivator into an evidence bag he pulled from a pouch on his belt.

“What’s that—wait, turn it over again.” Chloe crouched too, compelled to get a closer look. She pointed to the tip of the wooden handle, which was carved with a flower. “It looks like a rose. That bastard attacked me with a piece of folk art!”

“Hunh.”

Chloe stared at the cultivator, struggling with a sickening slough of emotions. Someone had once lovingly taken the time to personalize the tool—perhaps some farmer’s gift for his wife, the rose chiseled out on long winter evenings?

“I turned as he was swinging,” she said again. “I think the handle hit my shoulder. But if I hadn’t turned … ” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. If she hadn’t turned, if that sharp blade had—

The barn door they’d left half-open banged against the wall with a sudden crash that made her flinch. “What’s going on here?” Dellyn demanded, as she stepped into the barn. “Chloe? And Officer McKenna? Oh, God. What now?”

Chloe stood to greet her. “I stopped by to see you awhile ago. I thought you might be in the garden, and when I went to look …” God, she hated having to add more burdens to Dellyn’s basket! Nothing for it, though. She told Dellyn what had happened.

Dellyn gasped, and pressed one hand over her mouth. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Chloe assured her firmly. “Really. I’m fine.”

“But—”

“Miss Burke, may we go into the house?” Roelke asked. “We might be more comfortable talking there.”

“Um … sure.” Dellyn led them outside. Once the barn door was closed, she slid a wooden latch into place.

“No lock?” Roelke asked.

“Never has been. Back when my folks were farming, we had a watchdog. They never replaced the last dog when he died.”

They trailed silently to the house, where Dellyn ushered them inside. “Come on into the living room.”

The room was crowded with a mix of antiques and pieces that might have been comfortable and fashionable thirty years earlier. Framed photographs of people—tintypes, CDVs, cabinet cards, blurry snapshots, a Polaroid or two—covered most of the walls, but a huge canvas hung over the sofa. Oil paints captured an ocean storm, restless waves beneath a dramatic skyscape, with just a hint of rocky shoreline. Chloe’s eyes widened. “Is that one of yours?”

Dellyn nodded. “I’ve been reluctant to change much in the house, but I did hang a couple of paintings. Please, both of you—have a seat.”

Roelke settled stiffly on the edge of one chair. “Miss Burke, how long were you away from the house this evening?”

She stared at a clock, considering. “A couple of hours. Simon picked me up at six.”

“Can you think of any reason why someone might want to harm you? An ex-spouse, angry boyfriend, anything like that?”

“No!” Dellyn looked bewildered. Chloe slid closer and put a comforting hand on her friend’s arm.

“And can you think of any reason why someone might enter your barn?”

“Of course not!”

“Chloe—Miss Ellefson—tells me that your parents collected a lot of antiques. I’m guessing that some of them might be valuable.”

Dellyn spread her hands. “I don’t really know for sure yet. But you saw what was in the barn. Aside from some old tools, it’s mostly stuff too big to carry. Besides, my parents weren’t senile! I’m
sure
that if they did have anything of particular value, they would have kept it in the house.”

“I’ve been helping Dellyn create an inventory,” Chloe added. “We’re a long way from a good assessment, though.” She turned to her friend. “Maybe someone is trying to find something they donated to your parents for the historical society. People can go nuts over family heirlooms.” She knew that all too well. She’d taken her current job believing that working with objects would be more peaceful than the constant stress inherent in overseeing interpretive programming at an historic site.
That
brilliant hypothesis had proved wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Well, I suppose it’s possible,” Dellyn said. “If so, I have no idea who it might have been, or what they were after.” She jumped to her feet and began to pace.

Roelke asked, “Who else might know if your parents had collected something particularly valuable?”

“They were movers and shakers with the local historical society. Probably everyone in the village knew they’d been collecting stuff from Eagle residents for years.”

Roelke pulled his little notebook from his pocket and made a few notes.

“There is …” Dellyn began finally, then halted. “No. It’s just too ridiculous.”

“What is?” Chloe asked.

Dellyn perched back on the sofa. “Well, this is going to sound crazy, but … Officer McKenna, have you heard of the Eagle Diamond?”

Roelke’s eyebrows rose. “The what?”

“This guy was digging a well in 1876, and he found a diamond. It was the biggest diamond ever found in North America, at least at that time. The well was up on the hill on Highway 67, near the water tower. That’s why they call it Diamond Hill.”

Roelke’s expression suggested that he had never heard anyone call it that. “And this has to do with Chloe getting attacked … how?” His knee began to piston.

“The guy who found it gave it to his wife,” Chloe said. “Some time later, she hit hard times, and sold it. She got ripped off, but that’s beside the point. The diamond ended up on display at the American Museum of Natural History. Then in 1964, this guy named Murph the Surf stole it.”

