has to be
marked in a manner which permits identification in court, and we
have to be able to prove that continuity of possession has been
maintained. Right now, it’s heading to the Ames lab for analysis.
Mr. Hoff, I have a receipt here for you to sign.” The investigator busied Hoff with paperwork.
“Will the lab people use chemicals or anything when they
examine the trunk?” Chloe asked the chief.
“That might be necessary,” Moyer conceded. “But in the long
run, their work might not be any more damaging than leaving
blood or other body fluids on the antique would be.”
Chloe swallowed visibly. Another tech emerged from the Nor-
wegian House. He held what appeared to be one whopping rolling
pin with carved ridges, sealed into a plastic bag. “Is that …? Did whoever …?”
“It was in the trunk with the victim,” Chief Moyer said. “Hid-
den beneath her long skirt.”
“Hunh.” Roelke eyed the pin. Swung by one hand, or crashed
down with two hands, it would have packed one hell of a wallop.
“That’s the biggest rolling pin I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s a lefse pin,” Chloe said.
Roelke looked at her. Buzzelli and Moyer did too.
“You know.” Her voice was getting higher, tighter. “For making
lefse .”
Whatever lefse was. Roelke decided to ask questions later. Right now, he really wanted to get Chloe out of here. Turning to the
chief he said, “If that’s all you need …?”
“Just one more thing. Ms. Ellefson, could you excuse us?”
26
The chief drew Roelke away. Roelke found himself in front of a
mural that depicted a group of immigrants walking to a dock,
about to embark on the voyage to America. Petra Lekstrom’s
ancestors had made that journey. Roelke remembered what Chloe
had said about how hard it must have been for immigrants to pack
everything needed for the new world in a wooden trunk. It seemed
particularly offensive that Petra Lekstrom, dressed in Norwegian
finery, had been dumped in such a trunk.
“Officer McKenna?”
OK, concentrate. “What can I do for you?”
“I understand that tonight’s reception was held to welcome
teachers and students to the museum. And that you and Miss
Ellefson are scheduled to participate in classes this week.”
Roelke glanced back at Chloe. God, she was beautiful. With her
long blonde hair coiled behind her head, and her chicory-blue
eyes, she could easily have stepped from the mural.
The chief cleared his throat.
“Right,” Roelke confirmed.
“Mr. Hoff told me he’s determined to keep the classes going.”
Roelke chewed that over. “Makes sense. Hoff exhibited signs of
anxiety earlier, evidently due at least in part to the museum’s
financial stability.”
Moyer spoke with a hint of suppressed anger. “Someone put
Miss Lekstrom into that trunk.”
“Yeah.” Roelke drummed one thumb against his thigh.
“This crime does not feel random. DCI will take the lead in
this investigation, but my department will conduct a parallel and
joint investigation. Although Investigator Buzzelli is the official liaison with the DCI team, I will remain involved.”
27
Roelke nodded. Chief Moyer was new—to the job, to Decorah.
If this crime went unsolved, his career would end up chipped on
toast.
“I don’t know the local people,” the chief said. “And I’m not
Norwegian. Nor is Investigator Buzzelli.”
“Neither am I.”
“But you’re a police officer. And you’ll be in the center of activity this week. Keep your eyes and ears open, and please stay in
touch.” Moyer pulled out his wallet, extracted a business card, and handed it over.
As Roelke tucked it into his billfold, he glanced over his shoul-
der again. Chloe was sitting on the floor now, knees pulled up.
Dammit all, he thought. He’d come on this trip with the vague but
glorious intent of helping Chloe and Marit improve their relation-
ship. Now Chloe was upset. Marit was upset. And he’d just been
asked to help