A Killer Stitch (5 page)

The sound of goodbyes floated after her as Kelly wandered through the main yarn room, fondling and stroking the brightly colored wools, mohairs, alpaca, and silks that were scattered on tables, stacked in piles on cupboards, and spilling from shelves. Holiday sweaters adorned the walls, festive socks dangled like ornaments, and matching hats and mittens bloomed in the corners like Christmas poinsettias.

Slowly she made her way to the foyer, reveling in the sensuous softness surrounding her. A multihued skein of recycled sari silk begged to be stroked. Luscious shamrock green mohair called next. Champagne-colored cashmere glistened in billowy bunches, almost as if the bubbly wine were captured in the fibers. Kelly indulged herself, sinking her hands into the seductive yarns.

Lingering over a particularly tempting pile of froth, Kelly detected the low murmur of voices, a man's and a woman's, coming from the adjoining room. She glanced about the shop, which was uncharacteristically empty at the moment. A girlish giggle floated from the room, and Kelly peered around the corner, curious for some unknown reason.

Mimi and Burt stood across the room, talking softly to each other. Mimi's face was flushed, as was Burt's, Kelly noticed. And they were looking at each other in the way people do when there's more going on in a conversation than talking.

Kelly observed them for a second more, then withdrew and tiptoed to the door, not wanting to disturb their absorption with one another.
Well, well, well,
she thought with a smile as she hurried across the driveway.

“I'm
so sorry it didn't work out, Kelly,” Mimi said, patting Kelly's hand. “I know how much you wanted that place. But maybe…maybe it wasn't meant to be.”

Kelly smiled across the café table at Mimi, who was obviously trying to make her feel better. Mother Mimi. Not having had a mother when she was growing up, Kelly had learned how to soothe her own hurts over the years. She'd actually believed she didn't need motherly attention. Now Kelly knew better. Simply sitting with Mimi, who listened attentively while she shared her disappointment about losing Geri Norbert's canyon property again, made Kelly feel better. Comforted.

“Maybe so, Mimi,” she said as she lifted another bite of the western omelet. “But it's still hard to watch it slip away again.”

Mimi patted, but said nothing this time. Jennifer approached their table, coffeepot in hand, and gave Kelly a big smile. “I knew Eduardo's omelet would make you feel better. More coffee?”

“Always.” Kelly shoved her mug forward.

“I'd better get back to the shop,” Mimi said, rising from the chair. “It's nice to share breakfast with you, Kelly. Let's do this another time, okay?”

“You bet. I didn't know what I was missing,” she said, before she finished off the homemade sausage.

“See you later, Mimi,” Jennifer said as Mimi walked away. “Don't worry, Kelly, I promise to keep a wary eye on the mountain property listings from now on.”

Kelly glanced out the window at the barren and empty café patio. A light covering of snow on the concrete hinted at more to come. Tables and chairs were stored behind the garage and covered with a tarp—waiting for spring. Just like Pete's plans for expanding the café. Waiting for warm weather to return.

“I know you will, Jen. It's not your fault. My offer was lower, that's all. I can't fault the seller for taking a much higher offer.” She took a long sip of coffee, then deliberately shifted her attention back to the café, changing the subject. “You know, I spotted Mimi and Burt talking with each other yesterday afternoon. Except they weren't simply talking, if you know what I mean.” She grinned up at Jennifer.

Jennifer grinned back. “Oh, yeah. I've seen them having lunch here at that corner table in the back.” She gestured over her shoulder. “They're definitely looking like lovers to me.”

“Whoa! You think?” Kelly sat up straight.

“If not, they're headed that way fast. They've got ‘the look.'” Jennifer gave her a sly smile. “It's a dead giveaway.”

Kelly sensed she'd better change the subject again before Jennifer started teasing her about Steve. She never got the chance. Jennifer set the pot on the table and sat down, a concerned look on her face.

“Kelly, I'm worried about Diane,” she said as she leaned forward. “The police questioned her yesterday afternoon. She called me right afterward, scared to death. They'd asked her where she was the night of Derek's death, and she told them she was at home, asleep.”

“You mean she didn't tell them about going over to his place?” Kelly asked in a low voice.

“No, and what's worse is they probably already know she's not telling the truth. I had a call from one of the girls at the bar, and she said Diane was there when she got Derek's call. Furthermore, she told several people she was going up to his place.”

