Yarn Over Murder

by Maggie Sefton

  “I hope you’re right. I kind of liked the idea of Dennis hiding out in the canyon, taking care of the herd. Staying beneath the radar. Maybe it’s the rebel in me.” She laughed.

  “Well, let’s hope they’ll open up the Poudre Canyon so residents can get back to see their properties. Their canyon fire was put out. Fire is still burning in Bellevue Canyon. Who knows how long it’ll take to contain. I know those firemen are working as hard as they can. Bless their hearts.”

  Just then, the ranch house kitchen door opened and Curt’s daughter Cindy and her husband John walked in. Eric leaped up from his chair and went over to give his mom and dad a hug.

  “Come on in, folks, and fill your plates and sit down. You deserve a break,” Jayleen said to them.

  Ten

  Saturday, June 16

  Kelly tabbed through the spreadsheet on her laptop screen, entering expenses for her Denver client Don Warner’s development company. She’d spent most of yesterday morning in phone meetings with Warner’s Denver office, and today was the day to catch up on accounts. Warner was considering a new project, so he was curious how much cash he could spare to start. Kelly had promised him some early numbers midmonth as guesstimates.

  As she looked up from her spot at the end of the knitting table, Kelly noticed another woman had joined the sole knitter who was working on a lacy summer tee at the other end of the table. The newcomer was obviously helping the other knitter and murmuring encouragement as she continued her efforts.

  Cassie walked into the room, a large plastic cup with a fast-food logo on the side. “Hi, Kelly. Megan says to be at the field tonight at six thirty. You guys can practice before the game.”

  Kelly leaned back in her chair. “We’re gonna have to have gallons of water there. It’ll be brutal in that sun.”

  “Don’t you guys bring water bottles?” Cassie said, taking another gulp of something cold.

  “Sure. But we’ll go through tons of those. We need to go back to using big containers. The world is filling up with empty water bottles.”

  “Are you playing some sport tonight?” one of the women asked.

  Kelly didn’t recognize either woman and figured they were newcomers who’d probably found Lambspun through one of Mimi’s wonderful classes, All Things Fiber. “Yes, several of us who show up here at Lambspun also play on softball and tennis leagues. We’re playing over at Rolland Moore Park fields.”

  “In this heat!” the other newcomer exclaimed. “You’re going to get heatstroke.”

  At that, Cassie started to laugh. “What’s heatstroke? Did you just make that up?”

  “Oh, no! It’s real!” the first lady said. She was middle-aged with short dark hair. “It happens when people are outside and exposed too long to the heat of the sun. In this kind of weather, you have to be careful.”

  Cassie looked over at Kelly with wide eyes, clearly weighing whether to believe that statement or not.

  “Well, that’s true, but all of us on the team are athletes and are used to playing ball outside. Plus, we make sure we keep ourselves hydrated. You know, drink lots of water. In fact, that’s what Cassie and I were talking about. Taking big containers of water to the field rather than all those water bottles.”

  “You know, that’s a good idea,” the other woman offered, looking up from her knitting needles. There were several neat rows of bubblegum pink cottonlike yarn. She was clearly making progress. “It wasn’t that many years ago when we took big containers of water to sports events. You know, like thermos things. Then all of a sudden we started using the smaller water bottle. Now we’re up to our butts in plastic.” She shook her head.

  At that image, Cassie lapsed into another peal of giggles. Kelly had to laugh, too. “I agree with you, but how do we stop using them? We’re spoiled by the convenience.”

  “Indeed, we are,” an authoritative contralto voice decreed from the archway.

  Kelly looked up and burst into a grin. “Hilda! I’m so glad you came in!” She jumped up from her chair and ran over to embrace the older lady, who definitely looked thinner than she had a year ago. Kelly could feel more bones as she gave Hilda a careful hug. “Where’s Lizzie?”

  “Coming, dear.” A familiar birdlike voice came from the foyer, and Lizzie’s shorter, round-as-a-dumpling self appeared in the central yarn room. “I was checking on one of those lacy yarns Mimi has out here in the foyer.”

