Free Tradition of Deceit by Kathleen Ernst Page B

phone number,” she said. “I’ll get back to you.”

    â€œI was looking forward to girl talk tonight,” Ariel said when she and Chloe got back to the apartment. “But I’m ready for bed. Do you mind?”
    â€œGod, no,” Chloe assured her. “It’s been a long and horrid day.”
    After Ariel disappeared up the stairs, Chloe tried calling Roelke again. What the heck? she thought, listening through ten, eleven, twelve rings. No answer.
    Chloe brooded about that as she pulled her sleeping bag from its stuff sack and settled on the sofa. Her relationship with Roelke McKenna had its difficult moments, but he was unfailingly steady. This unexplained disappearance was starting to scare her.
    She nibbled her lower lip for a moment, then placed another call. “Hey, Libby?” she said, when Roelke’s cousin answered. “Sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you’d heard from Roelke today.” Libby and her two kids were all the family Roelke had. If he was sick or hurt, Libby would know.
    â€œNope,” Libby said. “But I was out on a winter hike with Justin’s scout troop all day, followed by a pizza party. Why? Is everything okay?”
    â€œHe and I just miscommunicated somehow. I’m visiting a friend and have been trying to reach him.”
    â€œIf you’re away, he’s probably hanging out with friends, too. Just a sec.” Her next words were muffled. “Justin, I told you to get ready for your bath. You are making a very bad choice right now.” Then to Chloe again, “Sorry.”
    â€œNo, I’m sorry to bother you. Talk to you later.” Chloe hung up thinking, Libby’s probably right. Roelke had reconnected with old buds at the wedding. Maybe they’d made impromptu plans to continue the reunion. She smiled, remembering him joking gleefully with Rick and Dobry.
    Then she remembered the grin Roelke and Lucia Bliss had shared onstage during her seductive rendition of “Slow Hand.” Had that glance been friendly, or salacious? Maybe—
    â€œOh, screw that,” Chloe muttered. She was not going to wade in that water. What she was going to do was keep calling Roelke until she reached him.

    Weariness pulled at Roelke’s eyelids as he left the interstate and hit the secondary highways that would take him home. Well, no surprise there. Twenty hours had passed since the phone rang. Twenty hours since he’d heard Jody crying over the line. Twenty hours since he’d learned that his best friend was dead.
    He slowed when he saw flashing lights ahead. A Waukesha County deputy had pulled over a dark van. As he drew close he recognized Deputy Marge Bandacek. There were at least two guys in the van, maybe more.
    Roelke stopped and rolled down the window. “Need help?” he asked quietly, praying that she did not.
    Marge hitched up her duty belt. “I got it.”
    Roelke nodded and drove on. He was too exhausted to be of much good to anybody, especially Marge. She could be a pain in the ass, and he had no energy to deal with that right now. None.
    When he finally reached Palmyra, he parked in the lot behind his walkup flat. He heard his phone ringing as he trudged up the stairs. “Jesus,” he muttered. It was almost two in the morning. He unlocked the door and walked back to his tiny living room. “McKenna here.”
    â€œRoelke?”
    He dropped onto the sofa and pushed one knuckle against his forehead.
    â€œIt’s me,” Chloe said.
    â€œYeah.”
    Another pause. “I’m sorry to call so late.” Chloe’s voice had grown stiff. “But I was getting worried. I knew you were expecting me to call, and—”
    â€œRick is dead.”
    The sharp intake of her breath sounded over the line. “ What ? Oh my God. What happened ? He was on duty?”
    Roelke’s eyes began to sting. “Yeah. Listen, Chloe, I—I just