Swirling the last of the hot chocolate, Kelly sorted through the ideas churning inside her head. She needed to ask more questions. Maybe . . . maybe she could find someone from Helen’s high school who knew Helen all those years ago. Someone who still lived in Fort Connor. There had to be some clue as to who Helen’s mystery lover was. Was he really some wealthy son of an important family like Martha suspected? And what happened on graduation night that upset Helen so she’d run to Curt for consolation? Did the rich boy reject his poor girlfriend now that he was headed to college? Did Helen tell him about the baby? Did he reject her?
Kelly visually traced the Big Dipper, letting the stars’ vastness calm her. Then the image of Helen’s high school yearbook came to mind. That was a good place to search. Perhaps she could tell from some of the messages who Helen’s close friends were. It might not be much, but it was all she had.
Draining the hot chocolate, she went back inside and grabbed the yearbook off its bottom shelf. She plopped down on the Oriental carpet like before and began paging through the book. Scanning the written messages, deciphering swirls and cramped scrawls, Kelly slowly perused the pages until she came to what she and her friends had always called the “mug shots,” those stiff, lookalike photos that revealed every flaw.
Starting with the A’s, Kelly scrutinized page after page until she reached the end. There she paused, and studied one photo. She leaned closer, examining it, then she smiled. Closing the yearbook with a satisfied snap, she shoved it back onto the lower shelf and headed to bed.
Sixteen
“Kelly, how are you?” Mimi asked, peering over a box of crinkly, lacy yarns.
Must be a new shipment, Kelly guessed, since the brilliant colors and textures didn’t look familiar. “I’m fine. A little tired from having to work so late last night, but okay. What kind of yarns are they?” she asked, pointing to the blaze orange, fire-engine red, and bubble-gum pink brimming from the box. “I don’t recognize them.”
“Probably because they don’t last long enough for you to even see them,” Mimi said. “It’s called ‘eyelash’ because it’s got all these little fibers that knit up into these great trendy scarves and tops, whatever.” She started arranging the profusion in a crate along the wall. “Girls just love these yarns. They’ll be gone in two weeks.”
“Wow,” Kelly said, sinking her hand into the pile. “They’re soft and yet they look spiky.”
“I know. They’re such fun,” Mimi said with a youthful giggle. “I whipped up a scarf for my thirteen-year-old niece last week for her birthday. ‘Electric limeade’ was the color. Then I knit little strands of crimson silk through it as well. I called it cherry limeade.” She grinned, pleased with herself.
Remembering Curt’s comment about his summer of cherry limeades, Kelly had to smile. “Great idea, Mimi. Why don’t you make another and wear it so we can see.”
“Maybe I will,” she said as she headed back toward the checkout area.
Kelly stroked the eyelash once more, then headed to the main room. Megan was already there, knitting with a neon pink cotton that nearly glowed it was so bright. “Wow, that’s a great shade for you, Megan,” she said, dropping her tote bag and settling in. “What are you making?”
“I thought I’d make the shell that’s hanging over there.” She pointed to a red sleeveless top dangling from the ceiling of the other room.
It was almost as pretty as the top Kelly would make someday. She wasn’t sure when “someday” would arrive. Maybe she could actually start now. After all, she finally felt comfortable doing the stockinette stitch, she thought, as she pulled out her practice piece and started knitting. Maybe.
“You know, we were all worried about you yesterday,” Megan said softly without looking up.
Kelly let out an audible sigh. This would take some getting used to. “I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to concern anyone. After all, I had Carl, and he’d be more than enough protection.”
“Steve told us about Carl.”
Busted. “Okay,” Kelly admitted with a laugh. “He was a little distracted by, well, by everything. But it turns out I didn’t need protection. Trust me, if I felt anything questionable about Stackhouse, Carl would never have gotten off his leash. I swear.”
Megan glanced up, and Kelly was surprised to see so much concern still. “I believe you. Just promise you’ll take one of us along next time you’re sleuthing. We can lurk in the background while you’re asking questions, so we won’t cramp your style.”
