Tradition of Deceit (16 page)

Twenty-Two

When Chloe found her
way to Ariel's cottage, lights glowing inside gave the illusion that all was well. But as soon as Chloe got inside and shed her parka, Ariel folded her into a tight hug. “I can't believe you drove all the way back up here. Toby shouldn't have called you.”

“I'm glad he did.” Chloe stepped back and surveyed her friend. Ariel appeared even smaller than she had just two days earlier, more fragile. Dark crescents shadowed her eyes. “When was the last time you ate a decent meal? I brought some potato soup I had in my freezer. Let's get that on the stove.”

Once Chloe had the soup melting over low heat, she set out a plate of crackers, sliced cheddar, and walnuts. She poured two glasses of wine and set one in front of her friend. “Okay, talk. Why on earth did you get arrested?”

Ariel hung her head. “I did something really, really stupid.”

“What did you do?” Chloe asked, as calmly as humanly possible. She'd been waiting for twenty-four hours to hear the tale, and she wanted it. Now.

“My dissertation outline is due in a couple of weeks. Dr. Whyte offered to review a draft. I gave it to him last week.”

“I think I know where this is going.”

Ariel nodded. “The police have a sign on Dr. Whyte's office door, saying it's off-limits. I guess they're not finished going through everything in there. I was afraid I wouldn't get my outline back. At least not for a long time. And I didn't make photocopies of anything, which was incredibly dumb, I know …”

Chloe made a cracker-nut-cheese sandwich with one hand, and a circular
go on
gesture with the other.

“So I just sort of … panicked.”

“Why didn't you just ask the police if you could have your outline back?”

“I was afraid they'd say no.”

“So you decided to break into his office?” Chloe asked, trying really hard to sound nonjudgmental.

“I didn't actually break in,” Ariel said defensively. “I had a key.”

“You had a key to Dr. Whyte's office? I didn't realize you worked that closely with him.”

Ariel studied a walnut. “I didn't. But Owen did.”

“Did Owen know you borrowed his key?” Chloe got up to stir the soup.

“Oh, yes. In fact, he wanted to come with me. I wouldn't let him.” Ariel sighed. “That's the only thing about this whole mess I did right. I told the police I borrowed the key without Owen knowing anything about it.

Chloe stabbed a frozen chunk of soup with a bit more effort than necessary. Lying to the police was always a bad idea. And now
I
know Ariel lied, she thought. Lovely. She remembered Owen's oh-so-casual question at the mill that afternoon:
Have you talked to Ariel today?
Ariel had probably been too unnerved to call him herself.

Ariel put her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands. “I can't
believe
this happened.”

“So, what actually did happen?” Chloe asked.

“
On Sunday night I just kept stewing and worrying and tossing and turning … so finally, about three a.m., I got up and drove over to campus. Owen's key got me in a back door. Then …”

“Then you made a dash for Dr. Whyte's office?”

“I slipped inside the office, but I couldn't find the file. A security guard saw my flashlight through the office window. He called the cops.” She hunched her shoulders, staring at her lap. “And they came.”

“That must have been awful.”

“ ‘Awful' is an understatement.”

“Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry.” Chloe considered something along the lines of “Someday you'll laugh about this,” but Ariel looked so stricken, it didn't seem wise. Finally Chloe said, “So you got arrested. And you called Toby. Why did you hang up on him?”

“Because I didn't know what to say. I was humiliated.”

Chloe opened cupboards until she found soup bowls. “But obviously after questioning you, the cops let you go. They must have believed that you didn't have anything to do with Dr. Whyte's death, and that going into his office—while not the best idea in the world—wasn't intended as a criminal act.”

“I guess so,” Ariel said dully. “I don't really know what they think. They questioned me in this grubby little room that smelled like mildew, and then all of a sudden they said I could leave. I called a cab and got here about four thirty in the morning. I did let Toby know I was home, but neither one of us wanted to bother you at that hour. We didn't expect you'd leave home so early.”

