Close Knit Killer (16 page)

Kelly looked out toward the golf course, golfers enjoying the sunny June afternoon.
“That reminds me. I was thinking I might take a daytrip up to Wyoming and check out
the properties. I haven’t been in six months.”

“It’s been seven months, Kelly-girl. I keep track.” He gave her a fatherly smile as
he placed his Stetson on his knee.

“I should have known you’d be keeping track, Curt. I was hoping you’d accompany me.
That way we can go out and look at the sheep and take a look at the gas wells. They’ve
added more, you know. I sent you a copy of the drilling company’s report.”

“I was thinking you might like to take a little ride around up there. Chet Brewster
is still taking care of things for you, right?”

“Yes, he is, and he’s getting married this month.” Kelly smiled. “He’s always looked
so young to me. I wonder if he’s going to want to continue supervising the ranch.
He may want to start building his own.”

Curt gave her a look. “Chet Brewster may want to start building a place of his own,
Kelly, but you know young folks nowadays can’t qualify for mortgage loans. Certainly
not someone like Chet, who works part-time as a rancher and part-time for the building
supply store in Cheyenne.” He shook his head. “It’s a damn shame. Youngsters like
Chet who want to go into ranching won’t be able to buy any land of their own to start
a spread for several years. Who knows how long it’ll take for banks to get back to
business as usual lending money.”

Kelly pondered what Curt had said. “I wish there was a way to help. Chet’s a good
man and a good ranch supervisor.” She looked out over the golf course again. “There’s
a lot of unused space on that property.”

Curt peered at her. “I can see your mind working, Kelly. You’d like to provide housing
for Chet and his new bride. But you’ve got the charity school for girls in your cousin
Martha’s ranch house. That only leaves the barns and the outbuildings, but they’re
taken up with feed storage and the animals. There’s no other space, unless Chet wants
to bring in a mobile home.”

“Hmmmm, that’s a possibility,” Kelly said with a smile.

Curt looked at Kelly for a long minute. She knew him well enough to know Curt was
considering what she’d said.

Sixteen

Kelly
pushed op
en the café front door and hurried inside. Determined to resist the tempting breakfast
aromas wafting through the air this time, she walked around the corner leading to
the back of the café and the grill. Then she spotted Cassie sitting alone at a small
side table in the alcove, knitting.

“Hey, Cassie, is that a new scarf you’re making? I love that cherry red with green
running through it.”

Cassie looked up from her needles and smiled brightly. “Hi, Kelly. I’m waiting for
Lisa to pick me up, so I thought I’d finish this scarf while I wait.”

Julie snatched Kelly’s dangling coffee mug as she passed by. “Looks like you could
use a fill-up.”

“Mind reader,” Kelly teased as Julie headed to the grill. “Boy, I’m impressed, Cassie.
You finish scarves way faster than I ever did,” she said as she walked over to Cassie’s
table. Leaning over, she fingered the long, dangling end of soft mohair and wool combination.
“Your stitches are better, too.”

“You’re always saying you can’t knit stuff, Kelly. Then I see what you’ve done, and
it looks great to me.”

Kelly dumped her briefcase on an adjacent chair and sat across from Cassie. “Great
is stretching it. On my best day, I’m good. Or, halfway good. Or . . . partially good.”
She gave a dismissive wave. “But I never got close to great. Now, Jennifer is great.
So is Megan. And Lisa, too.”

“And Mimi,” Cassie added, her fingers working the needles. Stitches appearing neat
and orderly, filling the row.

“Mimi? Oh, she’s in another dimension. Sometimes I don’t think she’s human. Maybe
she’s an alien, that’s why she’s so super good. She’s from outer space, a planet of
advanced beings.” Kelly let her voice drop into a melodramatic tone.

Cassie broke into a giggle as Julie appeared with Kelly’s refilled mug. “You’re so
funny, Kelly,” Cassie said when she caught her breath.

“Only my friends think I’m funny,” Kelly teased. “Say, what do you think about the
Health Rehab Center? I’ve been there when I was rehabbing a broken ankle a couple
of years ago.”

Cassie’s eyes lit up. “It’s amazing! There’s all kinds of machines and equipment and
stuff. And all these people are coming in on crutches or with their arms or legs in
a sling, and they’re actually
exercising
! And the PTs like Lisa—oh, wow, they must have magic hands or something, because
the patients lying down on the tables in therapy rooms, you know, well, they’re always
saying ‘ohhhh’ or ‘ahhhh’ and stuff like that. Of course, some of them say ‘ouch’
or ‘No, that hurts.’ But the PTs still keep working on them.”

Now it was Kelly’s turn to laugh. “That’s funny. And very accurate, too. I remember
what it was like rehabbing my broken ankle. Of course, I also got to go in the therapy
swim pool and practice walking. Now, that felt good! And it really helped speed up
recovery.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen people in that pool. And they look kind of happy.” She grinned.

“Jayleen told me you were going to her ranch. Yesterday, right? How’d you like it?”

