“I know you are, Kelly. It’s just . . . it would be unlike her to do that.”
“Did she ever mention knowing some handsome young cowboy?” Kelly probed in her last effort.
Martha’s bright smile returned. “They were all handsome young cowboys back then, Kelly. Every boy in my high school class was determined he’d go on to be a rodeo star and win that big silver belt buckle.” She laughed softly.
Kelly gave up with a sigh, remembering the top prize at Cheyenne Frontier Days, awarded to the best rodeo cowboy each year. “You’re probably right. I’d just found an inscription in her high school yearbook that looked promising. Some young wrangler-type wrote over his picture, ‘Yours, always. Curt.’ I was hoping maybe Helen had let something slip about him.”
“Curt, Curt,” Martha murmured, eyes closed. “No, Kelly. I would have remembered that name. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, Martha,” Kelly said with a loud sigh. Setting the teacup aside, she pulled herself from the comfy chair. If she left now, she could still run over some account totals before bedtime.
“Don’t try to take this on your shoulders, Kelly. It’s not your burden, you know.” Martha said, rising from her rocker as well. “You’ve done more than enough as it is.”
“I wish I believed that, Martha, I truly do. But thanks for saying it anyway,” she said, then kissed Martha’s thin cheek and waved good-bye.
Balancing her oversized metal mug of Eduardo’s coffee, Kelly dropped her tote bag and several plastic binders on the library table. They landed with a solid thump. “The new girl, Suzie, asked me to bring these to you,” Kelly said as she sank into the chair beside Mimi. She’d been surprised, actually, to see Mimi alone, rocking quietly in the shop’s main room instead of bustling about, managing. A peacock-blue skein of yarn lay in her lap and was slowly coming to life on Mimi’s expert needles.
“Thank you, Kelly. I’ll get to them in a few moments. After I knit a while longer.” She sent Kelly a quick smile then returned her attention to the yarn.
“What are you making?” Kelly asked, reaching out to touch the brilliant blue. Was it wool? Silk? Cotton?—A combination? She rubbed the strands. “Hmmm, feels like . . . silk?”
“Very good. Silk and cotton. Exactly what you’ll use for that sweater you’re dying to make. And I’m making one of our popular sweater designs to put out in the store. We’ve sold every one of these. Incidentally, how’s the purling?”
“Better.” Kelly sipped her coffee. “And I’ve started the stockinette. Knitting one row, purling the next. I have to admit, it looks halfway decent.”
Mimi laughed softly as she rocked, fingers working the yarn. “Are you always so hard on yourself, Kelly? Give yourself credit. You’re doing quite well.”
“Thanks. Coming from you, that’s a compliment.” Kelly pulled out her practice piece, which was growing to the size of a lopsided placemat. That idea was ludicrous, though. Kelly was certain the sight of it would put off her appetite.
Checking her stitches, Kelly started the new row. After she and Mimi had spent several tranquil moments in silence, knitting, Kelly spoke up. She sensed Mimi was worrying about something.
“Mimi, are you all right? You’re awfully quiet this morning.”
“I’m fine, Kelly. Something’s on my mind, and I wanted to think about it for a while, I guess.”
“Knit on it for a while?” Kelly offered Mimi’s word for unraveling problems. “What sort of problem are you unraveling? Is it something you can talk about or would you rather not? I’ll understand, either way.”
Mimi chuckled. “You’ve got a good memory, Kelly. No, I haven’t unraveled anything, and yes, I can talk about it.” She took a deep breath and kept knitting for another minute before she continued. “I heard from my landlord yesterday, and the news isn’t good.”
“Raising your rent?”
“I wish that were it. No, it’s more serious. He sold the property this week. His health deteriorated so last year, he simply had to cut back and is closing his property management business. Selling all his properties.”
It was impossible to miss the worry on Mimi’s face, as if an invisible cloud darkened. “Whoa, what does that mean for you and the shop?”
“That’s what has me worried, Kelly,” she admitted. “There’s no guarantee the new owner/landlord would renew the shop’s lease this fall. Mr. Jeffers, the former owner, tried to reassure me on the phone, but I could tell he wasn’t sure what the new owner will do.”
