Blog Tour: DEATH ON THE PRAIRIE (A Chloe Ellefson Mystery) by Kathleen Ernst

Synopsis:

Chloe Ellefson and her sister, Kari, have long dreamed of visiting each historic site dedicated to Laura Ingalls Wilder. When Chloe takes custody of a quilt once owned by the beloved author, the sisters set out on the trip of a lifetime, hoping to prove that Wilder stitched it herself.

But death strikes as the journey begins, and trouble stalks their fellow travelers. Among the “Little House” devotees are academic critics, greedy collectors, and obsessive fans. Kari is distracted by family problems, and unexpected news from Chloe’s boyfriend jeopardizes her own future. As the sisters travel deeper into Wilder territory, Chloe races to discover the truth about a precious artifact—and her own heart—before a killer can strike again.

Review:

This is the 6th book in the Chloe Ellefson mystery series. Chloe is a museum curator and history buff, this time taking readers to the sites dedicated to Laura Ingalls Wilder. Not exactly the restful bonding experience of the two sisters, family issues and murder had to the intensity.  

Ernst has done her research with regard to the sites and sounds Chloe and Kari experience.  The characters are well-developed and the pace is steady. While the mystery can be read as a stand alone, I think readers would want to know how relationships were formed. For sure, lovers of Little House on the Prairie will enjoy this book. Leave a comment below and if you are in the US, you could win a copy of the paperback!

FTC Disclosure: I received a complimentary copy of this book in the hopes that I would post an honest review as part of this blog tour. This has not affected the content of my review in any way.

About The Author:

Kathleen Ernst is a former museum curator who remains passionate about history! In addition to the Chloe Ellefson Historic Sites series, she has written many books for American Girl, including nine about the historical character she created, Caroline Abbott. Over 1.5 million copies of Kathleen’s 33 titles have been sold. The Chloe series has earned a LOVEY Award for Best Traditional Mystery, and several of her mysteries for young readers have been finalists for Edgar or Agatha awards.

Author Links:
www.kathleenernst.com

www.sitesandstories.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/kathleenernst.author

Purchase Links:
Amazon

http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780738744704

http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Death-Prairie/Kathleen-Ernst/9780738744704

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/death-on-the-prairie-kathleen-ernst/1121090583
And you can start reading now:

Death on the Prairie: A Chloe Ellefson Mystery

Kathleen Ernst

Chapter 1

     “This quilt belonged to who?” Chloe Ellefson’s voice squeaked on the last word. “Did you say…Laura Ingalls Wilder?”

     “Whom, dear,” Miss Lila said. “Yes. This quilt belonged to Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

     Chloe reached toward the folded quilt that had been deposited with far too little ceremony on her desk. Her fingers stopped short. Instead she grabbed a ballpoint pen lying a foot away, terrified that ink might inexplicably geyser forth, and tossed it onto the floor.

     Miss Lila’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you alright, dear?”

     “I need gloves. And acid-free tissue. And…” Chloe sank back in her chair and regarded her guest. “What…how…are you sure? Laura?”

     “Gracious, Chloe.” Miss Lila’s voice held the faint rebuke that can only come from long years of acquaintance.

     Which was to be expected, Chloe thought. Miss Lila Gillespie had lived next to her parents’ house in Stoughton, Wisconsin, forever. She always wore dresses, and heavy stockings that bunched around her ankles. She’d carried the same black pocketbook for as long as Chloe could remember. She was quite thin, with the posture of a broomstick. But a plump and generous heart beat beneath the starched shell. Miss Lila was the go-to grandma for every child on the block.

     “Sorry,” Chloe managed. “It’s just that…well, lots of people contact me about donating heirlooms, but no one’s offered an artifact that belonged to Laura.”

     Miss Lila smiled. “I remember reading Little House in the Big Woods to you and your sister. I don’t know who enjoyed it more, you or Kari.”

     “Me,” Chloe assured her, although Kari had loved it too. Seeing Miss Lila evoked memories of chocolate cookies and delicate china, gleaming old furniture scented with Lemon Pledge, stories read aloud as snow drifted past windows framed with long lace curtains.

     “And now your mother tells me that you’ve been invited to give a speech about that book…? What an honor.”