Cassie dropped the yarn and sat up straighter. “It was
awesome
!
Totally
!” Her blue eyes grew huge. “It’s
so
pretty up there! I’ve never seen anything like it. And the alpacas are amazing. They
are
so
sweet and gentle. And their big brown eyes are
enormous
! Jayleen introduced me to them inside their corral, and we walked around with them.
They’d come up and gather around me and sniff. Kinda like doggies do when they see
you the first time. They sniff you.”

Kelly grinned, thoroughly enjoying Cassie’s descriptions. “I call that an ID check.
That’s how dogs figure out what you are. They sniff you, then decide if you’re okay
or not.”

“Yeah, kind of like that. Of course, alpacas are bigger and furrier than dogs. Except
they’ve all just had their fleeces shorn, so they look a
lot
happier. Not so hot. Jayleen’s taking all the fleeces, or blankets, she calls them,
to the Estes Park Wool Market this weekend. Mimi’s going to the market, too. Pete
said I could go with them. It sounds like fun. Burt says there are lots and lots of
animals there.”

Kelly nodded. “There sure are. Even llamas are there. And they have demonstrations,
too. Sheep are exhibited as well. They’ve even got sheep shearings and sheepdog-herding
demonstrations.”

“Oh, wow! That sounds awesome!” Eyes popped wide again.

“I figured you’d like Jayleen’s ranch. It’s beautiful, and it’s cooler up there, too.
Her place is pretty high up in the canyon.”

“I know . . . It’s so pretty. And I love her ranch house. You can see the mountains
from every window.” Cassie gazed off through the window looking out onto the driveway.

Kelly recognized that “mountain look” in Cassie’s eyes. She had it herself. Or she
did once. Talking with Cassie brought back some of those old feelings. A “mountain
home.” Would she ever have one? Who knew? Steve was an architect. And she knew him
well enough to know that the urge to get his hands dirty once again and build houses
had never left. Even though Steve had become a partner in Sam Kaufman’s company, Sam
was already talking about retiring “one of these days.” Steve would take over a very
successful medium-sized Denver area construction firm. Would he ever build something
in northern Colorado again? Kelly figured it was just a matter of time. Fort Connor
and the canyons surrounding them were Steve’s home turf. It was just a matter of time.

* * *

A
slight breeze lifted the cover of a file folder and ruffled the papers inside. Kelly
put her cell phone on top of the folder, holding it in place. Hazards of working outside
in nature, but the benefits far outweighed the disruptions.

The café patio garden was empty of customers now in this early June afternoon, and
the café was now closed until tomorrow morning. Jennifer was at her real estate office,
and Pete and Cassie had gone to Denver to visit Grandpa Ben in the hospital rehab
center. The garden had settled into a peaceful, quiet, green retreat. Kelly’s favorite
place to work. Even accounting spreadsheets were enjoyable when done in such a setting.
The intense summer heat had dropped due to the clouds darkening the skies now. Maybe
they would have rain at last. If they were lucky. The last few times it had clouded
up and thundered, there had been lightning strikes, but only a token sprinkle. Kelly
could swear she could count the raindrops.

A musical tinkling sound drifted on the breeze from the wind chime that Julie had
hung in the huge cottonwood tree near the front entrance steps to the café. The soft
metallic sounds blended together pleasantly as they floated by. Kelly tabbed through
one of client Don Warner’s accounts, entering numbers, calculating, as the soft tinkling
drifted on the light breeze.

Suddenly Burt’s voice sounded over the wind chimes. “Hey, there, Kelly.” She turned
to see Burt walking along the flagstone pathway through the garden, coffee shop take-out
cup in hand.

“Hey, Burt,” she called as he approached. “What are you up to this afternoon?”

“I’ve finished all the errands and am going to teach a spinning clinic. How to fix
your mistakes.” Burt pulled out the chair across the patio table. “But I wanted to
update you first on what I learned this morning.”

That got Kelly out of her spreadsheet focus quickly. She saved the spreadsheet, and
pushed her laptop to the side. “What did you hear, Burt? Did the cops get to interview
temporary cook Frank?”

Burt nodded. “Yes, they did. Apparently Frank worked both Friday and Saturday nights
at the brewery café across the street from Lambspun. When the detectives questioned
Frank the first time, it was the Saturday after Rizzoli was found dead in his car
in the parking lot. All the café staff were asked if they’d seen anything unusual
or noticed anyone walking around the car. No surprise that none of the café workers
saw anything because they were too busy cooking and serving customers. But this time,
the detective asked Frank if he’d seen anyone around the driveway leading into Lambspun
that Friday night. After all, the brewery’s grill is at the end of the café next to
a large window looking out on the street and right into the driveway. Frank told the
detective that he remembers seeing an expensive car in the Lambspun driveway that
evening. He’d paid attention because he loves European sports cars. Frank also said
he saw someone standing beside the car, talking to the driver. He said when he saw
the car being towed away on Saturday and noticed the license plate, he realized it
was the same car. So, Frank sounds like a pretty reliable witness to me.” Burt took
a deep drink of his take-out coffee, the familiar green logo on the cup.