  Kelly went to embrace Lizzie, giving her a firm squeeze. “So good to see you both again. I’m glad to see you two getting out, even in this heat.”

  “The air is so much better over here in the east part of town,” Hilda said as she slowly made her way to the knitting table. Kelly scurried over to pull out a chair for her, helping the frail older woman settle into it.

  “Doesn’t your air conditioner filter out that smoke? I thought you said you also had two filter units or some thing.”

  “Well, we did, but one’s on the fritz,” Lizzie said, bustling around the table. Cassie immediately vacated her chair, but Lizzie waved her back down. “No, no, stay where you are, my dear. I’ll sit right here between you and Kelly and catch up with you both.” She carefully settled into the chair and set her tapestry knitting bag on the table.

  “Cassie, you look like you’d be in middle school, am I right? Which grade will you be in this fall?” Hilda inquired, as she pulled out pale blue froth from her knitting bag.

  Kelly wasn’t sure, but it looked like one of those silky angora yarns that had come into the shop.

  “I’ll be in seventh grade,” Cassie said, her gaze drifting to the blue froth. “Pete registered me at Baxter Middle School.”

  “Ohh, Baxter,” Hilda said, nodding as her tiny needles started to work the blue froth. “I started there ages ago, when I first began teaching. You remember, Lizzie?”

  “Indeed, I do,” Lizzie said, removing a lacy white collar from her bag. The needles were so tiny, Kelly could swear they were straight pins instead. “And I started teaching at Wayne Junior High School that next year.”

  “It was different then,” Hilda added. “There were junior high schools with grades seven through nine. Now we have middle schools with grades six through eight. After that, there’s high school with grades nine through twelve. Lizzie and I started teaching high school shortly afterward.”

  “What grade did you teach?” Cassie asked, glancing from Hilda to Lizzie.

  “We taught mathematics and English literature for sophomores, juniors, and seniors,” Lizzie said, a devilish smile appearing. “Can you guess who taught what?”

  Cassie’s eyes darted from Lizzie to Hilda and back again, then she smiled and pointed to Lizzie. “You taught English lit, and you taught math.” She pointed to Hilda.

  Lizzie’s smile turned delighted. “Everyone says that.”

  “In fact, it’s the opposite.” Hilda looked over at Cassie with a smile. “I taught English literature. And my sister taught algebra, geometry, and calculus.”

  “Really?” Cassie looked amazed.

  “I made the same assumption you did,” Kelly said, saving the spreadsheet on her screen and closing her laptop. “I might as well join the rest of you,” she said, reaching into her shoulder bag for her sweater project.

  “Mimi told me you were making a sweater for the evacuee project. That’s wonderful, dear,” Lizzie said, looking at Kelly, while her fingers magically worked a lace pattern with the tiny white threads. “The wildfire survivors will appreciate those sweaters when cold weather comes this fall.”

  “Is that yarn or thread?” Cassie asked, leaning closer to Lizzie and gazing at the lacy collar she was creating.

  “Well, it’s a combination of both, actually,” Lizzie said. “It’s called lace yarn. And we use it to make delicate lacy things like collars.”

  Kelly picked up her stitches where she’d left off. Another ten ro
ws at least had appeared on her needles. And amazingly, they looked fairly even. Maybe she was much better than she thought.

  Hilda peered over the top of her glasses at Kelly’s green sweater-to-be. “Very good, Kelly. Your stitches are much more even than before. Your progress is definitely noticeable.”

  Kelly gave an exaggerated sigh. “Thank you, Hilda. I was afraid it was my imagination.”

  “Nonsense, my dear.” Hilda’s fingers moved smoothly, considering her age. “Tell me, how is Connie doing? Mimi explained her recent change in behavior. Such an unfortunate situation. I believe you were there, correct?”

  Kelly glanced toward the central yarn room to make sure Connie wasn’t there, then lowered her voice so the women at the other end of the table wouldn’t overhear her. “Connie seems to be acting a little more like her normal self. She’s been more talkative today, I noticed.”

