Needled to Death

by Sefton, Maggie

  “Finished with therapy already?” Megan looked up in surprise.

  “Yeah, two rescheduled, and I had some errands to run anyway,” Lisa explained as she pulled the multicolored ribbon vest from her bag. “I take it you guys are talking about Vickie. That was horrible, just horrible.” Lisa scowled. “What lowlife would sneak in and kill Vickie?”

  “Maybe the killer didn’t sneak in,” Kelly suggested.

  “You think she knew the killer?” Megan asked, her blue eyes growing as huge as demitasse saucers.

  Kelly nodded. “I think it’s a strong possibility. There’s no way Vickie would let some deranged intruder cut her throat.”

  Lisa nodded. “You’re right. Vickie would probably punch him out. And not just an intruder, either. Face it, Vickie wouldn’t let anyone attack her. She was tough.”

  “What do you think happened?” Mimi asked, peering anxiously at Kelly.

  Kelly glanced over both shoulders, checking for nearby customers, then said in a quiet voice, “I think she was killed by someone she knew. Someone she allowed into her home. Yesterday, I saw a bronze bust lying on the floor near Vickie. I think someone knocked Vickie unconscious, then killed her.”

  Mimi blanched, then shuddered. “Oh, that’s so gruesome.”

  “Wouldn’t she have regained consciousness before she died?” Megan whispered.

  Lisa shook her head vehemently. “Not if her throat was cut right through the jugular vein. She’d bleed out quickly. Even if she awoke from the head trauma, she’d pass out from blood loss.”

  Both Mimi and Megan shuddered visibly this time. “How diabolically cruel,” Mimi whispered.

  “Yes, and only someone who knew Vickie would have been able to do it,” Kelly added. “And that brings us back to Bob Claymore.”

  “Vickie’s husband?” Lisa asked, clearly surprised. “I don’t think so. I’ve worked with him on a community housing project. He’s this laid-back literature professor. No way.”

  “Anyone can kill, Lisa,” Megan said darkly, her fingers nimbly working the purple yarn.

  “Boy, that sounds scary. Let me see if I can guess what you guys are talking about,” Jennifer announced as she dumped her knitting bag on the table and pulled up a chair beside Kelly.

  “Well, I’m not talking about this anymore,” Mimi said forcefully as she rose. “I just can’t. I still remember when we all came to Fort Connor and the university years ago. We were all happy. We raised our children, we went to parties, we built our businesses . . .” Mimi’s voice trembled as she gazed outside. “And we didn’t go around killing each other.” She turned and rushed from the room.

  “Poor Mimi,” Megan ventured. “This is so hard on her.”

  “She was in tears on the phone last night when I called,” Jennifer added. “I felt so bad.”

  “I sure hope the killer made lots of mistakes for the police to find, so they can catch him quickly,” Kelly said.

  “Do you really think her husband could have done it?” Megan probed.

  Kelly released a sigh. “I don’t know. But he sure sounds like suspect number one, judging by everything we’ve heard. He was the one with the most to gain from her death.”

  “Was that who Vickie’s cousin was going off about yesterday?” Jennifer asked, taking the multicolored fringed yarn and needles from her bag. “Brother, I haven’t heard that much swearing since my freshman year at an all-girls’ college.”

  Lisa’s knitting fell to her lap. Megan’s jaw dropped. Kelly stared at Jennifer, incredulous. “You went to a girls’ college?”

  “Yeah. I promised my parents I’d try it for a year. Damn near killed me.”

  Kelly joined the laughter that rippled around the table as she reached into her knitting bag and withdrew her new sweater project. She examined the newest rows of stockinette stitching that she’d finished that morning while downloading files. Her friends were right. Knitting in the round produced stockinette. Kelly didn’t care if it was magic or not. She was proud of herself. It looked good. The raspberry silk-and-cotton stitches were nice and even. She held up the rosy red circlet of yarn and noticed the twist that had appeared in the circle this morning.

  How’d that happen? she wondered. It hadn’t been there yesterday.

  “Hey, look how much I’ve finished,” Kelly announced, proudly holding up the circlet. “I had a ton of client files to download from my office this morning, so I got a lot done.”

