Prime Crime Holiday Bundle

by Cleo Coyle; Emily Brightwell; Kenneth Blanchard

  “Ummmm,” was all Connie said in reply.

  Glancing at her, Kelly noticed Connie was staring into the central yarn room, which was crowded with holiday shoppers. Only the very confident fast knitters or the most optimistic knitters were attempting new projects this close to Christmas.

  “Excuse me, Kelly, I’m going to keep an eye on someone. I’ve seen her before, and I don’t trust her.”

  Kelly reached out to stop Connie. “Have you seen someone stealing?”

  Connie nodded. “A couple of weeks ago. I haven’t told Mimi, because she wasn’t stealing yarns. But I want to keep an eye on her anyway. She may start slipping stuff into her coat pockets.”

  “Which woman?” Kelly peered into the room.

  “See the woman with the black slacks and green sweater? That’s the one.”

  Kelly scanned the room and found the woman Connie mentioned, and she did a double take. Sheila. “Are you sure that’s the same woman?”

  “Positive. I don’t think she knew I worked for the shop, so she didn’t pay attention to me at first. But I got a good look at her.”

  “What the heck was she stealing?”

  Connie glanced around at the customers who were browsing closer and beckoned Kelly into the hallway. She bent her head closer to Kelly’s. “I was sitting on a stool near the bookshelves, changing the magazines one day, and I watched her rifle through Claudia’s knitting bag.”

  “Did she take anything?”

  “Yeah, I saw her take Claudia’s car keys. I recognized them, because there’s a red pom-pom on the key chain.”

  Kelly stared back at Connie. “What did she do with them? Put them in her pocket?”

  Connie nodded. “Yeah, and then she left. I watched through the window as she drove off. Then, the funny thing is, she came back in a little while and went through Claudia’s purse again. This time, I deliberately turned around and started straightening stuff on the table. I saw her drop the keys back into the purse. She must have noticed me watching, because she mumbled something like she found them on the floor. Yeah, right,” Connie said scornfully.

  “Where was Claudia all this time?”

  “Oh, she was prancing around the shop, showing off her Christmas cape. She’d just bought it.” Connie frowned. “People leave their bags around the table all the time, and it’s perfectly safe. That’s why I want to keep an eye on that woman. I don’t trust her.”

  Kelly stared back toward the yarn room, glimpsing Sheila in conversation with another knitter.

  What in the world was Sheila doing with Claudia’s keys? Why did she take them only to return them in a few minutes? Where could she go in a few minutes? Suddenly the image of the huge discount store in the shopping center across the street from Lambspun appeared in Kelly’s mind. Big Box.

  “Connie, do you remember when this happened? Think,” she pressed.

  Connie closed her eyes. “Uhhhh, when did I change all those magazines? It was early last week . . . oh, yeah, it was Sunday before last. I remember because it was the same day Juliet brought in all the capes, and I had to hang them on display up front.”

  Kelly counted back on her mental calendar. The day Juliet brought the capes was the same day Mimi and Burt joined Kelly for breakfast in the café. Then Claudia showed up and told Kelly and Burt her sad story. Sheila had confronted Claudia in the shop the day before. On Saturday.

  “Listen, Connie, do me a favor and keep an eye on her, but don’t tell Mimi just yet. She’s got enough on her mind right now. Let me do some checking around first, okay?”

  “Sure, Kelly. I haven’t told anyone else, because I haven’t seen her steal from us. But a thief’s a thief, as far as I’m concerned. So, I’ll keep an eye out and let you know what I see.”

  “Thanks, Connie. I’ll talk to you later,” Kelly said as she hastened back to the café. The knitting table would be noisy and filled with chattering, happy people preparing for the holidays. Kelly didn’t want happy and chattering right now. She wanted peace and quiet so she could think.

  Signaling for more coffee, Kelly settled back in her cozy corner chair in the alcove off the main café. “Julie, can you bring me one of those wicked cinnamon rolls with the coffee, please?” she asked the waitress as she pulled her Lambspun hat out of the bag again.

  “Sugar for lunch, huh?” Julie said, laughing, as she refilled Kelly’s mug.

