Free Old World Murder (2010) by Kathleen Ernst Page A

idiot. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t think to check on that. The registrar in Madison will be able to tell me.”
    “Perhaps that should be your next step.”
    “Yes.” Chloe took the accession form back and stood up. “I apologize for taking your time.”
    “Just a moment.”
    Chloe sat back down and waited. The cop’s mouth formed a tight line. He stared blindly at the wall, one thumb tapping a staccato beat on the arm of his chair. His tension was palpable. He was a young cop in a sleepy village. What had wound him up so tight?
    He looked back at her. “You don’t have any evidence that a crime has been committed.”
    “No,” she said curtly. “I don’t.”
    “Old World Wisconsin is a state property. If you do decide that a crime has been committed, your director needs to file a report. It’ll go to the Capitol police first, and probably on to the county. In any case, law enforcement can’t get involved until you make a report.”
    “No, I didn’t expect … that is …” Shit. Just what had she expected? She didn’t know. “I just wanted to tell you what I’d found. That’s all.”
    She stood again. This time he didn’t stop her.
    ____
    “What was that about?” Marie asked, rolling a piece of paper from her typewriter.
    Roelke finished his quick check of his duty belt: everything in order. “Just a follow-up from that fatal accident on Highway S.”
    “What about that fatal?” Chief Naborski walked into the room through the side door, from the village municipal offices, just in time to hear Roelke’s remark. “Some problem there?”
    “Not really.”
    Chief Naborski was a solid man of medium height with a craggy face, tired eyes, and gray hair buzzed in a flat-top that may have been a holdover from his service during the Korean War. He looked at Roelke a moment longer than casual courtesy required, then cocked his head toward his office. “Come in for a minute.”
    Roelke followed and dropped into the seat he’d recently vacated. The chief was a plain-spoken and fair man—except during deer season. Chief Naborski’s annual calendar revolved around his week at deer camp, much to the annoyance of some of the younger cops who wanted to take vacation at the same time. Roelke didn’t ask for vacation time during deer season. He and the chief got along fine.
    “Anything I need to know?” Naborski asked.
    “I don’t think so. An employee from Old World Wisconsin stopped in a few minutes ago. She’d met with the victim just before the accident, and was first on the scene. She’s been trying to find an antique the victim donated, years ago. It hasn’t turned up.”
    “If they think something’s been stolen, they need to file a report.”
    “That’s what I told her.”
    “I’ve got something else for you.” Chief Naborski tipped back in his chair. He had a habit of leaning back so far that Roelke, during his first weeks on the job, had lived with the distracting fear that he was about to watch his boss fall on his ass. It hadn’t happened yet.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Ginger Herschorn stopped by my house last night. Ginger Herschorn is very unhappy.”
    The image of a pinched, disapproving face nudged Chloe Ellefson’s lovely troubled one from Roelke’s mind. Ginger Herschorn, a long time village trustee, routinely campaigned to eliminate the village police force. It would be “free,” she argued, to simply rely on the county for all calls. No one had been able to convince Ginger that one way or another, her taxes paid for law enforcement. Roelke was pretty sure that the first time she faced a real emergency, she’d be glad to have a local cop two minutes away.
    “Ginger says her nephew lost seven hundred dollars on a Brewers game last week,” the chief was saying.
    Seven hundred dollars far exceeded the scope of a friendly wager. “Where did that happen?”
    “The Eagle’s Nest.” The chief picked up a pencil and let it slide through his fingers until the