Heritage of Darkness by Kathleen Ernst Page A

judges last summer. As
    for what people say about her and Howard … well.”
    Petra and Howard ? Howard Hoff? Chloe tried to look receptive to, but not eager for, gossip.
    “I don’t like to speak of such things.” Bestemor Sabo placed the
    last cookie in the tin and pressed the lid into place. “You take this along with you.” Chloe thanked her hostess and headed out.
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    Despite layers of thick wool, Chloe’s toes and fingertips were
    soon numb. Decorah felt like a different place than the town they’d reached … was it just the evening before? Yesterday’s sparkling
    Christmas charm was gone. The night was dark and cloudy. The
    air held a damp cold that leached straight to the marrow. Christ-
    mas lights seemed more garish than festive. Chloe walked quickly,
    alert for any furtive movements. Petra Lekstrom’s murder was giv-
    ing her the winter woollies.
    At Sigrid’s house, a welcome glow and hum of voices pulled
    her to the kitchen. The counter was dusted with flour, dirty bowls filled the sink, and the room smelled of ginger and cloves. Sigrid was nowhere in sight. Mom sat with forearms resting on the table,
    staring at a mug of tea. Violet sat beside her, visible in profile.
    “… know I shouldn’t let it get to me,” Mom was saying.
    Violet put a hand on Mom’s arm. “Don’t be so hard on your-
    self, Aunt Marit,” she murmured. “How could it not?”
    “Hey,” Chloe said. Too loudly.
    Mom straightened. “Why … good evening, Chloe. We were
    starting to wonder about you.”
    “I was doing my first interview for Vesterheim,” Chloe said.
    “Remember? That project you volunteered me for?”
    Violet didn’t allow an uncomfortable silence to take root. “How
    did it go?”
    “It went fine.” Chloe walked to the stove and turned on the
    burner beneath the kettle.
    “Well, I’m going to call it a night,” Mom said. “Good-night,
    girls.”
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    “Good-night,” Chloe echoed. She stared at her mother’s back
    until it disappeared, and then listened to her footsteps fading as she climbed the stairs.
    Violet picked up her own mug, sipped.
    Let it go, Chloe counseled herself silently. Letitgo. Let. It. Go.
    Violet sipped again.
    “So Violet,” Chloe said, as conversationally as humanly possi-
    ble, “did I interrupt something?”
    “No. Your mom’s just … you know. Rattled about everything
    that’s happened. My mother is too. She went to bed an hour ago.”
    Like I’m not rattled? Chloe thought. Like I’m incapable of pro-
    viding a word of solace? She closed her eyes and rubbed her fore-
    head. Shit. Was she incapable of providing a word of solace? Had the past few years, filled with what might euphemistically be called
    “challenges,” desensitized her to other people’s feelings? Chloe had no idea. What she did know was that Mom was upset, and needed
    to talk about it … and she seemed to prefer doing that with anyone other than her own daughter.
    The kettle began to steam. Chloe made a cup of tea and
    retreated to the table.
    “Want a cookie with that? I made pepparkakor .”
    Death, family dysfunction, and Christmas cookies. God Jul , everyone. “No, thanks,” Chloe said. “I visited Bestemor Sabo this
    evening, and—”
    “Say no more.” Violet laughed. “Speaking of food, I’d love to
    have Roelke and Emil to dinner tomorrow night. Can you pass
    that along?”
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    “Sure.” Chloe made a mental note before returning to her topic
    of … well, if not her choice, Roelke’s. “Violet? Can I ask you about something else?”
    “Of course.”
    “Bestemor made a couple of references to some … um, connec-
    tion between Petra and Howard …?” Chloe leaned back in her
    chair, stretching her legs, pretending that digging up dirt didn’t make her feel sleazy.
    “Oh, Lordy.” Violet got up and began putting the gingersnaps
    into a cookie jar. “Well, it’s a pretty open secret. Aunt Marit knows all about it, I’m sure.”
    Chloe rolled her eyes. That did