Kelly laughed out loud, picturing Megan lurking, as well as herself ‘sleuthing about’ à la Sherlock Holmes. “I’ll think about it, I promise.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone, Kelly,” Megan said as she returned to the neon pink rows of stitches.
Letting that thought play through her mind, Kelly kept up her knitting and purling, row after row of stockinette forming in the variegated wool. After a few minutes, she checked her watch. Lizzie should be arriving with Hilda any minute. Hilda’s advanced knitting class began at eleven.
Just then, she heard the front door’s jangle and Lizzie’s birdlike soprano voice and Hilda’s rich contralto in the foyer. Right on time, she thought. Sure enough, Hilda sailed into the room like a cruise liner—tall, substantial, impressive bulk. Lizzie followed in her wake, skimming the water like a sailboat, darting and quick to respond to the wind’s whim. “Good morning, ladies,” Kelly greeted them both.
“Ah, good morning, Megan, Kelly. Still laboring on that practice piece, I see,” Hilda observed as she steamed past.
“Good morning, dears,” Lizzie chirped as she floated by.
“Morning, Hilda, Lizzie,” Megan replied.
“Lizzie, when you have a minute, could you help me with some of my stitches?” Kelly asked.
“Surely, dear,” Lizzie agreed. “Let me get Hilda settled, and—”
“I’m fine, Lizzie,” Hilda decreed. “Go help Kelly.”
“Well, if you’re sure, dear.” Lizzie set her knitting bag, fabric bag, and purse on top of the library table and started to draw up a chair.
“Why don’t we go into the café and have some tea, all right? That way we won’t be distracted by Hilda’s class. Megan, you’ll excuse us, won’t you?” She deliberately caught Megan’s gaze and winked.
Megan glanced to Lizzie then said, “Absolutely. I have to go back and work as well. See you later.”
“What particular problem were you having, dear?” Lizzie asked as Kelly led her to the café.
Choosing a quiet table in an empty corner, Kelly offered Lizzie a chair and settled in herself. “Well, to be honest, Lizzie, I think I’m doing pretty well with my stockinette. Take a look and tell me what you think.” She handed over her misshapen practice piece.
Lizzie observed the stitches with a professional eye, checking both sides of the piece—knitting and purling sides. “Very good, dear. I can see where you got the hang of it, so to speak, and your stitches improved.”
“Thank you,” Kelly said, feeling the flush of accomplishment. “Coming from you that’s high praise.”
“Flattery, flattery,” Lizzie dimpled.
Kelly signaled a waitress over. Jennifer was scouting property this morning for her real estate office, apparently. Just as well, Kelly thought. She wanted privacy for this chat. “Tea, Lizzie?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, with cream and sugar,” she told the waitress, showing another dimple.
When the waitress scurried off, Kelly set her knitting aside and leaned forward slightly. “Actually, Lizzie, I have other questions I’d like to ask you. Not about knitting at all, if you don’t mind?”
“Why, certainly, dear. What is it?”
“I was paging through Aunt Helen’s yearbook last night, and I couldn’t help noticing your picture there, too. You were in the same class, right?”
Lizzie beamed. “Yes,
we were. We both were graduated the same year. In fact, Helen and I shared several classes together. She was clever with math like I was. Sometimes we were the only girls in the class.” Her eyes lit up in amusement.
Better and better, Kelly thought. “That’s wonderful, Lizzie, because I’m trying to find out everything I can about Helen’s last year in high school. The people she knew, what groups she joined, who were her friends, and all that.”
Lizzie cocked her head. “Why are you asking, dear? Do you think it has something to do with her death?”
Kelly smiled at Lizzie’s perceptiveness. “Perhaps,” she hedged. “I’m simply trying to look everywhere I can for information.”
“Well, of course, I’ll be glad to help. What would you like to know?”
“Did she have a lot of girlfriends? Anyone close to her?”
Lizzie closed her eyes. “Not really. Helen always kept to herself. Almost aloof. I admired that quality in her. She always looked so . . . so self-contained.” She gave a wry smile. “And of course, that quality never sits well with the popular girls. They like to think every other girl is jealous of them. So when they see someone who isn’t, well . . . they tend to get mean-spirited.”
