“They have a suspect in jail. He’s a drunken vagrant who’s been causing trouble in Old Town for years. The police saw him on the golf course near Helen’s house that night, and they’re convinced he did it.”
He peered at Kelly. “But you’re not.”
“Nope. It’s too easy and doesn’t explain everything. There were some personal items and money stolen from the house that night, yet the drunk didn’t have a thing with him except a hangover.”
“Hmmmmm.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“What do you think happened?”
Kelly paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. That’s why I’m poking around in Helen’s past. Sorry about all the questions, but I was hoping you’d know something.”
She broke off her sentence when she spied a familiar red truck barreling down the road to the ranch. Her cover was about to be blown.
“Here comes your fiancé. How’re his alpaca plans coming?”
Kelly made a quick decision. “He’s . . . he’s not my fiancé. He’s just a guy I know from the wool shop. We thought it might be easier to come out here and ask you questions if we looked like a nice young couple moving into town.” She gave him a wry smile, as the truck drove into the barnyard.
Stackhouse eyed her carefully, sizing her up all over again, Kelly sensed. “Soooo, you came out here to ask me questions because you thought I might have something to do with Helen’s murder, right?”
Kelly took a deep breath. “Initially, yes,” she confessed. “But our conversation has convinced me you had nothing to do with Helen’s death.”
“How can you be sure, Ms. Flynn?” he challenged.
She met his steady gaze. “Instinct, Mr. Stackhouse.” Then, she gambled and gave him a wink.
Stackhouse’s smile returned and he chuckled then nodded toward Steve, who’d leaped from the truck and was crossing the barnyard. “So, you and Stevie aren’t engaged?”
“Lord, no, I barely know him.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You two look like a couple.”
Kelly did her best to look appalled, which seemed to amuse Stackhouse. “No way. My friend at the shop must have told Steve where I was going. He was there building cabinets for Mimi.”
“So he doesn’t work for a computer company?”
“Nope,” she said, watching Steve head through the pasture.
“Building cabinets? Is he a carpenter?”
“Actually an architect, but he’s a developer now. Likes building houses.”
“Thought you said you hardly knew him.”
“People at the shop talk.”
“Uh huh.”
Kelly eyed Stackhouse and saw the amusement. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind his teasing.
Steve was coming closer. However, Carl also noticed and was headed straight for him, galumphing through the grass in huge leaps. Steve spotted Carl coming at him, and they both disappeared down into the grass. Doing the slobber and roll, no doubt, Kelly decided. Had to be a guy thing.
“Well, your dog sure likes him.”
“He bribes him with golf balls. Carl can be bought.”
“Well, he’s a good judge of character. He liked me,” Stackhouse said with a laugh.
Kelly had to join him as they watched Steve distract Carl by throwing a stick, then head their way.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stackhouse,” Steve called as he drew nearer. “How’re you doing, sir?”
“Real fine, now that Kelly explained why she’s here,” he replied.
Kelly watched Steve’s reaction. Relief was still mixed with concern. “It’s okay, Steve. I’ve grilled him already, and he’s off the hook,” she deliberately joked.
Steve visibly relaxed. He advanced toward Stackhouse and extended his hand. “Well, in that case, Mr. Stackhouse, let me re-introduce myself. Steve Townsend.”
Stackhouse clasped his hand. “Call me Curt. And I gather it’s not Stevie. I’ll bet Kelly does that just to annoy you.”
“Sounds like her.” Steve agreed with a grin.
“Hey, payback for the arm,” Kelly retorted, unwilling to let the jibe stand.
“I hear you’re a builder. Now I know where I heard your name,” Stackhouse said. “One of the Wellesley town council told me about your new site out near county road sixty-four. Smart move. We need more affordable houses. Keep it up, son.” Checking his watch, he glanced back at the ranch house. “Well, folks, once again I’ve really enjoyed chatting with you, but I’ve gotta get back. I promised Ruth I’d take her to dinner in town tonight, and I’d better get cleaned up.” He started walking toward the sprawling frame house, Kelly and Steve falling in step behind. “Ruth and I’d love to have you two over for dinner some time. Why don’t you stay in touch, okay?”
