Needled to Death

by Sefton, Maggie

  Burt paused, and Kelly pictured him writing everything down in a little notebook similar to Lt. Peterson’s. That brought a question to mind.

  “Burt, I remember the county police were handling this case since Bellvue Canyon is in their territory, not the city’s. You’ve got contacts with them, too?”

  “Sure I do, Kelly. We’ve worked together on lots of things. Particularly something like a murder. Anything else you remember?”

  “No, but I’ve got a question of my own.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Any suspects jumping out at your friends?”

  “Well, it’s a little early. No one is jumping out yet.”

  “Just fishing. I couldn’t help but overhear Jayleen Swinson’s tirade about Bob Claymore while I was standing around outside. And I remember Vickie talking about the divorce, too. It was bitter, Burt. Both of them seemed to be dug in and fighting each other. Sounded awful to me.”

  “Yeah,” Burt sighed. “I’ve watched several friends go through that. Sounds like hell on earth. Listen, Kelly, I’ll let you go. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you folks over at the shop when I next come in. Probably later this week.”

  Remembering something, Kelly tossed out a teaser. Burt was an excellent spinner and spun several of Mimi’s fleeces for her. “When you’re there, I’ll tell you how I’m about to become the owner of several fleeces. At least, I think I am.”

  “Well, you’ve got me interested already, Kelly,” Burt said with a laugh. “See you.”

  Kelly snapped her cell phone shut and went back to patting Carl while visions of woolly lambs carrying bags of fleeces danced through her head.

  Seven

  “Looks like you’re making progress on the sweater,” Megan observed, glancing up from the bubble-gum pink eyelash yarn in her lap.

  Kelly held up the second version of her sweater in the round. “Yep, still straight, no twists, and I’ve got at least two inches of stockinette, too,” she said proudly.

  “Hey, look at that,” Jennifer commented as she sat down to join them. “Good job.” She leaned over and peered at the raspberry circle. “Stitches look good, too. See? It was worth all that frogging.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kelly mumbled. “I just hope I never have to do that again.”

  “You won’t. But there’ll be other times you’ll choose to unravel and start over,” Megan added, fingers working at warp speed. “It’s all a part of trying something new. If you don’t like it, you frog it out, then try it again. Or something else.”

  Kelly looked up to see Connie, another of the shop’s assistants, standing in the doorway. “Kelly, there’s a woman out front to see you,” she said, pointing toward the front room. “She said her name’s Debbie Hurst, and she’s Vickie’s daughter.”

  Kelly dropped the knitted circlet and pushed away from the table. “Thanks, Connie. I’ll go into the café. See you guys later,” she said as she followed Connie to the front of the shop.

  Standing beside the counter was a slightly-built young woman with short brown hair and a striking resemblance to her mother. The sight of those familiar features caused a tug at Kelly’s heart. She approached the young woman, her hand extended.

  “Debbie, I’m Kelly Flynn. Your mother was a dear friend of ours. We’re all deeply sorry for your loss. It was our loss, too.”

  Debbie looked up at Kelly with clear green eyes and shook her hand. It felt cool to Kelly, even in the midst of summer. “Thank you, Kelly. That’s very kind of you to say.” Glancing around to Connie, she added, “You’re very kind. My mom talked about all of you a lot. You were very important to her.”

  “Geri Norbert told me she was picking you up at the airport yesterday. Are you staying here in town?”

  “I stayed at the ranch last night,” Debbie replied. “There’s so much I have to do, so many details with her death and all, I barely know where to start.”

  Kelly had more questions but didn’t want to stay in the midst of the shop. Plus, something told her Debbie might want to sit down. “Why don’t we go into the café and sit down with some tea or coffee, okay?” she suggested.

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful. I could use some tea,” Debbie said with a smile.

  Kelly guessed her hunch was right and led the way, choosing a quiet table in the back alcove. She pulled out Debbie’s chair, then sat down herself and signaled the waitress. After she ordered, she looked at Debbie with concern.

  “How are you feeling, Debbie? Mimi said you had to be careful coming back to the ranch environment.”

