Unraveled (7 page)

Eustace removed his rimless glasses and started cleaning them with his white shirt. Kelly had observed Eustace always wore a dress shirt with cuff links. Even when he was at Jayleen’s barbeque. An old-fashioned gentleman.

“Everyone I’ve spoken to so far has been so very cooperative,” Eustace continued. “They’ve found time in their schedules for me to interview them. Some have even taken me out to see their properties, which provided me a chance to take pictures.” Eustace picked up the larger spiral-bound notebook beside his laptop. “I take copious notes. They’ve all been most forthcoming.”

Lizzie looked at Eustace with what looked to Kelly to be an adoring gaze. “Yes, he’s been very busy with his book.”

Kelly couldn’t resist. “Well, it seems Eustace hasn’t been too busy to see you, Lizzie,” she said with a smile. “I’ve noticed you two working here at the shop several times.”

Lizzie flushed a deep rose at Kelly’s comment, dimpling both cheeks. Eustace, however, looked over at Lizzie with a fond expression on his round face. His cheeks a little pink, too, Kelly noticed. That accentuated the silver hair that ringed his head in fringe and gave Eustace a cherubic look.

“Visiting with Lizzie is the perfect accompaniment to my day spent with hard-driving, profit-focused businessmen,” Eustace said, reaching over to pat Lizzie’s hand. “Who knew I’d find such a delightful and charming companion in the midst of a yarn shop.” He chuckled. “Life has surprises for us, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, so, Eustace,” Kelly agreed, unable to miss his use of the word “companion.” Kelly noticed Lizzie hadn’t missed it, either. Her adoring expression turned more rapturous. Life definitely held surprises, and Kelly was glad a good one landed in the lap of such a sweet spinster and retired schoolteacher.

She was about to add something when Burt entered the room. “All right, everyone. It’s five minutes to closing time tonight. If there’s anything you want to purchase, you’d better go up front to the counter now,” Burt said, gathering some of the stray balls of yarns that customers had left on the table. “How’re those interviews going, Eustace?”

“Quite well, actually. I’ve got several scheduled this next week, and Kelly has shared her contacts, too.” Eustace closed his laptop.

On seeing Burt, Kelly remembered why she’d stopped in Lambspun right before closing time. Chatting with the adorable senior couple had momentarily caused her to forget. However, Kelly decided to modify her comments until she was alone with Burt.

“Burt, I wanted to tell you that Jennifer has learned one of her real estate clients shot himself at his property in Poudre Canyon today.”

“What? That’s dreadful!” Lizzie looked horrified, knitting dropped to her lap.

Burt’s cop expression fell into place. “What? Who was it?”

“Indeed, that is distressing to hear,” Eustace said, clearly concerned. “Was the client depressed about the property not selling, do you think?”

“Actually, no,” Kelly replied. “The property already had a purchase offer on it. So, who knows who made Fred Turner kill himself.”

Eustace’s eyes went huge. “Did you say Fred Turner? That’s
awful
! I interviewed him this last week. He . . . he was so helpful . . . and interesting.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe it.”

“His name sounds familiar. Let me find out what I can and get back to you, Kelly. How’s Jennifer handling it?”

“Pretty well, considering. She’s had more than her share of walking in on traumatic scenes.”

“This is simply tragic,” Eustace said, shaking his silverfringed head. “So sad to take one’s life.”

This time, Lizzie reached over and patted Eustace’s hand. “I know, Eustace. It’s incomprehensible. Shall we go to church and say a prayer?”

Eustace placed his hand atop Lizzie’s. “Yes, let us do that. Then, we can go to dinner in that nice English pub Jennifer recommended. It won’t be noisy with Saturday-night revelers.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Lizzie concurred, gathering her knitting into its bag.

“Enjoy dinner, you two. If it’s the same English pub I’m thinking of, the food is delicious,” Kelly said as Eustace slipped on his suit jacket then held Lizzie’s shawl for her.

“Thank you, I’m sure we will.” Eustace gave them a big smile as he escorted Lizzie out of the room.

“Say a prayer for me,” Burt called over his shoulder after them. “Aren’t they a pair?”

“They’re adorable. And I cannot believe how well they get along. From the start. Jennifer said they started talking from the first time they met and haven’t stopped yet.” Kelly paused. “How is Hilda taking this? I haven’t been around to see her.”

