Knit One, Kill Two

by Maggie Sefton

  Kelly scowled into her mug. That may be true, she mused, but that wasn’t the point. Gretsky thought he could outsmart them. Kelly, however, prided herself on not being outsmarted. And thanks to her good instincts, she seldom was. This time would not be the exception, she vowed, as an idea swam through the caffeine to the surface.

  “I know that, Mimi,” she said. “But I don’t like Gretsky trying to force us both out. He has control of your place, yes. But he doesn’t have mine.”

  “Uh oh, I see that look on your face,” Megan warned.

  “Don’t worry,” Kelly warned. “I’m not going to do anything crazy. Or anything I’d need a Rottweiler for, either.” She grinned. “I’m just going to see if I can shake up Gretsky.”

  “Oh, no . . .” Mimi whispered, clearly horrified.

  “It’s okay, Mimi, honest,” Kelly explained, waving her hand. “I’m simply going to tell him that I’ve changed my mind, and I’m staying in Fort Connor for good. So, I won’t be selling the cottage, after all.” Kelly felt the idea resonate inside her with a surprising intensity.

  “Why?” Megan queried.

  “I’m hoping my announced change of plans will throw a wrench into Big Box’s plan and they’ll pull out of the deal. Then, if Gretsky’s dreams of development riches go down the drain, maybe he’ll change his mind about leasing.”

  “Boy, that’s a stretch,” Megan observed.

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s all I’ve got. So, I’m gonna run with it.” With that, Kelly jumped out of her chair and grabbed her tote bag. “See you folks later,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, leaving Megan and Mimi staring after her.

  “Caffeine rush,” Megan decreed.

  “Lord, I hope so,” Mimi breathed.

  METROPOLITAN REALTY proclaimed the large stainless steel letters on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk. Kelly had already switched her demeanor when she pushed through the glass doors. She deliberately hesitated in front of the enclosed area, waiting for the receptionist to speak first.

  “May I help you?” the attractive young blonde asked.

  “Yes, please,” Kelly answered in a breathy voice. “Is Mr. Gretsky here? I spoke with him last week about selling my house.”

  The young woman’s face brightened. Sold houses meant paychecks. “Let me check with his assistant, Laura.” She quickly dialed a number and waited. “Laura? One of Alan’s clients is out front. Is Alan here? Ohhhh, all right.” She hung up the phone. “Laura will be right with you if you care to wait.” She indicated some plush leather armchairs and sofas in warm caramel and chocolate tones in the corner of the lobby.

  “Thank you,” Kelly replied politely, then spied a tall, thin woman hurrying down a corridor, headed her way.

  “I’m Laura, Mr. Gretsky’s assistant, may I help you?” she asked. Wisps of graying hair had escaped from the neat bun and feathered around her face, softening the lines and wrinkles.

  “Well, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Gretsky,” Kelly said, feigning a worried look. “I’m Kelly Flynn, and we spoke earlier this week about selling my home, and I—”

  “Why don’t we go to Alan’s office, Kelly. It’s more comfortable there,” Laura suggested, gesturing to the corridor.

  She ushered Kelly into a spacious office with huge windows overlooking tall cottonwoods bordering one of Fort Connor’s waterways that crisscrossed the city. Called ditches by old-timers and canals by the newbies, they were a reminder of the city’s early agricultural history.

  “Please sit, Ms. Flynn, and I’ll get your file.” Laura settled across the room at an antique secretary’s desk, which had obviously been restored with great care because the mahogany shone rich and golden.

  Kelly settled into a rust-colored leather chair, relaxing into its comfortable embrace. Gretsky might not be running with the big dogs yet, but he knew which signals to send. Both his wardrobe and his office décor spoke volumes. Admiring his huge antique polished wood desk, she couldn’t resist asking, “Mahogany? Walnut?” and glanced to Laura.

  Laura smiled as she sorted through the files on her desk. “Walnut. Eighteen eighty, I believe.”

  “My compliments. It’s beautiful.”

  “Here it is,” Laura declared, opening a file folder. She scanned the contents for a moment. “Your property hasn’t been listed for sale, has it, Ms. Flynn?”

