Needled to Death

by Sefton, Maggie

  “We who?” Kelly played dumb, deliberately stalling. She’d been hoping Curt had forgotten his offer.

  “You and me who.” She could almost see Steve’s smile.

  “You and me, huh?”

  This time she heard the chuckle. “Yeah, unless you want to bring Carl, too. We could let him run loose in the field. Or he can play with the sheep.”

  Kelly laughed, remembering the last time she’d been to Curt Stackhouse’s ranch. Carl spent the entire time galumphing through the tall field grass, chasing scents and scampering creatures. “Curt would not be amused,” she said, settling at the computer. “Neither would the sheep.”

  “Okay, so it’s back to us. You and me. For dinner. At Curt’s. Think you can handle it?”

  “Okay, okay,” Kelly gave in with an exaggerated sigh. “What time are we talking about tomorrow night?”

  “Seven o’clock. Does that work?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Seven.” She hesitated. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Steve laughed out loud this time. “You want us to drive separate cars? Won’t that look a little strange? What are we gonna do, meet in front of Curt’s barn?”

  He was right. It would look stupid. Rats. She hated it when he was right. She was being borderline ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the Crossroads coffee shop. I’ve got some errands to run on that side of town anyway.”

  “You just don’t want anyone at the shop seeing me pick you up, that’s all.”

  Steve hit dead center on that one. Darnit, Kelly smarted. “No, that’s not it—”

  “Yeah, it is,” he teased. “Listen, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you pick me up? I’ll be at my new site in Wellesley. Corner of Newport and Hampton streets. Six thirty, tomorrow. See you.” And he clicked off before Kelly could say another word.

  Five

  “Thanks, Pete,” Kelly said as she lifted her coffee mug and edged around the café tables, heading for the hallway that led to the shop. She’d been working at the computer ever since her morning run on the river trail. She deserved a fiber break, as she referred to her daily visits to knit and talk with friends.

  Sometimes the workaholic inside her tried to make Kelly feel guilty for leaving her home office. Fortunately, it didn’t last very long. She needed those breaks. She worked all alone now, not in the midst of an office filled with colleagues. Kelly missed the camaraderie. She didn’t realize how much until she’d started telecommuting to her firm three months ago. Besides, she reminded herself, she got twice as much work done without all the interruptions for meetings that used to mark her daytimer. Now, she could actually leave her work without worry and was thankful she’d made so many good friends in the short time she’d been here.

  Rounding the corner to the front room, Kelly stopped short. Once again, elves had come in and worked their magic overnight. Frothy new yarns were everywhere, spilling across the round maple table in the center of the room and tumbling from wooden crates that lined the walls. Steamer trunks that held scrunchy wools only months ago now brimmed with fat balls of new fibers that begged to be touched.

  Kelly couldn’t resist and set her knitting bag and mug on the floor, then sank her arms elbow deep into the chest of brilliant and bold boa yarns. Soft, soft, with little fibers that stuck out like eyelashes, and in every color imaginable. She squeezed strawberry scarlet and lime green, pineapple yellow and tangerine orange. Jelly bean colors. She’d been let loose in the candy shop and was playing in the candy bins. There was a big difference, though. These “candies” weren’t fattening.

  Moving to the bins along the wall, Kelly stroked longer-lashed yarns, some spiky in combination colors and others so silky soft they seduced her very fingers. Burnished copper and lemony yellow tempted next. She fingered a particularly seductive skein the color of good claret, then one of antique gold, another of moss green. Yummy, Kelly thought, picturing the gorgeous autumn scarves she could make from those colors.

  That was it. She had to have one. Jennifer was knitting a similar long-fringed scarf, and Megan had finished the purple eyelash scarf and was working on a pink one now. Kelly wanted one, too. Now that she’d gotten her knitting-in-the-round back on track, she could take a break, couldn’t she? Besides, everyone said these scarves knitted up quickly.

  Now, which color to choose, she pondered, wandering back to the chest of boa eyelash yarns. Something other than red this time, noting that her very first chunky wool sweater was cherry red, and her latest project was a luscious raspberry silk and cotton. She wanted something different. Decisions, decisions.

