Unraveled (24 page)

“Yes, I have. But it has nothing to do with business, I’m afraid. Business problems are easier to solve.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have asked. I certainly hope everyone in your family is all right.” Kelly watched Housemann swing his eyeglasses by the earpiece as he stared out the window.

“Yes . . . yes, they are. So far.”

Kelly let the cryptic comment hang in the air for a few seconds, then she had to say something. “Arthur, forgive my asking, but has something happened? You look like you’re worrying about something.”

Housemann glanced back to Kelly and observed her for a moment. “I guess I am, Kelly. I spent yesterday afternoon in my attorney’s office. Stan Winston. I may be incurring some large legal fees soon, and I’ll need to pay for them. That’s why we’ll be forced to sell some of the properties.”

Kelly felt that cold return to her gut. Arthur Housemann was preparing himself to be charged in Fred Turner’s death. Still, she had to ask. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Arthur ?”

“I’m afraid so, Kelly.” He sank back into his chair as he looked out at her. “Yesterday morning two detectives from the Larimer County Police Department came to the office to question me. It seems they learned that I had driven up to Fred Turner’s canyon property the day of his death.” He looked back toward the window again. “I had heard from my agent that Turner was communicating with another buyer for the property, and we were about to finalize the contract between us. I immediately assumed that Turner was trying to cheat me out of a deal like he had once before. So, I drove up to confront him.” Housemann closed his eyes and rested his head against the high-backed leather chair. “Looking back now, I realize it was a rash and foolhardy thing to do. I allowed my feelings for Turner to cloud my thinking. As soon as I arrived, Turner came out of the cabin and started yelling at me. Well, my temper got the better of me, and I confronted him right there with my accusations. Unfortunately, I must have been yelling, too, because the same person who recognized my car also heard some of our argument.”

Regret hung over Housemann like a cloud; Kelly could almost see it. She certainly could feel it. Her stomach twisted. She felt so bad that Arthur Housemann’s old relationship with Turner had come back from the past to ensnare him. “Do you think the police actually suspect you of Fred Turner’s murder?” Kelly didn’t have to feign her disbelief in the idea.

Housemann looked over at Kelly sadly. “I’m afraid they do, Kelly. Even though I know that Fred Turner was still alive when I drove away from the canyon, I have no way to prove it. There are no witnesses. And others arrived at the cabin within an hour. And they testified that they found Turner dead. I believe it was Turner’s real estate agent who found him.”

Kelly turned away and stared out the window this time. She didn’t want him to see the discomfort she was feeling. “Arthur, they cannot be serious about accusing you. You’ve been an upstanding member of the community and business leader for a lifetime here in Fort Connor. I cannot believe they would think you’re guilty.”

She and Arthur Housemann locked gazes for a moment. Kelly felt his anguish briefly come across in a sharp stab. And something else. Disbelief and panic.

Arthur Housemann was innocent. She could feel it coming through as strongly as she saw the sunbeam slice across his desk.

“Unfortunately there are only two suspects in the case. Me and Turner’s wife, Renee. Apparently the Turners were in the midst of a bitter divorce. She also went up to the canyon that morning. Detective Peterson told me Renee Turner claims she found her husband dead on the floor and drove off in a panic, right before the real estate agent arrived. The good detective also informed me that Rene Turner and I were both under suspicion.”

Despair darted through Housemann’s eyes, which caused Kelly to throw some of her newfound caution out the window. “What about that other buyer? Have the police found out who he is? Who knows? Maybe Fred Turner had an enemy from the past who decided to settle a score.”

Amazingly, Arthur Housemann found a smile. It was a small one, but it gladdened Kelly’s heart to see it. “I really wish that was a possibility, Kelly. But Detective Peterson told me they could find no trace of the man other than his recorded phone message to Fred Turner.”

Kelly watched him stare out the window again. She wished she could offer some hope, no matter how small. But she had nothing to offer, other than her sincere feelings. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Arthur. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Housemann found his smile again. “There is something you can do, Kelly. You can use that sharp analytical mind of yours and prioritize my investment properties and list them in the order of sales. Which I should sell first and so on.”

“You can depend on it, Arthur,” she said fervently. “I’ll get started right away.”

