Free The Heirloom Murders by Kathleen Ernst Page B

Maybe Charles had decided he was hungry, and wanted his mid-day meal.
    Clarissa was on her knees, planting seeds in her new garden. Her hand cultivator obviously needed sharpening. And did she know that she might get only five or six weeks before first frost? Perhaps he should say something to her. Offer some advice. He was a novice well-digger, but he knew plants.
    Then Charles clambered up from the depths of the well. Albrecht offered a hand and helped pull him the last foot or so. “You’re stopping for dinner?”
    “No.” Charles pulled something from his pocket. “Look at this. Ever see anything like it?”
    Albrecht squinted at the yellowish stone. “No.”
    “Me either.” Charles spit on the stone, then rubbed mud away with his thumb. The stone grew shiny, even sparkled in the sunshine.
    Albrecht took the stone from Charles’s palm and scraped it with a fingernail. “Hard, too.”
    “Clarissa!” Charles called. He took the stone back and curled it into one fist.
    His wife left the garden and joined the men. “What is it?”
    “Something pretty.” Charles grinned, and gave her the stone.
    Clarissa’s face softened into a smile that made Albrecht’s heart ache. “It is pretty! I’ll wash it up and put it on the windowsill.”
    “We’ll dig for another hour or so before stopping for dinner,” Charles told her. He slapped Albrecht on the shoulder. “Let’s get
to it.”
    Clarissa’s smile dimmed. She slipped the yellow stone into her apron pocket, and nodded. “I’ll have it ready.”
    The man is a fool! Albrecht thought. If he ever had the chance
to put such a smile on Clarissa’s face, he surely wouldn’t cut the moment so short!
    “You want top-side, or down below?” Charles asked.
    “I’ll go down,” Albrecht said. As he backed into the hole, the last thing he saw was Clarissa, back on her knees in the garden. But in his mind, he could still see her delighted smile.
    He’d give anything to bring a smile like that to Clarissa Wood’s face.

On Monday, Roelke dropped his application materials off with the village clerk on his way into work. Step one. Done.
    When he got to the EPD, Chief Naborski called him into the office. “We’ve got autopsy results for Bonnie Sabatola,” he said, and pushed a piece of paper across his desk.
    Roelke skimmed the report. Trajectory of the bullet was consistent with what the scene had suggested. Stippling on the skin confirmed that Ms. Sabatola had pressed the muzzle of the gun against her throat. The ME did find old bruises on Bonnie Sabatola’s arms consistent with a man’s hands, but no evidence of broken bones. The only medical records he’d been able to find pre-dated her marriage.
    “She hadn’t seen a physician in any capacity since her marriage?” Roelke frowned. “That doesn’t feel right.”
    “Any records of 9-1-1 calls?” Naborski asked him. “Any relatives shed light on what was going on?”
    “Nope.” Roelke tapped his thumb against the chair. Bonnie had never called for help, never reported her husband, never been treated for unexplained injuries. He’d checked.
    “You come up with anything when you talked to the husband?”
    “The guy is pretty shook up. No way’s he faking that. But …”
    “But?” The chief tipped his chair back and regarded Roelke.
    “I’d like to push a bit more.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s a gut thing,” Roelke said. “Something’s off. Just because a guy grieves for his wife doesn’t mean he didn’t knock her around before she died.”
    The chief shook his head. “Unless you can prove false imprisonment or something, you’re going to have a very hard time getting anything to stick.”
    “I know,” Roelke admitted. “But I’m not ready to let go. I’ll take Sabatola the autopsy results, for starters. If I want to talk to anybody else after that, I’ll do it on my own time.”
    The chief’s chair banged back down on the floor. “OK,” he said. “Just don’t let it get in the