His head sank to his chest. “I still remember Helen standing alone in the shadows behind the bleachers, watching my father and Charlene announce our engagement to all their friends. I’ll never forget the stricken look on her face.” A huge shudder shook his shoulders.
Riveted by his account of the story, Kelly now understood what had driven Helen into Curt Stackhouse’s arms that night. “Was that graduation night by any chance?”
The question seemed to rouse him. “Yes, yes, it was. I remember now, we were wearing our caps and gowns.”
Chambers’ obvious remorse and regret tugged at Kelly. “Now I know why you took such good care of my aunt over the years,” she ventured in a gentle voice. “And if it’s any consolation, Mr. Chambers, Helen and Jim had a good marriage. I know because I was there growing up and visited regularly throughout my life.”
He glanced down at his clasped hands. “Yes, thank God for that,” he said with a sigh. “And I’ve tried to be a good husband to Charlene all these years. She’s a good woman, and a wonderful mother. We have three grown daughters and eight grandchildren now.”
That last image seemed to cheer him a bit, Kelly noticed. “Well, Mr. Chambers, you’ve been truly fortunate. You have a growing, healthy family. You should be thankful.” Then added, pensively, “Helen and Jim weren’t quite as lucky. They lost their only child when he was only five years old, and they couldn’t have any more, Helen told me. They sort of adopted me as their daughter, especially after my own father died.”
Chambers nodded. “I know how much Helen loved you, Kelly. Truly like her daughter.”
Kelly felt another tug within. “Well, I felt the same way. She was the closest thing to a mother I ever knew. I don’t know if Helen ever told you, but my mother walked out on my dad and me when I was a baby, so Helen was really important in my life.”
“Yes, she told me.”
Feeling old memories encroach, Kelly swiftly changed the subject. Now that Chambers was composed again, Kelly wanted to explore a theory that had recently surfaced in her mind. Deciding it might be easier if she wasn’t looking directly at him, she glanced to the quilted mountain cabin and wondered how to probe yet another delicate subject. Once again, she jumped in.
“I’m sure Helen regretted giving up the baby years ago, especially since she and Uncle Jim couldn’t have any more children. Helen had never hinted at the child’s existence. As close as we were, she never let on. It was Martha who told me. Forgive me for stirring up these old memories, Mr. Chambers, but I thought you might have some information about the man. He’s in his late forties now. And I’ve wondered if he was the reason Helen withdrew all that money.”
She took a deep breath and continued, still focusing on the quilt. “Perhaps, he found out his real mother’s identity. Adopted children do that, I’ve heard. And maybe he appeared suddenly and said something to frighten Helen. I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to have any contact with him. I do know she was worried those last few days, because she wasn’t herself when I spoke—”
The rest of Kelly’s explanation died on her lips at the sight of Chambers. This time he really looked like he might have a heart attack. His face was pasty white, nearly gray, and his hand clutched at his chest.
“Mr. Chambers, are you all right?” Kelly cried as she sprang from her chair. “Should I call a doctor? Is it your heart?”
Chambers stared ahead, eyes glazed, for an excruciating moment, before he whispered, “A child . . . she never told me . . . my God . . .”
Kelly sank back into her chair, amazed that Chambers didn’t know and feeling guilty that she’d dropped the dramatic bombshell so abruptly. “I thought you knew,” she ventured when she saw Chambers revive once again. “I mean, I assumed . . .” Her voice trailed off, realizing again how foolish assumptions could be. And how misleading.
“When . . . where . . .” he struggled.
“Helen’s father sent her to Wyoming and Martha’s family the summer after graduation. Martha said the baby was born in December. December eleventh, I believe.”
Chambers stared, stricken, so Kelly continued. “Apparently Helen stayed throughout the holidays with Martha’s family and the baby, then gave him up for adoption to the Sisters of Charity in Cheyenne. She came home to Fort Connor in early winter, I think.” Seeing the guilt shimmer in Chambers’ eyes, she drew another breath and reached for whatever reassurance she could find. “Helen met Jim that spring, and they were married the following fall. So, she started a new life, too, just like you, Mr. Chambers,” she offered gently.