“I was a tad concerned.” Chloe checked that there were no more frozen bits of leek or potato. “Did you at least get your outline back?”

“No. The police didn't offer it, and at that point, I wasn't going to ask.”

“Probably wise,” Chloe agreed, although honestly, the fact that the cops hadn't at least promised its return seemed a little petty. “Where's a ladle? Oh, I see it.” Chloe dished up two bowls of soup, set one in front of Ariel, and settled down across the breakfast bar from her.

“Academically, I'm screwed. I'll end up paying tuition for an extra semester while I try to re-create my work.” Ariel picked up her spoon, stirred, put it back down. “I'm really not hungry.”

“I don't care. Eat it. All of it.”

Ariel managed several gulps. “What about your boyfriend? I thought you needed to be there.” She looked ready to cry. “I'm
so
sorry, Chloe. I made things worse for everybody.”

“It actually worked out okay, sadly enough. It turned out Roelke didn't want my support.”

“No?”

“It's complicated.” Chloe sighed. “We're still figuring out what kind of couple we are. We've been together for a while now, but we've never used the L-word.”

“The L-word is a big deal,” Ariel agreed. “Once you tell someone you love them, everything changes.”

“Rick's girlfriend told me it's really hard to be with a cop. There's stuff they won't talk about. And literally, while she was telling me this, I looked out the window and saw Roelke drive away.” Chloe shook her head. “Maybe it's time to decide what we want from a relationship.”

“Do you want something more?”

And that is the million-dollar question, Chloe thought. “The night Rick was killed we went to the wedding of two Milwaukee police officers. It was the first time I'd really spent time around a lot of Roelke's friends, and it was … different.”

“Hard to fit in?”

“I didn't know how to behave. I didn't say anything, but Roelke could tell I didn't really have a good time. And in fairness, he's bent over backwards to try to learn about the things that are important to me. He's even spent time with my family. Voluntarily.”

“An acid test.” Ariel scooped up another bite of soup.

“I tried, Ariel. I really did. But me trying to fit in at a cop party is like—”

“Like me trying to fit in at an industrial historic site.” Ariel made a rueful gesture. “Are you sure you shouldn't be back home with Roelke?”

Chloe shook her head. “Roelke has shut me out. His best friend is dead, and nobody's caught his killer. There's no room for anything else. No room for me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's complicated,” Chloe repeated, considering her wine as if hoping to find clarity among the bubbles. Finally she realized the illogic in that and drained the goblet instead. “Back in December, we were on vacation in Iowa and Roelke got involved in a murder case. He did a lot of really good police work, but in the end, he thought he should have done more. That he missed some clues. He lost some confidence.”

“Once you've lost your confidence,” Ariel said, “it's really hard to find it again.”

There was a peculiar note in Ariel's voice, an intonation Chloe couldn't define. “Why do I feel like we're not talking about Roelke anymore?”

“I'm thinking about quitting the history biz. Maybe I'm meant to teach ballet to five-year-olds.”

“No, no, no.” Chloe put her spoon down. “Listen to me. Dr. Whyte's death was horrid. Us finding him made it a thousand times worse. And I can imagine how you feel after your little … excursion to the police station. But you can't let what happened drive you out of the field. Industrial history may not be your thing, but this mill represents an awesome opportunity, and you get to be involved in planning the interpretive programming—”

“Not if I don't meet the stupid deadline! I tried to work on the interpretive plan today, and I couldn't string two coherent thoughts together. If I don't do a good job with this proposal, it won't just be bad for me. It will be bad for the historical society. They've gone way, way out on a limb to save the mill, and I'm supposed to turn in the proposal on Friday.
Friday
, Chloe! That's just three days away.”

“You can do it. You've already got some great ideas. And I've got some additional suggestions. We can kick ideas around this evening, and I can even start typing some things up.”

“I suppose.”