  Kelly picked up where she’d left off knitting. Only two more inches to go before she switched to the double-point needles to finish the top of the hat. The neat stockinette pattern formed around and around the circle. One row. Another row. Meanwhile, Kelly’s thoughts raced in her head like bumper cars at a carnival. Banging and bumping into one another.

  Sheila had made a copy of Claudia’s car keys at Big Box. That had to be it. Why else would she pilfer the keys only to return them in a few minutes? Why would Sheila want Claudia’s keys? Did she plan to “reclaim” the stolen car?

  Her careening thoughts slowed down somewhat, no longer bumping into each other. Was Sheila worried that Claudia would leave Fort Connor? Did she copy the keys so she could drive the car somewhere else for safekeeping? No, that wasn’t it. Claudia’s car was still in the motel parking lot when police confiscated it later that week.

  Something else was hiding in the back of her mind, teasing her. What is it?

  Another neat row of stockinette formed, then another, and another. All the while, Kelly kept sorting through her thoughts now that they’d slowed down to cruising speed. That always happened when she knitted. The rhythm of the stitches was meditative and peaceful. She found her thoughts becoming more ordered, and new ideas appeared.

  Keys. Keys. Claudia’s keys. There was something else about those keys that Kelly wasn’t seeing. What was it? Sheila had had Claudia’s car keys copied. Why? What did she want them for? Maybe she just wanted to have them. But she didn’t take the car. Keys, keys . . . what else could she do with Claudia’s car . . . ?

  Suddenly the elusive thought downshifted and cruised right to a stop in front of Kelly’s eyes. Kelly stared at her stitches. Oh-my-God.

  Did Sheila drive Claudia’s car that night? Was Sheila the one waiting in the dark on the street, waiting for Juliet Renfrow? Did Sheila deliberately kill Juliet so Claudia would be blamed?

  The warm cinnamon roll appeared on the table in front of Kelly, but she barely noticed. Thoughts careened through her mind again. Bumper cars no more. NASCAR zoomed through her head now. Triple speed.

  Was that possible? Did Sheila hate Claudia so much she’d actually commit murder to implicate her? Clearly, Sheila was obsessed with Claudia. The Sarasota cop said so. Sheila was convinced Claudia had killed her father and was furious when police didn’t believe her. They never investigated because there was no proof. After that, Sheila started shadowing Claudia’s every move, as if she were looking for something to blame on her. But would she kill someone in order to frame Claudia?

  Kelly took a bite of the cinnamon roll, tasted the rich brown sugar filling mixed with the tangy lemon cream cheese frosting. She sipped her coffee and continued knitting, watching the neat stockinette stitches form one after another. Neat and orderly. Soon her careening thoughts followed suit, slowing down, pausing long enough for Kelly to consider one at a time.

  Slowly she ran through the events leading up to Juliet’s death. Claudia dancing about the shop with her red cape, convinced Jeremy would propose to her that afternoon. Juliet’s shyness when Lizzie teased her about her date with two-timing Jeremy later that night. The next day, Claudia collapses in her motel room in hysterics, devastated by Jeremy’s rejection. Juliet’s body found the following day.

  One row, another row, stitching around the circle. Yarn slipping between stitches, connecting one stitch to the next.

  What connects Sheila to all of this? Kelly remembered Sheila always seemed to be at the shop, either at the table crocheting or gossiping with others or taking a class. Sheila was always around, so she could ha
ve easily learned about the melodrama going on between Claudia, Jeremy, and Juliet. Gossip spread easily, Kelly noticed.

  But there was something else. Kelly could feel it at the edge of her mind. It just hadn’t come into focus yet. Something the Sarasota cop had said about Sheila. What was it?

  She continued knitting around the circle, another row of stitches. What was it? Why couldn’t she remember?

  Maybe she was rusty. She hadn’t involved herself in any investigations—murder or otherwise—for nine months. No sleuthing of any kind. She’d promised her friends. Kelly figured she owed it to them. Especially after last winter when her sleuthing nearly got her killed.

  She knitted another row. Okay, so she was rusty. So what? That didn’t mean she shouldn’t try. There was something about Burt’s conversation with the Sarasota cop. What was it Detective Watson had said about Sheila? Something about the vehicle theft charges against Claudia. What was it?

