Close Knit Killer

by Maggie Sefton

  “That’s what friends are for, Barb.” Kelly returned her smile.

  Barb hastened to the café doorway just as Jennifer walked up to Kelly’s table. “Big Barb heading back to the doctor’s office?”

  “Yes, indeed. I made it a point to tell her the bad news about Hal Nelson, which is also good news for Barb. She’s probably dropped off the police radar screen.”

  “Well, let’s see what else turns up.” Jennifer wiped off a nearby table. “I just heard from Bridget, the temp waitress who works three jobs. She’s looking for a few extra hours, if you can believe. Anyway, she told me the police detective was finally able to schedule a time between all her jobs when he could ask questions. So, who knows if she saw anything suspicious. Maybe she saw Malcolm over here before he got drunk.” She shrugged.

  Kelly didn’t even want to think about it. She was tired of all the different murder scenarios playing in her head. She stared at the remaining half of her Wicked Burger. She couldn’t eat another bite. “Did Bridget say anything to you?”

  “I didn’t really ask. This whole murder in the parking lot has spooked all of us. I don’t think I can handle any more details.” She gave Kelly a rueful smile. “You gonna finish that burger?”

  “I can’t. Could you please box it up, and I’ll take it over to the cottage fridge. I can have it for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Will do. Are you going back there now?” She picked up Kelly’s plate.

  “Yeah, I have some phone calls to make, then finish one of Warner’s accounts. We’ve got a softball game tonight in Wellington.”

  “Knock it out of the park,” Jennifer advised with a grin.

  * * *

  Kelly nosed her car into the ball field’s parking lot as she reached for her ringing cell phone. She saw Burt’s name and number flash on the phone screen. “Good timing, Burt. I’m arriving at the ball field right now. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Kelly. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to bring you up to speed on the latest and probably last round of witness questioning.”

  “Oh, yeah. Jennifer told me that police finally were able to meet with that workaholic Bridget. Boy, I don’t know how that girl finds time to sleep.”

  “I hear you, Kelly. She puts most college kids to shame. Apparently she impressed the detective as a real down-to-earth sort. She told him she went over to the driveway that evening to pick up her bike, which she’d locked in the café’s bike rack. She thinks it’s safer than the one at Big Box.” He chuckled.

  “Well, that’s entirely possible. Plus, no people coming into the café. Did she see anything?”

  “Nope. Bridget said she didn’t see Rizzoli or his car because she never even went around to that side of the driveway that evening. She retrieved her bike and rode off along the edge of the golf course, heading to another restaurant job.”

  “A working fool, as Jayleen would say,” Kelly observed as she closed her car door and popped open the trunk, which contained her softball gear.

  “I’ll say. So . . . I’m afraid that leaves the situation as it was. Hal Nelson is the main suspect with Barb and Malcolm tying for second place.”

  Kelly heard his tired sigh over the phone. “I know how you feel, Burt. It makes me sick to think of that.”

  “Yeah, it does. Listen, Mimi and I are going out to dinner tonight. Something to take this situation off our minds for a spell. You guys have a good game, you hear? And knock it out of the park for me, will ya?”

  “I’ll do my best, Burt.”

  Eighteen

  Kelly spotted Madge crossing the driveway beside Lambspun, her arms filled with two large bags. Kelly hurried down the sidewalk to help her. “Hold on, Madge, I can get the front door for you,” she called to the slightly built older woman.

  Madge turned at the steps leading to Lambspun’s entry. Only her head was visible over the plastic bags stuffed full of cinnamon brown fleece. “Why, thank you, Kelly. I could use an extra hand,” she said as she climbed the brick steps.

  Kelly skipped up the steps ahead of her and pulled the heavy wooden door open, holding it wide. “It looks like you and Barb have been spinning. Are these for the Wool Market?”

  “They sure are.” Madge walked into the foyer. “Mimi said she’d be glad to take up any fleeces I brought, so Barb and I got to work last night and finished spinning Sweet Georgia Brown’s fleece. It’s such a distinctive shade of brown, I think it will sell easily.”

