Unraveled (22 page)

Burt took a long drink of coffee before answering. “Well, she may be telling the truth after all. Because this investigation has gotten more complicated.”

“What? Have you interviewed Housemann yet? What did he say?”

“They’ll be questioning Arthur Housemann very soon, I promise. Now they have a reason other than an old lover connection.” Burt gave a little smile but didn’t say anything else.

Her curiosity about to burst, Kelly prodded. “What is it, Burt? You’re teasing me deliberately, I can tell. Tell me. You know I have zero patience.”

Burt chuckled. “Sorry, Kelly. I couldn’t resist. Peterson planned to question Housemann simply to verify his former relationship with Renee Turner. But then, Deputy Don reported in. You remember I told you Deputy Don was going to ask Turner’s recluse neighbor some more questions.”

“Oh, yeah. Benjamin Shaggy Hair. What did Deputy Don find out? He’s a really good cop.”

“You bet he is. Apparently Don called Peterson late yesterday and told him he’d had a talk with Benjamin. According to Don, Benjamin doesn’t really like uniformed cops, so he clams up when a uniform tries to question him. Don’s known Benjamin for over fifteen years. So, Don figured Benjamin might not have told Peterson’s guys everything he knew. And it turns out, Deputy Don was right.”

Kelly smiled. “He usually is. He’s helped solve three cases so far.” She held up her coffee mug. “To Deputy Don, kudos. What did he find out?”

“Well, Benjamin told Don that he did see other cars at Turner’s property that Saturday morning. He knows Turner’s and Renee’s trucks by sight. Then he described Jennifer’s car. But he said he’d seen two other cars up there that morning. One of them was a medium-sized black car, which he glimpsed there before, but he didn’t see who drove. Peterson thinks it might belong to another real estate agent who was showing the property.” He took a deep drink of coffee.

“Makes sense. What about the other car?”

“It was a silver Lincoln Town Car. Benjamin said he recognized it, because the man who owned it has been up at the property several times. In fact, Benjamin spoke with him.”

Kelly held still. Arthur Housemann drove a silver Lincoln Town Car. “Oh . . . my . . . Lord,” she breathed, shocked at what she heard. “I don’t believe it. Housemann drives one like that. Maybe it’s someone else.”

Burt shook his head. “Apparently Housemann identified himself to Benjamin when they talked. According to Don, Benjamin liked Housemann because he said he wanted to keep the land intact and preserve the natural setting. Benjamin was afraid any new owner would cut down the trees and build some mega-mansion right on the river.”

Kelly had seen those eyesores. Fortunately, not too many were in the Poudre Canyon. But other canyon settings in Colorado had more than a few “status” properties where the owners decided to trumpet their wealth. Of course, now with the recession, Jennifer said more than one of those properties were for sale at greatly reduced prices.

“Oh, no, what was Housmann doing there on Saturday?”

“That’s what Peterson intends to find out. Especially after Benjamin mentioned Turner and Housemann had an argument.” Burt turned the coffee mug between his hands. “Apparently Benjamin heard voices shouting outside the cabin, so he went over to see what was going on. Kind of hid himself in the bushes, so he couldn’t be seen.”

“He was hiding behind those bushes when I spotted him. He appeared to be listening to Jennifer’s phone call to the police.”

Burt nodded. “Well, according to Benjamin, Turner and Housemann were shouting at each other outside the cabin. He said they yelled at each other, then Turner went inside. Benjamin said Turner acted like he didn’t want to talk to Housemann, but Housemann followed Turner into the cabin.”

Oh, brother,
Kelly thought grimly. That didn’t sound good. “Were they arguing about the property? I know that Turner cheated Housemann out of a parcel once before.”

Burt nodded. “Peterson had learned about that. Apparently Benjamin heard only a few words, like ‘cheating me’ and ‘leave her out of this.’”

Kelly closed her eyes. “Oh, no. That’s gotta be Renee they were arguing about. Now that bad blood comment makes sense.” She released a long sigh. “I understand why you said this investigation is getting more involved. That’s for sure. When’s Peterson going to question Housemann again? I’ll make sure I don’t show up to discuss financial statements.”

Burt gave a crooked smile. “Paul sounded pretty anxious last night. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted, Kelly, as soon as I hear anything. And thanks again for your help.”

“What help? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. You convinced Jennifer to call me. She told me so. If she hadn’t, Peterson might never have learned of that offer Renee made to Housemann.” He gave her a fatherly smile. “I made sure I told my friend Paul, and I’m sure he told Peterson.”

