Purl Up and Die (14 page)

Marty nodded. “Killing her in a fit of rage, that qualifies as a crime of passion.”

“Who was the professor that was accused of assault?” Pete asked.

Kelly exchanged looks with Lisa and Megan but didn't say a word. Neither did they.

“He was a professor in the department of anatomy and physiology. Professor Smith. I knew his teaching assistant, and he said the professor was convinced that girl targeted him. He swore he never laid a hand on her.” Greg leaned back in his chair and tipped back his beer.

“So you're saying that the girl who accused Tommy of assault may actually have targeted him?” Jennifer asked.

Greg shrugged. “I don't know. But like I said. It's happened before.”

“Yeah, but even if that's true, it's a big stretch to think of killing somebody,” Pete observed.

“I agree,” Greg replied. “But I remember what happened to that professor. Professor Smith. My friend said he hit bottom big-time after those charges. I remember seeing him at the bar over in Old Town, Mason's, and he was usually
drunk. Friends would have to take him home. He was in bad shape. And I remember his cussing out that girl, too.”

“Someone told me that he had straightened himself out,” Kelly interjected. “Stopped the drinking and stuff. She was a friend of that professor's family.”

Greg shrugged again. “Well, it must not have taken hold. Because I remember seeing him a couple of weeks ago back at Mason's and drunk as a skunk. He even got into a fight with a guy who taunted him about that stuff. The professor got lit up and swung at the guy. Then they went at it. Bartender had to throw both of them out. That professor's definitely got a short fuse and still has a whole lot of anger inside. You could tell just listening to him rant at the bar. That complaint really stopped his academic career.”

Kelly stared at Greg. “That was a couple of weeks ago?”

Greg took a drink of his craft brew. “Yeah. That would have been right after Doctor Tommy was accused of assault. We all know what a negative impact that assault complaint will have on Tommy's medical career. Who knows? Maybe good, studious, hardworking Tommy got mad enough to kill.”

“Whoa, that's positively diabolical,” Pete said.

“Yeah, it is, actually,” Marty said, nodding. “You been reading those crime novels again?”

“People have been trying to get away with murder since the beginning of time,” Greg opined sagely with a little smile.

“Have you been working with him, Lisa?” Megan teased. “Greg's bordering on the philosophical.”

Everyone laughed at that, including Greg. Then he spoke
up again. “You don't have to believe me. Ask Kelly. Ever since she got here years ago, she's been sleuthing around in local murders. And if I'm not mistaken, she's always found the real killer. So, if not for Kelly, those people would have gotten away with murder. You can ask Burt, because he's the one who told me that.” Greg smiled and raised his bottle of craft brew in a salute.

Kelly joined her friends in their laughter. But Greg's comments started rattling around in the back of Kelly's mind.

Wednesday morning

Kelly
slowed down in the hallway as she approached the corner opening into the loom room. She'd collided with too many people in the six years she'd been coming to Lambspun knitting shop. Moving too fast was the usual reason.

Looking around the corner Kelly saw no one. Good. She took a sip of her coffee and browsed the shelves that lined two entire walls. Fat triangular-shaped spools of specialty fibers—mohair, bamboo, silk, cotton, and combinations—sat in neat rows on each shelf, ready to be added to other yarns and knitted into garments or woven into decorative shawls, table runners, and other decorative pieces.

Every color in the spectrum and combinations of color. Decorative trims also caught her eye as did the rainbow of threads. Lambspun had something for every fiber artist—
seamstress to spinner. Kelly stroked the soft gray mohair strands. She'd used them several times over the years.

A woman walked into the room now and approached the large loom that sat in the middle of the floor. She set her large fabric bag on the bench of the loom. Kelly and friends called it the Mother Loom. The woman settled on the bench and reached into her bag. Kelly noticed that there was a twelve-inch-wide table runner on the loom at the moment.

“Is that your work?” Kelly asked the woman, pointing at the table runner. It didn't look like it was woven from wool.

“Yes, it is,” the woman said with a smile. “I took one of Mimi's weaving classes last year and fell in love with the loom and weaving.”

“I've heard that story several times over the years,” Kelly said with a smile. “Sometimes people fall in love with the spinning wheel the same way.” She walked over to the loom and leaned closer to the fabric there. “Ooooooh, this is so fine. May I touch it?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Table runner?” Kelly asked as she stroked the fibers several times. There was a different feel to this fiber. Her fingers could always tell if the fiber was different or exotic.

“Yes, I'm doing it for my mom's birthday this September.” She pointed to the creamy beige expanse of woven fabric. “I've got another two feet to go, so I think I'll make it.”

“It's beautiful,” Kelly said, admiring the novice weaver's work. “You're doing a great job. I think you're a natural.”

The weaver chuckled. “I wish.”

Kelly couldn't resist stroking the fabric again. “I can tell
this fiber isn't wool or silk or cotton. But I know I've felt it before. What is it?”

