The Heirloom Murders (3 page)

It rained in the
night, just enough to leave the pavement damp when Chloe parked in front of Dellyn’s place. Over the years Eagle had crept out to meet, although not yet engulf, the farmhouse. Fortunately, it stood on the south side of the village. Most commuters headed north/northeast to Oconomowoc, Waukesha, or Milwaukee.

Birds were singing their new-dawn songs. Chloe yawned, grabbed a foil-wrapped parcel, and climbed from the car. On a hunch, she skirted the front door and walked around the house. An enormous fenced garden stretched away from the back steps. Dellyn was on her knees behind a frilly row of carrots.

“Hey,” Chloe called. She joined her friend. “I know you don’t need banana bread, but—“

“I do need banana bread. Thanks.” Dellyn got to her feet and pulled off her garden gloves. “What are you doing up at this hour? You have trouble making it to the morning meeting.”

Chloe sighed. In the summer, Old World Wisconsin opened at ten every day. The morning briefing for interpreters started at 9:30—and yes, when she was required to attend, she did usually cut it close. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I figured you’d be up.”

“I didn’t get much sleep.” Dellyn’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Her face looked thinner, as if she’d lost weight overnight. “But God knows there’s plenty to do out here.”

“This is an amazing garden,” Chloe said. “You must harvest enough to feed Rhode Island.” The garden was at least half an acre. Individual raised beds were arranged in neat grids and mulched with straw. Plastic markers anchored each row, genus and species noted with indelible black marker. A huge compost pile filled one corner. A large potting shed stood in another.

It was a master’s garden … but it was also sliding toward chaos. Flowers needed staking or dead-heading. Burdock and knapweed poked among the vegetables. Bean poles leaned at alarming angles.

“My mom’s two passions were Eagle history and gardening.” A tiny smile twitched the corners of Dellyn’s mouth. “When Bonnie and I were little, Mom always gave us each our own plot. We could plant anything we wanted. Dad even built us our own garden cottage.” She pointed to a child-sized structure almost hidden behind a pea trellis. It was tired, and sorely in need of paint, but Chloe could imagine the two little girls’ delight in having their own playhouse.

Dellyn surveyed the clumps of rhubarb, feathery asparagus fans, tomato plants bursting through cages, hilled potato plants. “Mom had already finished her planting when she died. I couldn’t just let it go. She must be appalled, though. I can’t keep up.”

“No,” Chloe said firmly. “I bet she smiles down every time you come out here.”

Dellyn scraped soil from her knuckles with one fingernail. “I just need to hold my own until fall. There are shoeboxes full of seeds around here somewhere. Next spring I’ll pick out some of her favorites and do something smaller.”

“I’ve never had space of my own for a garden,” Chloe said, “but I’ve got a little packet of hollyhock seeds tucked away. They came down from my great-grandmother.”

“Did you notice mine?” Dellyn pointed toward the garage, where a wall of spectacular ten-foot-tall, rose-colored hollyhocks stood. “
Alcea rosa
. Thank God people like my mom save seeds from the old varieties. Puritans made teas of powdered hollyhock flowers to prevent miscarriages.”

Chloe tried not to wince. “Every variety is precious,” she agreed. She and Markus had discussed historic sites’ role in preserving genetic material many times. Back before Chloe’s miscarriage ended their relationship, anyway.

“My mom saved seeds to keep costs down,” Dellyn was saying, “but she understood how important it was to preserve old varieties, too. She was a charter member of Seed Savers’ Exchange.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Seed Savers Exchange had been formed in the mid-seventies to document, save, and share seeds from garden plants that might otherwise disappear. Historic sites gardeners were active participants and big fans.

“After my parents’ funeral, when I was trying to figure out if I’d come back to Eagle for good, I saw the ad for the head gardener position at Old World. I didn’t really think I’d get hired. But I did.”

“Everything your mom taught you no doubt helped you get the job,” Chloe said gently. “It’s like she was still taking care of you.”

“Yeah.” Dellyn fished in her pocket for a tissue, and wiped her eyes. “You want some coffee? I can take a break.” She led the way to a pair of metal chairs against the fence. A red-capped Thermos sat on a low table between them.

“Thanks.” Chloe poured herself a cup and took a grateful sip. “Listen, is there anything I can do for you? Help with the funeral arrangements?”

