Close Knit Killer (2 page)

Two

Kelly
walked across the driveway separating her cottage office from the knitting shop that
was a larger version of her beige stucco, red-tile-roofed cottage. The former farmhouse–turned–successful
fiber shop was the center of her beloved aunt Helen’s life while she was alive. Helen’s
murder was the reason Kelly had returned to her childhood home in Fort Connor, Colorado,
several years ago. As Helen’s only relative, Kelly came to bury her aunt and handle
the small estate the talented knitter and quilter had left. But Kelly found herself
staying—drawn to the warmth and friendship that surrounded her once she entered the
knitting shop, Lambspun.

An over-the-shoulder briefcase banging her hip, empty coffee mug dangling in one hand,
Kelly followed the flagstone path that ran through the backyard patio and garden area
behind the shop. Located at the rear of the knitting shop, Pete’s Porch Café spilled
out into the patio. Wrought-iron tables with umbrellas and chairs were sprinkled here
and there among the shady trees and greenery. Surrounded by a stucco wall on two sides
and a decorative iron fence on the other, the café was a popular breakfast and lunch
spot, so most outdoor tables were usually filled during good weather.

Glancing across the garden, she drank in the colors of the spring flowers that had
already burst into bloom. Then she spotted Mimi’s husband Burt sipping from a take-out
cup as he strolled though the garden toward the parking lot. “Hey, Burt,” she called,
hoping to catch the retired Fort Connor police detective’s attention.

Burt gave her a big smile and waved as he headed her way. “Hi, Kelly. Jennifer told
me the guys won their ball game last night.”

“By the skin of their teeth. It was Greg’s hit to left field that drove in the winning
two runs. It was the bottom of the ninth with two outs.”

“Whoa, that must have been exciting. Mimi and I will have to catch one of those games
this summer.”

“Oh, it was exciting, all right. But there’ll be no living with Greg this weekend,”
Kelly teased.

“Well, that’s true,” he said with a laugh.

“By the way, Steve said he talked with Mimi yesterday about remodeling the garage.”
She gestured toward the older stucco-and-red-tiled structure that occupied the corner
between the garden and the parking lot.

“Yeah, Mimi and I have been thinking about doing something with this garage we’ve
been using for storage. We thought about turning it into a combination classroom and
storage where we could teach bigger spinning and weaving classes. Weaving looms and
spinning wheels take up a fair amount of room. Now we have to limit the size of our
classes, since the classroom in the shop is only so big. It would be nice to spread
out and be able to teach more people.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kelly said, slowly accompanying Burt back down the pathway toward
the old garage. “I know you guys are cramped for space with those classes. Sometimes
you have to break them into two sections because there’re so many people. But what
will you do about the stuff you’ve got stored here?” She pointed toward the bolted
door on the side of the structure.

Burt smiled. “Well, we think we’ve come up with an innovative idea. Most of what we’ve
stored are fleeces we’ve bought from local spinners, and some other fibers. Mimi and
I thought we might have shelves built along the walls inside and offer some of the
fleeces for sale, plus allow area spinners to put their fleeces up on consignment.
Offer them a larger customer audience. It would be a win-win, we think.”

“That’s a great idea, Burt,” Kelly agreed as she eyed the aging structure. “This garage
is pretty old. I remember Uncle Jim using it for farm equipment when I was a kid.
Are you going to tear it down and start from scratch or what?”

“Oh, no, we don’t want to tear it down. Mimi and I both love all the old stucco outbuildings.
We’re hoping that Hal Nelson will be able to reenforce the exterior, then totally
rebuild the inside. That’s another reason we bought the shop and outbuildings from
the property owner. We wanted to make some changes of our own.”

“And a smart idea, it was. This Hal Nelson is a local builder, I take it. I don’t
recall Steve ever mentioning his name.”

“Yes, he’s been working with some larger construction companies for several years
and started doing small jobs on his own. Branching out. We found him through Jayleen.
She’s been working with the Mission’s rehab program and helping some of the men who’re
moving from homeless back into the work force. The Mission program allows them to
apprentice in various construction jobs with local companies. That way they kind of
ease their way back into society. They qualify to rent a room in a shared house that
offers dormitory-style sleeping quarters until they can hopefully land a permanent
job, even if it’s part-time.”

“Boy, that’s the hard part. This recession has eliminated so many jobs.”