“It's linen. Made from flax,” she said with a smile. “I love using flax. It's an ancient fiber and was one of the oldest fiber crops in the world. It was used seven thousand years ago. Spread from the Mediterranean areas like Egypt and Iraq into India and China. It's been spun and woven into garments for centuries.”

“Wow,” Kelly said, impressed by this woman's knowledge. “You've really learned about it.”

“Well, I love reading about history and the people from yesteryear. It's easy to learn information when it's wrapped inside historical stories.” She touched the cream-colored fabric she'd already woven. “Mummies were entombed, wrapped in linen back in ancient Egypt. The Phoenicians loaded Egyptian linens and traveled all over the Mediterranean. The Romans used linen for sails on their ships. Flax was introduced into North America by the colonists, and it thrived here.”

Kelly pondered for a few seconds. “Are the flax seeds I buy at the grocery store in the health food section the same seeds that are used for growing flax?”

The woman nodded. “Yes. And flax fibers are stronger than cotton, too.”

Kelly rubbed the fine fabric between her fingers again. It felt firmer, more substantial between her fingers than other fabrics. An ancient fiber would have to produce a stronger fabric and garment in those early times. Cold winds blew in the winter, and the only refuge people had was huddling around the fire in a hut or a stable and wrapping their cloak
or garment about them. No overcoats to be found in those early times.

“I love the way this feels,” Kelly said, rubbing the linen again. The woman's woven stitches appeared open and even. Precise, actually. Kelly was envious of the ability to make her stitches so even and smooth. Something would always come up in Kelly's knitting rows.

Mimi turned the corner into the room then. “Isn't that a beautiful piece, Kelly? Jackie only started weaving last year, but she's become quite proficient. One of my star pupils.” Mother Mimi beamed.

“I think she's a natural,” Kelly agreed. “This is beautiful work, and I just had a wonderful history lesson in this ancient fiber, thanks to Jackie.” Kelly smiled and ran her fingers across the fine linen fibers once again.

•   •   •

Balancing
her coffee mug, briefcase bag, and an almost-finished ribbon scarf, Kelly sought out a table in the late-morning shade of the garden patio. She scanned the other tables scattered among the trees and greenery. The café was in between breakfast and lunch, so the patio garden was peaceful and quiet with no one talking. On this cloudy day, temperatures had dropped to the eighties. Delightful. Kelly spotted a table in the back corner of the garden and headed straight for it.

Kelly wanted some quiet time to finish and bind off this ribbon scarf. She'd knitted four of them already and had one more to go. Since her girls' softball clinic sessions ended
next week, Kelly knew she needed to hustle to get all five scarves for the girls ready on time. Part of their end-of-class lunch she was treating them to.

She also wanted some time to think. For the past two days, Kelly had not been able to get Greg's comments about Professor Paul Smith out of her mind. Greg had seen Professor Smith at a popular Old Town bar several times. Smith would drink too much, then get into arguments that sometimes resulted in getting into fights and being thrown out of Mason's Bar. Repeatedly. And this self-destructive behavior was probably due to Smith's deep-seated anger at the student who had charged him with sexual assault. Her complaint had thrown a wrench into Smith's academic career and advancement. Greg had said: “That professor's definitely got a short fuse and still has a whole lot of anger inside. You could tell just listening to him rant at the bar.”

Listening to Greg detail some of these incidents he'd witnessed that involved Professor Smith, Kelly couldn't help but wonder if the anger and resentment Professor Smith still harbored toward Laura Brewster had led him into taking revenge. Had Professor Paul Smith given in to those vengeful emotions and taken action? Clearly, Smith was capable of violence, as witnessed by numerous patrons of Mason's Bar. Smith regularly got into physical fights with anyone who taunted him about the assault charges. Smith clearly had fallen off the wagon and begun to drink heavily again. Had he gone to Laura Brewster's apartment and choked her to death? Many bar patrons had heard him make threats against her while drunk. Did Smith follow up on those
threats? Those thoughts had been bouncing around Kelly's head for days now. It was time to get some answers, and Kelly knew just where to start.

•   •   •

The
lunch crowd was winding down, Kelly thought as she walked between occupied and empty tables at the back of the café. Glancing around, she spotted Jennifer at the counter loading lunch orders onto her tray.

“You want a refill, Kelly?” Jennifer pointed to Kelly's mug as she approached the counter.

“No, I'm still good. I just want to ask you something when you have a moment. I can wait outside. Don't want to take a seat away from a customer.”

Jennifer gave a dismissive wave. “Lunch is slowing down, so no problem. Why don't you grab that smaller two-top table in the corner next to the windows? It's separated a little from the rest. I'll be there as soon as I get these last orders in.”

“Sounds good,” Kelly said and headed toward the corner of the café. Sure enough, the smaller table located beside the large front windows was empty. It was much smaller than the other tables and usually Kelly noticed only one person at a time sitting there.

