The Light Keeper's Legacy (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

had won the job, with the bump in salary and benefits that came with it. But his promotion had been messy. He needed to prove himself to the chief, to the village board, to Skeet. Getting all hung up on a woman who didn’t know her own mind could well be professional suicide.
    Roelke set his jaw. All right, that was it. When Chloe got back from this island thing, she needed to fish or cut bait. In the meantime, he wasn’t going to brood. He put Ms. Ellefson out of his mind, rolled a piece of paper into the typewriter, and began to peck the keys: September 8, 1982.
    So … what was Chloe doing right now? Was she filling a notebook with scrawls about antiques and—and other old stuff ? He tried to picture her busy, happy, completing her project more quickly than anticipated, coming home early to surprise him. Instead his mind conjured an image of her alone on a remote island, wandering around some rickety old lighthouse, totally oblivious to all dangers—
    “Whatcha doing?”
    Roelke jumped. “Jesus!” He hadn’t even heard Skeet come in. Not good. Not good at all.
    “Sorry.” Skeet put a sack lunch in the tiny fridge. His shift was starting.
    “No problem,” Roelke said. “I was just … um … ” The phone rang, for which he was truly grateful.
    Skeet grabbed it, scribbled something, said “I’ll meet you there,” and hung up.
    “Trouble?” Roelke asked.
    Skeet reached for the car keys. “Sounds like some guy’s having a heart attack. One of the new houses on Sunset Way.”
    The cops routinely accompanied the EMTs on emergency calls. “Want some company?” Roelke asked.
    “Suit yourself.”
    Roelke followed Skeet out the door. He wasn’t surprised by the lukewarm response. Since the job got settled, things between the two men were strained. Roelke had tried, really tried, to be supportive. Going out on this call, lending a hand even though he was off the clock, was just one example.
    Besides, if he went home, all he’d do was stew about Chloe.
    As it turned out, Roelke’s presence was pretty much overkill. The victim’s wife, Mrs. Saddler, was white-faced but calm as she ushered everyone inside. The bedroom was way too small for the patient, his wife, three EMTs, and two cops. Roelke retreated outside and busied himself by assuring worried neighbors that Mr. Saddler was getting the best possible care.
    Ten minutes later the EMTs emerged from the house with their patient. Mrs. Saddler watched bleakly as her husband disappeared into the ambulance. “Thank you,” she told Roelke and Skeet. “Thank you very much.”
    A woman hurried across the lawn and put her arm around Mrs. Saddler’s shoulders. “I’m going to drive you to the hospital,” the neighbor said. “I don’t want you to wait alone.”
    Denise Miller, one of the EMTs, told the women where to meet them at the Waukesha ER. “And is your husband taking any prescription medications, Mrs. Saddler? It would be best if we take them along for the ER docs to see.”
    The elderly woman nodded. “Two. Both bottles are on the nightstand.”
    “I’ll grab ’em,” Roelke told Denise.
    Skeet turned back toward the house. “I got it.”
    Roelke watched Skeet disappear inside. Great. Ju-u-ust great. Was this how things were going to be?

Eight
    By the time Chloe got back to the lighthouse the day hikers had already disappeared—perhaps down to the beach, perhaps looping around on the trail that circled the island. Chloe was grateful. She needed to do something important. Finding the body on the beach had overwhelmed her arrival, and she had consciously tried to shut down her inner sensors when she locked herself inside the lighthouse last night. If there were any surprises, she wanted to discover them before the RISC committee arrived.
    She started in the kitchen, standing perfectly still, receptive to whatever vibes might be lingering in the lighthouse. Nothing out of the ordinary came to her, nothing surprising—just the typical mild