Mining for Justice Page 3
Roelke and Chloe followed as Adam drove through town. “You know, you could come home with me tonight, instead of staying,” Roelke said.
Chloe frowned at him. “I’m expected at Pendarvis tomorrow.”
“After what happened … ” He let his voice trail away, not even sure if he was referring to what they’d found in Adam’s cellar or what they’d read in the newspaper.
She patted his thigh. “I’m staying.”
“It’s supposed to rain all week.” That was feeble, but all he had left.
“I’m staying, Roelke.”
Adam pulled over in front of a modern four-plex, and Roelke parked behind him. As they all got out of their vehicles Adam said, “We talked her into a ground-floor apartment, at least. Her older sister Lowena lives in a nursing home, but Grandma says she’s not ready to spend all of her time with, and I quote, ‘old people.’ At eight-eight she was still climbing the stairs at Chy Looan, can you imagine?”
Go Grandma Bolitho, Roelke thought. All of his grandparents were dead. He wished they weren’t.
Adam’s grandmother greeted her guests with a joyful smile. She wore stretchy pants and sensible shoes and a brown cardigan with autumn leaves knit into the design. Behind plastic-framed glasses, her eyes gleamed with warmth.
Adam’s hug lifted her a few inches from the ground. “Hey, Grandma. These are my friends, Chloe and Roelke.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Roelke said.
“Rell-kee?” Mrs. Bolitho repeated. “How is that spelled?”
Roelke told her. “It was my mother’s birth name.”
Mrs. Bolitho nodded approval. “I’ve always liked that custom.”
“It’s kind of you to have us for dinner,” Chloe said. “And you’re especially kind to let me stay here, Mrs. Bolitho.”
“Oh, we’ll have fun! And you must call me Tamsin.” She ushered them inside.
Tamsin’s apartment was immaculate, if a bit over-furnished for Roelke’s tastes. Gewgaws were displayed on shelves. Artwork and family photos covered the walls. But a juicy aroma made him forget everything else. The picnic lunch they’d planned had been forgotten, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was. “Something smells heavenly!”
Tamsin looked pleased. “Beef pasties. Homemade, of course. They’re Adam’s favorite.”
“Um … ” Chloe began uncomfortably.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Tamsin patted her hand. “Adam told me about your special diet. I made an herby pasty for you. Dinner won’t be ready for a bit, though. Please, make yourselves at home.”
Chloe gravitated to an antique rocking chair like metal to a magnet. Roelke settled on the couch, but Adam lingered on his feet. “Grandma, there’s something I have to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “This afternoon, when we were cleaning more sand and gravel from the root cellar, we found … we found a skeleton.”
The old woman pressed a hand against her chest. “You found …what?”
“We called the police, and Gene Higgins came. A team from the Madison crime lab will excavate the bones. That’s all I know.”
“Are you trying to tell me that all the years we lived in Chy Looan … my children and grandchildren … and all the while … ” Her hands worked together with agitation.
Roelke and Chloe exchanged an uneasy glance. He could completely understand Tamsin’s reaction. He would be aghast to discover a skeleton in the cellar of his farmhouse, and he’d only been living there for a couple of months.
“When did you and Grandpa buy Chy Looan?” Adam asked.
“In 1936. Nobody wanted those old cottages then, but it was all we could afford.”
“Did you ever use the old root cellar?”
“Of course I did!” Tamsin wailed. “We didn’t have an icebox at first. Dear God, are you saying that the whole time I was walking over … ”
Adam reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Grandma. But it does seem that the bones were buried in the root cellar all along.”
“What if people think otherwise?” Her voice rose. “What if people think we—”
“Grandma,” Adam said gently, “I really don’t think anyone will believe that we did someone in and buried them in the root cellar.”
A sheen of tears glazed Tamsin’s eyes. “We don’t know that, do we.”
Roelke and Chloe exchanged another stricken glance. He was used to handling upset people, but in a professional capacity. It felt wrong to be sitting on this sweet lady’s couch as she neared melt-down.
“I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of this situation quickly,” Chloe tried.
Tamsin shook her head. “The death must have taken place before we moved into the cottage. I don’t think the police will have time and knowledge to pursue something that happened over fifty years ago, do you?”
“Well … perhaps not,” Chloe admitted. “Maybe the news will jog someone’s memory.”
“Such news about my house!” Tamsin’s tone rose to a wail again.
Adam began to pace. “I wish I’d never decided to excavate the cellar.”
Surprisingly, Adam’s remorse did more than anything else to calm Tamsin down. She drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Then she shook her head. “No, I’m glad you did. That poor soul, whoever it was, deserves a decent burial and resting place.”
She’s got a good heart, Roelke thought, and felt a little better about leaving Chloe there.
“We need to know what happened.” Tamsin abruptly turned to Chloe. “You’re a historian. I know you’ll be busy at Pendarvis, but maybe, if you have a little spare time, you could do some research?”
Chloe clearly hadn’t seen that request coming. “Research about what?”
“Old crimes, I suppose. Someone gone missing.”
