Prime Crime Holiday Bundle

by Cleo Coyle; Emily Brightwell; Kenneth Blanchard

  “Oh, I’ll be around to help them. I thought I’d have a knitting workshop twice a week so the kids could have extra help.” Juliet smiled at Kelly. “I remember my first hat, too.”

  “Make sure you don’t volunteer all your time away, Juliet,” Lizzie said, a twinkle in her eye. “You want to make sure to have enough time for Christmas parties and such.”

  Kelly recognized the look in Lizzie’s eye. It appeared every time something aroused Lizzie’s interest, especially her interest in male-female relationships. Romantic relationships, in particular.

  Juliet’s smile disappeared. “Oh, I never go to parties. I’m much too busy preparing for the holidays.”

  “But that was before your Romeo started courting you,” Lizzie continued to tease as she glanced at Kelly. “Juliet has been seeing a lovely gentleman this year. A widower. They’d seen each other for years at the library. Then one day . . .” Lizzie gestured like an aging Tinkerbell. “Poof! Magic happened.”

  “How romantic,” Kelly replied obligingly. She noticed, however, that Juliet seemed uncomfortable. Juliet made no reply. She simply kept scattering colorful balls of yarn on the next table.

  Lizzie, however, continued to fill in the silence. “Surely you and Jeremy have some special holiday plans.”

  Juliet’s lips pursed together. “I’m afraid we don’t. Jeremy’s been busy lately—”

  “Surely not too busy for you,” Lizzie teased again.

  Juliet’s discomfort was palpable now, and Kelly wished there was some discreet way she could get Lizzie to keep quiet short of stuffing a ball of yarn in her mouth.

  Juliet shook the box, emptying the remaining yarns on the last table. “I’ve heard he’s seeing another woman,” she said softly, her cheeks aflame. Then she turned and hurried toward the classroom doorway. Children’s voices could be heard in the hallway.

  Lizzie stared after Juliet with an expression of embarrassment and contrition as a noisy group of elementary students burst into the classroom.

  Three

  Kelly looked up into the Colorado blue sky as she crossed the driveway between the beige stucco, red tile-roofed knitting shop and her lookalike cottage. Another bright, sunny morning. Balmy temperatures, too. Balmy for December, that is. Was this another Indian summer? No rain in sight and no chance of snow, according to the weatherman.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the Colorado Rockies in the distance. Snow-capped peaks glistened. The High Country had snow. She and Steve, Greg, Lisa, Megan, and Marty had gone skiing the day after Thanksgiving. All the mountain ski resorts had snow.

  Denver had snow. Colorado Springs had snow. Even Greeley had snow. But nary a flake in Fort Connor so far. Maybe that was the Cheyenne Ridge effect. She’d heard since childhood that the Cheyenne Ridge in Wyoming protected Fort Connor from severe winter snowstorms. Denver and Boulder would be dumped on, but Fort Connor would only get a couple of inches. However, every few years a blizzard would roar through the Front Range, and all bets were off.

  Kelly paused to admire the Christmas greenery that adorned the Lambspun front door. Jewel-like beads wound through the evergreen boughs, and tiny ribbons dangled. Balancing her coffee mug and knitting bag, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the winter wonderland that Mimi and her elves had created. Kelly paused in the tile foyer, the skylight above flooding the area with sunlight.

  The colors of autumn had been cleared away after Thanksgiving. Soft golds and browns, burgundies, deep purples, and forest greens were once again stored downstairs awaiting the inevitable turn of the seasons. Now, the old Spanish colonial farmhouse was alive with bright holiday colors, as each room opened and flowed into the next. Vibrant reds, greens, yellows, and blues were everywhere.

  Fat, fluffy balls of jellybean-colored yarns tumbled from an old steamer trunk. Silky skeins of vermillion hand-painted silk beckoned from an antique cabinet. Gossamer fibers draped along the walls waiting to be spun by holiday elves or fairies. Christmas green wools were wound in skeins piled high. Whites, so bright they sparkled. Royal blues, hand-dyed and wrapped in soft bundles of mohair and silk.