  Hilda glanced over at Lizzie explaining the stitches to Cassie, then she leaned a little closer, obviously following Kelly’s lead. “I vaguely remember meeting Andrea Holt a few years ago. But I do recall meeting Connie’s husband Jim at several of Lambspun’s Christmas parties. Tell me, is the bond between them irrevocably broken? It sounds as if it was, since he was living with Andrea. Or am I mistaken?”

  “You know, I’m not sure, but I don’t think he had actually moved in with her. But they definitely acted like a couple when I met them last Saturday.”

  “Ahh, relationships between men and women are such a minefield,” Hilda said with the world-weary tone of a lifetime observer, not a participant.

  “They are, indeed,” Kelly said from the perspective of a participant who had been in the battlefield along with the land mines. She lowered her voice. “By the way, how is Eustace doing in the State Correctional Facility? Lizzie is still able to visit him, isn’t she?”

  Lizzie and scholarly historian Eustace had found each other late in life. Devoted soul mates, their love had survived Eustace’s sentencing in the killing of a manipulative investor who cheated Eustace’s mother out of her family’s centuries-old land. “Frontier justice,” Eustace had called it. First-degree murder, the courts decreed.

  “Oh, yes.” Hilda nodded. “She’s allowed to visit twice a month.”

  “How is he doing? How’s his health?”

  “He’s doing well, according to Lizzie. Fortunately, he enjoys his duties in the prison library and he’s even started writing again. So Lizzie and I are very pleased. We must have work to keep our minds sharp.”

  Kelly smiled. “I agree, Hilda.” Then, over Hilda’s shoulder, Kelly noticed Mimi standing in the central yarn room beckoning to her. She placed her finger to her lips in a shushing manner. Kelly nodded and placed her knitting on the table. “Excuse me for a moment, Hilda. I’ll be right back. I think I’ll get a refill on my coffee.” She grabbed her mug as she rose from the chair.

  Mimi stepped back into the foyer and beckoned Kelly to follow as she walked toward the café. “Let’s go outside where we can have privacy,” she said over her shoulder as she headed toward the café door. Kelly followed Mimi outside under the shade of the tall cottonwoods. The midday heat hit Kelly immediately.

  “What’s the matter, Mimi? You look worried.”

  Mimi glanced around and gestured toward the parking lot. “See that white car parked beside the red one? That belongs to the community service officer. She just came into the shop to question Connie.”

  “Oh, boy. How’s Connie holding up? She looked a little better this morning.”

  The worry lines on Mimi’s face deepened even more. “Not very well. When the woman came in and identified herself, Connie turned white as a sheet. She could barely speak at first. I felt so bad, Kelly. I went over to Connie and gave her a hug, then told the officer that they could use my office in the back to talk.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Over fifteen minutes ago. And they’re still in there.”

  Mimi started chewing the side of her lower lip, something Kelly noticed she did when her worry level ratcheted up. “Poor Connie. I have a bad feeling she’s not going to hold up well under questioning,” Kelly said. “What’s the officer like? Does she come across as brusque or friendly?”

  “Oh, definitely friendly. She’s middle-aged and has a nice smile. Warm and sociable. She introduced herself as Officer Warren.”

  Kelly sighed. “Well, that’s good. I remember how badly Barb did when police officers were questioning her a few weeks ago.”

  “I do, too. And Connie is in worse shape than Barb. Barb has a spine of steel, and she crumpled. Poor Connie, she’s a marshmallow compared to Barb.”

  “Where’s Burt? Have you told him that an officer is here?” Kelly glanced around the driveway between the shop and her cottage. “I don’t see his car.”

  “He’s out on errands, like usual. I left him a message on his cell phone, but he hasn’t returned my call yet.”

  The large dark wooden door to the shop opened then, and a woman dressed in a navy blue Fort Connor police uniform stepped out. Mimi’s observation was correct; the woman appeared to Kelly to be in her sixties, with her graying brown hair pulled back into a bun. She had a nice face.

  “I’ve finished speaking with your clerk, Connie, Mrs. Parker. She also told me that a woman named Kelly Flynn lives across the driveway at the cottage. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Would you know when Ms. Flynn would return, by chance?”

