Free Heritage of Darkness by Kathleen Ernst

chief at the pleasure of the mayor,”
    Moyer said. “In the four months since I arrived, I have come to
    suspect that the good investigator had hoped to serve Decorah in
    that particular capacity.”
    Roelke nodded. That would do it. Buzzelli was old-school, a
    tough cop who’d likely seen plenty of hard action and worked
    himself up the ladder rung by rung. Chief Moyer represented a
    new generation: college-educated, overdressed, perhaps—in the
    eyes of a veteran cop—more worried about a suspect’s legal rights
    than getting some asshole off the street.
    “Let’s connect again tomorrow evening.” Moyer picked up a
    stack of papers and tapped the already tidy edges on the desk:
    We’re done here .
    “Sure,” Roelke said, and left.
    
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    After Roelke headed for the police station, Chloe lingered over her soda and reviewed the folklore project files. She was relieved to
    find a well-organized plan and clear notes. The come-and-gone
    curator had listed potential informants with a brief note about
    topics that had emerged during preliminary contact. Most of them
    had already been interviewed. Chloe considered the remaining
    names and decided to start with a widow famous for her holiday
    baking. The woman was known locally as “Bestemor Sabo”—
    Grandmother Sabo. Can’t go wrong there, Chloe thought hope-
    fully. She found a phone booth near the front door, called the
    given number, and received a warm welcome to visit that evening.
    After hanging up Chloe fished a fistful of change from her wal-
    let and dialed a familiar number. “Ethan?”
    “Chloe? That you?”
    Chloe smiled. Her best friend Ethan, who worked for the US
    Forest Service, lived in Idaho. Just hearing his voice made her feel good. “It’s me. I’m in Decorah with my mom and Roelke.”
    “How’s it going?”
    “My mom ended up teaching my rosemaling class. It’s a long
    story—” and one she did not want to go into at long-distance
    rates—“but basically I can do no right in her eyes.”
    Ethan’s voice was low, sympathetic. “Sorry it’s not going better.
    You did good to suggest the trip, though. Family’s worth holding
    onto.”
    Chloe bit her lip. Ethan’s parents had not handled well his
    coming out as a gay man. Chloe knew how much the estrange-
    ment hurt him. I should remember that, she thought. At least
    Mom still considers me part of the family.
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    “I’ll keep trying,” she told Ethan with dogged resolve. “I prom-
    ise.”
    “How are things going with Roelke? First family adventure and
    all?”
    Chloe considered. “Well, he’s bonding with Mom.”
    “That’s good, right?”
    “I guess so. Mom keeps wafting into tales of Norwegian court-
    ship and marriage, which makes me want to bury myself in the
    nearest snow drift, but Roelke seems to be taking it in stride.” A noisy group of teens burst through the door to Mabe’s. Chloe
    pressed the receiver harder against her ear, plugged her other ear with a finger, and turned her back. “And he seems to be doing OK
    with his carving class. I wish I’d signed up for that one.” She
    sighed. “Remember back in forestry school when we used to quiz
    each other on tree identification with those blocks of wood? I do
    love all the visual variety.”
    Ethan laughed. “Me too.”
    “Softwood trees, hardwood trees, I love ‘em all. Remember that
    time when we got presented with a piece of diseased wood at the
    mid-term?”
    “Yeah,” Ethan said. “It was so beautiful that as soon as the exam
    was over I begged the prof to let me take it home. I made a cook-
    book shelf for my mom with it. She loved it. Of course that was
    before …” His voice trailed away.
    Shit, Chloe thought. She was not doing well by her friend
    today. That’s what came of being self-absorbed with her own
    problems. “Well, you can make me a cookbook shelf for Christ-
    mas,” she said. “Out of any kind of wood. I’d treasure it.”
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    “Only if you bake something for me from