  “Uhhhh, no, not yet,” Kelly demurred. “In fact, this is all so sudden, I . . . I really need to speak with Mr. Gretsky. You see, I told him I would need time to think, but then things have been happening, and . . . oh, gracious!” Kelly made an exasperated gesture. “Everything’s changed suddenly. When’s he coming back? I have to leave in a few—”

  “He’s out with clients right now, showing property. But he should return—” The ringing phone stopped her mid-sentence. She reached over, punched speakerphone, then went back to paging through the file. “Alan Gretsky’s office. May I help you?”

  “Yes, this is Main Street Frame Shop,” a woman’s high voice announced. “Is Mr. Gretsky there?”

  “Not at the moment. I’m his assistant. May I take a message?”

  “Yes, of course. Please tell him that the family quilt he brought in last month is all framed and ready for him to pick up. It’ll be three hundred and forty-seven dollars. Tell him to ask for Sandy. I’m the one in charge of framing.”

  Laura started scribbling on a nearby notepad. Kelly, meanwhile, had perked up at the mention of the words “family quilt.” Her buzzer went off inside.

  “Sandy, I’ll make sure to tell him. How late are you open?” Laura asked, continuing to scribble.

  “Until five, oh and be sure to tell him it looks absolutely beautiful,” Sandy’s voice oozed pride. “We were very careful with the little fabric pieces that were sewn into the middle of all the squares, and the embroidery, too. Oh yes, and that tiny lock of baby hair. Simply precious. We were extremely careful. That’s why it took so long to frame.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him,” Laura promised. “Bye.” She clicked off.

  Kelly watched Laura examine the file’s paperwork but didn’t see her. All she could picture was Helen’s quilt hanging on the cottage wall, each square filled with treasured pieces of Helen’s early needlework, embroidery, crocheting, even tatting. And—in one square, a tiny lock of blond hair from their young son who died.

  Her heart pounded so hard, Kelly was afraid Laura might hear it. That was Helen’s quilt Gretsky took to the frame shop last month. And there was only one way he could have gotten it off her wall. He killed her. Gretsky was the murderer. He had to be.

  Kelly fairly leaped from her chair. “Ohhh, my goodness, will you look at the time,” she announced as she checked her watch. “I have got to get back to work. Consulting hours, you know. Have to be online when my boss is. Listen, you tell Mr. Gretsky I’ll give him a call later and we can set a time to talk.”

  “I’m certain Alan will call any minute now, and I’ll have him give you—”

  Kelly waved no. “No, no, when I go online I don’t even pick up my phone. I’ll call him.” Spying the open card holder, she snatched one of Gretsky’s business cards. “I’ll take his card to make sure I’ve got the number. Thanks so much. You have a good day, now,” she said as she escaped through the doorway before Laura could say a word.

  Speeding through the lobby and out the glass door, Kelly headed for her car—then on to Fort Connor’s Old Town and the Main Street Frame Shop. With Gretsky’s card in hand, she could pass herself off as his assistant, sent to pick up the family quilt for her boss. Having overheard the phone message, she already knew to ask for Sandy. Kelly would gladly pay $347 to have Helen’s treasured heirloom quilt back in the cottage where it belonged. She would deal with Gretsky later.

  Nineteen

  Spying her friends’ cars parked outside, Kelly raced up the brick walkway to the knitting
shop’s entrance. She patted the key in her pocket. Now that Helen’s quilt was back on the wall safe and sound, Kelly wasn’t taking any chances. She’d locked both front and back doors. Heart still racing, she fairly burst through the shop’s doorway and rushed into the main room to find Jennifer, Megan, and Lisa knitting around the table. Burt looked up from his spinning in the corner.

  “Kelly!” Lisa greeted her. “Jennifer told me about—”

  Kelly silenced her with a finger to her lips, then announced in a hushed voice, “I’m glad you’re all here. We’ve got to talk.” She pulled out a chair closer to Burt and gestured for the others to move to that end of the table.

  “Well?” Jennifer prodded when they settled. “We’re waiting. Megan told us where you went. What’d Gretsky say?”

  “He wasn’t there. I spoke with his assistant instead.”