  Kelly drank in the color surrounding her as she wandered from the foyer into the adjacent room. Gloves, hats, and mittens dangled from the ceiling. Scarves were draped across an antique dresser. Plump skeins of royal blue merino wool spilled from bins along the walls, tidy balls of cotton and silk were piled high atop tables, scrunchy multicolored ribbons tied in bundles were stacked on shelves, luscious soft skeins of baby alpaca overflowed baskets.

  Everything begged to be touched. As usual, Kelly obliged and sank her free hand into a bin of soft, puffy balls of jellybean-colored cotton and silk. Next, she stroked a variegated green twist of mohair, then caressed the vermillion hand-painted silk, coiled tight as a woman’s braid.

  She was fingering an unusual combination of bamboo and cotton when Jennifer’s voice called to her from the next room.

  “Join me, Kelly. I’ve got a few minutes of break left.”

  Kelly strolled into the main room, the largest in the shop, and plopped her knitting bag and coffee mug on the library table that dominated the room.

  Shelves lined the walls, alternating with overflowing yarn bins. There were books and patterns for every kind of fiber imaginable. Kelly found all those choices confusing and usually wound up asking Mimi’s friendly shop staff.

  “I thought you’d be out with your new real estate clients. Didn’t they come in Saturday afternoon?”

  Jennifer’s circular needles worked a bright green yarn quickly. Kelly recognized a charity hat coming into shape. Way faster than her own project.

  “Oh, yeah, and are they eager. They’re from Nebraska, and they’re looking for land where they can build their retirement home. They’ve been vacationing in Colorado for years. I swear, they want to see every mountain property between Fort Connor and Wyoming, starting with the farthest and most remote. So I took them up Cherokee Park Road to some of those building sites yesterday. You know, waaaay out there.”

  “You mean out past where the electric poles stop? I remember those sites. Talk about wide-open spaces.” Kelly chuckled as she pulled out her circular needles, blue-green yarn dangling from them. The charity hat. Only two inches knitted so far. She eyed Jennifer’s hat, which had at least six inches completed.

  “Yeah, emphasis on open. I told them they’d have to rely on solar energy out there. In fact, they’d have to have a whole array of solar panels. They both do consulting, and they’re on their computers all day.”

  This time Kelly laughed out loud. “Whoa! They’ll need more than one solar array. What’d they say when you told them?”

  “Their faces fell, because they really liked that prairie-type look to the land. So they’re modifying their search closer to town where there are still electric poles on the building sites. But nothing has caught their fancy yet.”

  “Have you taken them up into the canyons yet?”

  “I’m taking them into Poudre Canyon this afternoon. They’re speaking with lenders and such this morning, which gives me the chance to work here at the café. Pete was sweet to let me off the last two morning shifts. I told him I’d make it up by catering some of his evening functions.”

  “Sounds like his catering business has really picked up. That’s good.”

  Small business success stories made the accounting lobe of Kelly’s brain go warm all over. It brought back memories of her first years in the Washington, D.C., CPA firm where she used to work. Her first year there, she’d had to intern in the small business division. “Shoebox” clients they were called, because they often kept their records in a shoebox and would dump them on Kelly’s desk. She’d been glad when her time in the trenches was finished and she could move up to corporate accounting, which was her goal.

  “Yeah, Pete’s doing really well. I’m proud of him.”

  “Good morning, girls! How lovely to see you here this Monday morning,” Lizzie announced as she entered. She
was dressed in her traditional Christmas outfit—bright red winter coat with knitted green wool scarf, topped off with a red bow adorning her silver hair, which was swept into a bun. “It was wonderful working with you two on Saturday, and Juliet was delighted with your help. We handled thirty-eight students, all told.”

  “I’m not sure who handled whom,” Kelly said. “That was a heckuva lot harder than teaching baseball. I’m not sure my students will be able to finish their hats on time.”

  “Nonsense, dear, you did a splendid job.” Lizzie slipped off her coat and perched on the chair next to Kelly. She reached into her bulging knitting bag, and lemon yellow froth appeared.

  “Baby blanket, right?” Kelly guessed. “I swear, every one of your nieces and nephews must be swaddled in blankets by now.”

  Lizzie laughed. “This one is destined for Lucy. I thought she could use another. Her little boy is growing by leaps and bounds.”

  “How is Lucy doing? I haven’t seen her since the baby was born,” Jennifer asked.