“But I … It’s not that I don’t want to help, but I’m a newcomer here. Surely a local historian would be better suited.”
Tamsin sat down beside Chloe. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just that I can’t bear the idea of being the subject of gossip, so I hoped … well. I’ll think of something.”
Roelke was starting to wonder if Tamsin Bolitho was a lot more shrewd than she looked. Chloe held her elders in high esteem. She loved talking with them, loved hearing their stories, loved seeing the things they considered precious. Loved helping them, if she could. He didn’t think she could hold out for long.
“Well, I can probably do a little checking,” Chloe said helplessly.
Okay, she couldn’t hold out at all. New record.
“I’d be ever so grateful,” Tamsin told her.
“I can’t promise I’ll find anything.”
A timer dinged in the kitchen. Tamsin patted Chloe’s hand again and bustled away.
Roelke leaned toward Chloe. “That was kind of you.”
“What was I supposed to do?” she whispered. “Geez. This puts a different spin on the week.”
Adam carried a platter of pasties from the kitchen, and Tamsin followed with a bowl of applesauce. They settled at a round table covered with a linen cloth. Tamsin said a brief grace, then smiled at her guests. “Dig in.”
Roelke helped himself to a pasty, cut into it with his fork, and scooped up a bite. “Holy toboggans,” he mumbled. “This tastes even better than it smells.” He’d been eating less meat lately. Chloe’s deal with him, when she moved in, had been short and sweet. “I don’t care if you cook meat,” she’d said. “But I won’t cook meat.” She was a better cook than he was, so he was happy to let her loose in the kitchen more often than not. He almost always liked what she prepared, and he knew he was healthier for it. But meals like this Cornish meat pie only proved that he was not on the verge of becoming a vegetarian.
“Mine is delicious too,” Chloe assured Tamsin. “Pasties are quite traditional in Cornish coo
king, aren’t they?”
Tamsin nodded. “Cornish people have been eating pasties for centuries, I expect. There are different kinds, but most are filled with chopped meat, potatoes, onion, and swede.”
Roelke studied his pasty, completely baffled. “Swede?”
“Yellow turnips. You call them rutabagas.”
This lady was born in Wisconsin, Roelke thought, but we’re the ones who call them rutabagas.
“Of course, the truly poor people had to make do with hoggans,” Tamsin was saying.
“Hoggans?” Chloe mumbled around a mouthful of herby pasty.
“Flatbread with a morsel or two of pork baked into it,” Tamsin explained. “My father said they were hard as rocks. Women made them of barley flour when wheat was too dear.” She glanced at Chloe. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t serve you hoggans. Although I think you’d enjoy figgy hobbin, a sweeter version made with wheat flour and raisins and caramel sauce. I understand the dish has almost disappeared from Cornish tables, but it’s still popular here in Mineral Point.”
That perked Chloe up, and her thin face grew animated. “I can’t wait to try it!” Roelke was pleased to see her genuine smile, and the shine in her chicory-blue eyes.
“Tell me more about your visit,” Tamsin urged her. “Adam said you’re working at Pendarvis.”
“I’m here to help the curator. It’s part of a project to make people at the state’s smaller sites, like Pendarvis, feel less isolated.” Her smile faded, and she put down her fork. “At least that’s what I thought it was about.”
“Did you see the paper today, Grandma?” Adam asked.
Tamsin’s smile had faded too. “All this new commotion almost put it out of my mind, but I did, indeed.”
“I didn’t know anything about it,” Chloe said, sounding only a little defensive. Roelke patted her knee beneath the table.
“Winter is organizing a meeting for tomorrow evening at the Walker House,” Adam told his grandmother.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Tamsin said.
“I was planning to go home tonight, but I want to check on Chy Looan tomorrow after the cops are finished there.” Adam scooped up some applesauce. “I might as well stay in town until Tuesday morning so I can attend the meeting. My guys will be fine on their own at the worksite for a day.”
Chloe fiddled with her fork. “Would you two mind if I tagged along? I feel like I should be there, but I would be grateful if I didn’t have to sit alone. I can’t expect locals to feel too kindly about me being here. I might get run out of town on a rail.”
“Of course you can come with us,” Tamsin said. “But Mineral Point people are generally kind. I think you’ll be alright.”
Chloe clearly was not convinced. “Well, I’ll see how things go at the site tomorrow.”
“If Loren Beskeen is anything less than gracious,” Tamsin said pertly, “you report back to me.”
Loren Beskeen is the site director, Roelke reminded himself.
“I’ll set him straight,” Tamsin promised. “I taught Loren when he was in third grade.”
Adam reached for a second pasty. “Grandma taught everyone when they were in third grade.”
“Forty-five years in the same school will do that,” Tamsin agreed.
“I understand you have deep family roots in Mineral Point.” Chloe pinched up a bit of pastry that had fallen on the tablecloth and popped it into her mouth.
Tamsin nodded. “My family came about the time the first Bolithos arrived. I’m proud of my ancestors. They were strong people. My husband, God rest his soul, took me to Cornwall twice. It’s a wild, beautiful place. Most Cornish people don’t consider themselves English, you know. We’re one of the Celtic nations—just like the Welsh and the Scots and the Irish. We have our own heritage, and our own culture.”