“Oh, no,” Kelly breathed. “That will make her look even worse to the police. They've caught her in a lie.”

Jennifer nodded. “It gets even worse. My friend also told me Diane and Derek ‘had it out' in the bar last week. Same old thing, but this time Diane threatened Derek and came at him with a broken glass, screaming ‘I oughta bash that pretty face in.' The others had to hold her back.”

“Whoa…that's bad, Jen. Really bad. I hate to say it but Diane is going to wind up Lieutenant Peterson's chief suspect.”

“Peterson? The same detective who interviewed us at Vickie Claymore's ranch last July?”

“Yep. This crime happened in the county, so it's on Peterson's desk. And he doesn't miss a trick as I recall. He'll interview everyone at that bar and learn all about Diane and Derek's volatile history and Diane's drunken binges.”

Jennifer's mouth tightened. “Damn it. I know she didn't kill Derek. She couldn't. She was probably passed out drunk on her sofa.”

Kelly took a deep breath and spoke the thoughts she knew Jennifer didn't want to acknowledge. “Jen, have you considered that maybe the reason Diane came back to her place and drank herself into a stupor was because she'd just killed Derek?”

Jennifer stared into Kelly's eyes. Kelly watched doubt flit through her troubled gaze. “Of course I've thought of that, but…but I couldn't believe it. Diane couldn't kill Derek. I know she couldn't.”

“You don't know that, Jen,” Kelly countered, hoping to penetrate her friend's denial. “Anyone is capable of murder. Sounds like Diane was already drinking at the bar, then she goes up to the canyon where she and Derek have another blowout. Maybe she doesn't remember killing him; I don't know. I've never been that drunk.”

“I have,” Jennifer admitted softly, staring out into the cold December sunlight. “And I'd remember. I know I would.”

Kelly reached over and patted her friend's arm, much as Mimi had patted hers earlier. “I don't think you're as bad off as your friend Diane, judging from what you've told me. I mean, you don't go on drunken binges. We'd all know if you did. You know the Lambspun network. No one can keep a secret here.”

Jennifer gave Kelly a wry smile. “You've got that right.” She glanced over her shoulder and pushed away from the cozy corner table. “I'd better get back to my customers.”

“Me, too. But first, I need a few minutes of quiet before I return to this messy client's file. I stopped working last night after your phone call.”

Jennifer retrieved the coffeepot then walked beside Kelly toward the hallway. “By the way, did you find out how Derek was killed? I mean, was he shot, stabbed, what?”

“I'm waiting to hear from Burt on that. Did Diane have a gun? Did Derek?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I can't imagine Diane with a gun. But I know Derek had a shotgun and a rifle, because he talked about shooting scavengers. Listen, I'll see you later,” she said as she headed toward another table.

Rounding the corner into the main room, Kelly settled at the empty library table, anticipating the meditative relaxation that knitting quietly could bring. But this time it didn't come. Her mind would not slow down. Bits and pieces of the conversation with Jennifer kept flitting through her brain.

Diane threatening Derek at the bar. Diane returning home and passing out drunk. Diane having it out with Derek at his ranch. Diane lying to the police. Jennifer's worried expression and defense of her troubled friend. Had Diane killed Derek? How? Did she shoot him? Where did she get the gun? Kelly knitted another row of stitches, but her thoughts didn't slow down. Where was Burt anyway? The last she saw him, he was flirting with Mimi over the yarn bins. Where was he when she needed him?

“Good, I was hoping I'd find you here alone.” Burt's voice startled her as he walked up from behind. Pulling up a chair beside her, he sat down, hands clasped between his knees in what Kelly recognized as his “talking pose.”

She released an audible sigh. “Burt, I must have summoned you telepathically. I swear my curiosity won't let me alone about this Derek Cooper murder.”

“I figured,” Burt said with a grin.

“So, tell me. How was Derek Cooper killed? The newspapers aren't giving any details except that it was a homicide.”

“Well, they were told to wait until the next of kin is notified. It seems Derek's mother and father were on a cruise in the Caribbean, so it took a while to reach them. They'll be coming later this week to take his body back to California for burial.”

“Was he shot?”

“Nope. He died from a severe blow to the head, which led to fatal bleeding inside the brain. The weapon was an old shovel found on the barn floor, still bloody. No good fingerprints, unfortunately.”