“Thanks, but no. The cops finally tracked Simon down—he was off on some business thing in Lake Geneva—and he came over last night. He’s making all the plans.” Tears welled up and over. Dellyn dug for another wad of tissues and blew her nose. “Sorry. I’m just so
angry
at myself. I had no idea Bonnie was having problems! How could I not have known?”

“She probably didn’t
want
you to know.”

Dellyn twisted her fingers together. “A few days ago I came home from work and found a carton sitting on the kitchen table. Spooked the hell out of me, actually. But inside was a stack of my mom’s old garden journals. Bonnie had taken them after our folks died.”

“Did she leave a note?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah. All it said was ‘You should have these.’” Dellyn’s voice was flat. “It pissed me off that she’d left the box while I was at work, like she didn’t even want to talk to me. But now …
Dammit!
Why didn’t I just pick up the phone?”

“Did Bonnie ever act as if something was bothering her?” Chloe mentally cursed Roelke for asking her to pry.

“I don’t know. She’d changed so much from when we were kids.” Dellyn hunched over, elbows on knees. “I lost my parents without having a chance to say good-bye. I should have made more of an effort to reach out to Bonnie.”

“She probably didn’t want to add to your burdens.” Chloe sipped her coffee. “Do you and Simon get along OK?”

Dellyn straightened again, and shrugged. “Bonnie is—was—only a year older than me. We were really close until she got serious about Simon. They got married when she was eighteen. I resented him. I would have resented whoever she married, I guess. It seems stupid now.”

“Did he try to get to know you?”

Dellyn added a splash of coffee to each of their cups. “He and Bonnie actually invited me to come on some of their dates. We went to the county fair, and to a couple of concerts. There aren’t a lot of guys who would let his fiancée’s little sister tag along.”

A bluebird landed on the fence nearby, considered his options, and flew off. “No,” Chloe agreed.

“And then after they got married, everything just seemed …
weird. Simon was older than Bonnie, and already had this high-powered career.” Dellyn gestured vaguely toward the garden, and the open land beyond it. “Dad farmed until I was ten. That’s when he sold off some acres, and the houses up the way got built. And he and Mom lived and breathed history. So it seemed sorta bizarre to visit Simon and Bonnie at their place, all ultra-modern. It was like she had … I don’t know, turned her back on her roots or something.” She made a derisive noise. “That sounds so cliché.”

“People change,” Chloe said, and winced. “Now
that
was a cliché. Sorry.”

Dellyn waved one hand in an
It doesn’t matter
gesture. “We had a pretty big fight. Me and Bonnie. Right before I left Eagle.”

“What about?” Chloe imagined Roelke going rigid, ready to pounce on any new tidbit of information, and made an effort to banish him from her brain.

“I didn’t like how she was acting. Hardly ever sparing a minute to visit Mom and Dad. Behaving like she was too good for us. Always dressing like she was going to the opera or something.” Dellyn sighed. “After that, I’d see her when I came home to visit … everything all polite on the surface.”

Sorry, Roelke, Chloe thought. She wasn’t going to come away with an ounce of information about what might have been troubling Bonnie.

“But I’ve been back for over two months now,” Dellyn was saying. “I had plenty of time to mend fences. And I didn’t. I didn’t even try.”

Chloe hated the bleak look in her friend’s eyes. “Do you want me to call in to work for you? I could take the day off too.” Chloe hadn’t gotten off to a great start with Old World Wisconsin’s director, and she was trying hard to stay off his radar. But since the historic site was open seven days a week, she and Dellyn did have some flexibility with their hours.

Dellyn shook her head. “No, I’m going in. The gardens are producing big time right now, and I’m already behind. And Harriet—my top volunteer—is coming at eleven.”

Chloe nibbled her lower lip. She sensed something brittle in Dellyn. She was afraid her friend might snap.

“I need to keep busy,” Dellyn said simply.

That
, Chloe understood. “Well, I’ll help you all I can.” She gave Dellyn’s hand a quick squeeze, then stood. “I better get going.”

“Got just a minute?” Dellyn cocked her head toward the house. “I found a copy of the article I was telling you about. You’ll get a kick out of it.”

