A Killer Stitch (4 page)

“Gotta get back to class,” Ellen said, drawing away.

Dropping some bills on the table, Kelly checked her own mental daytimer as she walked toward the knitting shop again. If she returned to her cottage-office now, she could start another client account before meeting Steve for quick tennis practice and a quicker dinner.

Edging close to the classroom, Kelly spotted Burt quietly monitoring the spinners. She leaned around the corner and motioned Burt closer.

“Hi, Kelly. Want to learn to spin?” Burt asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“I wouldn't do that to Mimi's spinning wheels. No, I was wondering if you could do something for me, Burt. You read about that rancher in the canyon, right?”

Burt nodded. “Did you know him, Kelly? I figure you're about to ask me to look into it for you, am I right?”

“Burt, you are reading my mind far too easily nowadays. You're right. I was curious as to how Derek Cooper was killed. The paper said it was a homicide.”

“Why are you interested, Kelly? For Lucy's sake?”

She shrugged. “Yes, and Jennifer knew him, too. So, I'm curious.”

Burt observed her with a wry smile. “That curiosity of yours never sleeps, does it?”

“Nope, I guess I can't help myself,” Kelly said, wondering herself.

“Did
he say anything when you gave him the offer last night?” Kelly asked, extending her mug so Jennifer could fill it.

Midmorning coffee break. Only Eduardo's black gold could enable her to face the shoebox full of receipts her new client had brought yesterday. Talk about disorganized. She was going to have to have a long talk with this rancher.

“No. He'd already left, so I gave it to his assistant, Rodney. Rod's a good guy. He indicated that we were ‘in the ballpark.'”

“Good. Maybe we have a chance this time.”

“Let's hope.” Jennifer replaced the pot and called over her shoulder to the café owner. “Pete, I'm going to take a break now, okay? Be back in a few minutes.”

“Take your time, Jen. It's quiet,” Pete said as he arranged salads in a glass case.

Jennifer snatched her knitting bag from behind the counter and followed Kelly into the shop. “Listen, I've been asking around to find out why that guy changed his plans for the property. And, you know, all I'm getting is vague answers. I asked the diva in our office what she knew. She's been around since forever—”

“Diva?” Kelly laughed as she settled at the empty library table.

Jennifer sat beside her. “Oh, yeah, every office has an old-timer who's been selling real estate since dirt. They know everything and everybody. Who's doing what to whom, you know.” She pulled out the blue and white patterned sweater and began to knit.

Kelly noticed that one sweater sleeve was completely finished. A long sleeve, too. Sleeves. She needed to learn to knit long sleeves. It was winter, for Pete's sake. She could use a pretty sweater like that one, she thought, returning to Eugene Tolliver's alpaca scarf. Unfortunately she couldn't stop looking at the intricate pattern Jennifer was deftly knitting, blue yarn working a design with the white. Kelly wondered if she could manage both challenges: long sleeves and a design. After a minute of self-reflection, she sighed.
Nah.
She'd wind up botching both the design and the sleeves. Better try one at a time. First, sleeves. Definitely sleeves. If she started after Christmas, maybe she could finish a simple one-color sweater before spring. Maybe.

“Anyway, all Maya said was she'd heard he lost interest in the mountain place after one of his commercial properties was vandalized.”

“Really? What happened?”

“I remember hearing something about a fire,” Jennifer said. “Maya confirmed that his new apartment complex out near the interstate was torched. Luckily, some drivers on the interstate noticed and called 911. Firemen were able to get there before it was completely destroyed. That's good, but it'll still be costly to rebuild.”

Kelly reflected on that scary scenario, wondering if Steve had ever experienced any vandalism at his building sites. “Maybe that's why he changed his plans. He can't afford to build the mountain home now.”

Jennifer sent her a wry smile. “Mr. Deep Pockets? No, Kelly. Something else changed his mind; I can tell. I asked Rod why the change of plans, and Rod turned away and started shuffling papers on his desk. My instinct says there's more here than meets the eye.”

“You're starting to sound like me when I'm searching for clues,” Kelly joked.

Jennifer stared across the table, her smile disappearing. “You know, I spoke with my friend Diane yesterday. She's a wreck. Crying and almost hysterical when I finally reached her. She kept saying, ‘I can't believe he's dead,' over and over, and ‘I should have stayed, I should have stayed.' That worried me, so I asked what she meant, and she couldn't even answer at first. Then she blurted out she had gone over to Derek's place that night.”