“Hilda hasn’t been able to get out as much as she used to. Her arthritis is really giving her problems. So, I don’t know how much Lizzie has shared about her, uh . . . budding relationship with Eustace.” He grinned.

“Well, now that the ‘older’ lovebirds have left, I wanted to share some more details. Jennifer and I must have some strange energy thing going on whenever we drive into the canyons, because we walked in on Fred Turner’s dead body today.” Kelly retrieved her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “Jennifer and I planned to hike around that gorgeous property. So we pulled up to the cabin in Poudre Canyon, and I waited outside while she went to talk with Turner. Then Jennifer cried out for me to come inside. I walked in and found him lying on the floor with blood coming from the side of his head. And a gun lying beside his hand.” She accessed the photos on her smartphone. “I took a photo of the gun, Burt. It looked like some old-fashioned pistol. What do you think? I’ve never seen a gun like that.” She handed the phone to Burt.

Burt stared at the photo, his brows furrowing. “You’re right, Kelly. It does look like an older pistol. It’ll be interesting to see what the crime lab determines it to be.”

“Click on the arrow and you’ll see another photo.”

Burt clicked and stared at the photos Kelly had taken. “Looks like Turner wanted a quiet setting to end his life.” He glanced up at Kelly with a little smile. “You’ve gotten kind of used to walking in on dead bodies if you’re snapping photos. Better save it, in case the guys want to see it. You understand.”

“No problem. I’m not even sure why I took it.” She shrugged.

“Just part of being a good sleuth, Kelly,” Burt teased.

Five

“Run,
Carl, he’s got a head start on you,” Kelly called to her Rottweiler, who was dashing across the cottage backyard. Brazen Squirrel sprinted across the top rail of the chain-link fence separating Kelly’s backyard from the adjoining city golf course.

Carl barked while in pursuit but trailed the fleet-footed squirrel, who leaped from the fence corner directly into a conveniently drooping cottonwood branch. Brazen scrambled up the still-barren limbs to safety.

Kelly watched her dog charge the chain-link anyway, barking ferocious doggie threats.
Next time
. Or,
I’ll get you yet
. Riiiight, Kelly thought as she slid the glass patio door shut. Brazen had his highway down pat. He had dozens of squirrelly escape routes. There he was now, chattering and fussing at Carl, which only spurred Carl to more barking. While Brazen shook his tail and scampered to another branch.

Refilling her coffee mug, Kelly grabbed her knitting bag, pocketed her cell phone, and left her cozy cottage. The cottage that seemed less roomy these last six months even though Steve no longer lived with her. That was because of the new furniture. Kelly had bought a new chocolate-colored sofa and matching armchair for the living room. Even though both pieces took up more room, she loved the soft feel of the upholstery. Kelly had also bought a new bedroom set. A beautiful bed and dresser in rich cherry wood.

Kelly slammed the door and walked down the path to the wide driveway that separated her snug little beige-stucco, redtile-roofed cottage from the identical but larger version that housed Lambspun. Once the Spanish colonial farmhouse for Aunt Helen and Uncle Jim’s sheep farm, it was now turned into the knitting shop. The sheep were still there—simply in another form. Instead of grazing in the pastures outside, their fleeces filled the bins and shelves in an array of colors.

Walking toward Lambspun’s front patio, Kelly checked the angle of the afternoon sun. It was late afternoon, and the sun was on the downward path but still in the middle of the sky, blazing bright. Early March, and the sun was setting a little bit later every day and rising earlier. Bit by bit, minute by minute, creeping toward the spring equinox. Twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of darkness. Kelly loved the spring equinox that came each March because it always signaled that spring weather was near. On the horizon, inching closer.

Right now, she hoped to get in some relaxing time knitting and talking with whomever sat around the table. After a full day of balancing complex accounts and solving financial problems, Kelly figured she deserved a break. Tomorrow, she’d be in Denver all day with Warner’s group. Right now, she could still sit in her jeans and sweater. No business suits or stylish outfits.

A familiar car turned into the driveway and pulled into a parking space. Jennifer. Kelly waited on the sidewalk beneath a huge black walnut tree for her friend.

“Hey, there, how’re you doing?” Kelly greeted.

“Hanging in there,” Jennifer said as she clicked her door lock and walked over to Kelly. “Glad you’re here this afternoon. Now I’ve got someone to complain to.”