  Kelly followed after her. “I imagine your spinning went faster now that you and Barb have that weight lifted off your shoulders. Here, let me take a bag.”

  Madge allowed Kelly to relieve her of one bag of fleece. “You’re right, Kelly. I am relieved that police are no longer scrutinizing Barbara, but I’m heartsick to think that Hal Nelson is now in their crosshairs.” She looked at Kelly, concern evident in her eyes. “I’ve known Hal Nelson since he was a boy. He could no more kill someone than Barbara could.”

  “I feel the same way, Madge,” Kelly said in a low voice, so as not to be overheard by nearby customers. “But we can’t escape the fact that someone killed Jared Rizzoli. I doubt he stabbed himself in the throat. So, police are naturally going to scrutinize anyone with a grudge against Rizzoli. And Hal admitted to me he still blames Rizzoli for causing his mother’s cancer to return and kill her. He even told me that’s why he talked to Rizzoli that night. He wanted to tell him face-to-face.”

  Madge frowned, her brows knotting together. “I knew his mother Bernice well. She was my best friend in Fort Connor. So I know how her despair affected her. And how her death affected Hal. So I understand his resentment. But why, oh, why did he choose that evening to confront that awful man? Of all times . . .” Her words drifted off as Madge stared out the nearby paned windows.

  “I don’t know, Madge.” Kelly sought something to ease Madge’s worry. “Hal told me he was outside putting a remodeling invoice for Mimi and Burt into the Lambspun mailbox. Jared Rizzoli drove into the driveway while Hal was standing there, and it sounded like Hal decided to speak to him on the spur of the moment.”

  Madge wagged her head, worry still creasing her face. “That awful man, that awful, awful man is still hurting people,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “I know how you feel, Madge.”

  Madge looked at Kelly, doubt still clouding her face. “Have you heard any more about that roving gang of thieves? Police should be looking for them.”

  Kelly leaned closer, speaking quietly. “They did find them. In fact, they caught them in the act of stealing a car. And when they interrogated them, Burt said the cops learned that all those guys were at a party that night. Plenty of witnesses can swear they weren’t involved.” She met Madge’s disappointed gaze with her own. Not knowing anything else to say, Kelly fell back on one of her father’s old sayings. “The truth will come out. It always does.”

  Rosa walked up then and addressed them both. “Are those fleeces for the Wool Market? If so, bring ’em this way, so I can tag them and get them in the new storage building.” She beckoned them toward the front room and the winding table, where Kelly saw tags spread out next to a large notebook.

  “Looks like you guys are all organized,” Kelly said, setting the bag of fleece on the floor beside the table as Madge did the same.

  “Burt and Mimi will start taking things up to Estes Park tomorrow to the exhibition hall of the fairgrounds. Connie and Mimi are up there today setting up the booth. Tomorrow we’ll be taking things up in shifts all day to get ready for Saturday morning’s opening.”

  “Mimi and Burt will be staying up there starting tomorrow night, right?” Kelly asked, as her cell phone’s music sounded from her briefcase.

  “You got it. Go ahead, Kelly. I’ve got it covered here. You go back to work,” Rosa said with a grin.

  “Slave driver,” Kelly teased, then gave Madge’s arm a reassuring squeeze as she dug out her phone. “Don’t worry, Madge,” she repeated. “Things will work out.”

 
Madge gave a pinched smile. “You’re probably right, Kelly.”

  Kelly sent the older woman one more reassuring smile before answering her phone. Her client Arthur Housemann’s name flashed on the screen.

  * * *

  Delicious aromas of tempting lunchtime selections tickled Kelly’s nostrils as she turned the corner into the café from the knitting shop. She’d finished the Wicked Burger last night before going to her game. There was no way she’d succumb again, she swore to herself, ignoring the yummy plate sitting on the counter as she passed by. Deliberately turning her head away, Kelly walked into the front of the café, away from the grill. Less tempting, she figured.

  Spotting a small empty table near the front door, Kelly plopped her briefcase on an empty chair and claimed a seat. She quickly scanned the daily lunch specials and decided on a healthy blackened chicken salad with lots of greens. Plus a slice of Pete’s scrumptious whole wheat bread.

