Rowena told Daniel the night she learned of her father’s death. She was splitting a chicken carcass into pieces to stew overnight for broth.Daniel nodded behind his newspaper. “I saw that one of the walls came down.”“You will have to ask that carpenter to come back, I suppose,” Rowena said, careful not to look up from her work too quickly and give herself away.“How do we know it was vandalism? Perhaps the chicken house was poorly constructed. Perhaps Mr. Skala is not a very good carpenter.”She felt Daniel’s eyes on her, probing. “There was a crowbar on the ground,” Rowena said. “The nails were pulled out one by one.”“Really.” Daniel grunted, then set down his paper, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Who would do such a thing?”“I don’t know,” Rowena said, working her way around to the explanation she had dreamed up. “And I would never point a finger at anyone without proof. But it is a fact that Sigrid and Gustav do not care for me. And they see that project as my chicken house.