Tears welled in Chambers’ eyes and splashed down his cheeks, as if a hidden dam deep inside had broken at last. “Oh, dear God, what did I do . . . ?” he cried, a sob catching in his throat. “Oh, Helen, Helen . . . forgive me . . .” He sank his head in his hands and wept. “I abandoned you and the child . . . forgive me . . . forgive me . . .”
Kelly sat, unable to move, wishing she had not been the one to cause such distress. Maybe her friends were right. She shouldn’t be poking around in other people’s lives.
Nothing, no amount of questions, could bring Helen back alive. Or Martha. She had mucked about for more than two weeks, intruding herself in other people’s business and their personal lives, and she still wasn’t any closer to discovering the killer’s identity than she was when she started. Burt was right. Morrison would look into everything and find the truth. Surely, he would. She should stay out of it.
Chambers’ sobs rose and fell now, the voice of lamentation. Kelly’s heart squeezed. She had to leave. Chambers’ grief was too raw and real to be witnessed. She quietly rose from her chair and slipped from the office. Once outside, Kelly took a small notepad from the secretary’s desk and wrote her apology for causing him such pain. She folded the sheet and gave it to his puzzled secretary with instructions that Mr. Chambers was not to be disturbed.
Eighteen
Kelly dropped her tote bag on the floor of the middle room, then carefully set her empty coffee mug beside it on the polished wooden floor. She’d indulge in her morning ritual of Eduardo’s coffee in a few moments. Right now, Kelly wanted to feel. Needed to feel. Touch. Sink her hands into the softness that spilled from every corner of the room.
She started with the round maple table in the center, its rich burnished wood peeking through the colorful bundles that covered the surface. Kelly sank both hands into a bin of silk and cotton yarns, luxuriating in the softness. Next, she fingered the gorgeous long-sleeved crimson sweater that appeared on display yesterday.
Silk and cotton or was it that special cotton she was hearing about? Whatever it was, it was beautiful, she thought, wondering if she’d ever get good enough to attempt sleeves like those. They were bordered at the wrist with a knitted ruffled effect. How on earth did they do that? she wondered.
One step at a time as Lisa would say, Kelly reminded herself, then let her hands disappear into a crate of boa yarns—frothy, softer-than-soft, and bold primary colors. They knitted up into flirty, sassy accent scarves she had seen flung over shoulders of old and young alike.
The coffee craving gene began to protest the delay of its morning caffeine rush. Kelly reluctantly left the tactile paradise and grabbed her things. She’d drop her stuff at the table, get a fill-up with Eduardo’s blessing, then she’d be ready to apologize to her friends for all the worry her recent activities had caused them. Mea culpa s all around.
Last night’s softball practice had helped release some of Kelly’s frustration. With each throw, each swing of the bat, she let go. Afterward, she’d used work as an excuse to skip the get-together and gone home to a soak in the tub. Her corporate accounts had consumed the afternoon. Late night was hers.
She turned the corner into the main room and was surprised to see Jennifer talking excitedly to Mimi. Megan sat wide-eyed across the table, her knitting in her lap, which was a sure sign Megan was engrossed in the subject.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Kelly asked, plopping her
things on the library table.
Jennifer whipped around, amazing Kelly again how fast she could move if she wanted to. If only she could throw a ball. “Kelly, I discovered who A&G Management is,” Jennifer announced. “You’ll never guess.”
“I’m sure I won’t. Who is it?”
“None other than Alan Gretsky. He formed the company last year, and apparently that’s when he began meeting with this Big Box associate. I heard from another agent in his office that Gretsky met this guy socially. Some connection with his wife’s family in Denver or something. Anyway, he’s been wining and dining this guy, hoping to work into a deal where he can score big. And this is it.”
“Whoa . . .”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Now you know why he wants the cottage. He needs both parcels to make this deal work. Big Box won’t want one without the other.”
“Mimi, when did A&G buy out your landlord?” Kelly probed. Mimi stood at the end of the table, her hands clasping a cone of novelty yarn. Her expression a mixture of uncertainty and confusion, with worry thrown in for good measure.