  Debbie nodded and leaned back into her chair, giving Kelly a chance to notice how thin she really was. Not much meat on those bones, Kelly thought, feeling positively pudgy beside Debbie, especially after all that blueberry pie last night.

  “I’m doing okay,” Debbie said after a deep breath. “There’s a new medicine I’m on now which gives me more freedom than ever. Last year I actually stayed up there with Mom for over a week.” She smiled, clearly proud of her accomplishment.

  “Wonderful,” Kelly enthused. “That will help a lot when you have to be up at the ranch. But you may want to stay in town at night while you’re here. That way, you won’t overtax your system.” Kelly knew she sounded pushy, but there was something about Debbie that reached out—a fragility, vulnerability. Whatever it was, Kelly couldn’t help responding.

  “You know, Kelly, I was thinking the same thing. That way I’ll only be around the grasses and other stuff when I absolutely have to.”

  Kelly leaned out of the way while the waitress set tea and coffee before them. She waited until Debbie had loaded her cup with sugar and cream before she broached the subject that had brought Debbie to the shop. “I have a feeling you want me to tell you about that day at the ranch. Am I right?”

  Debbie set her cup in the saucer, then fixed a clear emerald gaze on Kelly. “Please. And don’t leave anything out, no matter how awful it is.”

  Kelly took a deep breath and did as she was told, even though her insides still twisted with the telling of this terrible tale. She fervently hoped this was the last time she’d have to relate this story. Lowering her voice so no one else would hear, Kelly covered everything she and the others saw, said, and did that summer day.

  While Kelly spoke, Debbie traced invisible patterns on the wooden tabletop, her face growing paler by the minute. Watching this, Kelly began to worry. Debbie’d looked pale and fragile when she entered the shop. Now, she looked like she might pass out. Kelly deliberately skipped her description of the detectives and their investigation and wound the tale to a close.

  Debbie sipped her tea in silence, which Kelly didn’t care to break. She’d talked enough. She also needed the quiet to dispel the ugly thoughts and feelings that the story always brought with it. Like a toxic residue, it clung to her whenever she touched it.

  “Do you think the police are doing a good job of investigating this . . . this murder?” Debbie asked quietly.

  “They certainly appear to be. I mean, they had scores of policemen up there as soon as I called, and they interviewed everyone thoroughly. Even those visiting knitters.”

  Debbie closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” she whispered. “Mom was so . . . so alive and . . . and healthy, and so . . . so joyous. She can’t be gone.” Her lower lip trembled, and Kelly spotted a tear sliding down Debbie’s pale cheek.

  Kelly felt her own heart ache. Debbie’s grief so closely matched her own when she’d lost her dad and then Aunt Helen. A yawning emptiness had opened inside and threatened to swallow her whole. She reached out and placed her hand over Debbie’s.

  “I know what you mean,” she said gently. “I lost my dad three years ago and my aunt Helen in April. She was like a mother to me. You can’t believe they’re gone at first. It hurts so much.”

  Her words turned the trickle into a flow, and Debbie placed her face in her hands and wept, her thin shoulders rising and falling beneath the blue
cotton fabric of her dress. Kelly gave a reassuring wave to the concerned waitress and motioned for her to bring more tea, then reached over and placed her hand on Debbie’s shoulder.

  “That’s okay, Debbie. No one’s here. Just us. Go ahead and cry,” she reassured.

  Debbie’s tears slowly subsided into wet snuffles. Grabbing the extra napkins the waitress had kindly supplied, she wiped her face and blew her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said in a ragged voice. “I thought I had cried myself out.”

  That sounded familiar. “You know, my tears kept coming too. All it took was for someone to say something kind, and”—Kelly gestured—“a deluge would start to flow.”

  “Thanks for saying that,” Debbie said, wiping away. “And thanks for this.” She lifted the extra cup of tea and drank it down.

  Changing the subject, Kelly ventured, “Do you need any help arranging the funeral or anything? We’d be glad to help. Especially Mimi. She and Vickie were close friends.”

