The Heirloom Murders by Kathleen Ernst

village. “But I’ve been saving for years, and—”
    “Oh, good for you! Let that compounding interest work.”
    “Right,” Roelke said. “I’ve been thinking about investing some of it. I’m young enough that I can handle something with a bit of risk, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Absolutely!”
    Roelke, who had no intention of ever risking a penny of his savings, glanced at his notes. “I’d like to invest in a local company. Something that provides jobs around here.”
    Peggy’s voice grew thoughtful. “You’d have lots of choices in Waukesha, of course.”
    “Let’s stay out of Waukesha city, for now. Is there anything more rural, or in a smaller town?”
    Peggy named several companies. Roelke said “Hmmn,” or “Well, maybe,” to each. Finally she said, “There’s always AgriFutures, of course. It’s a publicly traded company.”
    “That one’s down near Elkhorn, right?”
    “It’s quite a local success story,” Peggy said. “A struggling en trepreneur came up with a new piece of farm equipment. Was granted a patent, got whatever it was built, and started pounding the pavement.”
    “I kind of like the idea of investing in a company that makes stuff for farmers. I could do it in honor of my grandparents.”
    “Roelke, that is so sweet!”
    “But here’s the thing,” Roelke said quickly. “I find the whole idea of investing a little … intimidating. I mean, how can I know if the company is really stable?”
    “AgriFutures has been a powerhouse as long as I’ve been in the banking biz,” Peggy assured him. “It’s a big player on the international market. They’ve been adding jobs steadily.”
    “Hmmn.”
    “They’ve also given a lot to the community. A big donation to the library, playground equipment for schools, stuff like that. Would you like me to do some research for you?”
    “That would be great!” Roelke said. “I’d be glad to hire you.”
    “Oh, Roelke!” Peggy said, in a mock-scolding tone. “I’d never take money from an old friend like you! Give me a few days, OK? I’ll let you know what I find out.”
    “Thanks, Peggy. I really appreciate your help.”
    “You know, I still get back home almost every weekend,” she said. “I like to check on my folks. Maybe we could get together for lunch or something.”
    This was just what he’d hoped to avoid. Well, she was doing him a huge favor; the least he could do was buy her a meal. “Sure,” he said. “We can do that.”
    “Oh, goody!” she chirped. “I’ll be in touch!”
    _____
    “Idiot,” Chloe muttered as she drove north from New Glarus. “Idiot, idiot, idiot .” She was glad she’d promised to help Dellyn with the antiques in her parents’ attic that day. She didn’t want to be alone, with nothing to do but wonder why on earth she’d agreed to spend more time with Markus.
    When she got to Dellyn’s place she walked around the house and checked the garden. Empty. She retraced her steps and knocked on the screened door in front. “Hello?” she called. “Dellyn? It’s Chloe.”
    “Come on in,” Dellyn called. “It’s open.”
    As Chloe stepped inside Dellyn came downstairs looking hot, grubby, tired, and sad. “I was up in the attic.”
    “Well, reinforcements have arrived. Lead on.”
    Once back in that oven-like space, Dellyn captured a few damp, stray strands of hair and re-did her ponytail. “These heirlooms aren’t tagged or numbered,” she explained. “I was trying to start with an inventory.”
    “Good plan,” Chloe agreed, trying to sound hearty. “We can number each carton as we go.”
    They worked steadily for some time. Chloe was just retucking the flaps on the sixth box when a woman’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Yoo-hoo!”
    Chloe looked at Dellyn. “I didn’t know anyone actually said ‘yoo-hoo’ anymore.”
    “It’s my neighbor. Come on. She won’t leave until we come down.”
    “Do you want her to leave?”
    “I shouldn’t have said that.”