“I’m already ahead of you,” Jennifer cut in, grabbing a legal-sized document from the table. “April fifteenth, just a week ago.”
Kelly caught up with Jennifer. “So, no surprise that my offer appears this week. Once Gretsky had this parcel under control, Big Box could offer on the cottage.”
“Exactly. He’s probably already drawn up the contract to sell this parcel to Big Box, and he’s just waiting for you.”
Kelly frowned, picturing Gretsky and his big friendly grin. “Of course, he knew that I wouldn’t want to stay once I learned the shop was leaving. He figures all he has to do is wait. Wait until I leave. Son of a . . . sailor.”
Jennifer chortled. “What was that again?”
“One of my dad’s sanitized navy curses.” Kelly threw up both hands. “Coffee. I need coffee. Right now. Brain cells are shutting down, and I need to think about this.”
Once again, Jennifer jumped into action. “Hold everything, I’ll be right back.” She snatched Kelly’s mug and was gone in a flash.
Kelly stared after her, remarking, “Wow, look at that speed. If only we could teach her to throw. What do you think, Megan?”
Megan grinned, picking up her pink cotton blend again. “We could teach her to throw.”
“And batting? You think?”
“Probably, but that’s not the problem. It’s the base running. Jen would never make it around because she’d stop to flirt at each base,” Megan said with a wink.
At that moment, Jennifer slid into home, depositing Kelly’s mug and her own on the table without spilling a drop.
“Impressive,” Kelly observed. “We’re thinking of offering you a spot on the team.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t like to stand in the sun and sweat.”
Even Mimi smiled at that. Kelly picked up her mug, inhaled Eduardo’s nectar, and drank deep. Once, twice, thrice, to the sound of soft laughter.
“Okaaaaay,” Kelly said, sinking into a chair. “Alan Gretsky, A&G Management. Who doe this guy think he is? Buying up land under one name, hiding identities—”
“It happens, Kelly,” Jennifer declared. “Especially when there’s a lot of money involved. And my friend from his office told me Gretsky’s really hungry. Seems he’s been trying to run with the top dogs and always falling behind. He’s missed out on some important deals the past few years, consequently he’s been particularly anxious to score big so he can get in the ‘club,’ so to speak.”
“There’s a club?” Megan jibed.
“Yeah, and a secret handshake, probably,” Jennifer said with a laugh. Checking her watch, she added, “Listen, I have to get back to the café. We’re swamped this morning. Feast or famine, you know. I’ll try to stop by after work. See ya.” She raced off.
Mimi sat on the edge of a chair, still clutching the fat colorful cone of novelty yarn. “Mr. Gretsky didn’t do anything wrong, Kelly,” she said in a quiet voice. “I know you want to help, dear, but there’s really nothing you can do. A&G is a legitimate company, and it bought this property. It’s all totally legal. Don’t worry about me. I’ll find another place.”
Kelly scowled into her mug. That may be true, she mused, but that wasn’t the point. Gretsky thought he could outsmart them. Kelly, however, prided herself on not being outsmarted. And thanks to her good instincts, she seldom was. This time would not be the exception, she vowed, as an idea swam through the caffeine to the surface.
“I know that, Mimi,” she said. “But I don’t like Gretsky trying to force us both out. He has control of your place, yes. But he doesn’t have mine.”
“Uh oh, I see that look on your face,” Megan warned.
“Don’t worry,” Kelly warned. “I’m not going to do anything crazy. Or anything I’d need a Rottweiler for, either.” She grinned. “I’m just going to see if I can shake up Gretsky.”
“Oh, no . . .” Mimi whispered, clearly horrified.
“It’s okay, Mimi, honest,” Kelly explained, waving her hand. “I’m simply going to tell him that I’ve changed my mind, and I’m staying in Fort Connor for good. So, I won’t be selling the cottage, after all.” Kelly felt the idea resonate inside her with a surprising intensity.
“Why?” Megan queried.