Kelly's needles stopped their rhythmic movements. “You mean the night Derek was killed?”

Jennifer nodded, staring at the blue and white yarn in her lap, needles moving slower now. “Yeah. I asked her why, and she told me Derek had called and begged her to come out. Said he wanted to make up after their last fight. So she drove up to his ranch. But when she got there, they started fighting again so she left.”

“I thought he was going with Lucy. What's he doing, keeping two girls at the same time?”

“I told you. That's Derek's style. I'm sorry Lucy got involved with him, but I'm sorrier for Diane. Derek was up to his old tricks with her. Fighting with her, then begging Diane to come back to him, then he walks all over her again.” Jennifer's tone had grown increasingly bitter.

“Derek sounds like a real bastard.”

“Ohhhh, he was a piece of work, for sure.”

Kelly chose her next words carefully. “Sounds like he and Diane had a love-hate relationship.”

“That's pretty accurate. And I can tell what you're thinking, Kelly, and there's no way Diane could have killed Derek. She's hotheaded, sure, but she's not violent. Not really.”

“Do the police know Diane went up there that night?”

Jennifer's shoulders drooped. “No, but they will. I'm sure they're interviewing everybody at the bar. They'll be eager to tell the cops about Diane and Derek.”

“Where did Diane go after she left Derek? Did she tell you?”

Jennifer shook her head. “I didn't ask her, but I should have.” Jennifer stared across the table once more, then stuffed her knitting into the bag. “I should call her. In fact, I'd better go over there right now before she goes into a dive.”

“A dive?”

Jennifer rose from her chair. “Yeah, whenever she and Derek would have a blowout, Diane would go out on a binge, drinking. Then she'd sink even lower when she sobered up. Maybe I can reach her beforehand. The last thing she needs is for the police to knock on her door with questions, and she's passed out, drunk. I'll talk to you later, Kelly.” With that, she hurried from the room.

Kelly let Jennifer's words filter through her mind. They certainly didn't paint a very flattering picture of Diane. Binge-drinking, passing out drunk. Jennifer made it sound like this had been happening for quite a while. Not good. Particularly if the police come calling. Diane would definitely need a clear head for
their
questions.

She took a long sip of her coffee and wondered if Lucy knew anything about Derek's other lovers. Some women were drawn to the “bad boys,” and would forgive them anything. Kelly remembered some of the various and sundry bad boys who had flitted through her life. Most had never stayed around long, no doubt sensing that she would be less than tolerant of their transgressions.

All except one. Jeff the Slime. Smooth, and very, very clever at concealing his sneaky side. Old memories darted from the bushes, aiming their barbs at her like before. But their sting was weaker now, Kelly noticed. Barely skin-deep.

“Kelly, have you seen my knitting bag? I misplaced it,” Megan's voice interrupted as she raced into the room.

Kelly glanced about the familiar clutter in the middle of the knitting table. “Nope. Afraid not.”

Megan scurried around the table, sapphire blue knit scarf wrapped tightly around her neck as if she'd rushed in from the winter cold that very minute. She anxiously checked under chairs and behind yarn bins. “Darn, I'm running late already. Now, where is it?” she fussed, dropping to the floor to peer under the table. “Ah-ha! There it is,” she crowed triumphantly as she reached beneath a chair and retrieved the missing bag.

“What's the big hurry?” Kelly asked, observing that Megan looked uncharacteristically scattered. “Have you got an important appointment or something?”

Megan rounded the table quickly, clearly ready to race from the shop. Pausing beside Kelly's chair, she hesitated before answering. “I'm trying to get all my work done by the afternoon, so I can go with Lisa and Greg to the movies tonight.”

“That sounds like fun,” Kelly said, noticing that Megan hadn't made eye contact with her yet. Something was up. Megan was unusually flustered. Going to the movies with Lisa and Greg wouldn't elicit this reaction. Unless…

Instantly, Kelly knew what was bothering Megan. Lisa and Greg were fixing her up with a guy. It had to be.

“Yeah, we're going for pizza in Old Town first.” Megan stared at her car keys as she turned them over in her hand. “And…and they're bringing some guy they want me to meet. He's a colleague of Greg's at the university. I think he cycles with him, too.”

