Dropped Dead Stitch

by Maggie Sefton

  “Are there any more projects like that you could get involved with, Steve? That might help get you through this rough patch in the market.”

  Steve shook his head. “Even if there were, Kelly, I have no money to invest anymore. Everything’s tied up in Wellesley and Baker Street. I can’t start any new projects. I’m just trying to hang on to the ones I’ve got.”

  Kelly placed her hand on his arm, feeling the crisp weave of his cotton shirt. A different feel from his preferred denim work shirts. Denim and jeans and work boots. Steve’s favorite attire when he was busy building new houses. Comfortable clothes.

  Not anymore. Now he wore sport coats or suits with dress shirts. Better for meetings with bankers and investment types. His days were spent in his office in Old Town in the Baker Street building. Steve had taken one of the smaller retail shops as his own. No longer tromping through mud and worksite clutter.

  The picture of Steve working inside an office instead of striding around a building site was hard to bring into focus. It didn’t seem right. Steve had been building houses for eight years in northern Colorado, all around his hometown of Fort Connor.

  Kelly decided to offer another suggestion, rather than her usual reassuring comments, since he’d heard them all before. “Have you considered signing on as an architect with one of the local firms? You know, as a consultant, maybe?”

  Steve nodded, not even looking surprised by her comment. “Yeah, I have. If those Wellesley sites don’t sell this summer, I may have to sign up with a company. I’ll have to hustle up money somewhere to cover those new loan payments.”

  Kelly sought for something to say, surprised that he had never mentioned to her that he was considering a different course. “You may enjoy designing other peoples’ projects, Steve. It could be challenging, even.”

  Steve gave a little rueful smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the challenge I can handle.”

  Fifteen

  Kelly leaned against her patio screen door, watching a squirrel scamper across the grassy backyard within a few feet of her sleeping dog. Carl lay stretched out in the sunshine for his morning nap. Kelly sipped her coffee while Brazen Squirrel darted about the backyard, digging in the flower beds, acting totally unafraid of Big-Dog-on-Patrol. Clearly, Brazen Squirrel knew Carl’s habits better than he did. Midmorning was nap time in the sunny corner of the yard. Carl was snoring peacefully as big dogs were wont to do, totally unaware that his nemesis was within easy reach.

  Kelly smiled and didn’t make a sound. She wasn’t about to blow Brazen’s cover. Hey, if you sleep on the job, you’re gonna miss out. That was one of the big differences between dogs and cats, she’d noticed. Cats might look like they were sleeping, but one eye or their antennae or whatever was always paying attention. Cats were always on the job. Something small and tasty might be creeping nearby. There was no way Brazen Squirrel would scamper about so nonchalantly and carefree if Carl the Cat lived there.

  Her cell phone jangled in her pocket, playing her latest music download. Burt’s voice came on, excited.

  “Kelly, I’m finally calling with good news. In fact, it’s great news.”

  “I can tell from the sound of your voice, Burt.” She pushed away from the door. Carl had stirred and raised his head, sending Brazen Squirrel into the bushes. “Quick, tell me.”

  “Rancher Bill’s alibi just sprang a leak. His girlfriend confessed to Peterson that Bill wasn’t with her the night of Cal Everett’s death.”

  Kelly sucked in her breath. “You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m not. Peterson went back to interview the girlfriend after hearing Dr. Norcross’s statement that she saw a big truck drive into Everett’s barnyard that night. Apparently the girlfriend acted real scared and broke down. In fact, she admitted her boyfriend Bill wasn’t with her at all. He called her after the police interviewed him and begged her to lie for him. He said he was at his office all alone that night and had no alibi. And he knew everyone at the retreat saw him arguing with Everett.”

  “Ha! Got ’im!” she exulted.

  “Well, not yet,” Burt cautioned. “But he’s definitely moved higher on Peterson’s list.”

  “I’m curious. What’s Rancher Bill’s full name?”

  “Ummm, let me check my notes. It starts with a Z I think. Yeah, it’s Zarofsky.”

  “Okay. Next question. When’s Peterson going to visit Zarofsky again?”