  Suddenly the memory came into focus. Sheila had called Detective Watson the week before and asked how much jail time Claudia would get on those auto theft charges. He told her it all depended on the judge. Claudia had a clean record and there had been questions as to whether the car was stolen or borrowed. She might get work release instead of going to jail. Sheila became incensed and started swearing and yelling over the phone.

  Kelly paused her knitting and took a deep drink of coffee while the memory of that conversation danced in her head. What day did Burt talk with Detective Watson? What day was that? Scanning through her mind, Kelly started matching bits and pieces of memories together, piecing the timeline puzzle together.

  She’d asked Burt to call his Florida friend again after she’d overheared Sheila’s phone conversation. Burt said he’d try to speak with the Sarasota cop who was involved in the case. Burt called the day after the bazaar. And Detective Watson told him Sheila had called the Monday of the previous week.

  Monday, Monday . . . Kelly sorted through memories in her mind. That was the same day she sat at the knitting table and everyone was gossiping about Juliet’s engagement and Claudia’s rejection. Juliet was dining with Jeremy that evening. Claudia was crying in her motel room. And Juliet Renfrow was killed later that night. Monday night.

  Kelly took a big bite of the cinnamon roll. Something to absorb all the caffeine. She was getting way too excited piecing this puzzle together. She needed to calm down and sort through all this methodically. Neat and orderly, like the stitches.

  Did Sheila even know what Juliet Renfrow looked like?

  Kelly pondered that while she knitted. Then Sheila’s comment at the bazaar surfaced. Sheila said she’d been helping Saint Mark’s prepare for the holidays “for a couple of weeks.” Juliet Renfrow was the volunteer in charge. Of course, Sheila would have met Juliet.

  Another row formed around the needles.

  Thanks to the gossip around the knitting table that Monday afternoon, Sheila also knew about Juliet’s late-night rendezvous with Jeremy. Sheila knew Juliet’s habits and her schedule, so she knew when to steal Claudia’s car and wait in the dark on Juliet’s street.

  Kelly kept knitting. Everything she’d come up with so far was purely supposition. Nothing could be proven. There was no way to link Sheila to the crime. Kelly took another bite of the cinnamon roll in frustration. Let the sugar kick in and see what happened. She downed it with Eduardo’s black brew.

  Sheila was obsessed with Claudia. “So what.”

  Sheila met Juliet while working at Saint Mark’s. “So what.”

  Sheila was seen taking Claudia’s car keys. “So what.”

  There was no proof she had made copies, let alone stolen Claudia’s car from the motel parking lot and driven to Juliet’s street.

  Kelly pondered that one. Maybe she could ask at the motel. See if anyone noticed someone switching cars that night. After all, Sheila would have to leave her car in the motel lot in order to drive Claudia’s.

  Sheila owned a red Christmas cape exactly like Claudia’s. “So what.”

  The driver who saw a woman and her car along the street that night couldn’t see the woman’s face beneath the hooded cape. He couldn’t identify her. It could have been Claudia beneath that cape or Sheila. No way to tell for sure.

  Kelly pushed away the rest of the cinnamon roll and washed down the sugar with coffee. She still only had supposition. Nothing substantial. Nothing that linked Sheila to Juliet’s hit-and-run.

  She knitted another row. What with all these ponderings about Sheila, the knitted hat was almost finished. Or at least, almost to double-point needle stage. The neat stockinette pattern continued to form on the needles, while Kelly searched through the remaining puzzle pieces scattered throughout her mind.

  There was one little piece that had been brushed aside when the big patterns started forming. Pushed aside when the fast cars were zooming through her head.

  What was it? It was one of Kelly’s first little niggling thoughts when she started wondering about Sheila. What was it? Something Mimi said. Something about Sheila’s Christmas cape. Sheila had previously refused to sell it. Then she agreed. She was bringing in the cape so Lambspun could make their Michigan customer very happy.

  Kelly knitted another row, losing track. Lost in her conjuring. What was it about Sheila selling her cape that was bothersome?

  Sheila had changed her mind. “So what.”

  But why did she change her mind? insisted Kelly’s little voice. Was there a reason Sheila didn’t want the cape anymore? What was it? It was a beautiful Christmas cape.