     “Well, it’s not that big a deal,” Chloe said. “In grad school I wrote a paper arguing that although Little House in the Big Woods is a novel, the historical processes Laura described—churning butter, butchering, maple sugaring—were authentic, and acceptable as partial documentation for historic sites’ programming. Somebody mentioned it to somebody else, and I got invited to talk at a gathering of Little House fans in a couple of weeks. The symposium will be in De Smet, South Dakota, where several of the later books are set.”

     “You must be excited!”

     “Actually, I haven’t had a lot of time to think about it.” Like, None. Chloe planned to blow the dust from her original paper and pretty much wing it from there. “Anyway, how come you never told me about this quilt?”

     “I inherited it from a cousin several years ago. I showed it to Kari, but you were living out of the country at the time.”

     Chloe regarded the quilt. She’d worked in the historic sites biz for over a decade, and had served as collections curator at the huge outdoor ethnic museum called Old World Wisconsin for almost a year. She’d held hundreds of treasures in her gloved hands—some fragile as cobwebs, some folk art treasures worth thousands of dollars, some the only surviving scrap left to honor an unknown woman’s life. But still, nothing like this.

     Based on the fabrics, Chloe guestimated that the quilt had been made during the period covered in the Little House books. Maybe 1883, she thought. Exactly one hundred years ago. Maybe Laura had wrapped herself in this very quilt during one of the prairie blizzards she’d described so vividly. The notion brought a lump to Chloe’s throat, and she felt ridiculously emotional.

     Geez, get a grip, she told herself. She imagined getting all dewy-eyed at the next Collections Committee meeting, while her boss looked on with contempt. That was a scene to be avoided.

     At least no one else is here to see me reduced to a stuttering fan-girl, Chloe thought. Miss Lila had presented herself without warning at Education House—the small home that the state purchased when almost six hundred acres within a state forest had been set aside to establish the sprawling historic site. It was after five, and the curators of research and interpretation had gone home.

     Chloe tried to transform back into the oh-so-professional curator she generally aspired to be. “Tell me everything you know about this quilt.” She retrieved her pen and grabbed a notebook.

     Miss Lila folded her hands. “My cousin Inez gave me a few heirlooms, including Laura’s quilt, before she passed away. Like me, Inez had no children. I’ve enjoyed having the quilt, but I’m eighty-eight. This quilt deserves a permanent home.”

     “How did your cousin come to have it? Is there any documentation specific to Laura?”

     Miss Lila waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing in writing, but it’s come down in family lore. Inez’s husband was descended from one of Caroline Quiner’s sisters.”

     Chloe nodded. Caroline Quiner was Laura’s mother, AKA Ma.

     “Caroline was born near Milwaukee, but Laura was born in Pepin, Wisconsin.”

     Everyone knew that. Chloe’s mind danced ahead to a question she hardly dared articulate. “Did Laura…actually…make the quilt?”

     “Inez used the word ‘own.’”

     “Oh.” Bummer.

     “Laura visited Pepin after she and Almanzo Wilder married,” Miss Lila added, “and gave the quilt to a relative.”

     “Really? I would have figured she had her hands full out in South Dakota after she got married.”

     “That doesn’t mean she didn’t visit her old home at some point.”

     “No,” Chloe allowed, but strands of caution were weaving through her excitement. This quilt might, or might not, have belonged to the famous author. Research might, or might not, answer that question. But she couldn’t present the proposed donation to her colleagues as a sure-thing Laura artifact without more to go on.

     “Laura and Almanzo didn’t stay in South Dakota,” Miss Lila said. “They settled in Missouri.”

     “They did?” Chloe blinked. “I did not know that.”

     Then, with a further sinking heart, she thought of something else. “Have you considered offering the quilt to one of the Laura sites and museums?”

     “I have. Last year I wrote to someone at each historic site that preserves one of Laura’s homes. The trouble is, they’re all interested.”

     “Ah.” No surprise there. Even without verifying that Laura had owned the quilt, just knowing that it might have been owned by her, and had passed down through a branch of the family, would have tickled any Lauraphile’s fancy.

     “I didn’t know which site should receive the quilt, so I just put the problem out of my mind,” Miss Lila confessed. “Then your mother stopped by this morning to ask if I needed any daylilies, and she mentioned your invitation to speak. And I thought—well, there is the answer! Laura was born in Wisconsin, and I knew you’d take good care of the quilt, so I concluded that it should come here instead.”