  Kelly stepped up before Mimi opened her mouth. “I’m Kelly Flynn, Officer Warren. You wanted to see me?”

  Officer Warren smiled. “Yes, your name was on my list to contact tomorrow, but we can talk now if you have a few minutes?”

  “No problem at all, Officer,” Kelly said. “Would you like to have a seat here in the café patio? That way we wouldn’t be in the way of customers coming and going.” She gestured toward the walkway leading around the shady tables of the black wrought-iron fenced garden.

  “That’s fine, Ms. Flynn. Lead the way,” Officer Warren replied.

  “I’ll see you later in the shop, Mimi.” Kelly gave her a reassuring smile before she headed toward an empty table. Finding one in the shade, Kelly pulled out a chair and settled in. Officer Warren did the same.

  Kelly decided she would see if she could get some information while Officer Warren was questioning her. “Are you planning to interview everyone who saw Andrea Holt last Saturday? If so, I bet that’s a long list. There were a lot of us who helped our friend Jayleen Swinson move her alpaca herd from Bellevue Canyon to safety.”

  Officer Warren gave Kelly a warm smile. “Well, there are a lot of names on my list. You’re right about that. Tell me, Ms. Flynn, how long have you known Andrea Holt?”

  “Well, I didn’t really know Andrea. I had met her briefly here at Lambspun a few times when she brought in bags of alpaca fleece to sell to Mimi or put on consignment. Mimi knew her better.”

  Officer Warren scribbled in her small notebook. “You mentioned helping rescue Ms. Swinson’s alpacas from Bellevue Canyon last Saturday. Was Andrea Holt already there when you arrived?”

  “Yes, she was. She was loading two of Jayleen’s alpacas into a horse trailer. My boyfriend, Steve Townsend, and I each drove trucks with trailers up into the canyon so we could get those animals out as quickly as possible.”

  “I’ve been told there were several people at Ms. Swinson’s. Did you recognize anyone else there?”

  “Yes, a lot of the people who came to help were my friends. There was Jayleen Swinson, of course, and Curt Stackhouse, who owns a ranch near the Buckhorn. My Fort Connor friends Lisa Gerrard and Greg Carruthers brought a truck as well. As did Megan and Marty Harrington. Andrea Holt was there. And several people that I didn’t know who were friends of Jayleen’s. Oh, yes, and Andrea’s husband Dennis Holt was also there helping.”

  “How did you know Denn
is Holt?”

  Kelly carefully chose her words. “I met him when I was going up into Poudre Canyon last year with my friend Jennifer Stroud. She’s a real estate agent here in town, and she had a property up there she wanted to show me. Dennis Holt was a neighbor on the adjoining property.”

  “Have you had occasion to meet him since then, before last Saturday, I mean?”

  Kelly peered at friendly Officer Warren, wondering at her question. “No, I’ve had no reason to meet him. In fact, it took me a while to recognize him last Saturday when we were at Jayleen’s.”

  “Were you aware that he and Andrea Holt had divorced?”

  Kelly deliberately took a sip of iced coffee from her mug, curious about all the questions regarding Dennis. “Yes, I believe Mimi told me.”

  “Was Connie Carson there when you arrived?”

  “No, she drove up a few minutes after Steve and I loaded the alpacas.”

  “Did she also bring a truck and trailer so she could help move alpacas?”

  “Uhh, no. I don’t believe she has a truck. Connie drove up in her car.”

  “Did you see a man helping Andrea Holt that you didn’t recognize?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I did. I believe his name is Jim.”

  “Were you aware that he was Connie Carson’s husband?”

  “My friend, Lisa, told me while I was at Jayleen’s. I asked her who he was.”

  “You mentioned that Connie Carson brought a regular car to Jayleen Swinson’s. Did you get the feeling that she came to help move some of Ms. Swinson’s belongings or did she come to speak to her husband and Andrea Holt?”

  “Uhh . . . that’s hard to say,” Kelly dodged.

  “Did you witness an argument between Connie Carson and her husband and Andrea Holt?”

  Kelly released a sigh. “Yes, I did, and it was very unpleasant. Connie was extremely angry and accused Andrea of stealing her husband.”