  “And?” Jennifer gestured. “C’mon, Kelly, keep talking. Do you want me to run back to the café and see if Eduardo saved some coffee?”

  “No, I don’t need any coffee. I’m wired enough as it is.”

  “Uh, oh, this is gonna be bad, I can tell.” Megan screwed up her face.

  “While I was in his office talking to his assistant, this call comes in. She puts it on speakerphone, and the message is from a frame shop in Old Town. The family quilt Gretsky brought in last month is ready, the woman says. The quilt with all the little needlework and embroidery pieces in the middle of the squares and the lock of baby hair.” Kelly paused deliberately to let the message sink in.

  Lisa and Jennifer stared intently as did Burt, but Megan drew back with a gasp. “Helen’s quilt!” she cried. “How did he get it?”

  Kelly leaned over the table and the others followed suit. Even Burt’s wheel stopped spinning. “The only way he could. Gretsky murdered Helen. He’s the killer.”

  “What? That’s crazy!” Megan cried. “You can’t seriously believe he’d kill Helen for a quilt.”

  “No, of course not. I think he took the quilt after he killed her,” Kelly explained. “I think—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Lisa exclaimed. “Are you sure it’s the same quilt?”

  “Yes. I took one of Gretsky’s cards and went to the shop. Passed myself off as his assistant picking up the quilt for my boss. It’s Helen’s all right, and it’s hanging back on the cottage wall where it belongs.”

  “Clever girl,” Burt observed. “But you’re a long way from proving his guilt, you know that, don’t you? Gretsky could always say Helen sold it to him before she died, and you couldn’t prove differently.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding. “But my gut tells me he’s the killer. Now we have to prove it.”

  “Hold on,” Jennifer interrupted this time. “Why do you think he killed Helen? What reason would he have?”

  Kelly glanced toward the browsing customers. “I believe he’s Helen’s illegitimate son, the baby she gave up for adoption years ago. And I’ll bet anything he discovered Helen was his birth mother and tried to force himself into her life. Especially after he discovered she owned a prized piece of real estate.”

  “Hmmmm,” Jennifer mused aloud. “That makes sense. But it still doesn’t explain why he’d kill her.”

  “I’ll bet he tried to weasel the land out of Helen,” Lisa jumped in. “And Helen didn’t like it. In fact, I’ll bet she didn’t like him. Helen never did like pushy people.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Megan agreed. “But, still, that’s not enough reason to kill.”

  “Look, I’m not sure what happened,” Kelly continued. “Maybe Gretsky tried to intimidate Helen or threaten to expose her past or whatever. But something happened to worry Helen so much she deliberately took out a top-heavy mortgage in order to withdraw $20,000. And I’ll bet next month’s salary that money was meant for Gretsky.”

  “For what?” Megan queried.

  “To leave her alone,” Jennifer supplied.

  “And Gretsky wouldn’t do it,” Kelly picked up the thread. “Plus, I’ll bet she also refused to sell her property. Chambers said Helen called before she died and told him she wanted to change her will. She wanted the land to be turned into gardens if I didn’t want it.”

  “When did she call him?” Lisa asked.

  “The day she was killed.”

  “Whoa.”

  “You know, you’re right,” Jennifer said with a nod. “That could have pushed Gretsky to the limit, especially if he’d made promises to Big Box.”

  “Absolutely,” Kelly agreed. “I’ll bet he’d been making plans the moment he discovered his birth mother’s identity. And when she didn’t cooperate, he killed her. Maybe in anger, who knows?”

  “All of that is possible, Kelly, but you still have to prove it,” Burt reminded. “How do you propose doing that?”

  “We’ll have to trap him,” she said simply.

  “Trap him!” Megan croaked. “Are you kidding? How do we do that?”

  “With information, that’s how,” Kelly whispered. “First, we’ll dig up everything we can on Gretsky. Then, we’ll figure out how best to confront him with it.”

  “That’ll be harder than you think, Kelly,” Burt observed sagely. “I should know. I spent a lifetime doing it.”

  “I think you’ve been watching too many of those movies,” Lisa said with a little smile. “But count me in. What do you want me to do?”

  Kelly hunched closer. “I thought we’d each search something different. Megan, how about you doing a Web search on everything you can find on Gretsky. Google him, whatever.”