Kelly shined her most encouraging smile, hoping to penetrate the barrier that Megan was hiding behind. “That's great, Megan! I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun. Sounds like the guy is athletic, like you. I bet you two will hit it off. I'm sure that's why Steve and I get along so well. We're both jocks.”

Megan exhaled a big sigh and finally met Kelly's gaze, her fair skin making her blue eyes look huge. “I don't ‘hit it off ' with guys, Kelly. You know that. That's why I hate blind dates. Whenever I meet a guy on a date, I freeze up. I stammer like I can't talk, and I turn red as a beet.” She shrugged. “I'm only going tonight because Lisa begged me.”

Kelly searched for something encouraging to say, something that would help Megan conquer her shyness. She could see Megan retreating into her shell already. “Megan, you only freeze up when you know it's a date or the guy is coming on to you; I've watched it. But you have no problem at all talking with guys who are friends. Steve, Greg, all the guys on the team. Your tennis buddies. Why don't you tell yourself this guy is not a date. He's only a friend, only a friend. See if that helps.”

Finally a smile peeked out as Megan repeated the mantra. “He's only a friend. He's only a friend. He's not a date. Not a date.” Her smile spread, much to Kelly's relief. Smiles were a start. “Self-hypnosis, huh? Okay, I'll give it a try. Wish me luck,” she said as she walked away. “Oh, and tell Steve that Sam and I will practice doubles with you two tomorrow night. You've got your first match the following night.”

“Don't remind me. We're still barely competent,” Kelly called over her shoulder.

“Kelly, you mustn't be so hard on yourself. You're doing very well indeed,” a deep, throaty woman's voice sounded behind her.

“Yes, dear. Your sweater-in-the-round turned out quite nicely,” a birdlike chirp floated past.

Kelly recognized the voices before the two elderly women approached the table. Hilda and Lizzie von Steuben. Spinster sisters, retired schoolteachers, and knitters of the highest level. Others knitted yarns. Hilda and Lizzie could knit cobwebs.

“Hello, ladies, how're you doing?” Kelly greeted as the two women pulled out nearby chairs. Hilda, tall and rawboned, and rosy-cheeked, plump-as-a-dumpling Lizzie. They barely resembled each other except in talent and kindness as well as genuine concern for the knitting shop family.

Almost as if she read Kelly's mind, Lizzie spoke up while she lifted a white, gauzy creation from her bag. “We're doing well, dear. But I'm concerned about that dear child, Lucy. Mimi told us what happened, and we were both shocked. Simply shocked.”

“Murder most foul,” Hilda intoned from her end of the table, fingers nimbly turning green and white yarns into a sweater. “Who could do such a thing, especially in a tranquil setting like Bellevue Canyon?”

“Well, Hilda, I don't think setting is too important to a killer when they decide to murder someone. If you recall, Vickie Claymore was killed in her canyon home last summer. And her daughter, Debbie.”

Lizzie shivered, causing the bits of red and white lace that adorned her upswept silvery hair to bounce. “Ooooh, that was simply dreadful. That awful woman, Geri Norbert. Killing both those lovely women. Horrible.”

“How was the young man killed, Kelly? I assumed you'd be checking into the details for us,” Hilda commented in a matter-of-fact voice.

“You know me too well, Hilda,” Kelly confessed with a grin. “I asked Burt to find out. After all, Lucy is one of our own.”

“You're right, dear. We need to make sure she's not alone in this crisis.” Lizzie's tiny needles deftly worked the white yarn. “Where is she, anyway? Has she been to the shop?”

“Apparently she's still grieving at home. Ellen, one of the other spinning students, is a good friend of Lucy's, and she says Lucy doesn't want to talk to anyone right now.”

“Poor dear.” Lizzie tsked. “We should do something, don't you think? We shouldn't leave her alone like that.”

“Sometimes that's exactly what should be done. Each person needs to grieve in peace. Lucy will rejoin her friends when she's ready,” Hilda decreed.

Kelly nodded her agreement, letting the rhythm of the stitches work their relaxing magic. She needed some relaxation after trying to make sense of her newest client's messy accounts. She might have to recommend a bookkeeper for this one.

The reminder of client accounts caused the ticking clock inside her head to buzz. Time to get back to work. Nose to the keyboard. She stuffed the alpaca scarf back into its bag and rose to leave. “Ladies, I'm afraid I have to return to work. See you later.”