Chloe sat back. She'd delivered a pretty darn good pep talk, but Ariel didn't look even a little bit cheered. “What? Is there something else?”

Ariel blinked. “What?”

“Look, spill it,” Chloe said. “I'm your friend. I want to help. I'm
here,
for God's sake. But I keep getting this feeling that you're not being completely honest with me.” She carried their bowls to the sink, giving Ariel time to make up her mind. She needed to give herself time, too. It ticked her off to think that after everything she'd done to be supportive, Ariel was keeping secrets.

“You're right,” Ariel said.

Chloe left the dishes and sat back down. “Yeah?”

Ariel took a deep breath. “Last week, Dr. Whyte asked to photograph me dancing in the mill. Toe shoes, gauzy tutu, the whole thing.”

“Okay,” Chloe said slowly. Having seen
Beauty in Blight
, Dr. Whyte's current photo exhibit, she got the concept.

“I didn't really want to do it, but … he's my professor, one of my advisors. Was, I mean. He was an important member of the inner circle involved with saving and interpreting the mill.”

“So you did the photo shoot?”

“I thought we'd just take a couple of pictures—it was freezing in there—but he wanted a lot.” Ariel had been studying her thumbnail, but now she met Chloe's gaze. “Everything I said before is true. I want my dissertation outline back. But I also wanted to find the photo-
graphs.”

Chloe rubbed her temples. “I understand why you want the pictures back, but why hide that? Why the secrecy and sneaking around?”

“I … It just didn't seem right.”

“
What
didn't seem right?”

“The whole photography session. I was sorry I'd agreed. I had
this strange feeling the whole time, like some of the residents
might be watching us.”

“I've had that feeling in the mill myself,” Chloe admitted.

“It seemed crass to be posing
en pointe
in a tutu while people in the next room were hungry and sick.”

“I can see that,” Chloe said. Sort of, anyway. She still didn't quite get why Ariel had felt a need to hide the whole photo shoot from her. She was still trying to figure out what to say when the telephone rang.

Ariel stared at the phone through two more rings before she seemed to remember that action was required. She jumped up and grabbed the receiver. “Hello? Oh, hi, Toby. … What? No. Chloe and I were talking, and we didn't have the news on. … They did? What did they say? … They said
what
?” To Chloe's surprise, Ariel burst out laughing. She stifled it immediately, and threw Chloe a guilty look before telling Toby, “I'm sorry, that was horribly inappropriate. It's just so—so—unexpected. How in the world could Whyte have—”

“What?” Chloe demanded.

“I'll talk to you later, okay?” Ariel told her brother. She hung up and stared at Chloe. “You are not going to believe this.”

“For the love of God
,
Ariel,
what
?”

“The police released Dr. Whyte's cause of death. And according to the medical examiner, he drowned.”

Twenty-Three

After leaving the Milwaukee
Public Museum, Roelke walked Libby and the kids to her car, promised to get some rest and eat a decent supper, and waved them off. Then he went in search of a payphone. He had to walk several blocks, because he wanted a booth, not just an open wall mount. He stacked up his coins, extricated the scrap of paper Libby had given him, and placed the long-distance call.

A woman answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Is this Ariel …” Roelke squinted at the paper in the dim light and decided not to attempt the last name. “Is this Ariel? My name is Roelke McKenna. I'm—”

The phone clunked down. “Chloe! It's for you!”

I guess she knows who I am, he thought, not sure if that was reassuring or not.

Chloe came on the line. “Roelke?”

“Yeah. It's me.”

“Um … how are you?”

“Managing. How are you?”

“Okay.” She sounded cautious.

He didn't really blame her. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Her voice softened. “I really do.”

“I'm sorry things are like this.”

“Me, too.”

“But I'm doing what I need to do.”

“Have you found anything?”

“I'm working on it. Spending time in the old neighborhood. After a crime, it's important to go back to the people who live in the community. They know the place, the people, better than anyone.”

“I'm sure that's true. I just worry about you going it alone.”

