Kelly understood. Nothing drove her crazier than being idle. Her engine didn’t idle well. It choked and stalled. “You know best, Mimi,” she said with a smile. “It’s great having you back.”
Mimi beamed her warm smile as she turned toward her office. “Thanks, Kelly. You just missed Lisa. She had to leave for a morning appointment,” she said as she left the room.
Kelly set her mug and knitting bag on the library table as she pulled out a chair. She didn’t mind knitting alone for a few minutes. Her scarf was nearly finished anyway. A few more rows and she could bind off the silky creation before she headed into the canyon to Vickie’s ranch.
She slid the needle beneath a colorful strand and started another row, letting the quiet of the sunny morning settle over her. That relaxed feeling settled in as well, Kelly noticed. Almost meditative. She knitted several rows, savoring the tranquility until a familiar voice sounded beside her.
“I’m glad I found you here, Kelly,” Burt said, drawing up a chair beside her.
Meditation over. Kelly let the scarf and needles drop to her lap. The expression on Burt’s face commanded her attention. “You’ve heard something, haven’t you?” she said.
Burt nodded. “I spoke to my friend yesterday and asked how the investigation was going. He told me Bob Claymore was called into the department for questioning again. This time, he brought his attorney with him.”
Kelly’s eyes widened. “That means Bob Claymore really is the chief suspect, right?”
Burt shrugged in the way he did when he didn’t want to say yes, she noticed. “Let’s just say he’s aroused considerable suspicion. My friend also said that Claymore swore Debbie called him at his office asking him to come to the ranch that night.”
“Riiiight,” Kelly said skeptically.
“Well, Claymore maintains she called and left him a message. Apparently, she talked with his secretary at the university.”
“There’s no way. Debbie hated his guts, remember?”
Burt nodded. “I know what you said, but my friend says they checked it out. The secretary confirms she received a call from a woman named Debbie that afternoon.”
That took Kelly completely by surprise. “What!”
“I was surprised to hear that, too, considering what you’d told me about Debbie’s feelings toward Claymore. But he’s telling the truth, and the secretary backs him up.”
Kelly pondered the surprising bit of information. “What in the world was so important that Debbie would ask him up to the ranch?”
“Maybe she’d decided to drop her grudge and settle the estate reasonably,” Burt suggested. “People do change their minds, Kelly.”
“Well, whatever it was, it got her killed,” Kelly said in a bitter tone. “What do you think happened? Did they start to argue? Did Debbie accuse him of killing her mother to his face? Whatever it was, it drove him to murder!”
Burt held up both hands. “Whoa, Kelly. You’re jumping to conclusions here. There is absolutely no proof that Bob Claymore killed Debbie. He may have had incredibly bad luck to show up there and find her dead, that’s all.”
Kelly gave a disdainful snort. “But there’s no one else who could have done it, Burt. Debbie didn’t have any enemies. Neither did Vickie.”
“Each one of us has done or said things in our past that have hurt others,” Burt said sagely. “Sometimes those things come back to haunt us. Maybe there’s someone else out there who harbored ill will toward these women.”
That thought wormed its way into Kelly’s mind, wiggling stray thoughts loose. Disturbing thoughts about other people. Burt was right. Bob Claymore was the obvious choice of killer. But what if he wasn’t? That meant the real killer had cleverly concealed his or her identity.
“You’re right, Burt,” she admitted with a sigh. “I guess Bob Claymore is the easy choice.”
“That’s why investigation is tricky, Kelly,” Burt said as he rose from the chair. “We have to look at the obvious as well as the hidden.” He pointed toward the front. “You take care now. I promised Mimi I’d help with the spinning. See you later.”
Kelly waved as he walked away, then checked her watch. Once again, her scarf would have to wait. Time for her to head back to the ranch. With luck, those faxes would be waiting for her, and she could finally finish the job that refused to end.
