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Decorah did not have
    the resources to take full responsibility for what likely would
    become a murder investigation.
    “And an evidence team is en route from Des Moines,” Buzzelli
    continued. He looked at Chloe. “They will need to examine the
    antiques in this exhibit. Director Hoff has asked that you be present.”
    Hoff nodded earnestly. “I want to assure our Board, and our
    donors, that Vesterheim did everything possible to preserve and
    protect the objects entrusted to our care.”
    It seemed to Roelke that Hoff was just as interested in preserv-
    ing and protecting his own butt, but he didn’t blame the man for
    that. Sometimes CYA was a sound policy.
    Chloe hesitated only briefly. “Sure, Howard. I’ll stick around.”
    
    23
    Eleven o’clock found Roelke waiting by the cheerfully-dressed
    manikins. Floorboards creaked above his head—cops, no doubt,
    crawling through every inch of the museum. It would be foolish to
    assume that evidence was confined to the Norwegian House. Hoff
    was nearby, slumped in a folding chair.
    Chloe stood beside Roelke, arms crossed tightly against her
    chest. He wanted to get her out of there, but the evidence team was still at work inside the Norwegian House. Through a handy window Roelke caught glimpses of forensics guys doing their thing.
    Chief Moyer emerged from the Norwegian House, a pair of
    protective booties spoiling his otherwise natty appearance. Hoff
    jumped to his feet, but the chief waved him back into his chair.
    “Give us a moment, Director Hoff.” He extended his hand to
    Roelke and Chloe in turn. “Officer McKenna? And Miss Ellefson?
    Thanks for sticking around. I know you’ve already given state-
    ments, but since you two found the victim, I’d like to hear the
    story from you as well.”
    Roelke obliged the request. “So,” he concluded, “I made sure
    the scene was secure until the first responder arrived.”
    “Several people identified the victim as Miss Petra Lekstrom.
    Neither of you knew her?”
    “No,” Chloe said. “Her name came up several times this eve-
    ning, though.”
    Roelke had made some notes, and now he pulled an index card
    from his pocket. “People looked for Ms. Lekstrom at the reception.
    I heard a woman in the crowd say ‘She’s probably off making trou-
    ble for somebody.’ About fifteen minutes later, Chloe and I left the lobby and stopped here to look at this display.” He gestured. “A
    24
    couple walking by was complaining about Ms. Lekstrom. Some-
    thing about winning a medal?” He looked at Chloe.
    Chloe nodded. “Evidently Petra won her Gold Medal at the
    National Exhibition last July.”
    “I moved to Decorah in August,” Chief Moyer said. “Can you
    fill me in on that?”
    “Decorah celebrates Nordic Fest every July,” Chloe said. “You
    know, a big festival.”
    Moyer nodded.
    “Vesterheim organizes a rosemaling competition and exhibi-
    tion at the same time. Ribbon winners get points. Painters who
    earn enough points over the years earn a Gold Medal. It’s a really, really big deal.”
    “I see.”
    “The couple who walked past me and Roelke earlier seemed
    miffed that Petra hadn’t shown up to meet her students at the
    reception.” Chloe rubbed her arms briskly. “The man said Petra
    had a big ego, and the lady seemed to think that Petra hadn’t
    deserved to win a Gold Medal in the first place.”
    “Hmm.” The chief ’s eyes narrowed. I don’t think he misses
    much, Roelke thought.
    Two men carried the trunk from the Norwegian House, fol-
    lowed by Investigator Buzelli. Chloe looked horrified. “Don’t
    carry that by the handles!”
    The techs exchanged a wary glance. “And…how exactly are we
    supposed to carry it?” one asked.
    “Please, support it from the bottom,” Chloe begged. “And—oh
    geez, did you use tape?” She pointed at an identification tag on the trunk.
    25
    Howard shot to his feet and hurried over.
    “The trunk is going into evidence,” Buzzelli said. “It