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were now
    nibbling muffins and sipping juice from paper cups.
    “I am sorry to begin with more bad news,” Howard said. “Petra
    Lekstrom passed away at the hospital last night.”
    That announcement brought a dismayed buzz. Chloe shifted
    her weight slightly, so her shoulder rested against Roelke’s.
    “This is tragic,” Howard continued. “But the Vesterheim com-
    munity is a family, and at times like these, families pull together.”
    Nods, a few murmurs.
    “Petra’s death obviously impacts on our workshop schedule.
    Some of you traveled across the country to attend her class. Rest
    assured, your workshop is still a go.”
    36
    More murmurs, some questioning looks.
    “Sigrid Sorensen, one of our most popular instructors, is step-
    ping in to teach the advanced class,” Howard said.
    “Sigrid is moving up to teach the advanced class?” Chloe said
    blankly. “Then who …”
    “Fortunately,” Howard said, “one of the students enrolled in
    the advanced class is also an experienced teacher. I am very happy to announce that Marit Kallerud has agreed to teach the Beginning Telemark class.”
    
    This is not good, Roelke thought. Chloe’s expression suggested
    that she’d been smacked in the face with a pickled herring. “Re-
    member,” he whispered, “the whole idea of this trip was for you to spend time with …”
    Chloe pinned him to the wall with a look that had gone from
    stunned to mutinous. He stopped talking.
    “We have every reason to believe that what happened last night
    was an isolated incident, and Chief Moyer has assured me that his
    officers will keep a special eye on the museum,” Hoff was saying. “I hope that you all can move past the terrible shock and throw your-selves into your creative endeavors.”
    Roelke glanced at Chloe. She had a Yeah, right , expression on her face.
    “The painting classes will start a little late today, to give our
    instructors a chance to get organized,” Howard concluded, “but I
    suggest that you students go ahead and settle into your class-
    rooms.”
    37
    People drained their cups and started gathering their things.
    “This is not going to work,” Chloe said bleakly. “My mother
    will be on my case every minute.”
    “No, she won’t.”
    “Maybe I could switch to the carving class.”
    Roelke shook his head. “If you drop out of your mom’s class,
    all you’ll do is embarrass her, and—” Over Chloe’s shoulder he saw Marit approaching, and he raised his voice. “Hello, Marit.”
    “Good morning, Roelke.” Chloe’s mother looked composed,
    but Roelke saw the tight pinch to her mouth. Evidently Marit also
    had some reservations about this new arrangement.
    Marit turned to her daughter. “I’m sure you’re disappointed
    about the new arrangements.”
    “Not at all,” Chloe said. “I’ll be learning from the best.” Roelke gave her credit for a game attempt.
    Marit smoothed her hair, which did not need smoothing. “Sig-
    rid has more experience teaching Hallingdal than I do.”
    “It’s fine , Mom.”
    “So you’ll just have to muddle along with me.” Marit glanced at
    the wall clock. “I need to speak with you about another matter,
    Chloe. Do you recall Howard saying last night that Vesterheim’s
    curator recently resigned?”
    Roelke felt Chloe stiffen. “Ye-es,” she said slowly.
    “She wrote a grant application for a folklore project. The
    museum received funds to conduct oral history interviews about
    Norwegian-American Christmas traditions. There are several
    interviews left to conduct, and the project must be completed by
    the end of the calendar year or the money will disappear. As you
    can imagine, Howard’s worried.”
    38
    “Ye-e-es,” Chloe said, even more slowly. Roelke marveled at the
    degree of wariness she managed to convey in that single word.
    “So I told Howard that you’d conduct the final interviews.”
    Chloe blinked. “You what ? Mom, I’m a curator, not a folklor-ist!”
    “For