Leaning back into Vickie’s desk chair, Kelly flipped through the folder in her lap until she found last month’s bank statement. She sipped her coffee as she ran her finger down the entries at the end of the month. Then, she picked up the two faxed pages from the investment bank. Sure enough, there were several entries during the first week of July. It was a good thing she’d waited. The financial reports would be totally skewed without this information.
She flipped on the computer, relieved to be in the home-stretch at last. All she had to do was enter these transactions into the accounts and run new balances. Then she could create the necessary reports and be finished. Finally.
Kelly would have cheered out loud, but it might have startled the alpacas. Without Carl’s presence, Vickie’s large herd was grazing closer to the house today.
The computer screen beeped into life, and icons popped into view. Kelly was about to click on the accounting software program when she noticed a flashing symbol at the bottom of the screen. The tiny envelope flashed brightly, indicating e-mail. Probably the last of Debbie’s correspondence, Kelly thought. Since she couldn’t finish the accounts yesterday, Kelly never turned the computer on.
She clicked the flashing mail icon, feeling uncomfortable reading Debbie’s mail. There might be a business letter here as well, she told herself, as the in-box appeared on the screen.
The name highlighted on the message caused Kelly to catch her breath. Bob Claymore. Her mouse hovered over the message while Kelly debated whether or not to continue. Curiosity overcame privacy, and she clicked.
“I can’t thank you enough for calling, Debbie. I’ll be there at seven. Bob,” the message read. It was simple, yet that wasn’t what riveted Kelly’s attention. It was the second message printed below Claymore’s. A message from Debbie.
“If you want to speak with me, then come to the ranch after dinner. I’ll be in the office. Don’t call. My cell isn’t working.”
An alarm went off inside Kelly’s head. That message wasn’t from Debbie. It didn’t even sound like her. And Debbie’s cell phone was working fine that day. She’d called Kelly earlier that morning. Who sent this e-mail?
Kelly stared at the computer screen, her mind buzzing. Maybe Bob Claymore really wasn’t the killer. This message surely came from the ranch office computer. Here was the proof. The message was sent—Kelly stared at the date and time—at one fifteen in the afternoon. Burt said Debbie was killed between noon and two p.m. that day.
A chilling thought snaked its way through the others. The killer sent this message. Whoever murdered Debbie deliberately invited Claymore to the ranch to discover the body, knowing that Claymore would be the primary suspect.
Kelly leaned back into the chair and tried to order her thoughts. She needed to let the police know. Grabbing the phone, Kelly searched her briefcase for Lt. Peterson’s card and dialed the number. Once she’d worked through two different levels of police department personnel, she finally reached the detective.
“Ms. Flynn, the desk officer says you have something of importance.” Kelly could picture the middle-aged detective peering at her.
“Yes, sir. I’m at the Claymore ranch right now finishing the financial reports, and I’ve discovered an interesting e-mail that was addressed to Debbie Hurst. I can forward it to you right now, if you’d like.”
Peterson paused. “Who is the e-mail from?”
“The e-mail itself is from Bob Claymore, but I think you’ll see the message preceding that one is of the most interest. It’s supposedly sent from Debbie, but I noticed the time on the message was one fifteen p.m. of the day she was killed.”
Ano
ther pause, then Peterson replied with his e-mail address and a curt “thank you.”
Kelly dutifully entered the detective’s address and forwarded the suspicious messages. Unfortunately, the unsettled feeling didn’t leave.
Closing the e-mail program, Kelly clicked open the accounting records. Only one thing would distract her from the disturbing thoughts racing through her head. Numbers. Lots of numbers. She reached for the faxed statements and clicked into the expenses screen.
Kelly methodically entered the cash withdrawals into the records. She understood why Debbie had questions. The transactions were larger amounts than usual. Two thousand dollars. Three thousand dollars. Five thousand. Forty-five hundred. Thirty-five hundred.
Picking up the quarterly statement again, Kelly scanned for withdrawals. Much smaller amounts. She looked at the faxes. Brother, Vickie must have had some hefty expenses come due at the first of the month to be taking out several thousand dollars.