“Have you heard from the new landlord yet?”
Mimi shook her head. “And that’s what concerns me. This all happened so quickly. Usually, when there’s to be a transfer, the tenant receives a letter advising them of change of ownership. Not that they can stop the sale or anything, but as a courtesy. I received no notification until yesterday with Mr. Jeffers’ phone call.”
“Hmmm,” Kelly thought. “Is that breaking any terms in your contract? Have you checked?”
“Yes, and all it says is ‘notice will be given’ but no time frame.” She chewed her lip. “I guess I’ll be smarter with the next contract I sign. But Mr. Jeffers was an old family company and they had an excellent reputation in town.”
“Mimi, now it’s your turn to stop being hard on yourself. Most people wouldn’t have caught that, either. Tell me, who’s the new owner?”
“Some company called A&G Management. That’s another thing that bothers me. It’s not listed in the phone directory, so I’m wondering if it’s an out-of-state company that’s trying to buy up land. Rumor has it the Big Box discounter is looking for more land parcels.”
Kelly wondered if Big Box was also the buyer who was interested in her property. Gretsky said his clients wanted to build townhomes. “What does Big Box want to build?”
“Companion stores, an upscale restaurant, some office space, boutique shops.”
“Hey, Mimi, you’re ‘boutique’,” she teased. “The shop is definitely trendy. Maybe they’d give you prime space.”
“I don’t think so, Kelly. The word is that Big Box has lots of plans for Fort Connor. Somehow I don’t think my little shop is part of it.”
Mimi’s poignant tone stole Kelly’s smile. “Worst case scenario, if you had to move, where would you go?”
Mimi’s busy fingers stilled and sank into the peacock blue yarn in her lap. She stared toward the wood-trimmed paneled windows, morning sunshine pouring through. “That’s what I’ve been trying to sort through, Kelly. I made a few calls and was startled at the rental prices I’ve been quoted. I knew Mr. Jeffers was reasonable in his pricing, but, goodness, I had no idea he was beneath market.”
“Would you be able to afford the new rent? Is your profit margin able to handle that increase?” Kelly pried, unable to stop being an accountant.
“Yes, but it’ll take all the extra I’d planned to use for investing in more new looms. And, of course, my retirement plan will have to wait. Again.” She exhaled a long sigh.
“Mimi, I will help you with your new accounts. No problem. I’m really good at that. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall through the cracks,” Kelly promised and patted Mimi’s arm. After weeks of receiving reassurances on all things large and small, it felt good to be able to give it as well. Completing the circle.
The new part-time helper, Suzie, hurried into the room. “Mimi, that pattern company is on the phone,” she announced. “Can you talk with them now, or should I take a message?”
Mimi nearly sprang from her chair, tossing the yarn to the table. “Now! I’ll talk now. I’ve been trying to reach them for over a week and the phone is always busy,” she complained. Hurrying from the room, she nearly ran into Burt. “Oooops, sorry, Burt,” she apologized before she headed for the front.
“Looks like she’s busier than usual today,” Burt observed to Kelly, placing a can of diet soda on the table.
“You might say that,” was all Kelly said. Mimi could announce the news in her own time. “How’re y
ou doing, Burt?”
“Fine, fine,” Burt answered and surprised Kelly by taking the chair beside her instead of setting up the spinning wheel in his favorite sunny window. He clasped his hands together and leaned toward her. “Actually, I’m glad I found you alone, Kelly. My contacts in the department shared what they could with me, and I thought you’d be interested.”
Kelly stopped mid-purl, dropping the knitting needles to her lap. “What’d they say?” she whispered, leaning closer.
Burt glanced over both shoulders before he spoke. “I talked with the coroner and judging from the marks on Helen’s neck, she was probably seated when she was strangled.”
“Seated?” Kelly asked, incredulous. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would she be sitting when this drunken vagrant invades her house?” Burt looked her in the eye, and suddenly Kelly understood. “She must have known the killer. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be sitting down, would she?” Kelly’s heart beat faster at this new information.
“It’s unlikely,” Burt replied.