Chloe followed Dellyn out of the garden, latching the gate
behind them. “Right after I got back to Eagle, I got a call from someone I knew when I was a kid,” Dellyn said over her shoulder. “Valerie Bing grew up in Eagle, and went to school with Bonnie. Anyway, she’d written this piece about the Eagle Diamond.”

The back door opened directly into the kitchen, which was decorated in the regrettable 1970s-fave motif of mustard yellow, burnt orange, and avocado green. Dellyn led the way into what had likely been intended to serve as a ground-floor bedroom in the era when people commonly had elderly parents living with them. The room was lined with bookshelves and file cabinets—not to mention a few stacks of boxes that hinted of more stuff collected in the name of preserving Eagle’s history. On the large desk, spiral notebooks and stacks of files surrounded a huge manual typewriter.

“Valerie had talked with my folks while she was doing research,” Dellyn said. “The article was published in
Wisconsin Byways
right after they were killed. She sent me a lovely card, and a copy of the magazine.” Dellyn scanned the desk, then frowned. “I
thought
I’d left it out for you.” She began lifting folders, peering under piles. “What on earth did I do with it? It was right here.” She finally dropped into the desk chair, rubbing her forehead with the heels of both hands.

“You just had a huge shock,” Chloe said gently. “I’d be worried if you
didn’t
feel scattered. You’ll probably put your hand on the article as soon as I drive away.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” Dellyn sighed. “I was rummaging around in here for most of the night.” She picked up a cheap notebook, the bound kind with a black-and-white marbled cover, dog-eared and dirty. She opened it almost reverently.

Chloe leaned over Dellyn’s shoulder. “Was that your mom’s?”

“Yeah. She didn’t keep diaries, but these old journals are almost as good. She started them in 1942, the year she and Dad got married. She skipped the year Bonnie was born, but otherwise she was faithful.”

Chloe leaned close as Dellyn leafed through smudged pages. Mrs. Burke had recorded everything she’d planted by both common and Latin name, with addendums about pests, weather, and harvest. But the entries were as much folklore as science.
Eugenia Miller gave me a new basil plant and a recipe for cucumber and tomato salad.
And,
SSE’s ‘Grandpa Ott’s’ morning glories bloomed for the first time this morning. A luscious deep purple. Must save enough seed to give some to Sonia.

“What a treasure,” Chloe said softly. “When my grandma died, I got her file box of recipe cards. Half of them are for foods I’d never fix—Jello-and-mayonaise salad, stuff like that—but there’s more
her
in those cards than in any object.”

Dellyn set the notebook aside, and reached for a file folder. Opening it, she revealed a stack of whispery onion-skin paper, all covered with typewritten notes. “And these were my dad’s.”

“
October 14, 1963
,” Chloe read aloud. “
Mrs. Harrigan gave me a black dress that her grandmother wore on her wedding day, June 18, 1890.
” Chloe stepped back so she could regard her friend. “So he
did
keep records! That will help a lot as we work through all that stuff in the attic.”

“Thank God for small favors.” Dellyn looked at her watch. “If you’re going to make it to morning meeting, you better get going.”

1876

“He likes you, you
know.”

Clarissa Wood paused, pushing hair from her forehead with one wrist. She had a roast in the oven, and peas and potatoes on the stove. “Who?”

Her husband snorted. “The German. He makes calf eyes at you whenever he thinks I’m not watching.”

“He just likes my cooking,” Clarissa said lightly. She cracked the oven door, and a new wave of heat shimmered into the room. She hoped that would excuse any flush staining her cheeks. Charles was a good man. A good husband. Still … it had been a long time since he’d looked at Clarissa the way Albrecht looked at her.

“I think there’s more to it than that.” Charles stepped behind her, and Clarissa felt a whisper of unease. Then he surprised her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close.

Clarissa leaned her head against his shoulder, smelling sweat and dirt, the cheap cotton shirt rough beneath her cheek. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “But he’s harmless. A young man who hasn’t yet found a good woman of his own. We’re lucky he’s willing to work for you.” She and Charles only rented the land they were developing. They were saving every penny toward buying the lot. A Yankee workman would have asked twice what they were paying Albrecht.

“I suppose so,” Charles admitted. He sounded distracted. He pressed his mouth against the side of her neck. Then he reached for her hand, tugged.

“Let me at least take the roast from the oven!” Clarissa protested, but she laughed. If her husband’s dinner scorched, he’d have no one to blame but himself.