  “Will do,” she said. “I’ve got even better sources than that.”

  “Megan ‘Deep Throat’ Smith,” Jennifer joked. “Okay, I’ll not be outdone by our resident geek. I’ll turn over every real estate rock I can find and see if there’s any dirt on him. Also, I’ll check on his financial status. I’ve got friends who can help me there.”

  Burt leaned over. “And I’ll ask my partner to run a discreet check on Gretsky.”

  “Boy, I wish we had a blood sample from Gretsky, then we could match it with the blood from the carpet—” Kelly said.

  “Is it an unusual blood type?” Lisa interrupted. “If so, I have a friend who works at the hospital blood bank.”

  “Type O was found on the carpet and the wool. Same type as the suspect in jail,” Burt offered.

  “And nearly half the population,” Lisa added with a shrug.

  “But,” Burt continued, “the crime lab also did DNA tests, and they show absolutely no match with the suspect.”

  “That’s okay, Lisa,” Kelly said. “You can check if he’s a member of the health club or if he had a personal trainer. People gossip with trainers.” She looked around at her friends. “Boy, I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

  “We just don’t want you working alone,” Jennifer teased. “What are you checking?”

  “I’m going to look into that Wyoming adoption agency, the Sisters of Charity. I’ll also check if there’re any state agencies that keep records on adoptees looking for birth parents.” She looked at her watch. “It’s almost evening now. Why don’t we touch base tomorrow afternoon after lunch and see what we’ve turned up. Is that possible? Can we all meet here?”

  They all nodded. Then Megan spoke up. “Who’s gonna tell Mimi? Anyone brave enough?”

  “I will,” Burt volunteered.

  “Bless you, Burt,” Kelly said and kissed his cheek. “See you folks tomorrow.”

  Mimi was rearranging the antique trunks and wooden crates in the foyer when Kelly pushed open the shop’s front door. She fairly pounced on Kelly when she entered.

  “Kelly, what’s this I hear about your trying to trap this vicious murderer?” she croaked in a whisper, so the customers browsing in the adjacent room wouldn’t hear. Her gray eyes were as round as demitasse saucers.

  “Shhhhh,”
Kelly reminded, finger to lips. She didn’t have to wonder if Mimi was worried. She radiated anxiety, reeked with it. Kelly took a deep breath and endeavored to calm her. “Don’t worry, Mimi. We’re all working on this together. I’m not going off alone to confront anyone. Even Burt’s helping.”

  Mimi’s attractive face puckered into a worried frown. “I know, he told me. But I still don’t understand why you can’t just let the police handle it. After all, you’ve found new evidence—”

  “Which is entirely circumstantial, Mimi. Nothing I’ve uncovered proves anything. Gretsky’s been too clever for that. We’re hoping to confront him and maybe he’ll slip and let out the truth.”

  Mimi stared horrified. “How?”

  “We’re still working on that,” Kelly hedged as she headed for the main room. “But don’t worry, Mimi. No one’s doing anything crazy. I promise.”

  Everyone but Lisa was already seated around the library table as Kelly entered. Even Burt was in his corner, spinning, a large plastic bag at his feet overflowing with golden-blond wool. Kelly was reminded of the fairy tales from childhood. Damsels spilling golden hair from castle windows, witches casting spells on maidens, dwarves spinning straw into gold. She had to smile at the image of Burt beside a basket of straw.

  “Hey, everyone,” she greeted them, then let her things drop to the table and sat down. “When’s Lisa coming? Anyone know?”

  “Right now,” Lisa’s voice sounded as she sped into the room.

  Jennifer looked up from her knitting and checked her watch. “Whoa, that’s the fastest you’ve ever been able to get away from the health center. What’d you do? Put all your clients in the therapy pool and leave?”

  Lisa grinned. “Naw, they’d turn into prunes before I got back. I merely switched some appointments with another therapist so I’d be freed up.” She plopped into a chair.

  Megan glanced up over her pink wool, which had grown considerably since yesterday. If Megan knitted when she was worried, she’d have that sweater finished tonight, Kelly figured. “Did you see Mimi pacing the foyer?”