  “Vern said they were headed out to his office this morning. He’s a rancher turned developer or something and has an office listed under commercial real estate. Why don’t you ask Jennifer if she knows this guy.”

  “Sure. But I doubt she knows him, or she would have said something when she saw him at the retreat. We were all standing right there, staring at the two of them yelling at each other.”

  “Vern said the girlfriend told them Zarofsky was really spooked about that. He knows that puts him right in Peterson’s sights.”

  “They must have talked to the girlfriend yesterday, right?”

  “Yeah, yesterday afternoon.”

  “Aren’t they worried the girlfriend spilled everything to Zarofsky yesterday? That would give him time to find someone else to lie for him.”

  “Don’t worry, Kelly. It won’t be the first time Peterson’s been face-to-face with a liar. He finds ways to trip them up.”

  Kelly heard the amusement in Burt’s voice. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just being paranoid, I guess.”

  “No, you’re right on. Most criminals will keep looking for someone else to bail them out of trouble. Now, we don’t know if this Zarofsky is a criminal or not, but his behavior certainly doesn’t inspire trust.”

  “I’ll bet that’s why Peterson questioned the girlfriend first after he’d heard from Dr. Norcross. He was hoping she’d admit Zarofsky was lying. That way, he’d have more leverage when he questioned Zarofsky next.”

  “And you’d bet right, Sherlock.”

  “Boy, I can’t wait until Peterson gets ahold of Zarofsky this afternoon. You’ve got to let me know as soon as you hear something, Burt. Promise?”

  Burt chuckled. “I promise, Kelly. You know me. I will always keep you in the loop.”

  “You’ve made my day,” Megan said, smiling at Kelly across the knitting table. She was working a turquoise bamboo and silk, turning it into a lacy top. “Now maybe Jennifer will be off the hook.”

  Kelly slid her right knitting needle under the left side of the next stitch on the other needle, wrapped the red yarn around the needle, and slipped the stitch from the left needle to the right. Only two years ago, that simple maneuver—so natural to her now—had been fraught with much anxiety.

  “I sure hope so, Megan. But it all depends on what this Zarofsky has to say. I mean, he may come up with another alibi, who knows? So, let’s keep our fingers crossed that Detective Peterson breaks him down.”

  Megan giggled. “You’ve definitely been watching too many CSI and cop shows. By the way, where’s your crochet practice project? Did you finish it already?”

  “No, it’s in my bag,” she admitted sheepishly. “It started looking kind of uneven, and I got discouraged. So I returned to my vest.”

  “Well, don’t give up. I can help you with it if you want me to.”

  “I’ll take you up on that offer. But first I may edge another washcloth. Meanwhile, I want to finish this vest while it’s still warm weather so I can wear it.”

  Kelly noticed two women entering the main room, laughing and gesturing as they examined the yarn bins. She recognized both women as two of Mimi’s regular crochet group members. Once a month they showed up for an all-day yarn fix. They both lived in Poudre Canyon, consequently they didn’t drive down to Fort Connor as frequently as other Lambspun regulars did.

  An idea wiggled from the back of Kelly’s mind. Watching the two women settle into chairs at the other end of the table, she whispered to Megan, “Do you remember their names? I only recognize faces.”

  Megan le
aned over the table. “The gray-haired lady is Miriam, and the younger blonde gal is Eileen.”

  Kelly waited until both women had drawn their yarn projects out of their bags and settled into their chairs. “How’re you two doing? We haven’t seen you for a while. Eileen, isn’t it? And Miriam?”

  “You’ve got a good memory, Kelly,” Miriam said with a maternal smile. “And you’re right. I haven’t been able to get into town for a month. There was way too much spring cleanup to do on the ranch. We’ve got alpacas, you know.”

  Kelly didn’t know that. “I’ve heard a friend of mine talk about her workload. She has an alpaca ranch in Bellevue Canyon.”

  “It’s pretty up there, but it’s cold, cold, cold in the wintertime,” Eileen said, crochet hook working a lavender yarn. It looked like a blanket was coming into shape.