  Lisa glanced up. “Looks like it’s really coming along—” She stopped, peering at the circle. “Uh-oh.”

  That was enough to capture Megan’s attention. She eyed the twisted circlet and asked, “What happened? It looked fine yesterday.”

  “Oooops,” Jennifer observed and went back to her silky yarn.

  Kelly sat perplexed, still holding the rosy red circle. She’d expected to hear a heartening string of “good job” and “looks good.” Not this.

  “What’s with the ‘oops’ and the ‘uh-oh’?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “How’d it get twisted?” Lisa asked.

  Kelly shrugged. “I don’t know. I must have shoved it into my knitting bag before I left for the canyon yesterday. It was twisted like this when I took it out this morning.”

  “Did you notice the twist?” Megan asked.

  “Yeah,” Kelly admitted. She didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

  “But you kept knitting,” Lisa added, her needles working the ribbons in her lap.

  “Yeah, I figured it would straighten out somehow.”

  “Like magic?”

  “We gotta stop using the M-word with her. She’s an accountant.”

  “Don’t worry, Kelly, we’ve all done it,” Megan reassured with an encouraging smile. “It happens easily when knitting in the round.”

  “What happened?” Kelly exclaimed, exasperated now. “What’d I do wrong?”

  Jennifer turned to her and smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve created a Möbius strip. Start frogging.”

  Kelly stared at her. What? Möbius strip? Frogs? What did that have to do with yarn? “Möbius strip?” she asked, totally clueless as to what Jennifer was talking about. “You mean those twisty things that hang from the ceiling?”

  “Yep. That’s what the sweater turns into when the circle gets twisted.”

  “But won’t the twist come out?” She placed the circle on the table and started working the yarn with her fingers around and around the circle.

  “Let me know if it disappears,” Jennifer said. “We’ll call the knitting magazines. You’ll make the front cover.”

  Kelly scowled at the uncooperative circle of yarn. Whenever she straightened the twist on one side, it corkscrewed on the other. Around and around, over and over. “Darnit,” she fussed. “Now what?”

  “Start frogging.”

  “Enough of this!” Kelly protested, disappointment mixing with annoyance now. “What do frogs have to do with anything?”

  Megan giggled. “It’s an expression we use for unraveling.”

  “You remember the sound frogs make. Rip-pit! Rip-pit! ” Lisa joked.

  Kelly stared at the circlet in disbelief. “Rip it out? All of it? But I’ve done so much, I—”

  “Well, you can hang it from the ceiling as a decoration or rip it out and start over. Your choice,” Jennifer added.

  “I don’t believe this.” Kelly shook her head, still dumbfounded at her mistake. How could she do something like that? She thought she was doing so well. The stockinette looked so good. And all along, she was doing it wrong.

  “Now, don’t go beating up on yourself,” Lisa advised. “We’ve all done it, Kelly. Knitting in the round is tricky until you get the knack of it. It’s a common mistake.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kelly grumbled.

  “Uh-oh. Knitting angst is about to descend. I can feel it,” Jennifer teased.

  “You’re right, it is,” Kelly complained. “I thought I was doing so well. My stocki
nette really looked good.”

  “And it does look great,” Lisa reassured. “Just think of this as extra practice.”

  Kelly released a dramatic sigh and listened to her friends chuckle. “Okay, what do I do to start unraveling, or frogging, or whatever it is?”

  Jennifer reached over. “Here, let me get you started. First, we have to gently pull the yarn off the needles and plastic circle, like this.” She started slowly working the slender wooden needles and attached plastic cord from the top row of stitches. “There, all out.” She tossed the needle contraption on the table and handed the forlorn sweater attempt back to Kelly. “Now, just pull gently and it’ll all start to unravel.”

  “Okaaaay,” Kelly said dubiously, giving the yarn a tug. It cooperated, and the entire first row of stitches unraveled before her eyes.

  “Here, wind the yarn around this,” Lisa said, reaching into her bag and offering an empty paper towel roll. “You don’t want to get knots in the yarn.”

  “Why not?” Kelly complained, indulging in a little self-pity. “I’ve managed to bungle everything else about this sweater.”

  “Oh, boy. The angst is getting deeper. She’s about to go under. Look out,” Jennifer teased.