  Kelly was still immersed in color when she heard her name called. She turned to see Rosa in the doorway and another woman Kelly didn’t recognize.

  “Kelly, this lady wanted to talk to you,” Rosa explained, then dropped her voice. “She’s a friend of Vickie’s and wanted to know what happened.”

  Scarves and jelly bean colors had to wait. Kelly scrambled from the floor. The woman stepped over to her, hand outstretched.

  “Kelly, I’m Geri Norbert. Vickie was my closest friend. I live up in the canyon about two miles from her ranch. And I . . . I just wanted to ask some questions, if you don’t mind.”

  Kelly shook her hand. It was warm and callused. “Sure, I’ll be glad to answer whatever I can, Ms. Norbert.”

  The woman’s suntanned face creased with a grin. Kelly guessed her to be midfifties like Vickie. Her long, dark hair mixed with gray hung down her back in a fat braid. “Please call me Geri. Everyone does,” she said.

  Glancing over her shoulder at the knitting class taking place around the library table, Kelly gestured toward the café. “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee at Pete’s and talk, okay?” She reached to snag her knitting bag and mug before she headed back to the restaurant.

  “Looks like you’ve already got yours,” Geri said, following after Kelly.

  “Yeah, I get a fill-up every morning. Helps me make it through all that computer work,” Kelly replied as she aimed for a table in the back alcove. Noticing Jennifer wasn’t working the morning shift, Kelly signaled another waitress, then added, “I can personally recommend their cinnamon rolls. They’re wicked.”

  Geri pulled up a chair as Kelly sat down. “I shouldn’t. My sweet tooth is too easily awakened. Better let it sleep.”

  “I’m not sure mine ever goes to sleep,” Kelly joked as Geri ordered coffee. She purposely waited until the steaming cup arrived before she started relating the events of that day. Geri sat without saying a word, solemnly watching Kelly with wide gray eyes until the sad story was finished.

  Kelly took a long drink of coffee and waited for Geri to speak. Remembering those events took a toll, she noticed. Each time she told the story, the emotions of fear and horror and anger returned to pull at her again. She shivered, despite the hot coffee.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Geri said, stirring her coffee without looking up. “I’m sitting here listening to you, and it still doesn’t seem real. I’m . . . I’m stunned. I still expect to see Vickie’s truck pull up in my driveway.” She swiped at her eyes in a brusque way, as if the tears had startled her.

  “I know it must be hard,” Kelly said quietly. “Especially if you and Vickie saw each other a lot.”

  “All the time. We helped each other out with the animals. I have twelve alpacas. I’ve also got a few sheep.” Geri stared out into the café. “Vickie was going to get some lambs from me this spring and start a small flock of her own.”

  Kelly heard a slight tremor in Geri’s voice and purposely stayed quiet while Geri stirred her coffee. It must be stone cold by now, Kelly observed. Geri had barely had a sip and yet stirred enough to dissolve a pound of sugar.

  Geri cleared her throat. “Vickie’s daughter, Debbie, called me last night. She was in tears. We both were by the time she hung up. She’ll be coming in today. I told her I’d pick her up at the airport.”

  “That’s wonderful, Geri,” Kelly said, i
mpressed at how quickly she’d stepped into a difficult situation and made herself useful. “I assumed her cousin, Jayleen, would handle things like that. After all, they’re family.”

  “Jayleen’s got too much on her plate right now. She’s trying to take care of Vickie’s animals and her own and handle all the bookkeeping she does.” Geri shrugged. “I offered to help with Vickie’s alpacas, but Jayleen told me she could handle it.”

  Intrigued, Kelly followed up. “How many clients does she have? I’m a corporate accountant, so I know how consuming the work can be. And I don’t have alpacas waiting to be fed, either.”

  Geri leaned back in her chair, and Kelly sensed she was relaxing a bit. “Well, I guess she’s got about twenty alpaca breeder clients by now, plus any other stray clients she may have picked up. Enough to keep her busy.” She swirled the cold coffee. “Vickie recommended Jayleen to other alpaca ranchers every chance she got.”

  “Did you use her services?”