  “And icy,” Miriam said as her smaller hook worked a purple scarf.

  Kelly knew about wintertime cold. She’d experienced Bellevue Canyon’s cold and ice one winter and almost lost her life.

  “Don’t mention icy roads,” Megan said with a shudder. “I’ve been spooked ever since Kelly crashed while she was driving out of that canyon during winter last year.”

  “Oh, goodness, you’re right,” Miriam exclaimed. “That’s when you had the cast on your foot, right?”

  “I don’t remember that,” Eileen said, peering at her friend.

  “I certainly do,” Kelly said with a laugh. “I was clomping around the shop for six weeks, bumping into things, knocking over yarn bins. It was lots of fun, believe me.”

  “She exaggerates as usual,” Megan teased, turquoise stitches forming another row.

  Kelly waited for the quiet laughter to fade away before she brought up the topic she was aiming for—ranchers Everett and Zarofsky. “Did either of you two know that guy who died recently? He owned the retreat ranch and stables way up the canyon. I think his name was Cal Everett. The newspaper said he broke his neck in a fall.”

  Both Eileen and Miriam glanced at each other, then Miriam spoke. “I heard about his death. Both of us had met him, but neither of us had a very favorable impression, I’m afraid.”

  Megan shot a look at Kelly. “What do you mean?” she prodded.

  Miriam kept working the purple yarn, hook busily stitching. “My husband and I worked with him on a fund-raising function when he first bought the canyon property. We were running a chili dog stand to raise funds for the mountain school. He was nothing but uncooperative. Everett wanted to stand in the crowd and smile and talk to people but didn’t want to get his hands dirty inside the tent. So we wound up doing all the work, while Mr. Smiley worked the crowd. He said he was ‘drumming up business.’ When my husband suggested we could use his help, he became combative.” She gave a matronly harrumph that reminded Kelly of Hilda von Steuben, one of Lambspun’s elderly knitters and regulars. “An altogether unpleasant man.”

  “I remember him from the canyon property owners’ association,” Eileen weighed in, hook picking up speed. “He always challenged the homeowners’ fee assessments, and he was always late in paying. In fact, he never paid for this year’s assessment. We depend on that money to clear snow from the private roads and keep them repaired.”

  Kelly stitched quietly for a minute, then added her observations. “I didn’t know him, but I was at a retreat at his ranch once. It was really pretty up there.”

  “Oh, it’s a pretty place, all right. He does a lot of retreat business from what I’ve heard. Lots of cars coming and going, especially on the weekends,” Miriam said.

  Eileen gave a derisive snort, crochet hook moving even faster. “Not as many as my neighbor.”

  “You mean Zarofsky?” Miriam said with a chuckle. “Well, you’re right about that.”

  Megan and Kelly exchanged looks. “Does he have a retreat business, too?” Kelly asked innocently.

  Eileen shook her head. “I asked him that very question after he’d moved into the ranch. He’d been living there about six months, and I’d noticed how many cars were always going and coming into his place. So I asked him when I spotted him at a local coffee shop. He said he had a lot of business clients, that’s all.” She scowled a little. “Problem is, our bedroom is on the same side of the property as Zarofsky’s driveway, so the sound of car and truck engines wakes us up at night.”

  “Boy, that would get old real fast,” Megan volunteered. “Have you thought about filing a noise complaint or something?”

  “We try to solve things without the help of the legal system if we can,” Miriam said with a wry smile. “Lawyers tend to complicate things, we’ve found.”

  Megan grinned. “Well, you’re certainly right about that.”

  “She should know.” Kelly couldn’t resist. “She’s dating one.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Eileen teased.

  Megan laughed so hard, she spilled her coffee.

  “What’s so funny?” Mimi asked as she entered the room, a customer trailing after her.

  “Marty. People laugh at the mere mention of his name,” Kelly replied as her cell phone rang from her cutoff jeans pocket. “Excuse me for a moment.” She headed into the adjacent yarn room, which happened to be empty. Burt’s name flashed on her phone screen.