A remembered conversation flashed into Kelly’s mind. She recalled Jayleen saying that an alpaca exhibition bill still wasn’t paid. That must have been it. Vickie withdrew the money to pay for that. Kelly sorted through the bank statement folder for the checking account and scanned that statement. No deposits matched those amounts, either.
That didn’t make sense, Kelly thought, as she sipped her coffee. Vickie wouldn’t pay a bill that large in cash, would she? Surely Jayleen would know. Kelly reached for her phone again, then something stopped her. Something about those withdrawals, what was it? She studied the statement again, the amounts, the dates . . . the dates.
The last entry jumped out at her. She’d been so focused on the actual numbers, she’d scanned right past the last entry. “Withdrawal Transaction Denied.” Then the date was listed. The day Debbie was killed.
Kelly carefully set her mug on the desk before she dropped it. She studied the list of withdrawals again, paying careful attention to the dates of each of the transactions that had gone through successfully. Her heart started beating faster. Two thousand dollars were withdrawn the day Vickie died. Three thousand dollars, the following day. Five thousand dollars, one week later. And so on.
Debbie didn’t make these withdrawals. Kelly knew it. Debbie was scrupulously coordinating every check she wrote and every bill she paid with Kelly. Plus, Debbie was using her mother’s business account exclusively. Never the investment accounts. And Vickie certainly couldn’t have withdrawn the money. The transactions didn’t start until the day Vickie died.
Kelly’s heart skipped a beat this time as the implication of these transactions crystallized. The killer had gained access to Vickie’s accounts and was stealing money. Had Debbie discovered something that led to her death? She must have. Kelly recalled Debbie’s last message. She found “discrepancies” in the statements. Indeed, there were. Had Debbie noticed the suspicious dates first? Something caused the killer to strike again.
This time the disturbing thoughts weren’t content to race through Kelly’s mind. They went into hyperdrive. Surely Vickie wasn’t killed for a few thousand dollars, was she? Who needed money so badly they’d kill for it?
Kelly flipped open another folder on the desk, the folder with all of Vickie’s account numbers and PIN codes written on the inside cover. Anyone who had access to this office could have found the folder, copied the numbers and withdrawn the money.
Jayleen’s face popped to mind first. Kelly wanted to kick herself, but she had to consider it. Jayleen kept Vickie’s books. It would be easy for her to steal. Had she? Did Vickie find out and threaten to turn her in to the police? Kelly tried picturing that, but it wouldn’t come into focus. Besides, Jayleen had been in Wyoming when Debbie was killed, so she couldn’t be guilty. Could she? Were there two killers?
That question was too confusing to even think about.
Another face appeared. Geri Norbert. Geri seemed to have fallen into serious money problems. Kelly hated herself for considering it. Geri’s panicked, fear-pinched face still radiated in her mind from yesterday when the surveyor appeared on her property. Had Geri needed money so badly she’d killed for it?
Enough, Kelly thought to herself as she sprang from the desk chair and headed for the kitchen and her coffee refill. She couldn’t think about this anymore. Her head was spinning. Right now, she needed to concentrate on finishing the financial reports so she could deliver them to the estate attorney.
Then, she’d pay a visit to the bank and see if she could pry some information loose. Kelly wanted to see the time of those withdrawals. Who knows? Maybe the ATM had a camera.
Kelly tapped her pen against the files in her lap while she waited for the bank account manager to return. It had taken over half an hour plus a call to the estate attorney’s office to convince the bank personnel that they could answer one simple question: What time of day was each withdrawal transaction processed?
Recrossing her legs again, Kelly shifted in her chair. She’d given up trying to relax. It was impossible to relax. She was sitting next to the window and was roasting in the July sun. The bank’s air-conditioning seemed to be nonexistent, and the music was starting to get on her nerves.
Mercifully, the manager’s assistant scurried in Kelly’s direction, a sheet of paper in her hand. At last.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Flynn, but it took me awhile to find all the transactions,” the woman explained as she sat down. Spreading the computer printout on her desk, she pointed to several lines of text that were highlighted. “Here’s each one, with date and exact time of day and the amount.”