Housemann sat back in his chair and folded his glasses. “I know I can also depend on your discretion, Kelly. Everything I’ve shared with you today, I’ve shared in total confidence. I know you would never breach the confidentiality of our meetings.”

Kelly looked Arthur Housemann straight in the eyes. “Absolutely. You have my word on it, Arthur.”

And she meant it. This was one conversation that Kelly would never reveal to Burt.

Seventeen

“
Hey,
Jen, can I have a refill, please?” Kelly held out her own mega mug from her cozy spot beside the café window.

Jennifer wiped the table beside Kelly’s. “You were here bright and early this morning. Do you have some financial reports due? I notice a lot of income statements spread out. Not that I’m nosy or anything.” She poured a long black stream of coffee into Kelly’s mug. Steam wafted off the top.

This smaller table was right beside a large window with a view of the mountains and was the perfect size for Kelly’s laptop computer and reports.

“Actually, I’m doing an extra project for Arthur Housemann. Analyzing his investment properties.” Kelly left the description there and took a sip of the scalding hot brew.

Jennifer gave a mock cringe, watching her. “I do not understand how you don’t burn yourself doing that.”

“Experience, plus caffeine deadens the pain. Like anesthesia,” Kelly teased as she moved the cursor on the screen.

“Riiiight,” Jennifer replied as she turned toward her other tables in the alcove. “Let me know if you want more food to absorb all that anesthesia.”

Kelly returned to examining the income statement on the table beside her. She was transferring figures to the new spreadsheet she’d created to compare Housemann investment properties’ revenues and expenses. She entered another amount from the income statement to the spreadsheet. Then she heard the familiar sound of her e-mail program alerting her to a new message.

Taking another sip of hot, hot coffee, Kelly indulged herself in a long stretch as she glanced around the half-full café. It was a good morning to come over to the café to work. The sky was varying shades of gray as storm clouds rose over the Rockies and blew into Fort Connor from the west. Kelly studied the dark clouds that gathered over the foothills now. They looked like snow clouds to her.

Great. More snow. Kelly was tired of snow. But it was March, after all. It didn’t matter if everyone was tired of snow. It was coming anyway. She took a sip of coffee and clicked into her e-mail program. At least after she’d finished working, she could reward herself with a knitting break in the shop.

An e-mail message from “Belzer” appeared on her screen. Subject line read:
World War Two pistol.
Kelly clicked on the subject line and the message appeared. The Michigan dealer replied that he wished he did have a pistol like that. But he didn’t. He did suggest two more dealers for Kelly to contact.

Kelly accessed her original message to him and created two new e-mails with the new addresses, then sent them off. One to Vermont and the other to Idaho. She was about to exit the program when another message came in. This one was from the Ohio dealer. Clicking on that, Kelly read that this dealer had had a few pistols like that over the years, but they weren’t often available. Collectors usually bought them before he could get to them. The Ohio dealer, Capris, wished her luck in her search but offered no other suggestions.

She leaned back in the café chair and watched the storm clouds multiply and grow more ominous.
Why was she spending time searching for that old war pistol?
She had other work to do that could actually help Arthur Housemann.

Then that feeling nudged her inside again. Something about the gun was important. Kelly didn’t know why, but she sensed she was supposed to keep searching. Then she remembered the third dealer listed in Bridger’s original e-mail. The one that had no website, only a phone number listed. Kelly forgot to call him.

Paging back through her received messages, Kelly found the gun dealer John Bridger’s e-mail, clicked on, and copied down Joe Faber’s phone number. No street address was listed, simply San Antonio, Texas, as his location. Kelly dug her phone from her jeans pocket and punched in Faber’s number, sipping her coffee while she listened to the ringing.

She kept waiting for an answering machine to come on, but a man’s voice sounded instead. “Joe Faber here. What can I do fer you?”

Kelly heard the distinct twang of the Texas hill country in Faber’s voice. “Mr. Faber, this is Kelly Flynn here in Colorado. I got your name and number from John Bridger at the Denver gun show last weekend.”