Kelly watched Burt closely. She’d learned to read his body language over the last
few years, just as she knew he’d learned to read her signs. Burt had learned something
else. Something he didn’t like. She leaned back into the wrought-iron café chair and
sipped her coffee. “That sounds like great news, Burt. But you don’t look too happy.
Don’t tell me he saw Malcolm.”

Burt gave her a crooked little smile. “No, it wasn’t Malcolm.”

Kelly exhaled in relief. “Whew. I was afraid you’d say it was. Thank goodness. So,
did Frank describe the man he saw? Is there enough for police to investigate?”

“Frank didn’t have to describe him. He recognized the man. He said it was Hal Nelson
who was standing beside Rizzoli’s car, talking.”

Kelly stared back at Burt, not believing what she’d heard. But the sad expression
in Burt’s eyes told her she’d heard correctly.
Hal Nelson?
She couldn’t believe it. What was he doing there in Lambspun’s driveway Friday evening?
Surely, Hal Nelson couldn’t be Rizzoli’s killer . . . could he?

“Oh, no! I don’t believe it! Is Frank sure it was Hal?”

Burt nodded sadly. “Dan said Frank was positive. He’d been working at the café for
nearly a week, and he’d seen Hal and Malcolm outside and in the café every day. Frank
even described Hal’s jacket. It sounds exactly like the jacket I’ve seen Hal wear
many times.”

Kelly closed her eyes, not wanting to picture the blue sports jacket with the logo
she’d seen him wear. Not wanting to believe that good, kind Hal Nelson could be involved
in Jared Rizzoli’s murder. That “awful man,” both Mimi and Madge called him. “This
is awful, Burt. Surely police can’t suspect Hal Nelson of killing Rizzoli, can they?”

Burt leaned both arms on the table. “I’m afraid they do, Kelly. Dan said he checked
into Hal Nelson’s background after he spoke to Frank. Nelson does have a link to Rizzoli,
unfortunately. Hal’s mother lost all her life savings in Rizzoli’s Ponzi scheme. And
she was recovering from breast cancer surgery when she learned that her savings were
wiped out.” Burt shook his head. “Dan said he spoke to one of the attorneys who prosecuted
Rizzoli years ago, and they had written depositions from all the Fort Connor residents
who accused Rizzoli. One of the depositions was from Hal Nelson. In it, Hal said that
his mother’s despair at suddenly finding herself bereft of the funds she’d saved her
entire life and counted on to pay her doctor and hospital bills caused her cancer
to return. Tragically, she died a year and a half later.”

The images from the newspaper stories relating accounts of Fort Connor residents who’d
lost money in Rizzoli’s swindle—sad stories, angry stories, tragic stories—appeared
before Kelly’s eyes. Barbara’s father took his own life because of Rizzoli’s scheme.
Malcolm lost his wife and his career because of Rizzoli. And Hal Nelson’s mother’s
life ebbed away with despair. All because of that “awful man.” Rizzoli.

“This makes me sick, Burt. More people we know keep getting entangled in this Rizzoli
murder.”

Burt let out a long sigh. “I know how you feel, Kelly. It makes me sick, too, just
thinking about any of the three we know being involved in this.” He wagged his head
in the way Kelly had seen him do since she first came to Lambspun. A lifetime of watching
and investigating people committing crimes against one another.

“I would never have expected Hal Nelson. No one would have if not for Frank.”

“You’re right, Kelly. And Hal also was in the shop and café when Jennifer’s phone
went missing.”

Without even thinking, Kelly found herself wagging her head in imitation of Burt.
Three people she cared about were now suspects. This Rizzoli murder web was widening,
stickier than any spider’s web. She looked up at the gray clouds, darkening. A thunderstorm
was definitely coming. Kelly could feel it.

* * *

Kelly
shoved her laptop into her briefcase and gathered her client account folders that
were spread over the outside café table. The wind gusts were picking up as the sky
darkened even more. Threatening. Rumbles of thunder and more lightning strikes. Still,
not a drop of rain fell.

She’d decided to do a few errands before driving back to the Wellesley house, and
was about to pour the last of the iced coffee from the carafe into her mug when she
heard the sound of a truck engine coming down the knitting shop driveway. Kelly looked
up to see Jayleen pull into a parking space outside the patio garden fence. She waved
as her alpaca rancher friend stepped down from the truck.

“Hey, Jayleen. Come on over. I’ve got some iced coffee left if you want it.”

“Hi, there, Kelly-girl. Looks like you’d better move inside,” Jayleen said as she
approached, walking through the garden. “We may finally get ourselves a rainstorm.”

“I sure hope so. I was just getting ready to do some errands. What brings you here
this afternoon?”

Jayleen pulled out a black wrought-iron chair across the table from Kelly. “I brought
my champion gray’s fleece to show her. It’ll be in the Estes Park Wool Market this
weekend.”

“Ooooh, is it in your truck? I definitely want to sink my hands into that gorgeous
gray.”