  “All right, all right,” Kelly started to laugh, joining her friends. It was impossible to stay in a bad mood when she was around them.

  The shop’s doorbell jingled, followed by a familiar duet of voices. One high and girlish, the other low and deeply resonant, told Kelly the Von Steuben sisters had arrived. Both were elderly retired school teachers and two of the most accomplished knitters Kelly had seen yet.

  “Hello, hello,” Lizzie Von Steuben trilled as she fluttered into the main room, a vision of white and pink. “How wonderful to see all four of you this afternoon. What a treat!” She daintily set down her lacy knitting bag as she joined the others.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” boomed Hilda Von Steuben as she strode through the room and settled at the end of the table.

  The better to conduct class, Kelly thought and smiled to herself. Both spinster sisters were accomplished interrogators, Kelly had learned. Only their styles differed. Lizzie would flit and flutter around the subject, circling ever closer, while Hilda steamrollered right to the point.

  “Hilda, Lizzie, good to see you,” Megan greeted.

  Kelly joined in the ensuing small talk, waiting for Hilda to start questioning. She could tell Lizzie was about to explode with curiosity.

  “Kelly, I’m profoundly sorry you were the one to make the dreadful discovery yesterday,” Hilda intoned.

  “Ohhhh, yessss,” Lizzie rushed in. “Such a horrible thing to see. Are you all right, dear?”

  “I’m doing fine, thank you, ladies,” Kelly replied and launched into a condensed version of yesterday’s events in the canyon. Lizzie and Hilda both sat rapt, not saying a word. While she talked, Kelly watched Lisa check her watch and slip away from the table, as did Jennifer. Kelly wound the sad tale to a close.

  Lizzie bent her head over the misty gray shawl she was crocheting and didn’t say a word, clearly affected by the death of one of their own. Hilda seemed content to concentrate on the peach wool that appeared to be forming into a baby blanket. Kelly glanced at her watch, timing this welcome break from analyzing accounts.

  “Has Vickie’s daughter been notified yet?” Hilda asked after a moment.

  That comment caught Kelly’s attention and reminded her she told the detective she’d ask Mimi to search for the daughter’s number. “Thanks, Hilda, that reminds me of something.” She started to push back her chair when Mimi appeared around the corner, daytimer in hand. “Mimi, I just remembered. Do you know Vickie’s daughter’s name and phone number? I think she lives in Arizona.”

  Mimi stopped where she was, clearly startled. “What? You mean Debbie hasn’t been notified yet? Good heavens!”

  Kelly dug in her knitting bag and withdrew Lt. Peterson’s card. Handing it over to Mimi, she said, “I told the detective in charge, Lieutenant Peterson, that you would call with the number. Just in case Jayleen couldn’t find it at her home. No one was allowed in Vickie’s office where all the phone logs would be, naturally.”

  Mimi took the card and headed toward the front of the shop. “I’ll call right away.”

  “This will come as a terrible shock to the girl, I am sure,” Hilda continued in a resonant contralto. “She’s such a delicate little creature. I sincerely hope she’s able to bear up under this tragedy.”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Lizzie murmured, making soft little tsking sounds as more flower designs appeared in the smoky gray shawl.

  The shawl looked scrumptious to Kelly, and she couldn’t resist reaching over and squeezing the soft yarn. Lusciously soft. So soft it must be . . . “Alpaca?” she guessed.

  Lizzie beamed, her round cheeks tinged pink. “Why, yes, it is. Good for you, Kelly. You’re learning your fibers.”

  Kelly suppressed her smile and watched Megan do the same at the verbal pat on the head. “What sort of health problems does the daughter have?” she asked after a second.

  “Debbie is afflicted with the most serious form of asthma. Truly life-threatening. That’s why she lives in the drier climate in Arizona. She needs to be away from the irritants that could trigger an attack. She’s been hospitalized countless times since she was a child, according to Vickie.”

  “That’s awful,” Megan exclaimed.

  “And her mother was always such a picture of health,” Lizzie commiserated, shaking her head. “I always thought it unfortunate that a woman as robust and strong as Vickie Claymore would have such a frail and fragile child as this Debbie appears to be.”