“Libby's ordering me around. And I've still got a few friends on the MPD. You haven't met them all, but you know Dobry Banik. And Bliss.”

“I had a chance to talk with her a little bit on Sunday, when I went to see Jody,” Chloe said. “She must be good at her job to make sergeant, so ask for help if you need it. And I'm sure Dobry wants to find out who did this horrible thing as badly as you do.” She hesitated. “I'm not a cop, and I didn't know Rick well, so I guess I couldn't be of much help to you …”

You could, he thought, but he didn't know how to assure of her of that
and
explain why he'd refused her company—at least not without a much bigger pile of dimes and quarters—so he kept his mouth shut.

“ … so let people like Bliss and Banik help,” she was saying. “Please.”

Roelke pressed his knuckle against his forehead. He hated this. He hated the telephone, the distance, the uncharacteristically tentative tone in Chloe's speech. Most of all he hated the reason he was standing in a damn Milwaukee phone booth on a cold February evening.

“You still there?” she asked.

“Yeah. Listen, can I ask you a question? Somebody gave me this little card thing. It's the size and shape of a business card, but instead of a name and address, it just has artwork on the front.”

“Artwork?”

“Two chickens and some flowers. Very colorful. I have no idea what they mean. If anything.” He rolled his eyes, feeling stupid.

“Is the card somehow involved with Rick's murder?”

“It might be. But I was in the Milwaukee Public Museum this afternoon with Justin—”

“Oh, good.”

He frowned, momentarily distracted. “Why is that good?”

“I know how much Justin loves spending time with you.”

The operator cut in and asked for more coins. Keep it moving, McKenna, he told himself. “Anyway, a lot of Polish people live in my old district—”

“Polish? Or Polish-American?”

He wasn't clear on the distinction. “Both, I guess.
Anyway
, I was looking at the Polish House in the museum, and it had a lot of painted flowers on the walls and furniture and stuff that sort of reminded me of the flowers on the little card. You know, folk art. And I wondered if there might be a connection. Do you know anything about Polish folk art?”

“Not very much,” Chloe said doubtfully. “Let me put Ariel back on.”

The phone clunked down again. “He's got a question about Polish folk art,” Chloe said in the distance.

Ariel spoke into his ear. “Hi, it's Ariel again.”

He repeated what he'd told Chloe. “The style seemed similar to what I saw in the Polish House.”

“It might be
wycinanki
.”

Roelke had no idea what vee-chee-non-kee was. “You think?”

“The Polish folk art of paper cutting is called
wycinanki
. Or
wycinanka
, for a single piece. Does the artwork on your card look like it might be cut from paper? From layers of different-colored paper pasted one on top of the next? I know your card was printed, but does the style look like the original might have been constructed that way?”

“It's kind of hard to tell.”

“You said the design shows two chickens? Not roosters?”

“They're chickens.”

“Roosters are very common motifs in Polish
wycinanki
. Roosters symbolize vigilance, or aggressive resistance to intruders. Something like that. Are you sure your birds aren't stylized roosters?”

Roelke was sorry he'd ever mentioned the damn card. “They—are—
chickens
. Short tails. No combs.”

“Hmm.” She sounded dubious. “Well, it's hard to know for sure.”

“One more question, if you don't mind. Do you speak Polish? Do you know what
Ma
łgorzata
means?”

“Sorry,” Ariel said. “I only know a few words, and that's not one of them.”

“Thanks anyway. Can you put Chloe back on?”

Chloe returned. “Was that helpful?”

“Maybe,” he lied. “Look, I'm sorry, but I'm in a phone booth and about out of coins—”

“Want me to call you back so we can talk longer?”

Yes,
he thought. “No,” he lied. “I'm meeting Dobry in a bit.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I'm glad you called, Roelke. I'll probably be here for another couple of days. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he began, “and—” But his time and coins ran out, and the line went dead. Just as well, maybe. He didn't even know what he'd been going to say.