  Suddenly the little annoying thought that had been buzzing in the back of her head came into focus at last.

  Sheila wore the Christmas cape the night she killed Juliet Renfrow. She wore the cape when she knelt beside Juliet’s body on the side of the road. That’s when the passing motorist saw her. He didn’t see Juliet’s body, because Sheila’s Christmas cape was probably blocking his view. The bright red cape that draped all around Sheila as she knelt on the ground. On the ground where Juliet lay bleeding and dying.

  Blood. Juliet’s blood. It had to have seeped into the cape. Sheila probably didn’t notice at first. But when she did, she knew she had to get rid of the cape. And what better way than to send it to some stranger in another state far away from the crime scene?

  Kelly stared at the multihued pink wool in her lap, no longer seeing the knitted hat. All she saw was Sheila in her Claudia look-alike Christmas cape, driving away in Claudia’s car, leaving Juliet Renfrow to die alone in the dark.

  Shoving the hat back into her knitting bag, Kelly dropped some money on the café table and headed for the door. She needed more answers. Glancing into the main room as she passed, Kelly searched for Lizzie but didn’t see her.

  She dug her cell phone from her pants pocket as she shouldered her way out the front door. A blast of very cold wind nearly pushed Kelly back inside the shop. Whoa. Winter was really here to stay.

  Kelly punched in Lizzie’s cell phone number as she raced across the gravel driveway to her cottage and her coat. Frigid gusts rattled the bare tree limbs above her head. Huge cottonwood branches, stark and bare, swayed in the wind.

  A storm front had to be moving in. Every time the wind blew hard across the foothills, that meant the weather was about to change. Sometimes for the good. Oftentimes for the bad.

  Lizzie’s voice came as Kelly charged into her living room, dumping her knitting bag on the nearby black leather sofa.

  “Hey, Lizzie, I’ve got some questions for you. Sheila said she was helping over at Saint Mark’s every night for a couple of weeks. Do you recall if she ever missed a night or two?”

  “Goodness, Kelly, let me think,” Lizzie replied. “Sheila started helping right after she came to the shop. We saw her at Mass that Sunday, and Hilda asked her if she’d be interested in volunteering. Hmmmm, yes, I think there were a few nights she missed. Why do you ask?”

  Kelly slipped on her ski jacket. “Just curious. Listen, Lizzie, d
o you recall Sheila being overly friendly with Juliet Renfrow while she was there?”

  “Sheila?” Lizzie’s voice sounded surprised. “I don’t think I’ve seen Sheila being overly friendly with anyone. Of course, she knew Juliet because we all took our marching orders from her. But I never saw Sheila spend any extra time with her.”

  Kelly slid past the large Christmas tree that Steve had put up in the middle of their small living room. Now they had to wiggle around the tree every time they went from the living room to the dining room and kitchen. It was beautiful, but cramped.

  “Thanks, Lizzie. That’s all I wanted to know,” Kelly said as she grabbed her car keys and raced out the door.

  There were three hours left before Kelly was to meet Steve and her friends for dinner. Plenty of time to drive to Claudia’s motel. Maybe she could learn who worked the night shift at the Happy Traveler Inn the evening of Juliet’s death. Maybe the motel had cameras in its parking lot. Maybe someone saw a woman in a bright red Christmas cape switching cars that night.

  Kelly jumped into her sporty red car, revved the engine, and pulled out of the driveway into holiday traffic. Flipping open her cell phone, she punched in Lambspun’s number. She needed to tell Connie to make sure Sheila’s Christmas cape stayed in the shop in a drawer—safe and sound. And out of the mail.

  Eighteen

  “Brrrr!” Kelly said loudly as she stomped into the shop.

  “Cold enough for you?” Rosa teased.

  Kelly tossed her knitting bag on the table and shrugged out of her ski jacket. She kept her warm alpaca scarf around her neck. “Why do people in Colorado ask that? It’s always cold enough for me. Too cold, as a matter of fact.”

  Rosa arranged the remaining skeins of yarns in their almost empty bins. “This will be your second winter here. You should be used to it now.”

  “Yeah, I know. Hey, has Burt come in this morning, or is he out doing errands?”

  “He was bringing up fleeces from the basement the last time I saw him.”