“You’re right about that, Kelly. But Curt told us there are some job boards that are
posting various day jobs, hard labor mostly. Clearing out demolished buildings and
tear-downs or some farm work. That’s hot summer work, but it pays.”

“I’m not surprised Curt started getting involved at the Mission with Jayleen. He’s
got connections to ranchers, farmers, and builders. There are plenty of opportunities
there for someone who’s willing to work.” Kelly checked her watch. “Well, I’m going
to take a break and knit for a little bit before I head back to work.”

Burt chuckled. “You mean before you head back across the driveway. I’m so glad you
decided to turn the cottage into your office, Kelly. It wouldn’t feel right not to
see you pop into Lambspun every day.”

“I feel the same way, Burt. Steve and I had to move out last fall because we were
bursting at the seams inside the cottage. So it made perfect sense for us to move
to one of his empty houses and make the cottage my office. Steve can use the extra
bedroom in the house for his home office. And I’ve still got a mortgage on the cottage.
Besides, Carl doesn’t have any squirrels to chase in the new yard.”

“Well, we’re just happy to see you regularly. We’ve gotten addicted to that.” Burt
started toward his car. “I’d better head out on errands.”

“Talk to you later, Burt.” She gave Burt a good-bye wave, slowly walking along the
sidewalk leading to the knitting shop’s front entry. Passing by the newly planted
clay flower pots and enclosed gardens, she admired the young impatiens and daisies
pushing their bright faces upward, overtaking the remnants of springtime’s tulips.

Looking out to the golf course that bordered the other side of the shop driveway,
Kelly observed how many golfers had already progressed this far on the links. With
Colorado’s gorgeous sunny summer weather beckoning, how could any self-respecting
golfer resist an early tee time?

Just then, a black pickup truck rumbled down Lambspun’s gravel driveway. Red lettering
on the driver’s door read
NELSON CONSTRUCTION
. Kelly only glimpsed the man driving the truck, but figured it had to be Hal Nelson,
the builder Burt mentioned who would do the garage remodel. She paused on the sidewalk,
curious to meet him. Somehow Kelly felt she should “oversee” any changes to the property
that once belonged to her uncle Jim and aunt Helen.

The sprawling knitting shop had once been their farmhouse when Helen and Jim raised
sheep. The beautiful rolling greens where golfers now chased errant balls were once
sheep pastures where sheep chased one another and munched far less lush grasses. Kelly
remembered walking with her uncle in the sheep pastures when she was a child. Hard
economic times had forced Helen and Jim out of raising sheep, so Jim took a job with
the State of Colorado Transportation Department. Helen continued to spin the fleeces
from her former flock and knit beautiful creations for Kelly and others.

After Uncle Jim’s death from a heart attack several years ago, Helen sold the large
farmhouse to an investor who rented most of the space to Mimi Shafer, who operated
a popular knitting shop in Old Town and wanted to expand. Pete had created his café
from the remaining space. Helen moved into the small cottage, a look-alike version
of the farmhouse right across the driveway. It had been a guesthouse and Helen’s quilting
refuge for years. Situated between the driveway and the golf course, it sat beneath
two large spreading cottonwood trees. The views of the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains
in the distance were beautiful—the “foothills,” as the locals called them. Kelly never
tired of gazing at them. Also, bordering the city-owned golf course were the familiar
outlines of the turn-of-the-century buildings in Old Town Fort Connor. Thankfully,
some things hadn’t changed.

A tall, middle-aged man with sandy brown hair stepped down from his pickup truck,
so Kelly figured she might as well introduce herself. As she walked up to him, she
noticed another, older-looking man get out of the passenger side of the truck.

“Hello, there,” she said, approaching the sandy-haired man. “Are you Hal Nelson? Burt
Parker told me you’ll be remodeling the garage.” She extended her hand. “I’m Kelly
Flynn. My aunt and uncle used to own all this land years ago.”

The man’s broad face broke into a smile. “Yes, I’m Hal Nelson. Glad to meet you, Ms.
Flynn,” he said, shaking Kelly’s hand. “I remember your aunt and uncle. They used
to raise sheep. Good people.”

“Yes, they were. And both were taken far too early,” Kelly said.

Nelson’s smile disappeared. “I was really sorry to hear about your aunt, years ago.
That was just a shame. I certainly hope that man is still serving his time. He deserves
to, that’s for sure.”

