Unraveled (8 page)

“Yes, it is. It’s been sitting in my stash basket for over two years, and I finally decided I was going to make something with it.”

“Didn’t you try a scarf with it before? I vaguely remember that.”

Kelly nodded. “I’d tried three different times and never liked the look of it when I got it on the needles. Everyone said to combine it with another yarn, and I tried three different ones. Didn’t like any of them, so I dumped it back into the basket.”

“It’s such a pretty yarn,” Jennifer said, reaching over and fingering the nubbly silk. “All those different colors. It’s hard to imagine women unraveled their saris and then spun the silk into yarn. That’s got to be a ton of work.”

Kelly rubbed the colorful fibers between her fingers. “I know. That’s probably why the yarn is so uneven. I finally got the idea of knitting with double strands of it and voila! That made all the difference. It’s going to be a really warm scarf.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t give up on the yarn. You know, once you finish with that, you should make this top. It’s easy and it would look great with your business outfits.”

Kelly reached over and fingered the pale peach color. Soft, yet springy. “Cotton?” she asked.

“Cotton and bamboo. It should be pretty.”

Kelly returned to her stitches, glad she’d diverted Jennifer’s attention and changed the conversation. She didn’t want to talk about Steve and his lower-than-a-snake’s-belly mood. He’d been in a bad mood the last six months they’d been together.

“You know, Steve wants to apologize, but he doesn’t think you want to talk to him.”

Clearly, Jennifer was determined to continue this train of conversation.
We’ll see about that,
thought Kelly. “He’s right. I don’t. Tell him to e-mail.”

Jennifer looked up at Kelly again. “E-mail?”

Kelly gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s fast and easy. Or, he can send a text.”

Jennifer eyed her. “Okaaaay, I’ll tell him next time he comes. Actually we suggested he just walk up at one of those meetings and say he’s sorry.”

Kelly looked at Jennifer, startled. “
What?
Are you nuts? I’m . . . I’m up to my ears with work at those things. I don’t have time to talk to Steve. Don’t be crazy.”

“How about if he just says ‘hello’? Or, maybe gives you a wave?”

“That’s okay, I guess,” Kelly said, unsure what to reply.

“Good, I’ll tell him the next time I see him. Of course, I don’t know when that’ll be.” Jennifer said, returning to her stitches.

Unsettled now by the scene Jennifer had painted, Kelly felt the silken yarn tighten up even more. She had to force her needle through the left stitch. Dropping it into her lap, she asked, “Did Pete put any coffee in the fridge?”

Jennifer looked up solicitously. “Do you need some caffeine?”

Annoyed by Jennifer’s question and the meaning behind it, Kelly retorted, “No, I don’t
need
any caffeine right now. I would simply like to have some.”

“Wait a second, I’ll check,” Jennifer said, springing from her chair much faster than she used to before she and Pete began running every morning. She was back with a foam cup of coffee before Kelly could knit more than two tight stitches.

“I always forget how fast you can move when you want to,” Kelly said, hoping to deflect Jennifer’s train of thought. “You could join our team as a base runner. Someone else could bat and you’d run the bases. What do you think?”

“Nah, the key in that sentence is when I ‘want’ to. Running around bases and sweating in the hot sun isn’t my thing.”

Confident she’d deflected Jennifer’s train of thought, Kelly returned to the recycled silk, trying to loosen the stitches so the needle could slide beneath them.

No such luck. With the needles or the conversation.

“Would you talk to him if Steve apologized?”

Kelly threw back her head. “
Arrrgh!
Enough about Steve, already! Tell him he should have apologized six months ago.”

Jennifer didn’t miss a beat. Still focusing on her needles. “He knows that. That’s the main reason he’s so depressed. He knows he screwed it up good between the two of you.”

“Yeah, he did,” Kelly shot back, trying to force the needle beneath another stitch. She didn’t want to think about it.

“And he doesn’t know how to make it better,” Jennifer said quietly, watching Kelly’s face.

Kelly didn’t say a word. She didn’t want to. She had nothing to suggest. Maybe it was too late for Steve and her. They had their time, and now it was over.

Just then, a familiar presence blew into the Lambspun shop, spotted Kelly and Jennifer, and headed toward them. “Hey, I couldn’t have planned it better. I was hoping to find you two here,” Jayleen declared as she charged into the room.