  A young brunette woman who looked college-age approached the table, notepad in hand. She looked vaguely familiar to Kelly.

  “Hi, there. I’m Bridget. What can I get for you today? We’ve got a fantastic tomato basil soup on special for lunch. And the spinach and feta quiche also.”

  “Hey, Bridget, you’re one of the temp waitresses. I thought I’d seen you before,” Kelly said, smiling. “Jennifer said you’re actually juggling three jobs and going to school, correct?”

  Bridget smiled brightly. “Guilty as charged. I’m insane, I know. But I can’t afford to finish in four years otherwise.”

  “Whoa, girl. I wonder when you sleep. Jen told me even the cops had to bow to your schedule,” Kelly teased.

  “Yeah, I felt bad about that, but, hey . . .” She laughed softly. “Two of my jobs are right next to each other at the university labs, so I go from one to the other. And there’re no strangers allowed in the sterile rooms where I work on cataloging seeds. So, they had to wait for a break in my schedule.”

  “Boy, I’m impressed, Bridget. You make the rest of us feel like we’re moving in low gear.”

  Bridget laughed again. “I don’t know about that. You’re Kelly, right? I’ve heard Jennifer and Pete talk about you. You’re certainly not moving in the slow lane.”

  “Coming from you, Bridget, that’s high praise.”

  “What can I get you, Kelly?” She poised her pen over the pad.

  “You know, I was about to have a salad, but those lunch specials enticed me away. Why don’t you bring me that tomato basil soup and the spinach and feta quiche. That’s a favorite of mine. Oh, and a refill of black coffee, too.”

  “I remember that part about you, Kelly,” Bridget said, then winked as she took Kelly’s mug.

  Suddenly curious, Kelly ventured, “By the way, I confess I’m curious. Were you able to help the cops at all? Did you see anyone hanging around Lambspun that evening? Jennifer said you parked your bike over here.”

  Bridget shook her head. “Naw, I’m afraid not. I never even went around to that other side of the driveway, so I didn’t see that guy in his car. I came across the street to this side of the shop, right here in the front.” She gestured out the window. “This bike rack is way safer than that one across the street at Big Box. I keep my bike here the nights I work at the store. I get off at seven.”

  Kelly glanced out the window and spotted the bike rack tucked between the adobe outside wall and a metal storage shed near the front entrance. “That makes sense. Way too many people walking around Big Box. It’s too bad you didn’t see anyone else walking around that evening. That nice builder guy who was remodeling the garage outside is in the cops’ bull’s-eye right now. Apparently he was seen talking to that Rizzoli in his car.” Kelly stared out the window.

  “Yeah, I talked to him a couple of times when I worked here last month. You know, when Pete was in Denver. He seemed a nice guy. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help. But I didn’t see anybody sneaking or lurking around the building. Only that little gray-haired lady who teaches spinning classes in the shop. She was around the back of the shop at the faucet washing her hands.”

  Kelly turned back to Bridget quickly. “Madge? You saw Madge outside washing her hands at a faucet?”

  Bridget nodded. “Yeah. She was washing her dress, too. Weird. I guess she’d been pulling weeds again or working in the garden. I’d seen her outside pulling weeds from the patio gardens. They’re so pretty. She must be a gardener at heart, as well as a spinner.” Bridget smiled down at Kelly. “Well, I’d better get this order in so you can have lunch.”

  Kelly stared at her blankly and nodded. “Sure. Thanks.” Kelly watched Bridget hurry off toward the grill; meanwhile her mind was going a mile a minute. Her instinct was buzzing, and thoughts were bombarding her, demanding her attention.

  Madge was seen washing her hands at the faucet behind the back of the Lambspun knitting shop. In the back. Outside. Where no one could see her. Why would Madge be washing her hands at seven in the evening that Saturday? Had she been pulling weeds in the patio garden as Bridget suggested? Or had Madge gotten something else on her hands? Something else that needed to be washed off. Something like blood?

