Tags:
Fiction,
Mystery,
Minneapolis,
soft-boiled,
homeless,
ernst,
chloe effelson,
kathleen ernst,
milwaukee,
mill city museum,
milling
on in the work of his students and friends, and in his photographs. In a few moments weâll open the doors to the public. On this terrible night, Everettâs work will speak for him.â
Formalities complete, Jay and Chloe wandered into the gallery: white walls, discreet lights, and a few black-and-chrome benches scattered about. An interpretive panel introduced Beauty in Blight with an artistâs statement from Everett.
âSomeone referred to the exhibit as Beauty AND Blight once.â Jay chuckled. âEverett bellowed, âThose things are one and the same! Iâm trying to show why old buildings matter !â â
âI think I would have liked him,â Chloe said wistfully.
She studied a large framed photograph of the towering Gold Medal Flour sign at sunset. The slanting rays struck not the letters, but a broken window in the top story of the head house just below. The juxtaposition of bold pride and cracked decay was poignant and evocative. âWow.â
âEverett had the eye,â Jay agreed. âHe wanted this exhibit to introduce the importance of our cityâs industrial heritage to a new audience.â
Each photograph revealed loveliness and ruin in the same frame. Rusting machinery, crumbling concrete, and dangling belt drives were paired with vibrant graffiti, an iridescent pigeon sitting on a nest, textured limestone walls, a few weeds in a soup can vase left on a windowsill.
âIâm not much of a city person,â Chloe murmured, âand I admit that before today I would never have used the word beautiful to describe urban blight, but â¦â
âYeah.â
She blew out a long breath. âOh, I really hope Professor Whyte died of natural causes.â
Jay lowered his voice. âThe police asked me if I could think of any reason why someone would want to harm Everett.â
âCan you?â
âNot really, but â¦â Jay looked pained. âI canât say the mill project isnât controversial.â
âI assume the price tag is, shall we say, high?â
âCertainly some people would rather see the entire mill complex turned into high-rent condos or offices. Everett agreed that our project was only a part of a revitalization plan thatâs bigger than the mill museum itself, but he argued with anyone not ready to agree that the main mill structures provide a rareâunparalleled, reallyâopportunity to preserve and interpret a vital part of history.â Jay rubbed his forehead wearily. âLord, itâs been a long day.â
âIt has been a long day.â Chloe scanned the crowded room. âI imagine Arielâs more than ready to go home.â
And so am I, she added silently, feeling the dayâs full weight press down. Sheâd had a late night at the wedding, an early drive to the Twin Cities, and then ⦠this. A hot bath and the dubious comfort of Arielâs sofa sounded too good for words.
And with any luck, sheâd even get Roelke to pick up his telephone before she turned in.
At almost eleven p.m., Roelke admitted defeat. Heâd visited the Rusty Nail, quickly flashing his EPD badge. The bartenderâs attitude had bordered on surly: Yeah, Rick Almirez had shown up in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Yeah, heâd ordered a beer.
âWhat time did he get here?â
âI donât know. And I got customers waiting.â
Roelke glared at him. âI asked what time Officer Rick Almirez arrived. Thinkâ hard .â
âLulu!â the man shouted. âWhat time did you leave on Saturday morning?â
A brassy blonde wiping the bar paused. âOne forty-five. My ride was waiting.â
âDidnât you bump into that cop when you left?â
âYeah. He was coming in, I was going out.â
The bartender turned back to Roelke. âThere you go. He came in at one forty-five.â
One forty-five, Roelke thought. That