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

eraser end bounced from his desk. “Evidently somebody’s taking bets on craps or NASCAR or anything else that moves.”
    The Eagle’s Nest was a new bar on the outskirts of the village. “Hunh,” Roelke said.
    “You been in there yet?”
    “I did a few walk-throughs the first week they were open. Found a couple of underage drinkers. A couple more with fake IDs. I’ve mostly been on first shift.”
    “Pick up a couple of later shifts, then. Switch with Skeet.” Naborski bounced the pencil off its tip, turned it over, and let it begin another slide.
    “Did the kid provide any names? Any other details?”
    “Not to Ginger. He only ’fessed up to his parents because he needed to come up with the money. His father forked over the cash so his kid could walk away, then called his sister, the village board member. You can talk to the kid yourself. See if he’ll tell you anything else.” Naborski handed him a piece of paper with some notes scrawled on it. “How do you want to play it at the bar?”
    Roelke considered. Up-front, in uniform? Hanging out in street clothes first, trying to blend in, keeping his eyes and ears open? “Up- front, to start,” he decided. “I can make it clear that we’ve had a complaint. That might be all it takes.”
    “Do it,” Naborski said. “We need to shut this thing down fast. It’s probably some bookie moving out from the city, thinks he can fly under the radar out here.”
    “Right.”
    Roelke left the chief in his office, wished Marie a good afternoon, and headed out to his patrol car. But before signing in with dispatch he allowed himself one last thought of Chloe Ellefson. He knew she’d been irritated and frustrated by the time she left. There’s nothing you can do about it, he told himself, which didn’t make him feel even a little better.

Chloe retreated to bed that evening with Jack Finney’s Time and Again and a glass of wine. Her mind kept drifting, though, from the novel’s plot to the missing artifact transfer record. Who could have taken it? Nika had admitted to being in the trailers recently. And Byron had mentioned a specific artifact in the pink trailer, so he’d been inside recently as well. But why would either one care about one ale bowl? Other people on staff had access, too. Maintenance chief Stanley Colontuono, for one. Director Ralph Petty, for another.
    The bedside telephone’s ring startled her. She checked her watch—almost eleven—and eyed the phone with suspicion. Only two people were likely to call at this hour: Ethan or her mother. Quite a gamble. She took a sip of wine. The phone rang again, and kept ringing well beyond the point of politeness. Decision made. “Hello?”
    “Hey.”
    She sighed and relaxed, snuggling farther down on the pillow. “Ethan. Hi.”
    “I called to see how you were doing.”
    A lump rose in her throat, and her eyes welled with unexpected tears. “Thanks,” she said simply. “OK, I think. I feel like I’m underwater. I always seem to be a step or two behind everyone else. But OK.”
    “Everyone feels like that when they start a new job.”
    “I guess. How are you?”
    “Good. I’m likely to get called out on a fire and I wanted to talk to you before I left.”
    Chloe clutched the receiver as if it were his hand. “Where?”
    “California. Didn’t you see it on the news?”
    “I must have missed it.” Since Chloe hadn’t bothered to plug her television in yet, that wasn’t surprising. “You know, most of the people we graduated with took nice, safe jobs with nice, destructive, paper companies.”
    His low laugh rippled through the wire, over the miles. “Yeah. Go figure. So. Are you getting to know some of the people you’ll be working with?”
    “A little. It’s quite a crew.” She curled on her side and told him about Byron and Stan, Ralph and Nika. “There are only ten or twelve permanent employees, so I’ll get to know the others. Most of the work is seasonal.”
    “Yeah.” Ethan