Kelly usually didn’t allow old angry memories to claim her attention. Good people
could do bad things. Her aunt’s killer had committed an awful act of violence—and
now he was paying for that reckless choice in the state penitentiary.

“I’m sure he is, Mr. Nelson. And I’m sure he’s had plenty of time to regret his actions.”
Switching subjects deliberately, Kelly gestured to the garage. “This building is pretty
old. I remember Uncle Jim keeping his tractor inside. Burt said he and Mimi want to
preserve this old exterior. Boy, that’s going to be a challenge. I’m curious how you’ll
do it.”

“You’re right about that. It’ll be a challenge for sure,” he said walking toward the
garage. “We’re going to see how bad the rot is inside and go from there. We’re hoping
to be able to preserve most of this exterior, but we’ll have to see.”

As Nelson moved away from his truck, Kelly could finally get a good look at the older
man who had been standing on the other side. He was not as tall or as broadly built
as Hal Nelson and had a medium-length beard that edged his thin face. It was hard
to tell how old the man was, but as he walked closer to where Kelly and Nelson stood
on the sidewalk, Kelly did notice something. She recognized that thin bearded face.
She’d seen him before, but where?

“Well, you gentlemen have your work cut out for you, that’s for sure. I’ll come over
and check on your progress because I work over there in the cottage.” She pointed
across the driveway. “Aunt Helen left me the cottage in her will, along with the mortgage,”
she added. Both men smiled.

“You should keep that property, Ms. Flynn. This is a choice piece of land, as you
know. I bet your aunt Helen wouldn’t want you selling it off.”

“No, siree,” the older man spoke up.

“I agree,” Kelly said, then turned to the bearded man. She finally remembered where
she’d seen him. “Excuse me, but I think I’ve met you before. Isn’t your name Malcolm?”

The bearded man flushed slightly and a smile appeared. “Yes, ma’am. I recognize you,
too. You came into the Mission one day a couple of years back with Miss Jayleen and
Jerry. You asked me questions about that young girl who was found dead on the trail
beside the river.”

“That’s right!” Kelly exclaimed. “You were really helpful. No one else had seen that
girl except you. Thank God you spoke up.”

Malcolm flushed deeper and gazed down at the driveway. “Well, I wanted to help out
Mr. Jerry and Miss Jayleen. They’d been really good to me. And they still are.”

“You know, I remember that story in the paper,” Nelson said, turning to Malcolm. “Did
you see that girl being killed, Malcolm?”

Malcolm looked horrified. “Oh, no, sir! I never saw any of that. I just saw someone,
looked like a man to me, walk that girl down the trail and leave her sitting on a
rock.”

“That’s exactly right,” Kelly said. “If it weren’t for Malcolm speaking up, the killer
would have gotten away with murder.”

Hal Nelson smiled at Malcolm and put his hand on his shoulder. “Good for you, Malcolm.
You really stepped up. I’m proud of you.”

Malcolm looked down at the ground again, clearly embarrassed. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson.
That’s good of you to say.”

“It’s the truth, Malcolm. You provided the clue that led to solving the case. If you
don’t believe me, ask Burt Parker. He’ll tell you,” Kelly chimed in.

Hal Nelson laughed as he walked toward the back of his truck. Several toolboxes sat
inside along with ladders and other gear. “That is the truth. Burt was a detective
here for many a year.”

“And he’s still detecting,” Kelly added as she turned back to the sidewalk. “It was
nice meeting you two. You’ll see me going back and forth from my office to the shop.
Eduardo’s coffee keeps tempting me.”

“Take care, Ms. Flynn,” Malcolm called over his shoulder as he went to help Nelson
lift the toolboxes from the truck bed.

“You, too, Malcolm,” Kelly said as she sped down the sidewalk. She should really get
inside and see how much work she could accomplish before lunch. Kelly skipped up the
brick steps to the Spanish colonial–style farmhouse and heaved open the heavy wooden
front door.

Stepping inside the Lambspun foyer was always a delight, a visual treat for the senses.
It never disappointed. Baskets and chests, spilling over with fat balls of thick yarn
or skinny twists of whisper-thin fiber. Tables were stacked with twisted coils of
hand-dyed mohair and silk, a rainbow of colors. Kelly couldn’t resist stroking the
sensuous softness.