  Checking her watch she flipped open the phone. “Hey, Burt, I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow morning. What’s up?”

  “I just heard from Vern, so I thought I’d update you now. Mimi and I have a whole new to-do list of errands for tonight, so I figured I’d never get around to calling you later.”

  “I see Megan’s organizing skills are in high gear.”

  “Ohhhh, yeah. She’s got us working overtime.”

  “So what did Vern say about Zarofsky? Did he have a new alibi?”

  “Actually, no. That surprised me. Like you, I thought he’d try to rustle up another one. But Vern said Zarofsky acted real contrite and said he’d been at his office all alone that night, working late. He admitted he’d panicked when Peterson showed up the first time to question him. He knew a lot of people saw him arguing with Cal Everett that weekend. That’s why he called his girlfriend and begged her to lie for him.”

  Kelly pondered Zarofsky’s latest version. It sounded plausible. But was it true? “What do you think, Burt? Is he telling the truth, or is he trying to weasel out of it with a plausible-sounding lie? You know . . . the ‘I know it was stupid, officer, but I just didn’t think’ excuse.”

  Burt laughed. “I don’t even want to know if you ever used that line before.”

  “Me? Never. But I’ve had friends who’ve reportedly used it to great effect.”

  “I believe you. But as for Zarofsky . . . I don’t know, Kelly. I wasn’t there to watch him when he was questioned. That’s when I used to pick up signals from people. They always reveal themselves.”

  “What will Peterson do now? Question more people?”

  “Yeah, and put more pressure on Zarofsky to come up with a way to prove he was working that night. You know, e-mails from his office computer, maybe. Let’s see what he comes up with.”

  Kelly thought for a moment. “What does your gut tell you, Burt?”

  Burt didn’t answer for a few seconds. “My gut thinks he’s lying.”

  “Mine, too.”

  Sixteen

  “How do you spell his name again?” Jennifer asked as she grabbed a notebook and pen from her bag.

  “Z-a-r-o-f-s-k-y.” Kelly leaned back into the chair at the corner café table and sipped the fresh mug of coffee Jennifer had provided. After polishing off one of Pete’s delicious omelet breakfasts, she figured this was the perfect time to pick Jennifer’s real estate brain. Burt had said Zarofsky was a commercial developer. Maybe Jen knew something about him. Kelly’s antennae had been buzzing on this guy ever since her conversation with Burt yesterday.

  “And he’s developing commercial properties?”

  Kelly shrugged. “According to Burt, that’s what Zarofsky told
the cops. But my buzzer is going off on this guy. His girlfriend blew his alibi for that Saturday night, and he admitted to Peterson that he lied. Apparently he lied because he was working all alone at his office that night. But you know, my gut tells me he’s lying about that, too.”

  Jennifer quirked a brow at her. “Okay, Sherlock. I’ll check him out and start asking around. His name doesn’t sound familiar, but he could be working part-time with some small company. Let’s see what I can find.”

  “Thanks, Jen. I figure if he is telling the truth, maybe someone who works in the same building would have seen him there.”

  “Where’s his office?”

  “I think Burt said it was in the Commercial Bank Building on College Avenue.”

  Jennifer pushed away from the table. “Okay, I’ll check it out and give you a call later. We’ve got a commercial broker in the office who knows everyone who’s working in this town. He’ll give me a lead, I’m sure.” She slipped her bag over her shoulder, turning to go. “And I appreciate what you’re doing, Kelly. I know you’re trying to keep me out of Peterson’s sights.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” Kelly teased. “By the way, congratulations for hanging in there with the workouts. It’s been over a week now, and you’re still showing up every afternoon.”

  Jennifer gave her a wry smile. “Well, I have to admit, it hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “See! I told you.” Kelly made a face.

  “And . . . I’ve noticed I’m not as tired after working an evening catering job.”

  “Ha!” Kelly crowed.

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. “So, yes, you were right. It does make me feel better. But I’m not sure I could do it without you and Pete along. That makes it endurable.”

  “Pete’s doing really well. I told him so this morning. I’m so proud of both of you.” Kelly beamed like a proud mother.