“A shovel?”

Burt nodded. “He died within minutes, apparently. Too bad there was no snow on the ground. They could have gotten some footprints. As it was, there was nothing found near his body except the shovel and a lot of cash lying around.”

“They found money?”

“Yep. Lots of dollar bills scattered around. Derek's wallet was empty, too, so they figured it was his money.”

Kelly tried to picture womanizing Derek Cooper, lying dead in a pile of his own cash. “That's strange, don't you think?”

“Well, it's different, I'll say that,” Burt admitted with a smile.

“It couldn't be a robbery gone bad,” Kelly mused out loud. “Otherwise, the killer would have taken the cash. And I can't imagine a killer carrying around a shovel as a weapon, can you?”

“It would be a little awkward.”

Kelly pondered another minute. “Sounds to me like a crime of passion, Burt. I mean, shovels are naturally found in barns. Derek and the killer are having an argument or a fight, and the killer reaches out for whatever is handy. Wham! Derek's dead.”

Burt's careworn face crinkled into a grin. “Right as usual, Kelly. That's exactly what the investigators are thinking. There's certainly no way this was accidental. You have to hit someone really hard to kill them. Exam showed that Derek was hit on the right side of the head. Death was quick.”

“If Derek was hit on the side of his head, he was probably turning away or walking away from the killer.”

“Most likely.”

Kelly pondered for another minute. “There's no way Derek Cooper would turn his back on a menacing stranger, certainly not if they were having a heated argument. That means the killer was not a stranger. It was someone Derek knew. Someone he felt safe walking away from.”

Burt chuckled. “Sharp eye, Kelly. The investigators are looking at everyone, though. They can't afford to rule out any possibility, even the intruder theory. They're interviewing Derek's friends and business acquaintances right now.”

Remembering that Jennifer's friend Diane had lied to the police, Kelly deliberately kept quiet. The detectives would find out soon enough about Diane. She didn't need to point them in that direction. “Keep me posted, will you?”

“You bet,” he said as he stood up. “Right now, I'm going to spin some of those fleeces that have piled up in the storage room. See you later, Kelly.”

“Thanks, Burt,” Kelly said as he left.

Picking up the gray and white alpaca scarf in her lap, Kelly began to knit while her mind sifted through everything Burt had said about Derek Cooper's death. A crime of passion. It had to be. A violent argument taking a nasty turn into murder. A little shiver ran through her, recalling what Jennifer had said about Diane and Derek's many fights. The last argument sounded pretty violent. Diane tried to attack Derek, threatening him. That on its own looked bad. Then Diane lied to the police about her whereabouts that night, when there were plenty of witnesses ready to contradict her story. Not good, not good at all.

Not knowing Diane personally, Kelly didn't know how to feel about Diane. But she did know Jennifer, and Kelly trusted Jennifer's judgment. Jennifer might be a free-spirited party girl, but she was also smart and an extremely shrewd observer of people. Had Jennifer's friendship with Diane blinded her keen vision in this situation?

Too many questions buzzed inside Kelly's head now, darting around like summer mosquitoes. So much so, she decided the only way to clear her head would be to return to her client account files. Nothing like numbers to restore order.

She shoved the woolen scarf into her bag and rose to leave, when Curt Stackhouse strode into the room. Tall, burly, and silver-haired, Curt was the image of a Colorado rancher, his face weathered from years outside with herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, and riding the range.

“Not so fast, Kelly. That computer work can wait,” Curt announced as he pulled up the chair beside her, setting his Stetson on the table.

“Hey, Curt. You're reading my mind again,” Kelly said as she plopped her bag back on the floor. Curt was here to talk, she could tell. Next to client account files, she couldn't think of anything that cleared her head faster than hearing details of the Wyoming ranch she inherited when her cousin Martha died.

“First, let me tell you how sorry I am you didn't get that canyon property, Kelly. I could tell you had your heart set on it.”

“Thanks, Curt. I guess this kind of changes our plans, right?”

Curt rested one leg on his knee. “Kelly, I've decided to proceed with the same plans, only go a little slower. There's no need for us to sell what's left of the herd right away. We've already reduced it to a manageable size. And we can take our time selling that fine ranch house. Now we can wait for the right buyers and the right prices for both. I'm sure you'll agree that's a wiser decision.”