“You’re talking about the Turner property, right?” Kelly said, as they followed the brick walk that led to Lambspun’s front door.

“Ohhhh, yeah.” Jennifer shook her head sadly. “That deal is as dead as Turner.” She pulled the heavy oak door open and sailed through, Kelly following.

“I’m sorry, Jen,” Kelly commiserated. “Listen, if you need money—”

“Yeah, I know, and I appreciate the offer,” Jennifer said, as she walked into the main knitting room. She dropped her knitting bag on the table. “It’s just we were so close . . . it’s so frustrating.” She sank into a chair.

Kelly pulled out the chair beside her. “What’s happening now? Is it in legal limbo, or is the contract invalid since the seller is no longer alive to execute the transaction.”

Jennifer pulled circular needles and a peach-colored yarn out of her knitting bag. “Actually, there is a possibility that Turner’s widow might want to sell the property eventually. After all, their divorce wasn’t final, so she’s still his wife and inherits everything. Anita says they had no children.” Jennifer examined the two inches of completed stitches on her needles. “But, that doesn’t help me now. That’s why I’m actually picking up some additional catering jobs at the university.”

“Jen, you don’t have to do that. I’ll loan you the money,” Kelly offered, taking out a ball of multicolored yarn. About an inch of scarf hung on the wooden needles.

Jennifer held up her hand. “I know, but I’d much rather earn it myself, Kelly. If I really get into a bind, I’ll let you know. But right now, I’m hanging on. These extra catering jobs hopefully will see me through. And, I was working phone duty this afternoon, and I have a couple wanting to go out and look at some short-sale houses, so that’s promising.”

“Fingers crossed.” Kelly held hers up. “Meanwhile, I feel sorry for those short sellers. How much under market value are they offering the property?”

“Twenty thousand.”

Kelly visibly flinched. “Wow, that’s brutal.”

“Tell me about it.” Jennifer sighed as her needles picked up speed. “That’s what this housing crash has done to people. If they’re laid off or their jobs are cut to part time, they’re forced to sell. It’s awful to watch. They literally break down in tears when I show them how much money they’ll have to bring to the closing.
If
the house sells, and that’s a big ‘if.’ There’re scores of marked-down properties on the market right now.”

Kelly couldn’t help but think of Steve’s Wellesley development where Lisa and Greg were renting one of the houses. The last time she’d met her friends there, she counted the same number of houses for sale she’d seen the month before. Kelly couldn’t help counting. She was an accountant. That’s what she did.

“At least one of the Wellesley houses is now under contract. It’s finally worked through the foreclosure process, and one of the agents in my office had the buyers. Plus, another agent may have a buyer for one of the Wellesley two-stories that’s a short sale.”

Wondering if Jennifer read her mind, Kelly deliberately tried to sound nonchalant. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, Steve was pretty happy to hear that last Friday night when he came over to Lisa and Greg’s,” Jennifer continued, without looking up from her busy needles. “He’s looking pretty beat. Working too hard. His boss apparently is participating in the joint project Warner’s working on in Denver. That’s why you saw Steve at that meeting. His boss put him in charge.”

Kelly concentrated on the multicolored stitches forming on her needle and didn’t answer. This recycled silk yarn was different. She didn’t know if it would tighten up on the needles or not.

Jennifer kept on anyway, as if Kelly was interested in the conversation. Which she wasn’t. Not a bit. Steve’s work was his business.

“We told Steve you saw him at the meeting,” Jennifer continued blithely, still focusing on her knitting. Stitches forming. “He nearly fell off the couch, kicking himself.”

Kelly couldn’t keep her smile in check. The image of Steve trying to sit on Lisa and Greg’s couch while kicking himself was funny. “I think that’s physiologically impossible, Jennifer.”

Jennifer finally glanced up at Kelly and spotted her smile. “Yeah, but I wanted to make you smile. Steve’s lower than a snake’s belly right now.”

Kelly deliberately didn’t reply, she just kept knitting increasingly tighter stitches onto her needles. Finally she said, “That’s a great shade for you. Is it another sweater?”

“No, I’m making a short-sleeve top from the pattern hanging in the central room. I figure it’ll start getting warmer by April. I hope.” Jennifer’s fingers worked the yarn and glanced over at Kelly’s needles. “Is that the recycled silk yarn?”