Surprised by his kind offer, Kelly agreed quickly as did Steve. “I’d like that, Curt,” she said. “You’ve been really polite with my, uh, investigation.”
“Wish I could have helped more, Kelly. Keep on asking questions,” he said over his shoulder. “And keep in touch.” He picked up the pace, heading for the ranch house.
Instead of returning to his truck, Steve leaned on the hood of Kelly’s sporty sedan. “Don’t give Jen a hard time when you get back to the shop, okay? She didn’t want to tell me, but I sensed you were going to do something like this. So, I made her talk.”
Kelly laughed. “What’d you do? Bribe her with a cinnamon roll?”
“That works? I’ll use it next time.” His smile disappeared. “You had us all worried. I had to swear Lisa and Megan to secrecy so they wouldn’t tell Mimi. She would’ve called the cops. And I guarantee Curt wouldn’t be so friendly if the cops came racing up his road.”
Feeling prickly and defensive, Kelly retorted, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Steve glanced away. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something else. Something serious.”
Caught off guard, Kelly stared at him. And in a moment of complete honesty confessed, “Steve, I’m about to choke on serious. It’s been nothing but serious since I returned to Colorado. Helen’s death, now Martha’s. I can’t take any more. Honest to God.”
Steve looked out over the pasture. Carl’s head bobbed up at a crow’s angry caw then disappeared into the grass again. “Don’t worry. It isn’t about you or Helen or anyone you know. It’s a story about my best friend and me when we were growing up here years ago.”
“Is it short?” she asked.
He didn’t smile, simply folded his arms and leaned back against her car, still staring out into the grass and trees in the distance. “Yeah, it’s short. Bill and I were best buddies all through junior and senior high. We were gonna be roommates at the university our freshman year. We’d party together, hike, take our girlfriends camping up in the canyon, all that.”
Kelly leaned against the car as well, listening, deliberately not interrupting. Sounded good to her.
“Our plans were all set. Until that June, right after high school graduation,” Steve continued. “Some guy was having a party at his folks’ place up in Estes Park. Bill really wanted to go. I had an early call at my summer job that next morning, so I didn’t want to. No way would I get back home till three A.M. from their place. My job at the golf course required me to be there at six A.M. every Sunday.”
“Wow, that must have put a crimp in your social life,” Kelly interjected, hoping to dispel this cloud that seemed to settle over Steve as he talked.
“Yeah, kinda. My girlfriend was pretty understanding, though. Anyway, Bill begged me to drive him up there, even if I had to leave early. His car was in the shop. He’d broken up with his girlfriend, Lauren, and really had it for this girl he’d just met. She’d asked him to show up, since it was her cousin who was throwing the party. So, I agreed. Told Bill I’d drive him up, stay for a while, then he’d have to find another way home. Or, stay with the new girl, whatever.” He paused.
“Did he stay?�
��
“Yeah,” Steve said, then drew a deep breath. “He was having a great time dancing with this girl when I left about eleven. So, I waved good-bye, and that was the last time I saw him alive.”
Kelly held her breath. She’d sensed this story was not going to have a happy ending.
“Seems after midnight, the host brings out his own little stash of designer drugs, and Bill joined in. Most of them don’t even remember much after that, they were all so wasted. But the parents returned the next day and found Bill lying dead on the rocks below the cliff. Who knows what happened. He either walked out onto the cliff and fell off or was pushed or whatever. Hell, maybe at that point he thought he could fly.”
Steve’s face darkened with the memories, Kelly noticed. She held a respectful silence for several long minutes, then gently offered, “I’m so sorry, Steve. That was an awful way to lose your best friend.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“I’m curious, though. Why did you want to share it with me? And why now?”
“Because I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did after Bill’s death. I blamed myself for years, convinced that if I’d been there, he never would have died. He’d have gone home with me like he always did when we partied late. And he’d be alive today.”