  “I do as much as I can myself, then I give it to Jayleen to put all the numbers together. That way, she charges me less. I’ve got a much smaller operation than a lot of the ranchers. Plus, I don’t have a ‘cash reserve,’ either.”

  “Okay, you’ve got to explain that,” Kelly said. “Now you’ve got me curious.”

  Geri grinned, highlighting the weathered lines around her eyes. Nice eyes, Kelly noticed. “That means I don’t have a separate source of income coming in to run my ranch and pay the bills. A lot of people go into alpaca breeding when they retire from their regular jobs. That way there’s steady money coming in. Me, I sink or swim based on how well my animals do.”

  “How many did you say you have?”

  “I’ve got eleven females that are bred every year and one young herd sire that I use as stud. You’ve seen Vickie’s prizewinner, Raja? Well, my Raleigh is Raja’s son and has the same coloring. He’s a gorgeous smoky gray like Raja. I’m expecting Raleigh to throw the same colors and females that Raja does.”

  Kelly held up her hands. “Wait a minute. What’s this about throwing colors and females?”

  “It’s a term breeders use that means a stud whose particular color interacts with the females in such a way as to produce some beautifully colored offspring. Also, if he can produce more females than males, you make more money. The stud business is always a gamble, especially with a young male. Your income fluctuates, depending on the cria.” Geri ran her finger around the rim of the cup. “But, I think my luck is about to change.”

  “What does luck have to do with it?” Kelly asked.

  She looked up with a grin. “More than you think.”

  “Cria are the babies, right?”

  “Right. And the female cria are your bread and butter, because they can produce a baby a year. That’s why you can sell the females for more money. Lots more.”

  “Ballpark?” Kelly probed, her inner accountant thoroughly engaged now.

  “Thousands or tens of thousands, depending on the bloodlines.”

  Kelly pondered. Brother, this alpaca business was much more complicated than she’d ever imagined. “Boy, I never knew it was so involved. I guess I assumed you just let them breed, then sold the babies.”

  Geri laughed. “Well, I guess that’s what we are doing, but it’s a helluva lot of work. We can’t leave it up to the animals. The females are kept separated from the males until their babies are sold and they’re ready to be bred again. That’s why we don’t need more than one herd sire until he’s about to retire. Most of the time, we send our females out to be bred to other males.”

  “Around here or out of state?”

  “Both. Those gals are on the road a lot.”

  “Do they come into season right after they wean the babies?”

  “Actually, alpacas only ovulate when they mate,” Geri continued. A musical jangle sounded then, and Geri slipped a cell phone from her back pocket as she rose from the table and stepped into a hallway.

  Kelly did the same. Her inner clock was ticking away. Work was waiting, and she only had the afternoon left. Tonight was already scheduled. Dinner with the Stackhouses and Steve.

  Geri snapped her phone shut. “Sorry, had to take that call.” She extended her hand again and gave Kelly a warm smile. “I want to thank you so much for taking the time with me, Kelly. It’s helped a lot.”

  “You’re welcome, Geri. I enjoyed talking with you, too. And the alpaca lesson,” Kelly said with a grin. She liked Geri. Maybe because Geri reminded her of Vickie Claymore—sharp, down-to-earth, with a good sense of humor.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Debbie comes to see you as well once she settles in,” Geri added, heading toward the door.

  Kelly followed after. “Please tell Debbie how sorry we all are for her loss. Our loss, too. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. I’ll be sure to tell her,” Geri said with a wave as she opened the door to a faded green pickup truck.

  Kelly hurried across the gravel driveway to her cottage, dumped her knitting bag on the sofa, and headed for the sunny corner of the dining room that doubled as her office. She’d barely glanced at the client file when her cell phone gave its insistent ring.

  “Darnit! Why does it always ring when I’m super busy?” she complained to the empty room as she flipped the phone open. “Hello, Steve, if this is you reminding me about tonight, don’t bother. I haven’t forgotten. Corner of Newport and Hampton in Wellesley, right?”

  “Well, not really, Kelly,” an elderly gentleman’s voice answered. “I’m still here in Fort Connor. Where are you?”