“Hey, Jayleen, how’re you doing?” Kelly greeted the alpaca rancher cheerfully, glad for the interruption.

Jayleen grabbed a chair and straddled it backward in her Colorado Cowgirl fashion. She dropped her Stetson onto the table and fixed Kelly with a serious look. “I’m fair to middling. But I’m not here to talk about me. I hear that last Saturday you two went up to that Poudre Canyon property and found Fred Turner dead.”

Kelly recalled yesterday’s local newspaper article reporting Turner’s death. “Well, not too much to say, Jayleen. Jennifer and I went up to the property to look around and found Turner shot dead, lying on the floor. Not pleasant.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jennifer agreed, needles moving faster. “I think Kelly and I create bad juju when we drive into the canyons. People die and we find them. Awful.” She shivered.

“Eustace told Curt and me. Says that Turner shot himself. Is that right?”

“Yeah. Gun was lying beside his hand on the floor. He shot himself in the head. Did you know him, Jayleen?”

“Yeah, I knew him. I’ve known both Fred and Renee Turner for years. Renee’s a close friend of mine. I met her when I first moved up here from Colorado Springs.” She shook her head. “Damn, I can’t picture Turner killing himself.”

“I’m sorry you lost your friend,” Kelly started to offer sympathy.

Jayleen cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Hell, I’m not sorry that bastard is dead. He was nothing but a crook. Even Curt says so. And you know, Curt doesn’t bad-mouth anyone unless it’s true. Turner cheated lots of folks out of their land. No-good conniving so-and-so. He was miserable to Renee when they were married and had been trying to cheat her in the divorce. It had gotten real ugly.” Jayleen made a face. “Turner was hiding assets from her. Shifting money into other accounts, trying to hide property transactions, all sorts of stuff.”

Jennifer let her knitting sit in her lap. “Renee came up to Turner’s office one time when I was there, and she looked furious. She started yelling at him and accusing him of all that same stuff. It was ugly. I got out of there fast.”

Jayleen nodded. “Yeah, Renee had watched Fred cheat other people out of their land and money, so she knew he’d try to cheat her, too. Even more so. He even sold off a piece of land that she’d picked out twenty years ago. Up in Redstone Canyon. Renee always talked about building a house there. It had great views of the Buckhorn Creek and valley. That bastard sold it last year. Did it on purpose because he knew she loved it.” She scowled. “He was one mean son of a gun. I’m surprised one of those clients he cheated over the years didn’t do him in. Even Renee said she wanted to plug him.”

“Well, she’s got all his assets now,” Kelly said. “Turner’s dead and they’re still married. No divorce.”

Jennifer looked pensive for a minute. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. I didn’t want to say anything before because it sounded so insensitive. I mean, the woman just lost her husband. But maybe Renee Turner really would be interested in selling that Poudre Canyon property to Housemann.”

“Hell, nobody is gonna grieve Fred Turner. Least of all, Renee,” Jayleen declared. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she does sell it. Let’s hope so.”

“That would be great,” Jennifer said, returning to the peach fiber. “Nothing can happen until after the estate is settled, but it would be good to know that a deal could eventually go through.”

“Well, I’m sure my client Housemann would like to know,” Kelly added. “He’s really interested in that property.”

Burt appeared in the doorway of the adjoining classroom, holding a white plastic bag. Creamy white fleece protruded over the top of the bag. “Hey, is there room for me and my wheel?” he asked with a smile.

“Sure, Burt, come and join us,” Kelly invited, beckoning him over.

“Hey, Burt. You and that bag remind me. I’ve gotta ask Mimi about some fleeces I promised her.” Jayleen effortlessly swung her jeans-clad leg over the chair as she rose.

“Well, you’d better get up front because she’s there now, and it’s nearly closing time.” Burt pulled his spinning wheel from the corner and plopped the plastic bag beside. Settling into a chair, he pulled the wheel toward him.

“I’ll talk to you folks another time,” Jayleen said as she headed for the foyer.

“Bye, Jayleen, and thanks,” Jennifer called after her, as she shoved the peach wool and needles into her bag. “I lost track of time. I’ve gotta go home and change and get over to the university for that banquet going on tonight.”

“Sorry you had to go through that again, Jennifer,” Burt said with a fatherly smile. “Walking in on a death scene. Not good.”