He turned to face her. “And I can tell you’re blaming yourself for Martha’s death. Thinking you’re responsible. None of us is responsible for someone else’s actions, Kelly. I know now that Bill would’ve stayed at the party no matter what I did. He was crazy about that girl. It was his choice to stay. I couldn’t have stopped him. And you couldn’t know there was a killer lurking around Martha, watching and waiting. It’s not your fault.”
Kelly met his direct gaze and stared back, saying nothing. She could feel the truth in what he said, but part of her still didn’t want to accept it. Not yet, anyway. She looked away, twisting the leash into a coil. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Part of me knows that. And part of me doesn’t accept it.”
“I know. It takes time. Enough said.” Steve shoved away from the car and put his fingers to his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle.
Carl’s head popped up from the grass, and he started galumphing toward them. Kelly wished she could whistle like that. She’d tried but it never worked.
“C’mon, big fella,” Steve said as Carl broke through the grass and headed their way. “I’m heading back to the shop to finish up some adjustment on the cabinets. I’ll tell Mimi and the others you’re okay. Hey, how’re ya doing, boy?” he said, bending over an exuberant Carl.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Kelly said, attaching Carl’s leash. “I’ve got to get some work done on my accounts before nightfall. C’mon, Carl. We’ve gotta go home.” She yanked Carl’s leash and opened the door.
Steve was already walking to his truck. “See you, Kelly,” he called over his shoulder.
Kelly jumped in her car, revved the engine, and headed down the ranch road, noticing the sun was about to kiss the tops of the foothills. Dusk would settle soon. Steve had already turned his truck in the same direction but waited for her to pull ahead of him.
Kelly stopped as she came parallel with his truck. Something was niggling in the back of her mind. She signaled him to lower the passenger window and when he did, she spoke up. “Listen, I really appreciate your confiding in me. I could tell it was a hard story to tell. It was a hard story to listen to. But I’m curious about something. Have you ever told that story to anyone else?”
Steve waited a moment before answering. “Only one other person. That was Mimi. Bill was her son.” With that, the window closed and Steve’s big red truck moved down the road.
Kelly opened the sliding glass patio door and Carl raced outside into the darkened backyard. Night creatures surely must be afoot. Kelly leaned against the doorframe and gazed up into the silky blue-black sky. Now that it was nearly midnight, much of the surrounding commercial lighting had gone dark. The stars were brighter, she noticed as she sipped a hot chocolate. As die-hard a caffeine addict as she was, coffee and midnight did not go together.
Arching her back, she indulged in a long satisfying stretch, grateful to be off the computer at last. These investigative excursions were taking quite a toll on her work schedule. So far, she’d juggled both.
Drawing the blinds, she stepped out into the patio, enjoying the blanket of total darkness that enveloped her. Looking past the golf course, she could see the shadowed mountains in the distance, looming. Silent and protective. She stared at them for a long while, in hopes their silence would calm her restless mind.
She’d overlooked something. She must have. Stackhouse wasn’t involved in these murders. And Kelly was still convinced the vagrant wasn’t guilty, either, even though he’d been charged with Helen’s. Was Morrison going to try and explain away Martha’s death as well? She had to find something, some information somewhere that would convince him the real killer was still lurking about. Kelly wasn’t about to spend the rest of her time in Fort Connor looking over her shoulder whenever she found herself alone on a trail or roadway.
Swirling the last of the hot chocolate, Kelly sorted through the ideas churning inside her head. She needed to ask more questions. Maybe . . . maybe she could find someone from Helen’s high school who knew Helen all those years ago. Someone who still lived in Fort Connor. There had to be some clue as to who Helen’s mystery lover was. Was he really some wealthy son of an important family like Martha suspected? And what happened on graduation night that upset Helen so she’d run to Curt for consolation? Did the rich boy reject his poor girlfriend now that he was headed to college? Did Helen tell him about the baby? Did he reject her?