“Murph the Surf ?” Roelke repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It happened,” Dellyn insisted. “He broke into the museum one night and stole a bunch of gemstones. Most of them were recovered, but the Eagle Diamond never was.”

“Miss Burke, I still don’t see—”

“So, most people assume the Eagle Diamond was cut down into smaller pieces, and sold, and therefore will never be found. But there’s no proof of that.” Dellyn picked up a sofa pillow and hugged it against her stomach. “And ever since I’ve been back, I’ve had trouble keeping my hands on anything related to the story. I left an article about it out for Chloe, but when she visited the next time, I couldn’t find it.”

“You’ve had a terrible shock,” Roelke reminded her.

She waved that away with a flick of her hand. “Then Chloe found a document—a letter reporting on the first real appraisal of the diamond, done back in 1883.”

“I did,” Chloe affirmed. “I left the file out in plain sight for her, on the kitchen table.”

“But I never saw it,” Dellyn insisted. “I didn’t know anything about it until Chloe asked me about it.”

Roelke jotted something in his notebook. His face was expressionless.

“My dad planned to write a book about the Eagle Diamond, and he’d been gathering information for years. I’ve been going through my mom’s garden journals, and … well, they made me feel close to her, you know? So earlier today I decided to look at my dad’s box of files about the diamond.”

Chloe looked at Dellyn. “And you can’t find it.”

“No. And I tore his office apart.”

“I did a quick search last week, too,” Chloe said. “Nothing but the letter from the appraiser, which was filed under his own name. Maybe his Eagle Diamond files got tucked away in the attic or something, though. We’ve hardly scratched the surface up there.”

“But why? The attic was just for storage. My dad did all of his writing, articles for the newsletter or whatever, in his study.”

Roelke cleared his throat. “Do you think your parents had this diamond tucked amidst all the other Eagle memorabilia?” His tone was more polite than Chloe would have credited him with.

“I don’t really think they had the Eagle Diamond,” Dellyn said quickly. “But what if someone else thinks they did? Or even that my dad had found some new information about it?”

No one seemed to know how to answer that. “Thank you for sharing all this,” Roelke said finally. “It’s often impossible to know what might be helpful. But let’s focus on practical matters. Miss Burke, do you lock your doors when you leave the house?”

“Well … this is
Eagle,
for God’s sake! I can’t say I worry about it all the time.”

“You need to worry about it,” Roelke said crisply. “Did you change the locks when you moved in?”

“Change the locks?” Dellyn looked bewildered. “No.”

“Do you know who else might have a key to your place?”

“My neighbor does. Sonia Padopolous. She and my mother were good friends.”

“I’ll follow up on that.”

“If you talk to her, say no if she offers you anything to eat,” Chloe murmured. It was probably an inappropriate comment, but … really. The woman had no taste buds.

Roelke frowned at her, then asked Dellyn, “Anybody else?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean—well, Bonnie would have had one.”

Roelke made another note, his face impassive. “Miss Burke, I encourage you to call a locksmith. Change the house locks, and get padlocks for the barn.”

Dellyn rubbed her temples. “Chloe, I’m
really
sorry for what happened to you—but it had to have been just some kid. Someone playing a prank, or out on a dare.”

“But here’s the thing,” Chloe said. “He came at me from behind. He
wanted
to attack me. I was on my way out of the barn when he knocked me down. If I startled some kid, isn’t it more likely that he would have bolted, or hidden until I left?” The vision of that cultivator seemed branded into her brain. I could have been killed, Chloe thought. I could have had my skull cracked in two like an egg.

Dellyn flopped back against the sofa. A car passed on the street out front, its radio cranked up so loud that the pulsing bass thrummed through the room.

Then Roelke stood, tucking away his notebook. “Before I go, I’d like to take some photographs in the barn. I’ll need to take that cultivator with me, too. And I want to look around outside.”

The two women waited on the back step as Roelke fetched a camera from the squad car. Ten minutes later, he emerged from the barn and inspected the yard, the garden, and the outbuildings. The harsh beam of his flashlight sliced back and forth through the night.

“I don’t
freaking
believe this,” Dellyn muttered. Chloe squeezed her hand.

When Roelke rejoined them he reported, “I didn’t see anything out of order. But you need to be attentive. Call us if you see anything, or find anything amiss.”

They walked back around the house. “Dellyn, why don’t you stay at my house tonight?” Chloe suggested. “I’d really love to have you.”

Dellyn shook her head. “I am burying my sister tomorrow.”

Chloe put an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I know. But it doesn’t matter if you wake up here, or at my place.”

“This is my home. I won’t be spooked out of it.”

Chloe tried to think of a reasonable argument, and came up with diddly. No way to change Dellyn’s mind without risking alienating her altogether. “I’ll come by in the morning, then.”

“No need,” Dellyn said, her tone weary. “I’ll see you at the service later.”