“Well, it won’t happen again, Burt,” Jennifer said as she rose to leave. “Kelly and I aren’t driving together into canyons anymore. She’ll explain. Gotta go, guys.” She gave a wave and headed toward the foyer.

“What was that all about?” Burt asked, clearly confused.

“Oh, Jen’s convinced we have bad canyon juju.” Kelly returned to her yarn and discovered the stitches had loosened. Strange. Maybe recycled silk was one of those temperamental yarns. She knitted several stitches easily and regained her rhythm.

Burt began drafting some of the fleece in his lap, pulling the fibers apart with his fingers, stretching them, to make them easier to spin. His feet began the treadle’s steady rhythm while Burt started feeding the drafted fleece, or roving, onto the wheel. Smoothly the roving slid through his partially separated fingers and onto the strand of yarn that wound around the wheel and onto the spindle.

Kelly loved watching Burt spin. It was peaceful and calming. Kelly sat and knitted two entire rows, the only sound the hum of the wheel.

Finally, Burt spoke. “I heard from Paul Graves, an old friend with the county police. I’d left him a message last week after we talked. Paul said it appears Fred Turner committed suicide, but they’re waiting for the medical examiner’s report.”

“It certainly looked that way,” Kelly said, still focusing on her stitches.

“As you know, sometimes things aren’t as they appear.” Burt gave her a wry smile. “You’ve seen that yourself.”

Kelly did, indeed. When they found their friend Tracy floating in the dye tub downstairs at Lambspun over a year ago, everyone assumed it was an accidental drowning. But it turned out it wasn’t. It was murder.

Kelly remembered something. “Did your friend Paul have any idea how old the gun is?”

“He and I both guessed it to be at least fifty years old. The crime lab guys will give us a better idea when they finish. You still have the photos?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you love technology? What would we do without it?” Burt smiled.

“Well, for one thing, people wouldn’t expect us to be available electronically twenty-four/seven,” Kelly replied. “We’re all dragging around an invisible electronic tether. We have to be connected all the time. Computer and smartphone, now.”

“I’m glad you convinced me to get one of those. I’m totally addicted to it now,” Burt said with a laugh.

“Told you.”

Mimi strode into the room then. “Oh, you’ve started spinning. I’ve closed up the shop and was about to turn off the lights.”

“Sit down and knit with us for a few minutes, Mimi,” Kelly suggested. “It’s so peaceful with everyone gone except us.”

“Well, normally I would, but I put a pot roast on in the Crock-Pot cooking slowly, and it should be ready about now.” Mimi checked her watch.

Burt immediately slowed the wheel’s turning. “Mimi’s pot roast. That does it. Spinning can wait.” He shoved the rest of the roving into the white plastic bag.

“Would you like to join us, Kelly?” Mimi invited with her maternal smile. “It’ll be a nice change of pace from pizza or conference food. You’ve been working so much in Denver, we’ll enjoy having some time with you.”

Kelly pictured Mimi’s pot roast and her stomach growled. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” she said, shoving the recycled silk into her bag.

Six

Kelly
shifted in the wooden chair, trying to get comfortable. The morning meeting at Warner Development’s north Denver office was in full swing. The speaker at the end of the long conference table was winding down his presentation. The last chart was on the screen. Kelly hoped there would be a short break before the next speaker took over. She needed coffee badly. And judging from the looks on the faces of some of Warner’s staff, she wasn’t the only one.

Most presenters brought pages of drawings and plans and reports to help explain whatever they were talking about. Whether it was current mortgage interest rates in northern Colorado or housing foreclosures spreading throughout the Denver metro and northern Colorado areas. Consequently, Kelly and everyone else in the crowded meeting room had a sheaf of papers to shuffle through for each speaker.

Kelly managed to stifle a yawn as she rested her chin on her hand. Glancing to the side, she saw Dave Germaine give her a quick smile. He’d obviously noticed her yawn. Kelly sent him a little smile in return. Warner had brought Dave on board to head up the joint project in Thornton with all the assorted project developers. According to Warner, Germaine had made a name for himself among Denver’s developers as someone who could guide a project through any number of minefields to successful conclusion, all while keeping costs under control. Not an easy task, especially in the present economic climate. Considering Dave Germaine had only been on the Denver development scene for eight years, it was quite an accomplishment. Tall with rugged good looks and in his late thirties, Germaine was a rising star on metro Denver’s real estate and development scene.