Kelly visually traced the Big Dipper, letting the stars’ vastness calm her. Then the image of Helen’s high school yearbook came to mind. That was a good place to search. Perhaps she could tell from some of the messages who Helen’s close friends were. It might not be much, but it was all she had.
Draining the hot chocolate, she went back inside and grabbed the yearbook off its bottom shelf. She plopped down on the Oriental carpet like before and began paging through the book. Scanning the written messages, deciphering swirls and cramped scrawls, Kelly slowly perused the pages until she came to what she and her friends had always called the “mug shots,” those stiff, lookalike photos that revealed every flaw.
Starting with the A’s, Kelly scrutinized page after page until she reached the end. There she paused, and studied one photo. She leaned closer, examining it, then she smiled. Closing the yearbook with a satisfied snap, she shoved it back onto the lower shelf and headed to bed.
Sixteen
“Kelly, how are you?” Mimi asked, peering over a box of crinkly, lacy yarns.
Must be a new shipment, Kelly guessed, since the brilliant colors and textures didn’t look familiar. “I’m fine. A little tired from having to work so late last night, but okay. What kind of yarns are they?” she asked, pointing to the blaze orange, fire-engine red, and bubble-gum pink brimming from the box. “I don’t recognize them.”
“Probably because they don’t last long enough for you to even see them,” Mimi said. “It’s called ‘eyelash’ because it’s got all these little fibers that knit up into these great trendy scarves and tops, whatever.” She started arranging the profusion in a crate along the wall. “Girls just love these yarns. They’ll be gone in two weeks.”
“Wow,” Kelly said, sinking her hand into the pile. “They’re soft and yet they look spiky.”
“I know. They’re such fun,” Mimi said with a youthful giggle. “I whipped up a scarf for my thirteen-year-old niece last week for her birthday. ‘Electric limeade’ was the color. Then I knit little strands of crimson silk through it as well. I called it cherry limeade.” She grinned, pleased with herself.
Remembering Curt’s comment about his summer of cherry limeades, Kelly had to smile. “Great idea, Mimi. Why don’t you make another and wear it so we can see.”
“Maybe
I will,” she said as she headed back toward the checkout area.
Kelly stroked the eyelash once more, then headed to the main room. Megan was already there, knitting with a neon pink cotton that nearly glowed it was so bright. “Wow, that’s a great shade for you, Megan,” she said, dropping her tote bag and settling in. “What are you making?”
“I thought I’d make the shell that’s hanging over there.” She pointed to a red sleeveless top dangling from the ceiling of the other room.
It was almost as pretty as the top Kelly would make someday. She wasn’t sure when “someday” would arrive. Maybe she could actually start now. After all, she finally felt comfortable doing the stockinette stitch, she thought, as she pulled out her practice piece and started knitting. Maybe.
“You know, we were all worried about you yesterday,” Megan said softly without looking up.
Kelly let out an audible sigh. This would take some getting used to. “I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to concern anyone. After all, I had Carl, and he’d be more than enough protection.”
“Steve told us about Carl.”
Busted. “Okay,” Kelly admitted with a laugh. “He was a little distracted by, well, by everything. But it turns out I didn’t need protection. Trust me, if I felt anything questionable about Stackhouse, Carl would never have gotten off his leash. I swear.”
Megan glanced up, and Kelly was surprised to see so much concern still. “I believe you. Just promise you’ll take one of us along next time you’re sleuthing. We can lurk in the background while you’re asking questions, so we won’t cramp your style.”
Kelly laughed out loud, picturing Megan lurking, as well as herself ‘sleuthing about’ à la Sherlock Holmes. “I’ll think about it, I promise.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone, Kelly,” Megan said as she returned to the neon pink rows of stitches.
Letting that thought play through her mind, Kelly kept up her knitting and purling, row after row of stockinette forming in the variegated wool. After a few minutes, she checked her watch. Lizzie should be arriving with Hilda any minute. Hilda’s advanced knitting class began at eleven.
Maggie Sefton Page 21