  “Thank you, Kelly, but Geri’s already handling it for me. Thank goodness. I wouldn’t know who to call or anything.” She took another deep breath and sank back into her chair. “What I really need help with is sorting through all the records. I mean, there’s so much there. I have to find insurance policies and contact them and notify her friends in Denver, and then I have to sort through all the business records.” She gestured helplessly. “The lawyer says all the accounts have to be in order before he can start examining the estate. I’m a biologist. I don’t know anything about financial records. My mom was good at it, but I’m lost.” She shuddered in visible disgust.

  Kelly recognized that shudder. She saw it a lot when she used to keep small business accounts, years ago. Numbers can confuse people. One of the things she remembered enjoying was helping people understand what was happening. Now she knew how she could help Debbie.

  “Listen, Debbie, I’m a CPA, and I’d be happy to help sort through those records for you. Once I do, I’ll be able to create whatever financial statements you’ll need for the lawyers.”

  Debbie’s green eyes turned puppy-dog grateful. “Ohhhh, Kelly, are you serious?” she breathed. “I mean . . . I would be so grateful if you could. And I’d pay you, of course.”

  Kelly waved the offer away. “No, that’s okay. I’d do it for your mom.”

  Debbie sat up straight and lifted her chin. “My mom always paid her bills. I cannot accept your help unless you let me pay you. After all, anyone else I’d call in the community would charge a lot, and I’ll bet most of them don’t have your credentials.”

  Kelly opened her mouth, but she didn’t have anything to say. Debbie had stated her terms clearly. It was up to Kelly to accept or decline.

  “Okay. I accept your offer, but I’m clueless what to charge. So, I’ll have to check into that.”

  “Good. Could you start tomorrow? That office is filled with stuff, and I don’t know where to begin.”

  Kelly had to laugh at Debbie’s eagerness. “Well, probably. It would be the afternoon before I could finish with my own office work. I’m telecommuting to my job back in D.C.”

  “That would be great,” Debbie enthused, her relief obvious. “I promise I’ll try to make some order of the papers on her desk. At least separate the bills from vendors and suppliers and all that. And I’ll check the bank statements to see if they’re accurate.”

  “Geri told me that Jayleen Swinson took care of your mom’s accounts, so there should be a file somewhere of income statements at least,” Kelly suggested. “I’ll bet your mom also had a computer file.”

  “I’m sure she does. Mom was very thorough about her business.”

  Another thought intruded, and Kelly added, “Have you spoken with Jayleen? She’d know where everything is. Maybe she should do this for you. After all, she’s been keeping the books. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes here.”

  Debbie looked out into the café. “She left a message on my cell phone this morning, but I haven’t talked with her yet. But, you know, I just don’t think she’s qualified to do this level of financial work. She’s a bookkeeper. You’re a CPA. I’d feel a lot better with you looking at Mom’s accounts.”

  “Okay, then I’ll be happy to help.”

  “You don’t know how much I appreciate that, Kelly,” Debbie said, her expression hardening. “The sooner I can get those records to the lawyer, the sooner I find out what that weasel is up to.”

  Kelly didn’t have to ask who the “weasel” was. She had a pretty good idea Debbie was referring to Vickie’s almost-but-not-quite-divorced husband, Bob Claymore.

  Debbie eyed Kelly. “I take it you know all about the divorce proceedings? Mom said she told everyone.”

  “Aaah, yes. Vickie was quite forthcoming.”

  A smile flirted with Debbie’s mouth before she bit it off. “Mom was furious. And so was I. The very idea that that weasel would try to steal half my mom’s business. Dammit! It took her years to build it up. And he never contributed a thing! He was too busy screwing around at the university! Bastard. I never did like him.”

  Kelly had to lean away from the heat of fury that radiated from Debbie now. “It’s certainly unfortunate the divorce was still unsettled when Vickie was killed.”

  Debbie snorted. “Unfortunate, yes. The timing is more than unfortunate for my mother. But not for him. It’s all too convenient for Bob Claymore. A few more weeks and he would be out in the cold. Instead, he’s salivating over my mother’s business. Bastard.”