“Did the coroner tell Morrison? I mean, are they paying attention to this new information?” she demanded, voice rising.
Burt placed his finger to his lips and glanced over his shoulder again. “I’m sure they are, Kelly. Morrison is sharp.”
Kelly held her tongue, even though she disagreed with his assessment of the lead investigator.
“And you’ll be relieved to know they’re doing extensive tests on the yarn that was found beside the river. Apparently, there were tiny specks of blood on the yarn. That caught their interest because they also found blood droplets on some of the carpet fibers they took from the cottage.”
Kelly caught her breath. Now here was news. Bless the crime scene investigators. “Whose blood was it? Helen’s?”
Burt shook his head. “Nope. My crime lab informant told me she was type A. The blood was Type O. Same as the suspect.”
The elation Kelly felt evaporated. “Darn it! I was hoping we’d find something that proved he wasn’t the killer.”
“Don’t give up yet,” Burt advised. “Only blood typing was done so far. DNA tests are still pending.”
Kelly sank back in her chair, the new information swirling inside her head, sending up one new theory after another. “When will they be done, Burt?”
“In a few days, so be patient,” Burt said and gave her a fatherly pat as he rose. “Now, I’d better check on the new fleece Mimi mentioned yesterday.” He headed toward Mimi’s office until Kelly’s voice stopped him.
“Thanks, Burt,” she called after him. “You’re a prince.”
Fourteen
Lisa poured the tawny ale into her glass and took a sip. “How’s your shoulder doing?” she asked Kelly.
Kelly leaned back into a wicker chair and stretched her legs, enjoying the warm spring night. Midnight, and the outdoor cafés sprawling through the heart of Old Town were still filled with customers. They spilled out into the historic plaza.
“It’s sore, but it’s a good sore, you know?”
“Oh yeah,” Lisa grinned. “I know what you mean. With me, it’s my elbow. When I don’t pitch regularly, it stiffens up. Sounds like your shoulder was ready for some action.”
“I’d forgotten how much throwing helps.” Kelly sipped the most famous of the local microbrewed boutique beers. “And I’d also forgotten how good this tastes. Yum.” She ran her tongue over her upper lip, licking off the creamy foam.
Lisa motioned her boyfriend, Greg, to the table. “Did you talk to Sully? Can he make it this weekend?”
Greg, tall, blond, and marathon-runner lean, sauntered to their table and leaned over Lisa’s chair. “Nope. He’s gotta work in Denver.” Glancing to Kelly, he gave her a bright smile. “You wouldn’t be up for a three-day trek to Diamond Peak, would you? We need an eighth person to even it out.”
Kelly stared wide-eyed for a second, letting her expression answer for her.
Lisa laughed out loud. “Okay, I guess not. Wait a month, and you’ll change your mind. It’s great up in the canyon on a summer night, lying under the stars, staring up, counting—”
“Mosquitoes,” Greg teased and kissed the top of Lisa’s head.
“Hey, there weren’t that many last year. Not at that altitude.”
“They were all in our tent, then.” He laughed. “You ready to leave?”
Lisa nodded, drained her glass, grabbed her bag and rose. “Good practice tonight, Kelly,” she said, sliding her arm around Greg’s waist. He did the same. “See you at the shop.”
“Night,” Kelly said, raising her glass. They both waved as they walked off.
She felt an old familiar twinge inside, watching Lisa and Greg together. Both tall, blond, slender, and handsome. Two nice people. They made a nice couple. She wondered if that might be in store for her someday. The last time she thought it was right, it proved wrong, and she had her heart broken.
Draining her beer, Kelly grabbed her wallet, shoved it in her jacket pocket, and rose to leave. The sound of salsa music spilling from a nearby club captured her attention, and she turned to see several couples moving to the beat near the outdoor fountain. One of the girls looked a lot like Jennifer. Kelly wove a path through the outdoor tables, eyeing the girl.
Sure enough, it was Jennifer—margarita in one hand and dancing her heart out. Kelly scrutinized the guy pulsating to the music beside Jennifer. Tall, spiked black hair, and hotter-than-hot looks. If ever a guy had Bad Boy written all over him, he was it. Kelly smiled to herself as she walked out into the soft spring night, the seductive Latin rhythms floating after her.