     Chloe nibbled her lower lip. A curator’s personal artifact lust was not acceptable rationale for accepting a donation. Besides, all of Old World’s restored homes and farmsteads were furnished to reflect the actual family which had once lived there. Interpreters in period clothing used those specific stories to helped visitors gain insight into the larger experience of the Yankees and Europeans who had flooded the state in the eighteen hundreds. If Old World Wisconsin did acquire Miss Lila’s quilt, it might be displayed during some special event, but it could not be exhibited and interpreted as Laura’s on a daily basis.

     The trouble was, Chloe really wanted her site to acquire the quilt. She wanted to be able to look at it whenever she wished. Maybe even touch it with a non-gloved finger from time to time. If she was having a bad day.

     Then a mental image of herself creeping into storage—like an art thief who hung Rembrandts and van Goghs on the walls of an armored room hidden behind bookshelves—popped into mind. And so begins a descent to the curatorial dark side, she thought.

     Reluctantly, she faced facts. “As the owner, you can the offer the quilt to any historic site or museum you choose. But I think it might be wise to reconsider donating it to one of the Laura Ingalls Wilder sites.”

     “Well, I did have one other idea,” Miss Lila said. “Maybe each Laura Ingalls Wilder site deserves something. I could cut the quilt into pieces, and – ”

     “No!” Chloe’s toes curled in horror. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, but Istrongly advise against that. Wherever the quilt ends up, it should stay intact.”

     Miss Lila’s gaze held a hint of shrewd amusement. “Then please, dear. Which site should get the quilt? I trust your professional opinion.”

     I think I just got played, Chloe thought. But how could she care, when a quilt that might have once graced Laura’s bed was involved? “Do you have contact information for the historic sites? The names of people who responded to your original inquiries?”

     “Of course.” Miss Lila pulled paper from her pocketbook. “Here you are.”

     Chloe accepted the pages. “Even if your final choice is to offer it to Old World Wisconsin, I don’t have the authority to accept it myself. All potential donations are discussed at curatorial meetings, and the next one won’t take place for over a month. But that buys us some time.”

    “Time for what, dear?”

     “With your permission, I’ll contact each site and discuss your proposed donation. I can get a sense of their storage facilities, whether the quilt would be put on display…that sort of thing.”

     “Lovely.” Miss Lila beamed. “I will leave the quilt in your capable hands.”

     Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy! Chloe thought with giddy glee, before summoning her grownup voice. “Since the quilt is not yet officially a proposed donation to Old World, I’m not sure that I should – ”

     “I’m sure,” Miss Lila said firmly. “What was that you were saying about acid-free tissue…?”

     Played again, Chloe thought, but she didn’t care about that either. Technically she could not provide expensive curatorial supplies to stabilize an artifact that had not been legally transferred to Old World Wisconsin, but shestill didn’t care. “I’ll package the quilt properly,” she promised. “And I’ll let you know what I discover after talking with people at the sites.”

     Miss Lila looked thoughtful. “Each site will send a representative to the symposium, don’t you think? Take the quilt to South Dakota so they can see it for themselves.”

     Chloe leaned back in her chair, picturing herself creeping along dirt roads all the way to De Smet, desperate to avoid fiery collision. And what if she encountered a trunk-piercing hailstorm? Or a tornado? “I don’t think I should travel with the quilt, Miss Lila. That would make me very nervous.”

     “Nonsense.”

     “But – ”

     “Chloe.” Miss Lila leaned forward. “I want you to learn what you can about this quilt, and choose its permanent home.”

     Who could say no? “All right,” Chloe conceded. “But before you go, I need you to sign a loan form.” She knew she’d have a nervous breakdown if anything happened to the quilt, but at least she could avoid a lawsuit against her employer by dotting and crossing the legal i’s and t’s. She fetched the necessary form, filled out the basics, and handed it over.

     “If it makes you feel better.” Miss Lila signed with a flourish that suggested schooling in the Palmer Method of handwriting. “There you are.”

     Chloe walked her to the door. Before leaving, Miss Lila paused and put one hand to Chloe’s cheek. “Thank you, my dear. This is important, and I trust you.”