  Oooops, Kelly thought, suddenly embarrassed. “Ohhhh, Mr. Chambers, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a friend who was giving me a hard time.”

  Lawrence Chambers chuckled. “I’m glad you’ve met so many good friends here, Kelly. Helen would be pleased. And, as your friendly legal adviser, I have some good news. We’ve moved through the first legal hurdle in Wyoming in regard to your cousin Martha’s property.”

  Kelly set her mug on the desk and leaned back into her chair, ready to absorb one of Lawrence Chambers’s legal updates on her inheritance rights to Martha Schuster’s Wyoming ranch. The fluttery sensation that always settled in her stomach whenever Chambers brought up the subject returned.

  What on earth was she going to do with a ranch? With cattle, yet. Five hundred head, Chambers had estimated. It had been years since she was around livestock. She’d been a city girl for so long, the only thing she remembered was to watch where she stepped in a pasture. She’d be totally out of her element and totally useless. And Kelly hated feeling useless.

  “Okay,” Kelly said. “We’ve passed through the first phase. How many hurdles do we have left?”

  “Well, we’ve still got several left to go. After all, the property is literally passing through Ralph Schuster’s estate to his wife, Martha, then through her estate to your aunt Helen, then through Helen’s estate to you.” He laughed softly again. “It’s certainly one of the most convoluted inheritances I’ve ever seen, to be truthful. But don’t you worry, Kelly. All is going well and proceeding in perfect order. These things just take time, that’s all.”

  The fluttery sensation lessened somewhat. “That’s all right, Mr. Chambers. Take all the time you need. I’m not ready to even think about owning a ranch anyway,” she admitted.

  “Well, you might want to start thinking about it, Kelly,” he suggested. “Why don’t you go up there and take a look at the property? The ranch manager I hired says it’s really nice.”

  “Ohhhh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt him,” Kelly demurred, not too crazy about the idea.

  This time Chambers laughed out loud. “You won’t be interrupting him, Kelly, I assure you. Besides, I hired him, and since I’m acting on your behalf as your attorney, technically, you’re his boss.”

  Kelly understood that concept, but somehow she couldn’t picture herself bossing cowboys around. Accountants, yes. Cowboys, n
o. “I dunno, Mr. Chambers. I’ll think about it.”

  “You know, Kelly, you could always take some friends along when you go up there. Your knitting friends would particularly enjoy it, I think.”

  Kelly’s antennae started to buzz. She’d heard the smile in Chambers’s voice. “Why is that?”

  “Ohhhh, didn’t I tell you? There’s approximately one hundred sheep on the ranch in addition to the cattle. So you’ll be inheriting lots of wool along with the land. You take care, Kelly. Bye now.”

  “Sheep? I have sheep? What—?” Kelly exclaimed before she realized Chambers had already hung up. She could have sworn she heard him laugh.

  Six

  Kelly swirled the melting vanilla ice cream into a deep purple puddle of fresh blueberries, melt-in-your-mouth pie crust, and luscious blueberry sauce oozing into the cream. Homemade blueberry pie and ice cream. Yummmm. Kelly thought she’d slipped back in time to her childhood when Ruth Stackhouse placed the enormous, lattice-top dessert in the center of the table. Aunt Helen’s blueberry pie was the best she’d ever tasted until tonight. Kelly had to admit, Ruth and Aunt Helen were tied for the honor.

  She lifted another delectable spoonful to her mouth and savored it while the gentle hum of conversation surrounded her. Kelly was enjoying herself immensely. Curt and Ruth Stackhouse were wonderful hosts, warm and genial, and clearly loved entertaining guests. She had felt comfortable in their beautifully-appointed ranch home from the moment she entered.

  Kelly stirred her coffee, which was surprisingly rich and strong, while she watched Ruth tease Curt about his refusal to wear a business suit. Curt responded in kind, and Kelly got the feeling that they’d been lovingly teasing each other for years. Something about watching Curt and Ruth together like this felt good inside. She didn’t know why. It just felt good.

  She leaned back in her chair and smiled, watching them enjoy each other, still teasing and joking together after nearly fifty years of marriage. Kelly toyed with the last piece of pie in her purple puddle.