“So, Helen wasn’t one of those popular girls you’re talking about?” Kelly moved her arm so the waitress could serve their tea and coffee.
“No, indeed. Helen seemed in her own little world most of the time.”
“You two were friends, weren’t you?” she asked when the waitress left.
“I’d say we were acquaintances. We went to the same church, so our families knew each other, but Helen and I didn’t really even talk much until high school. That’s when we shared classes together.”
“Were you one of those popular girls, Lizzie?” Kelly ventured with a smile.
Lizzie dimpled and blushed at the same time, clearly delighted to be considered. “Oh, my gracious, no! I was never one of them. Why, Hilda and I weren’t even allowed to date. Oh, no. Papa was much too strict for that. And having boyfriends was absolutely required for those other girls. They were always whispering and giggling and telling tales about all the boys and each other, of course.”
“Did they talk about Helen?”
A devilish smile teased Lizzie’s mouth. “Oh, yes. It used to infuriate them that the boys paid so much attention to Helen when she didn’t pay attention to them. Helen had this way about her. Ohhhh, it was hard to define . . . she was saucy without actually flirting. But it was fascinating to watch her. She didn’t lead them on, like the other girls. Helen was smarter than that.” Lizzie gazed at the white porcelain teapot, obviously reminiscing.
Kelly was just as fascinated by Lizzie’s vibrant recollections of her high school years. Clearly, those were golden years in Lizzie’s mind, enshrined forever. Kelly was struck once again that Helen held such an important place in the memories of both Stackhouse and Lizzie. Her aunt clearly carved out a niche for herself on her own terms.
“Was there any boy she paid particular attention to?”
“Well, she would walk to and from class with that handsome Curtis Stackhouse practically every day. You know, I believe I spied Curtis at the Wool Fair when we visited. And he’s still a handsome man.” Lizzie gave an appreciative nod, as if judging a fine wine.
Kelly grinned. “I saw him yesterday, and you’re right. He’s still a handsome man and a successful rancher now. He also remembered Helen.” She left it at that.
Lizzie perked up. Her pink hair ribbon bouncing on her neat silver hairdo. “Well, I’m sure he did. That poor boy worshipped the ground Helen walked on. Wore his heart on his sleeve, too. That used to drive those other girls wild. One of them, Julie Fisher, had her cap set for Curtis, but he wouldn’t give her the time of day.” Lizzie giggled.
Surprised again at Lizzie’s observations, Kelly decided to probe a little deeper. “So, Curtis Stackhouse was Helen’s boyfriend, then. You said they walked to class every day, and he worshipped her.”
“Oh no, dear,” Lizzie corrected, wagging her head. “I’m sure Helen liked Curtis, but she didn’t love him. He was simply a decoy, so no one would notice the boy she really loved.”
Boy, Lizzie didn’t miss a trick, Kelly thought in admiration. “Who was that? Do you know?”
Lizzie lifted her dimpled chin proudly. “I most certainly do. I saw them kissing behind the library. Lawrence Chambers stole Helen’s heart. Poor girl. She knew he belonged to another.”
Kelly stared in surprise. She wasn’t expecting that answer. “What? Lawrence Chambers? Her lawyer?”
“One and the same.”
Kelly wagged her head in amazement. “Brother, Lizzie, you missed a career in journalism. You should have been a reporter. I’m impressed.”
Lizzie blushed in pleasure at Kelly’s praise. “Thank you, dear, but Hilda and I were destined to be school-teachers. Papa said so. And he was right. We were excellent teachers.”
“Let’s get back to Lawrence Chambers, okay?” Kelly picked up the thread. “What made you think he ‘belonged’ to another?”
“Well, it was common knowledge. Lawrence was from an old established and very wealthy Fort Connor family. He was already pledged to Charlene Thurmond. She was the daughter of his father’s oldest friend and business associate, Henry Thurmond. I heard they’d been promised to each other as children.” Lizzie shook her head sadly. “Poor Helen. She was just the daughter of sugar beet farmers, and not very successful ones at that. She never had a chance. But Lawrence loved her. There was no doubt about it. I could tell by the way he gazed at her in class. I’d catch him watching her in algebra.”