  Other thoughts darted in and claimed Kelly’s attention, dancing in front of her eyes. Barb said that Madge was not at their home when she returned from driving around the canyon. But Madge had told Kelly she was at home because she’d asked Barb where she’d been when Barb returned from driving. That was a lie. Barb clearly was surprised to hear her mother had claimed to be at home. Barb also said her mother came in later that evening, and . . . and her mother’s dress was all wet. She’d laughed and told Barb she’d accidentally walked through the neighbors’ sprinklers.

  Kelly stared out the window without seeing, her thoughts darting and zooming, little bits of information she’d heard or learned coming forward now. Rosa saw Barb outside talking to Hal Nelson as he showed Barb his tools. But . . . Rosa also said that Madge was there in the garden beside the fence, pulling weeds.

  Madge clearly was there to see and hear Hal talk about his tools. So, Madge knew exactly where to find the knife that was used to stab Jared Rizzoli in the throat. Violently stab Rizzoli in the throat. The medical examiner said the wound was jagged, indicating that the knife was jerked to the side, too. A large, bloody wound in Rizzoli’s throat, which obviously resulted in a great deal of blood. Blood that obviously got on Rizzoli’s killer . . . and on the killer’s hands and clothes.

  Kelly pictured petite Madge squatting beside the outside faucet at the back of Lambspun. Washing her hands, washing her arms, washing her dress. Of course she’d wash off the blood. There was no way she could walk into a store and use its restroom facilities to clean up. Even gas stations gave out keys for the facilities. And Madge certainly couldn’t arrive home to greet her daughter while she was still covered in blood. No . . . she had to clean up first. Wash off all trace of Rizzoli’s blood.

  “Here’s your soup. Enjoy,” Bridget said, placing a steaming bowl of tomato basil soup in front of Kelly.

  “Uhhhh, thanks . . .” was all she could manage. Kelly’s thoughts had left mundane issues like lunch or hunger. They were slowing down now in the pattern Kelly recognized from all her earlier sleuthing efforts. Usually she’d taken some time to sit quietly and knit on a project while her thoughts sorted themselves out. But she didn’t have her knitting with her now. Her almost-finished baby hat was still at the cottage.

  Kelly stared at her soup, the enticing aroma drifting upward. She picked up the soupspoon and dipped it into the rich, creamy, red mixture. Her thoughts would simply have to sort themselves out over soup this time, she decided, and took a sip. Delicious.

  She proceeded to slowly savor the soup while her thoughts started arranging themselves in logical order. The conclusion they brought was shocking. Almost incomprehensible. How could such a sweet, slight older woman like Madge commit such a brutal murder? Was it possible? Was Kelly seeing things that weren’t there? Drawing bogus conclusions?
Maybe, maybe not. She would have to run all this by Burt and see what he thought. One thing Kelly had learned over these last few years of involving herself in murder investigations was that nothing was impossible when it came to murder. Especially when it came to murder.

  * * *

  Kelly listened to the last of Steve’s phone message saying he’d be home later tonight because of a late meeting. Kelly leaned against the kitchen counter at her cottage and stared outside at Carl sniffing about the backyard. The sun was in the middle of the afternoon sky. She pondered for another minute, then scrolled through her phone directory. Pushing Burt’s number, she listened to the rings. Again and again. Not surprising. Burt and Mimi were probably inside the loud exhibition hall setting up the vendor booth.

  Kelly waited for the voice mail beep to come on. “Hey, Burt, Kelly here. When you get a chance, could you give me a call when you’re in a quiet place. I need to share some information with you. Something I’ve just learned concerning the Rizzoli murder. Something important. I’d like your advice. I know you and Mimi are busy up at the Wool Market, so call when you can. I’ll be heading for the house in a little while and I plan to be home this evening. So, give me a call. Thanks.” She clicked off.

  Nineteen

  Kelly heard a short staccato knock on her cottage front door. Burt was right on time, she thought, glancing at her watch as she hurried to the door. Eight fifteen in the morning.

  She yanked the door open. “Hey, Burt. Perfect timing. The coffee is brewing now.”

  “Thanks, Kelly, but I’ll take a pass,” Burt said as he stepped inside. “I drank way too much of the stuff yesterday while we were setting up the booth.”