“Were your ancestors miners in Cornwall?”
“Oh, yes. They mined tin. With a bit of pilchard fishing.”
“Pilchards are grown-up sardines,” Adam told his friends. “I keep asking Grandma if we have smugglers on the family tree, but she won’t say.” He winked.
“Oh, hush, Adam.” Tamsin shot him a look of affectionate exasperation. “Certainly no one on my side of the family ever did such a thing.”
When the dishes were done Roelke knew he shouldn’t linger. “I best get on the road,” he said reluctantly. He thanked Tamsin for the fine meal.
Chloe walked out to his truck with him. He set her suitcase on the sidewalk, then regarded her soberly. “I wish I could stay with you, but I have to be at work tomorrow morning. And then there’s Libby—I need to find out what’s going on with her. And—”
“Roelke, why are you so anxious? Is it the skeleton? It’s disturbing, but whoever it was died a long time ago. And it’s Adam’s house, not mine. It has nothing to do with me.”
“But that newspaper article has something to do with you. You said yourself that you’re nervous about the meeting tomorrow.”
Chloe looked away, as if choosing her words. “I’m uncomfortable about the situation,” she said finally. “But I don’t really expect to be tarred and feathered.”
Roelke tried and failed to come up with a new argument against her staying in Mineral Point. “Call me,” he said at last.
“Of course I’ll call you,” she said, and wrapped her arms around him. They stood that way for so long that in the end, it was Roelke who felt compelled to pull away. She’s sorry to see me go, he thought, and had to content himself with that.
Three
The breakfast Tamsin prepared on Monday morning—scrambled eggs, oatmeal with apples and brown sugar, pumpkin rolls, juice, and coffee—suggested that Chloe and Adam were heading to the mines for a day of manual labor. Chloe was okay with that.
“So, I’ve been thinking about your cottage,” she told them. “Do you have any old records about the building? Tamsin, do you remember anything about the previous owners?”
Tamsin frowned thoughtfully. “No. The cottage had been empty for five or six years when we bought it.”
“Maybe the death and burial happened while it was abandoned,” Adam suggested.
“I can’t bear to think about it.” Tamsin shuddered, then looked at Chloe. “And I’m not being any help to you at all.”
“Don’t despair yet,” Chloe said, with more good cheer than she felt. “There are lots of ways to go at this.”
After breakfast, Adam and Chloe said goodbye to Tamsin and walked to the curb. “Want a ride?” Adam asked.
She shook her head. “No, thanks. I can walk from here. Have a good morning.” She pictured crime scene techs, barricades, police tape. “If that’s possible. I’ll stop by the cottage at lunchtime and see how you’re doing.” She started to turn away.
“Chloe, wait.” Adam put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry Grandma put you on the spot last night. About doing research.”
“It’s okay.” Chloe remembered the stricken look in Tamsin’s eyes. “I can’t promise I’ll find anything, but I’m happy to look.”
Adam held her gaze. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin.”
“It’s what I do,” Chloe said. “See you later.”
Chloe enjoyed the walk through Mineral Point, home to Wisconsin’s first National Register Historic District. Almost every building downtown had been restored to its original stone or brick façade. She didn’t linger, though, and arrived at Pendarvis at seven forty-five a.m. Fifteen minutes early. Not that she was nervous or anything.
The historic site was situated on four and a half acres in the right angle created by Shake Rag Street and Spruce Street. It was best known for the three historic homes mentioned in the newspaper article: Polperro House, Pendarvis House, and Trelawny House. Those structures backed into the same craggy limestone wall that rose behind Adam’s cottage.
Site curator Claudia Doyle greeted her with a hug. “Chloe! Good to see you.”
“It’s good to be here,” Chloe assured her. “And to see you somewhere other than a collections committee meeting.”
Because the Historic Sites Division staff was spread out geographically, meetings were regularly scheduled at the historical society’s headquarters in Madison. Site directors and curators attended monthly collections committee meetings. Each curator made a presentation about artifacts offered for donation, along with a recommendation about whether to accept the gift or not. Many of the people now stationed at other sites had once worked at Old World Wisconsin, which had enjoyed a larger staff during the frantic development years in the late 1970s. When curators from other sites presented their conclusions about potential donations, everyone else generally nodded. When Chloe made her presentation, the room crackled to life with dissent and observations from people who knew her site better than she did. “Your predecessor had decided against using tea leaf china in the Four Mile Inn … Doesn’t the Pedersen Farm research report refer specifically to a blue quilt? … I’m surprised you want to accept another tine, since your storage is so tight … ”
Chloe hated collections committee meeting days.
The bright spot was seeing Claudia, who’d been employed by the society for only a few months longer than Chloe had. As the two newbies, they habitually sat next to each other, providing moral support. They’d been known to connect by phone the day after the Madison gatherings to commiserate and kvetch. Claudia often felt as overwhelmed as Chloe did at the wretched meetings.