Kelly quickly scanned the lines. The first transaction occurred on the afternoon of Vickie’s death, approximately the same time Kelly had brought the visiting knitters to the ranch. Then she read the last entry for the denied withdrawal. Five thirty-eight in the afternoon on the day Debbie was killed.
Recalling that day, Kelly remembered checking her watch when they drove into the casino parking lot. It was almost four thirty in the afternoon. Minutes later, she watched Geri drive off toward Fort Connor, which was less than an hour away. Geri would have had enough time to return to town and drive to the bank. If she had lost more than she bargained for at the casino, Geri may very well have risked another withdrawal.
“May I keep this copy, please?” Kelly asked, reaching for the sheet.
“Of course, ma’am, I printed it for you,” the woman replied. “I hope we’ve been able to help.”
“You definitely have. Thank you again,” Kelly said as she dropped the paper in her portfolio and rose to leave. As she started to walk away, Kelly remembered something. “By the way, do your ATM machines have cameras?” she asked the assistant.
“No, ma’am, they don’t. We hope to install them next year.”
“Several of the other banks in town have them, don’t they?” Kelly probed.
“Yes, I believe so. Our branch has been a little slower to adopt, but we’re catching up.” She gave Kelly a beginner-salesman’s smile.
Darnit, Kelly thought, as she headed for the parking lot. A picture would solve this entire puzzle. They’d see who withdrew the money. Her cell phone jangled, and she flipped it open as she slid into her car.
“Kelly, Jayleen here. I’ve just found out why Raja has been acting funny lately. Last night, I finally had some breathing room, and I took some time with Vickie’s herd like I used to. Raja was acting skittish again, so I checked him out, and, well, I started getting suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” Kelly asked, merging into Fort Connor’s version of rush hour traffic.
“I began to notice little things, like his teeth and other stuff. Enough to make me check his ID tag.”
“I don’t remember seeing tags on the animals. Are they in their ears, like cows?”
“No no, we don’t do that with alpacas. We insert a tiny metal ID under the skin behind their left ear. The number is recorded on their registration certificate. That way, we can ship these guys and gals all over the country and make
sure we get them back. The right ones, I mean,” Jayleen explained.
“Hey, that’s slick,” Kelly said. “But if it’s inserted under the skin, how do you check it?”
“With a handheld scanner unit. It reads the code on the metal ID, and the number flashes on the screen. Anyway, I scanned him, and it’s another number entirely. It’s not Raja.”
“Ohhhh, brother,” Kelly said. She didn’t have to think very long for someone’s face to come to mind. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m afraid I am,” Jayleen said with an aggravated sigh. “Geri Norbert’s Raleigh is a mirror image of Raja. I’m thinking she switched them so she could use Raja to breed those two females that arrived last week. Damnation! Why would she do something like that? It’s gotta be the gambling.”
Jayleen bit off a few choice expletives while Kelly pondered the new information. Had Geri stolen Vickie’s prize male as well as Vickie’s money? Kelly had no proof of the withdrawls, but maybe they could prove Geri had switched the alpacas. First, they needed to scan the male in Geri’s pasture.
“Jayleen, are you at your ranch? I need to talk to you right now,” Kelly said, switching into a westbound turn lane.
“I’m here. What’re you thinking? I can hear something in your voice, girl.”
“I’ll tell you when I’m there. It’s all speculation right now. But first, we need to check out Geri’s male. See if it’s really Raja. Could you use your scanner for that?”
“Sure, but I’d have to sneak into Geri’s barn at night to do it.”
“Is there any way you can track the number on the look-alike in Vickie’s pasture?”
Jayleen paused. “Yeah, I can check with the vet. Geri uses the same one that Vickie and I do. The vet will be able to check the records. I’ll call her first thing in the morning.”
“Are you okay with all this, Jayleen? I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Kelly added.
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