  “She’s doing quite well. Her spinning business is picking up, and she’s teaching more classes. And the baby is a healthy little rascal. Yes, Lucy has really turned her life around.” Lizzie’s fingers moved swiftly as she stared at the yarn. “Actually the person I’m concerned about now is Juliet. She looked so sad and despondent Saturday, not her usual cheerful self at all.”

  Kelly wanted to reply but didn’t. Juliet had appeared in good spirits until Lizzie started prying into her social life. Clearly, Juliet was a private person.

  “Break’s over. Gotta get back to the café,” Jennifer said, putting away the holiday green hat. “Maybe I’ll see you folks tomorrow. It depends on my real estate clients,” she said as she hurried out.

  “Who is this man Juliet’s seeing? Where’d she meet him?” Kelly asked, switching the focus of the conversation.

  Lizzie perked up. “Jeremy Cunningham is a lovely gentleman, a retired university professor and a widower. And he would be an excellent match for Juliet. Shy and bookish, just like Juliet.” Lizzie’s busy needles paused as she stared off into the bookshelves along the walls. “Juliet told me they had known each other at the library for years. Historical research is Jeremy’s hobby. They shared their love of books and began having long discussions. Then, he began asking Juliet out in late spring.” Lizzie looked up as Hilda and Megan entered the room.

  “Hey, there,” Kelly greeted them. “Were you two taking a class?”

  “Yes, indeed. Megan and I have progressed to Mimi’s intermediate spinning class. I confess, I’m beginning to have hope that I will master the wheel at last.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Megan said, giving a dismissive wave. “Hilda’s doing beautifully.”

  Lizzie picked up her sad musings, like a dog chewing a favorite bone. “I just don’t understand what happened with Jeremy. Do you, Hilda? He and Juliet were perfect for each other. They looked so sweet together. Juliet adored him, too, you could tell. He was her heart’s desire. How could he simply stop seeing her?”

  “Inconstancy, thy name is Man,” Hilda decreed as she settled at the head of the table. The better to supervise a discussion.

  “Who’s Juliet?” Megan asked as she pulled out a chair across the table.

  “She’s the librarian who’s running the kids’ knitting project at Saint Mark’s,” Kelly answered before Lizzie could launch into another long description. “She’s a really nice lady. A little shy. Kind of a plain Jane—”

  “We call her the ‘little brown wren,’ ” Hilda finished, her lined face smiling. “She loves brown.”

  Kelly laughed. “You can tell. Does she ever wear any other color?”

  “Only in December.” Lizzie answered, her needles returning to the lemon yarn. “That’s when she wears her Christmas capes. They’re beautiful. Juliet’s a seamstress as well as a knitter and a weaver.”

  “Oooo, is she the one who makes those capes Mimi sells every holiday?” Megan looked up from the tangerine mittens she was knitting. Project or present? Kelly wondered.

  “Indeed she is,” Hilda said. “Juliet brings several to the shop, and they’re usually gone within a week. And she donates all the proceeds to charity.”

  “In that case, I’m going to tell Marty that’s what I want for a Christmas present. They’re gorgeous, and it’s all for a good cause.”

  “Juliet’s so talented and so sweet.” Lizzie picked up the sorrowful tale again, barely missing a beat from where she left off. “I cannot understand why Jeremy would start seeing another woman. Who is she, and where did he meet her?”

  Clearly, Lizzie was determined to worry about this unfortunate love affair. Out loud, too. “Who knows, Lizzie? Maybe he met someone at his church or at a social function,” Kelly suggested in an attempt to bring closure to the subject. “I’ve heard Fort Connor is awash in seniors. Everyone wants to retire here because it’s so nice. Great weather—”

  “Not after last winter,” Megan interrupted. “I heard some of them went scurrying south after they learned how quickly Colorado winters can turn brutal.”

  The click-clack of high heels against wood floors sliced through the quiet then, as a woman’s voice called out from the adjoining room. “Yoo-hoo, I think I found the knitters.”

  A slender, well-dressed woman with frosted blonde hair approached the long table, lacy knitting bag over her shoulder. Kelly recognized the woman’s designer suit from her former life in the corporate CPA world. Wardrobe was a part of the business. Now those suits hung in her closet and only came out for business meetings with the company that drilled her gas wells in Wyoming.