Kelly felt a little glow of pleasure inside from Burt’s praise. She’d made a difference. She liked that. It felt good. “Sherlock Flynn, on the job.” She gave a mock salute. Then, her smile faded. “I can’t help feeling bad though. Who would have thought Arthur Housemann would be involved? I simply cannot picture him shooting Fred Turner, Burt.” She looked Burt in the eye. “Housemann is a good, decent man. An honorable businessman in a business that doesn’t have that many of them. I cannot believe he’d kill someone.” She looked out into the café, saw Jennifer clearing a table across the room. Julie pouring coffee for a customer.

“I know the feeling, Kelly. But we’re all human. And we’re all susceptible to our emotions. That’s why crimes of passion are so prevalent. Trouble boils over between two people and sometimes that toxic brew explodes. Violently.” He took another sip of coffee.

“I don’t know, Burt. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Murder never feels right, Kelly.” Burt drained his coffee. “By the way, you mentioned you were going to that Denver gun show to show some of the dealers the photo of that pistol. Did you learn anything?”

“Well, yes and no. One of the dealers had a pistol exactly like the one in the photo. It’s an old German Mauser from the war. He also promised he’d e-mail me the names of some other dealers who might have a Mauser. And he said he might know of a collector.”

“That’s interesting, Kelly, but it doesn’t really matter where the gun came from, you know. Just who used it.”

Kelly shrugged. “I know. But I can’t shake this feeling that the gun has a story behind it. There’s a reason the killer used that gun. I don’t know. I’m just going on my instinct, that’s all.”

Burt reached over and patted her on the arm. “You’re got great instincts, Kelly. Keep following them. You always find something.”

“I only hope I don’t find out Arthur Housemann is a secret gun collector,” she said with a rueful smile.

Kelly trailed her fingers along the spring yarns bunched on the maple table in the middle of Lambspun’s central yarn room. There were soft skeins of hand-dyed merino wool and silk in shades of violet, purple, and pink. Skeins of deep blue and jade green hand-dyed bamboo and silk. Soft, soft.

Drifting over to the woven baskets stacked on a metal stand, Kelly indulged her fingers again. Fluffy yarns of turquoise and green kid mohair. Larger shawl balls of pastel pinks, greens, and coral kid mohair. Below that were luscious balls of hand-dyed soy silk in coral pink. Kelly always thought it fascinating how the spun vegetable fiber could match the sheen and feel of real spun silk.

Next, bins of pastel yellows and blue cotton twill beckoned with its distinctive feel. Beside that, bins with tidy stacked skeins of multicolored wool and cotton. Durable. Dependable. And hanging on the wall were the Lambspun spinners’ loops of spun merino and silk all the colors of spring—early green grass to deep emerald, azure blue to rich sapphire, light peach to red salmon, and rose pink that traveled all the way through strawberry to vibrant raspberry red. Kelly caressed each loop of spun froth.

She glanced into the main knitting room and saw Lizzie sitting alone at the table, working on an azure blue baby blanket. Surprised that Lizzie was without her constant companion Eustace, Kelly decided this was a good time to catch up on Lizzie’s romantic adventures. It would be a welcome antidote to the depressing conversation she’d had with Burt earlier.

Only the pull of her clients’ financial worksheets could keep Kelly from worrying about the disturbing news regarding Arthur Housemann and Renee Turner. But when she took a lunch break a short while ago, those worries came roaring back. Now, she needed a pleasant distraction.

“Hi, Lizzie, I’m surprised to find you without Eustace,” Kelly said as she dropped her things to the long table. “Is he out interviewing?” Kelly already knew the answer, since she’d spoken with Doris that morning.

Lizzie’s bright blue gaze looked up, her cheeks coloring. “Indeed he is, Kelly. In fact, he’s interviewing your client Arthur Housemann today.”

Kelly settled into her chair and pulled out the multicolored unraveled silk yarn and her half-finished scarf. “I’m glad to hear it, Lizzie. Arthur Housemann has a long career in real estate investment. I’m sure he’ll be a fountain of information and stories for Eustace,” Kelly said to herself as she picked up her knitting stitches where she’d left off.

Lizzie beamed. “Oh, I hope so. Eustace says he’s gotten so many wonderful stories the book will wind up longer than he’d thought. He’s quite pleased.” She returned her attention to the spring yarn she was working in quick, sure stitches.

“Is that another baby blanket for one of your nieces or nephews?”