Kelly placed Carl’s food dish on the cement patio as the doorbell rang. Darn, she thought, heading inside the house. She was about to start her early morning run. Sunshine streamed through the cottage’s lacy white curtains. A perfect day.
Yanking open the front door, she was surprised to see Mimi standing there, newspaper in hand. “Hey, good morning. What brings you over so early? Is the shop opening at six A.M. now?” Kelly joked.
Mimi didn’t return Kelly’s smile. In fact, the worry lines crossing her attractive face deepened. “Kelly, there’s something in the paper you need to read. I’ve been hoping and praying I’m mistaken, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What is it?”
Mimi didn’t reply, but handed over the newspaper instead. Kelly took it and could not miss the front page lead article: “Second elderly woman slain in home.”
She caught her breath and read on. Was this a copycat murder? the reporter speculated. Victim was found strangled in her modest Landport home. Kelly’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, no. Please, no. She poured over the article, searching for some identifying detail that would confirm what Kelly already feared inside.
And then it jumped out at her. At the end of the article, the reporter mentioned the “bright red, yellow, and purple tulips” lining the walk to the victim’s white frame house on Maple Street. Kelly’s heart sank. It had to be Martha. Kelly’d noticed the glorious display of tulips lining Martha’s walk the last time she’d visited. And the absence of such a colorful arrangement at the neighboring homes along the street.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s Martha.”
“Ohhhh, no,” Mimi whispered, wrapping both arms around herself. “I was hoping it wasn’t true, hoping—” She shut her eyes and turned away.
Kelly felt sick to her stomach. She sank down on the front step, the newspaper dropping to her feet. She had done this. She was responsible for Martha’s death. It was her questions and search for answers that got Martha killed. No one in town even knew about Martha, not even her church. Helen had protected her cousin well—until Kelly came along. All those years of carefully protecting Martha’s whereabouts from an abusive husband, all for nothing. Kelly managed to blow Martha’s cover in a few days. She led the killer right to Martha’s door.
Kelly’s gut wrenched, and the tears started to flow. Damn. There were still tears left. She’d never ru
n out of tears, would she? She sank her face in her hands and let them fall.
“I’m so sorry, Kelly,” Mimi soothed, voice beside her which indicated that Mimi had joined her on the concrete step. “I could tell you’d grown fond of Martha in the short time you knew her.” She rubbed Kelly’s shoulder comfortingly.
“I killed her, Mimi. I’m responsible,” Kelly said through the tears.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Kelly—”
“The killer must have been watching and followed me to her house. I got her killed. It was me . . .” Kelly choked on the last words as another flood of tears washed over her.
Mimi kept rubbing Kelly’s shoulder without speaking, all the while Kelly wept softly. Grief for Martha mingled with the still-raw grief for Helen. And her dad, even though that was three years ago. Everyone was gone. She’d just found a new family connection in Martha, only to have it yanked away before she’d even gotten to enjoy it. Why was it loved ones didn’t stay in her life? Was it her? Was she poisonous, or something? Even her old boyfriend left.
Now that she was waist-deep in the swamp of recrimination and guilt, more hurt bubbled to the surface. Old, old wounds. Don’t forget your mother, an ugly voice whispered. She left you, too. And you were only a baby. The well that ran deep opened then, and tears continued to pour forth hot on Kelly’s cheeks.
“Kelly, Kelly . . .” Mimi said. “You are not responsible for someone else’s actions. Least of all, this vicious killer who committed these crimes. Maybe he learned of Martha from Helen. Maybe there’s some connection between them all. Who knows? And we certainly don’t know what’s going on inside that sick mind.”
Cried out at last, Kelly lifted her T-shirt and wiped her face, drying her eyes, wiping her nose. She had to move. Run. She couldn’t sit still anymore. She needed to chase away the dull ache inside. Push it back way down deep where she didn’t have to look at it or feel it. She pulled herself to her feet.
Maggie Sefton Page 18