Faber’s voice brightened. “Oh, yes, I know John real well. What can I help you with, Miss Flynn? Are you looking for a certain type of weapon? I’ve got several types of firearms. Don’t have a website yet, I’m afraid, if you tell me what you like, I’ll gladly fax some pictures to you. Got myself a good fax machine. I can only manage one or two pieces of this technology at a time. You know what I mean?”

Kelly had to smile at Faber’s chatty phone persona. “I do, indeed, Mr. Faber. What’s your fax number?”

He rattled it off, and Kelly supplied her fax number.

“All right, Miz Flynn, send your photo through, and I’ll see if I have anything like it. And, call me Joe.”

“Okay, Joe, I’ll fax you the photo this morning. The gun I’m looking for is an older pistol from World War Two, a German Mauser.”

“Oh, they’re beautiful pieces.”

“Yes, and I’m wondering if you sold any of those Mausers to collectors or . . . or other people. I’m looking for one as a gift to my uncle,” Kelly grasped at the most ordinary situation she could think of and lie about on the spot. “Uncle Bill fought in the war and—”

“As did my daddy. Brave men. The greatest generation says it all.”

“Yes, sir, I agree,” Kelly replied, picking up Faber’s Texas rhythm. “Anyway, Uncle Bill brought home a pistol from overseas after the war—”

“Like a lot of our soldiers did.”

“And . . . and it was misplaced and lost when he moved into a retirement home here in Colorado. You see, my uncle is ninety years old, and his memory is failing. I wanted to find a pistol exactly like his. Uncle Bill felt like that pistol was a part of his past, and he really misses it.”

“I understand, Miz Flynn. So, you’re looking for a German Mauser like the one he lost, right?”

“Yes, sir, I am. I’m trying to find one exactly like that one if possible.”

“I wish I had some of those older pistols in stock, Miz Flynn, but I don’t right now. Most of those Mausers are owned by private collectors. Fine workmanship in those pieces. But I keep files on all my customers and contacts, so I’ll be glad to go through those files for you and see what I can find.”

Encouraged by Faber’s helpfulness, Kelly expressed her gratitude. “Thank you so much, Mr. Faber . . . uh, Joe. I really appreciate it. I’ll get this fax off to you as soon as I can get to the machine. And I’d be interested if any of those Mausers were sold to people in Colorado. Maybe . . . maybe my uncle might like to know so he could talk to them. He really likes to reminisce nowadays.”

“I certainly understand, Miz Flynn. I can check on those addresses for you, too. Send that fax anytime. I work outta my home. Have all my weapons under lock and key in storage units in my garage. My files are in there, too. So give me a little time to go through them.”

“Of course, Joe. That’s fine. Again, I really appreciate your help. Bye-bye now.” Kelly heard Joe’s cheerful farewell and clicked off, picturing the San Antonio, Texas, garage, filled with firearms and files.

Kelly was about to return to the income statements and computer spreadsheet when she noticed Jayleen enter the café from the other door. She also noticed the wind whipping through the trees, sending them swaying as the sky darkened. That could be a sign of rain. That’s Colorado for you. Snow one moment. Rain the next. March in Colorado.

“Hey, Kelly, I was hoping to find you here,” Jayleen said as she walked up to the table. Pulling out a wooden chair, Jayleen straddled it backward in her usual fashion and dropped her Stetson to the adjacent chair.

Making a mental note to remember to fax the photo to Joe Faber, Kelly looked at her friend and recognized Jayleen’s worried expression. “What’s up? Did the cops talk to Renee again?”

Jayleen shook her head. “On, no. Her lawyer railed on her pretty good when he heard that she’d talked to Peterson without him.” Jayleen frowned. “But it’s too late now. Renee’s already given Peterson enough to charge her.
Damn fool!
”

Kelly watched her friend’s expression change. It had gone from anger to a look of resignation. Good Lord! Just like Arthur Housemann, it appeared that Renee Turner believed she would be charged in her husband’s death. Arthur and Renee couldn’t both be charged.
Could they?

“Has Peterson contacted Renee’s lawyer?”

Jayleen shrugged disconsolately. “Not that I’ve heard. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. After everything that Renee told him. She looks guilty as hell. And there’s nobody else in the picture. Cops never found hide nor hair of the British guy. So, it’s all on Renee’s doorstep.”