Kelly sat quietly, sipping her coffee while her mind churned. Chambers. Lawrence Chambers. She’d never have guessed. Recalling the stark high school photo of an owlish, homely Chambers peering out from behind huge glasses, Kelly had to marvel. Judging from Lizzie’s account, Helen could have had any boy she wanted. In fact, she had a heartbreakingly handsome young cowboy following her around like a puppy. Yet she spurned them all for the bookish and unattainable Chambers.
Helen had always referred to him as her oldest and closest friend, Kelly remembered. Close was right. That explains the tremendous care and concern Chambers had always demonstrated toward Helen. And it explained his intense grief at her death, Kelly thought, recalling his emotional reaction in his office.
Or, did it? Kelly stared into her empty cup, as a niggling little thought wormed its way from the back of her mind. What if upstanding and trustworthy Lawrence Chambers was deliberately misleading her? Perhaps that emotional distress was cleverly designed to deflect further scrutiny? Clearly, Chambers had secrets to hide. Was he afraid his position in the community would be jeopardized if Helen’s story got out? Helen would never reveal it, Kelly was certain.
Perhaps it’s not about the story, the niggling thought whispered. Perhaps it’s about money. Lots of money. Helen’s property is worth a lot of money now. And Martha’s, too. In fact, Martha’s property could be worth a great deal if there’s oil and gas beneath. And who was it that suggested the land be tested for minerals and other riches? Chambers.
Kelly recalled Martha’s comments the day before she died. How Chambers was ‘taking care of everything.’ What if he had been surveying all of Martha’s subterranean wealth and Helen found out? What if she felt betrayed and threatened to reveal his scheme? Had Chambers murdered Helen and Martha for their land? Did he try to run Kelly down on the trail to get her out of the picture or, at least, out of town?
Kelly set her cup back into its saucer, letting her thoughts settle as well. The image of frail-looking Chambers riding a bike at top speed would not come into focus. She was beginning to go in circles now, and all the theories were running into one another. She needed to sort through them all, to see which ones deserved further scrutiny and which ones made no sense.
“Do you have any more questions, dear?�
�� Lizzie inquired. “If not, I need to check on Hilda’s class. I’m in charge of copying patterns for everyone, and I think it’s that time.” She checked her watch.
“Oh, definitely. Thanks, Lizzie, you’ve been a great help,” Kelly said, pulling some bills from her wallet and dropping them on the table. “I really appreciate your openness. And your memory is simply fantastic. I still think you’d have made a great reporter.”
“Oh, hush, dear,” Lizzie said with a giggle and a little wave as she walked toward the shop doorway.
Kelly gathered her things and headed back to the shop’s main room. The library table was deserted, which suited her just fine. She needed time to think about Lawrence Chambers and all those theories that swirled inside her head. What better way than to use Mimi’s method? She’d knit on it.
Pulling out her ever-expanding practice piece, Kelly picked up the stockinette where she left off. Knitting the remainder of that row, she purled the next, getting her rhythm back. In the adjoining room she heard the sounds of Hilda’s class dismissing themselves and noticed several students wander into the room, checking pattern books and yarns. She was comfortably settled in and feeling positively meditative, until a loud voice shattered her peaceful state.
“Good heavens, girl! Are you planning to make a blanket of that thing?” Hilda boomed from across the room. Kelly jumped in her chair and dropped a stitch.
“Darn it, Hilda, don’t scare me like that,” she exclaimed, annoyed that her peaceful interlude had been interrupted. “You made me drop a stitch.”
“Let it join the others. Surely you don’t plan to use that piece,” Hilda said as she came to stand beside Kelly’s chair.
Kelly could feel Hilda’s penetrating gaze and wondered how she could be considered such a good teacher. Did she intimidate her students into succeeding?
“Of course not,” Kelly protested, not a little defensive. “I told you this is my practice piece. I’m practicing stockinette so I can—”
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