“Actually, this blanket is for Eustace,” Lizzie said, color rising even more on her cheeks and face. “He loves this shade of blue and has commented many times on how pretty it is. He says it reminds him of the bluebonnets that grew near the house where he grew up in Texas.”

Making a blanket for Eustace. Kelly decided to let that pass and asked something else that intrigued her. “I really enjoyed dinner with you and Eustace and Curt and Jayleen on Saturday night.”

“Yes, wasn’t that lovely? Curt is such a gracious host. And Jayleen’s chili is simply scrumptious. Eustace kept raving about it the rest of the evening.”

That opened the door for Kelly’s curiosity to walk through. “He’s such a charming storyteller. His stories about some of those old cowboys were priceless. I was sorry when you two had to leave.” She paused. “Curt said Eustace has taken a room in one of the Old Town hotels.”

Lizzie’s cheeks flamed. “Yes . . . yes, he did. Curt had extended his hospitality for nearly a month. Eustace didn’t want to presume any more.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Kelly said quickly, keeping her smile inside. “Everyone likes some privacy. It’s hard living in someone else’s home.”

Lizzie tucked her chin. “Yes, indeed,” she said softly.

Her instincts about Eustace’s recent need for privacy confirmed, Kelly quickly changed the subject. “Those stories of Eustace’s early years were fascinating, too. I didn’t know he acted as a young man.”

“Oh, yes,” Lizzie said quickly. “He was quite the thespian it seems.”

Kelly remembered something else she was curious about. This was a good time to ask about Hilda. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Lizzie. How is Hilda doing? I haven’t seen her in such a long time. Connie said Hilda’s arthritis is giving her a really hard time. Her knees, as I recall.”

Lizzie’s smile disappeared and a look of concern claimed her cheerful face. “Oh, my, yes. It’s gotten so painful for Hilda to climb stairs and get in and out of cars, she no longer goes out as much as she used to. Poor thing. She’s only getting out to church nowadays.” Lizzie wagged her silvery head sadly.

“That’s awful,” Kelly looked up in concern. “Isn’t her doctor doing something for her?”

“Well, he’s done about all he can do. He’s given her a cortisone shot but that only lasts for about two months with Hilda. And the specialist says he cannot give those shots more frequently then six months. She’s hoping that when she’s allowed to have another shot, maybe she can come over to the shop for a few weeks before her knees protest too much.”

Kelly pictured big, bossy Hilda confined at home, knitting away, listening to her favorite music. “What about surgery?”

“Hilda says she doesn’t want it. I’ve tried to persuade her, but she refuses.” Lizzie wagged her head.

“Poor Hilda, she must be bored to death. At least she has her knitting. And her reading.”

“Yes, indeed, and she’s grown fond of some of the dramas and comedies on the public television channels. I introduced her to some of the ones Eustace and I enjoy watching. Sometimes, we’ve watched them with Hilda, too.”

That surprised Kelly, she couldn’t resist following up. “So, Hilda has met Eustace? I was wondering if you’d had the chance to introduce them.”

Lizzie looked up, totally surprised. “Why, of course. Hilda was delighted to meet Eustace. She had read several of his histories. I’d completely forgotten.” Lizzie smiled. “They’ve had some fascinating discussions about American history. It’s enjoyable to listen to them. I was never much of a history buff, but I really enjoy listening to Hilda and Eustace. And I think those little discussions help Hilda deal with her confinement.”

Well, I’ll be,
Kelly thought. All this time, she’d thought Hilda might be miffed at Lizzie’s having a “gentleman caller.” Not at all.

Sixteen

Kelly
tabbed through the accounting spreadsheet that filled her computer screen. Entering new numbers, watching the spreadsheet automatically adjust totals at the bottom of columns and the ends of rows. She moved her cursor over the spreadsheet, changed a date and watched the totals and subtotals change again.

Clicking once more to save the spreadsheet to its file, Kelly reached for her coffee mug and shook it. Empty. Pushing back her desk chair, Kelly headed for the coffeemaker on her kitchen counter. She poured the last of the pot into her mug, then stuck it in the microwave to warm it even hotter. Surely her taste buds must be fried after all these years.

Watching Carl sniff the last of the snow patches in her backyard, Kelly made a mental note to bring out the beach towel she kept near the patio door in winter. Melting snow meant mud, and four big dog feet carried a lot of mud. Carl wasn’t crazy about having his feet cleaned whenever he came in from his outside playtimes, but he stoically put up with it.