  Kelly watched the storm clouds contort Debbie’s delicate features into an ugly mask. Her hatred of Bob Claymore was palpable. It was also evident that Debbie had already found the chief suspect in her mother’s death.

  “Listen, Debbie, do you have a cell phone?” Kelly ventured, hoping to change the subject. “I can call you when I’m on the way into the canyon tomorrow.”

  “Ohhhh, yes, of course,” Debbie said and reached into her purse, withdrawing a business card. “But you’d better use the landline. You know how the canyon eats cell phone signals. Just come when you can. I’ll be there, sorting papers.”

  “Will do. By the way, do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “No, thanks, I’ve rented a car. I’m fine.” She leaned on the table as she stood up, steadied herself, then caught her breath.

  Kelly scrambled to her feet, reaching out. “Are you okay? You look like you’re having trouble breathing.”

  Debbie waved away her concern as she headed for the doorway. “No, it’s . . . it’s just the altitude. It takes a while to acclimate.”

  Kelly wondered how much the intense emotion she’d just witnessed played a role in Debbie’s sudden wooziness. “If you want to rest a little more, you’re welcome to sit at our library table. We’ve always got a pot of tea there, too,” she offered.

  “Thanks, Kelly. I’ll be fine. And thanks again for helping me with all this. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  Kelly was about to reply, but Debbie swiftly hurried out the door, as if she felt tears encroaching once more and wanted to leave quickly.

  Feeling strangely unsettled, Kelly headed toward the main room. She needed some quiet time to think. There was so much going on inside Debbie—so many storms and different emotions. She seemed so vulnerable, and yet, Kelly sensed strong—almost violent—emotions erupting inside.

  Megan was still across the table knitting as Kelly settled into a chair and picked up her circular sweater.

  “Hey, how’d the visit go with Vickie’s daughter?” Megan asked.

  Kelly paused for a moment and simply knitted. “I think it was good for her. She got to cry some more. I sensed a lot of relief, too.”

  “Poor thing. I feel so sorry for her. I can’t imagine losing my mom like that, can you?”

  Her question caused an old wound to twinge way down deep. “Well, it was kind of like that for me when Aunt Helen was killed. She was the closest thing to a mother I ever knew. So, it was like losing my mom.”<
br />
  Megan peered over at Kelly. “You’ve never talked about your real mom, Kelly. Did she die when you were real young or something?”

  “Nope. She walked out on my dad and me when I was just a baby,” Kelly said, repeating the line she’d practiced since she was a child. Even so, it never lost its sting. “That’s why my dad and I were so close.”

  “Oh . . . ,” Megan said softly and ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s okay. My dad and I did great. We were a team.” Deliberately changing the subject, she said, “Guess what? Debbie wants to hire me to help figure out Vickie’s business accounts and draw up financial statements to take to the lawyers. I offered to do it for free, but she refused.”

  “Wow, good job,” Megan said, her smile returning. “See how easy it is to find consulting? Sometimes it lands in your lap.”

  Kelly looked up from the neat rows of raspberry stockinette. Consulting? She hadn’t really thought of it that way. “Well, I’m not sure you could call it consulting, but—”

  “What else would it be?” Megan declared. “You’re doing specialized work at her direction for payment. Sounds like consulting to me.”

  Kelly let that last thought play around in her head as the rows of stockinette slowly increased.

  Eight

  Kelly stared out the large window in Vickie’s home office, which looked directly out onto the pastures and corrals. Several groups of alpacas were scattered about, grazing in separate pastures, their long, graceful necks bending to the ground as they searched for tasty grasses. She leaned back in her chair and took a drink from her ever-present coffee mug as she paged through the file folder of income statements.

  Vickie’s business was definitely profitable. Expenses and revenues both fluctuated month by month but were directly correlated with the business cycle of owning alpacas—breeding, shearing, babies, showing, breeding, over and over. Now that she had the accounts in front of her, Kelly could envision what Geri had tried to explain—the variability of income from stud fees and sales of alpaca offspring. What kept Vickie from “living on the edge” like Geri was that Vickie had a fair amount of cash reserves put away, either the result of thrifty saving or high demand for her alpaca services over the years.