  “You’ve never met her?” Kelly asked, continuing her unraveling. It was actually a strangely soothing activity, she noticed, but not one she’d like to indulge in frequently. Kelly liked results, and the quicker she got results, the better.

  “No, we haven’t seen her since she was a young girl living with her family here in town,” Lizzie answered. “Her asthma was serious but not as bad as it is now.”

  “It was the ranch that did it,” Hilda decreed. “When Vickie divorced her first husband, she used the property settlement to buy an old ranch house up in Bellvue Canyon. She’d dreamed of raising and breeding alpacas. Unfortunately, it was that dream that spurred Debbie’s disease to the next level.”

  Hilda’s fingers worked the peach yarn, producing a spreading fan design in the blanket. The Von Steuben sisters’ artistry always amazed Kelly. “What do you mean?” she continued to probe. “Was she allergic to the alpacas?”

  “Oh, no,” Lizzie spoke up. “It wasn’t the alpacas.”

  “It was the ranch setting itself, apparently,” Hilda picked up the thread. “The hay and dust in the stalls and pastures, the grasses the animals grazed, the surrounding trees and bushes. All of it triggered a dangerous attack when she was ready to go to college. Poor girl. She had a scholarship to Stanford, too.”

  “What happened?” Megan prodded, clearly as enthralled with this story as Kelly. “Did she drop out of college?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Hilda continued. “She was in and out of hospitals for over a year. That’s when she had to move to Arizona to recuperate. She enrolled in the state school when she was stronger.” She glanced up at Mimi, who was quietly rearranging yarn in the corner. “Exactly what did Debbie study, do you remember, Mimi?”

  “Yes, it was biology. She’s a researcher now, looking for a cure for these dreadful respiratory diseases.” Mimi’s voice had an edge to it.

  “You sound like you spent a lot of time with Vickie,” Megan addressed Hilda. “I’m sure this is hard for you.”

  Hilda set her needles down and was uncharacteristically pensive for a moment as she stared out the window. “Yes, it is. I’d grown quite fond of Vickie over the years. I taught her some of the advanced knitting techniques, and she tried to teach me to weave. I wasn’t a very good student, I’m afraid.”

  “S
he was fond of you, too, Hilda,” Mimi said in a small voice. “She said so many times. You reminded her of her mother.”

  That seemed to rouse Hilda, and she returned to the peach wool. “Poor misguided girl. An old fussbudget like me.”

  “Did you call the detective, Mimi?” Kelly asked, noticing her edge around the table.

  “Yes, and he said he’s already contacted Debbie. She told him she’d be coming to Fort Connor as quickly as she could.” Mimi paused near the fireplace, decorated with hanging summer tops, and gazed out the window. “I feel sorry for Debbie. She was so close to her mother.”

  “I’m surprised she’s able to come back here at all if her asthma is that serious,” Megan commented as she rose to leave.

  “Vickie said there’re newer medicines now that allow Debbie to travel more. I believe she actually stayed with Vickie at the ranch last year for over a week.”

  Kelly checked her watch. Corporate accounts beckoned. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work, ladies. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she carefully placed the circular needles and ball of unraveled yarn back into her bag and rose to leave.

  “You’ll see me tonight,” Megan reminded her on the way to the door. “Practice, remember? Seven o’clock.”

  “Ohhhh, yeah,” Kelly said, hitting her forehead. “Brother, I thought I put it on my calendar.” Throwing a wave over her shoulder, she headed for the door. “See you, folks. Gotta run.” She’d really have to push now to finish that client file before practice.

  As she raced down the flagstone steps leading from the shop, Kelly heard her cell phone’s insistent ring. Darn. She didn’t need any interruptions right now. “Kelly Flynn here,” she snapped into the receiver.

  “Whoa, hello to you, too,” Steve’s voice sounded in her ear. She could hear the amusement.

  “Sorry, Steve. I’m just hurrying back to my office to finish up some files before dinner. Totally spaced about tonight’s practice. What’s up?” she asked as she maneuvered the cottage door open and dumped her things on the sofa.

  “We’ve got an invitation to dinner tomorrow night. From Curt Stackhouse and his wife, Ruth. I saw Curt at a builders’ meeting this morning, and he reminded me we said we’d come over for dinner some night.”