Settling in the chair with its back against the wall, Kelly noticed there was more than enough room for one person to study, eat, work on a laptop, or simply stare out the wide window at what was once the front entry yard of Uncle Jim and Aunt Helen's farmhouse.

The entire area in front of the café's main entrance and
the garden patio were enclosed by the original old Spanish Colonial beige stucco or adobe wall, rimmed with red brick. In the center, directly across from the steps that led up to Pete's Porch Café, was a wide arch, obviously the welcoming entry to the original farmhouse property. Kelly knew that the café was located in the original kitchen and dining room area at the back of the farmhouse. A couple of years ago, Pete had expanded the original enclosed patio room on the side of the café and created an outdoor patio deck perched on the level right above the garden patio. During warm-weather months, which were plentiful in Colorado, customers flocked to the outdoor tables on the deck and in the garden.

“Okay, I've got a couple of minutes,” Jennifer announced as she approached. “What's up?” she asked, settling into the chair across from Kelly.

“I've been thinking about what Greg said the other night. You know, about Professor Smith at the university. I remember how one of Smith's friends told me that he had stopped overdrinking and had straightened himself out. But Greg said that he saw Professor Smith at Mason's Bar a couple of weeks ago ‘drunk as a skunk,' as Greg put it.”

“Yeah, I wish I could say that surprised me, but it doesn't. I've seen too many people swear off liquor over the years, only to dive right back into the deep end over and over.” She gave a tired sigh and stared out the window. “It's sad to watch.”

“I started thinking. What if Professor Smith was the one who killed Laura Brewster? I mean, Greg said Smith got into a fight at Mason's the night Greg was there. Some guy
at the bar taunted him about that girl, and they started fighting. The bartender had to throw both of them out.”

Jennifer looked back at Kelly, peered at her. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, I wondered if you would join me in going to Mason's Bar early some evening when that same bartender is working. We could get there before the bar crowd comes in. I'd like to ask that bartender some questions. See what he remembers about that night. Maybe Professor Smith made some threat against Laura Brewster. Who knows?”

Jennifer stared out the wide window again. “Sure, Kelly. I'll go with you. In fact, let me check with Mason's and see which bartender it was. I might remember him.”

“Would you? Thanks, Jen. If he remembers you, then I bet he'll tell us more.” Kelly paused before continuing. “And for the record, I wouldn't dream of asking you this if I didn't already know that you were no longer tempted by that bar scene. Believe me, Jen, I would never do anything like that. Honest.”

Jennifer glanced back at Kelly and smiled. “Well, for the record, I know that, Kelly.”

“Let me check with Greg and find out if he remembers what night he was there at Mason's.” She dug out her cell phone from her cutoff jeans and scrolled through the directory to Greg's number. “He's probably deep at work with the geeks, as Cassie calls them. So I'll leave a . . . Hey, Greg? It's me, Kelly.”

“What's up?” Greg asked in a crisp voice. “Cassie's over here working on this new project I gave her. Do you need to talk to her or something?”

“No, I called to ask you something. Do you remember what night you were over at Mason's Bar and saw Professor Smith? I wanted to go over and ask that bartender some questions.”

“Sleuthing, huh? I was hoping you might pick up on what I said the other night. Yeah, I remember exactly. It was Thursday night, three weeks ago. We didn't have a game that night, so I joined some of the guys from my cycling group at the bar.”

“Thanks, that helps a lot. What have you got Cassie working on?”

“I was showing her some programming codes from years ago. You know, those early ones. Then I explained to her how those old programs worked. Next, I'm going to show her what we can do now.”

Kelly chuckled. “From the Stone Age to the Space Age, huh? I predict she'll love it.”

“Oh, yeah. She's digging into it right now. She really gets into stuff.”

“Well, tell her ‘hi' from me, and I'll see you tonight at the games.”

“Will do. See ya.” He clicked off.

Jennifer rose from the table. “Gotta get back to the customers. What did Greg say?”

“He remembers exactly. It was Thursday night three weeks ago.”

“Okay, I'll check with Mason's and see who was working then and when they're on duty next. Talk to you later.” Jennifer turned and hurried back toward the grill counter.

Kelly took one more look at the old-fashioned adobe
walls and picturesque front yard, then pulled her laptop from her briefcase bag and went back to work. Silent client accounts were waiting rather than noisy customers.

•   •   •

“Way
to go, Greg!” Lisa yelled from the Rolland Moore park bleachers.

“Nice hit!” Kelly joined in, clapping her hands as well.

Seated beside them both on the midlevel bleacher row, Megan put her fingers to her mouth and let out one of those high-decibel, earsplitting whistles Marty had taught her.

“Yeow!” Kelly ducked her head, covering her ears. “Jeeeez, Megan! You're gonna make us all deaf.”

Megan just laughed and waved toward the field. “Hey, Greg is waving at you, Lisa. Get your hands off your ears and wave back.”

“Only if you promise not to let out another of those whistles for this game. I'm with Kelly. Our ears are still ringing.”