  The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties or so, pulled out a chair beside Lizzie. “Good morning, ladies. My name’s Claudia Miller, and I’ve recently moved to Fort Connor. I’ve been asking about yarn shops and heard this one mentioned many times.” She glanced around the room admiringly. “I must say, there is a wonderful selection here.”

  “Welcome to Fort Connor, Claudia. I’m Hilda, and this is my sister, Lizzie. We both taught school here in Fort Connor for over thirty years.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you,” Lizzie chirped.

  “Nice to meet you, Claudia. I’m Kelly and this is Megan,” she said, gesturing. “And you definitely came to the right place if you want to find beautiful yarns and meet new friends.”

  “Kelly came only a year ago last April for her dear aunt’s funeral, but she’s here to stay now.” Lizzie beamed.

  “Well, thank you, ladies, for your warm welcome. I appreciate it,” Claudia said as she removed a deep violet and magenta shawl from her knitting bag. “You say you taught school here for thirty years? Goodness, that’s quite a spell. I taught school years ago when I was just a green little thing. Barely knew what I was doing. But that’s where I met my first husband, Frank. He was the principal.”

  Kelly noticed Lizzie’s bright gaze fix on Claudia, like a robin eyeing a worm. Anything that verged on male-female relationships stimulated Lizzie’s considerable curiosity. Kelly took a drink of coffee, waiting for Lizzie’s interrogation to begin, glad that her attention had been diverted from “poor Juliet” stories.

  “Your first husband?” Lizzie probed in a sweet voice. “I take it you’ve remarried since then.”

  Claudia gave a wave of her hand before returning to the shawl in her lap, needles moving swiftly and surely. “Oh, heavens, yes. That was years ago. I was still young when poor Frank crashed into a tree and died. And wrecked our brand-new Cadillac convertible, I might add.” She tsked loudly. “It never ran the same after it was repaired. I had to trade it in. Such a shame, too. It was a jewel of a car.”

  Kelly had to smile watching the von Steuben sisters’ reactions to Claudia’s nonchalant description of her husband’s demise—as well as the car’s. Hilda stared at Claudia as if she’d sprouted another head. Lizzie, however, leaned over her knitting, clearly eager to hear more. Kelly exchanged an amused glance with Megan.

&nb
sp; “And Frank? Was he a jewel?”

  Again, the airy wave of her hand. “Oh, he was all right. Kind of dull and plodding, but a good provider for our daughter and me. Certainly not very exciting in the bedroom, if you know what I mean,” Claudia said with a small smile.

  Lizzie’s eyes lit up, and a flush colored her round, dimpled cheeks. “Actually, I don’t. Neither Hilda nor I have ever been married.”

  Claudia gazed at Lizzie with astonishment. “Don’t tell me two fine, handsome women like yourselves have never married! I don’t believe it. What is the matter with the men around here? Are they too busy with their ranches and such?” She shook her head in disapproval. “I married a rancher once. Fred, my second husband. I swear he spent more time with the cattle than he did with me. It was almost a blessing when he fell out of the barn and broke his neck.”

  Kelly nearly choked on her coffee. Megan ducked her head and stared at the yarn in her lap, knitting even faster.

  “Where was that?” Kelly asked when she could speak.

  “In Texas. I’d moved there from Missouri after I lost Frank. To tell the truth, after Fred died, I was happy to leave Texas. Too many bugs. Scorpions in your shoes, centipedes three inches long crawling on your sofa.” She gave a little shiver. “My daughter, Krista, was leaving for college, so I moved to Florida. That’s where I met Nathan.” Needles busily worked the varicolored yarn. “Of course, Florida is filled with bugs, too. Horrible flying things.”

  “Nathan is your third husband, I take it,” Lizzie probed, clearly enraptured by Claudia’s soap opera life.

  “Was,” Claudia said in that matter-of-fact, pass-the-butter tone. “He died in the bathtub when the radio fell into the water. I told Nathan he shouldn’t have that radio so close to the tub, but would he listen? Noooo.”

  Hilda stared at Claudia. “Good Lord, woman! How many husbands have you had?”