“I’m hoping my announced change of plans will throw a wrench into Big Box’s plan and they’ll pull out of the deal. Then, if Gretsky’s dreams of development riches go down the drain, maybe he’ll change his mind about leasing.”
“Boy, that’s a stretch,” Megan observed.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s all I’ve got. So, I’m gonna run with it.” With that, Kelly jumped out of her chair and grabbed her tote bag. “See you folks later,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, leaving Megan and Mimi staring after her.
“Caffeine rush,” Megan decreed.
“Lord, I hope so,” Mimi breathed.
METROPOLITAN REALTY proclaimed the large stainless steel letters on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk. Kelly had already switched her demeanor when she pushed through the glass doors. She deliberately hesitated in front of the enclosed area, waiting for the receptionist to speak first.
“May I help you?” the attractive young blonde asked.
“Yes, please,” Kelly answered in a breathy voice. “Is Mr. Gretsky here? I spoke with him last week about selling my house.”
The young woman’s face brightened. Sold houses meant paychecks. “Let me check with his assistant, Laura.” She quickly dialed a number and waited. “Laura? One of Alan’s clients is out front. Is Alan here? Ohhhh, all right.” She hung up the phone. “Laura will be right with you if you care to wait.” She indicated some plush leather armchairs and sofas in warm caramel and chocolate tones in the corner of the lobby.
“Thank you,” Kelly replied politely, then spied a tall, thin woman hurrying down a corridor, headed her way.
“I’m Laura, Mr. Gretsky’s assistant, may I help you?” she asked. Wisps of graying hair had escaped from the neat bun and feathered around her face, softening the lines and wrinkles.
“Well, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Gretsky,” Kelly said, feigning a worried look. “I’m Kelly Flynn, and we spoke earlier this week about selling my home, and I—”
“Why don’t we go to Alan’s office, Kelly. It’s more comfortable there,” Laura suggested, gesturing to the corridor.
She ushered Kelly into a spacious office with huge windows overlooking tall cottonwoods bordering one of Fort Connor’s waterways that crisscrossed the city. Called ditches by old-timers and canals by the newbies, they were a reminder of the city’s early agricultural history.
“Please sit, Ms. Flynn, and I’ll get your file.” Laura settled across the room at an antique secretary’s desk, which had obviously been restored with great care because the mahogany shone rich and golden.
Kelly settled into a rust-colored leather chair, relaxing into its
comfortable embrace. Gretsky might not be running with the big dogs yet, but he knew which signals to send. Both his wardrobe and his office décor spoke volumes. Admiring his huge antique polished wood desk, she couldn’t resist asking, “Mahogany? Walnut?” and glanced to Laura.
Laura smiled as she sorted through the files on her desk. “Walnut. Eighteen eighty, I believe.”
“My compliments. It’s beautiful.”
“Here it is,” Laura declared, opening a file folder. She scanned the contents for a moment. “Your property hasn’t been listed for sale, has it, Ms. Flynn?”
“Uhhhh, no, not yet,” Kelly demurred. “In fact, this is all so sudden, I . . . I really need to speak with Mr. Gretsky. You see, I told him I would need time to think, but then things have been happening, and . . . oh, gracious!” Kelly made an exasperated gesture. “Everything’s changed suddenly. When’s he coming back? I have to leave in a few—”
“He’s out with clients right now, showing property. But he should return—” The ringing phone stopped her mid-sentence. She reached over, punched speakerphone, then went back to paging through the file. “Alan Gretsky’s office. May I help you?”
“Yes, this is Main Street Frame Shop,” a woman’s high voice announced. “Is Mr. Gretsky there?”
“Not at the moment. I’m his assistant. May I take a message?”
“Yes, of course. Please tell him that the family quilt he brought in last month is all framed and ready for him to pick up. It’ll be three hundred and forty-seven dollars. Tell him to ask for Sandy. I’m the one in charge of framing.”
Laura started scribbling on a nearby notepad. Kelly, meanwhile, had perked up at the mention of the words “family quilt.” Her buzzer went off inside.
“Sandy, I’ll make sure to tell him. How late are you open?” Laura asked, continuing to scribble.
Maggie Sefton Page 24
