Knit One, Kill Two

by Maggie Sefton

  “We?” Kelly shot him a quizzical look. “I don’t need help asking questions.”

  “What were you expecting to do?” Steve countered. “Drive up his mile-long driveway, step out of the truck, and go ring his doorbell? Don’t you think that would look a little strange? Who am I supposed to be, the taxi?”

  Hmmm. He was right. That would definitely look strange. Rats. She hated it when he was right.

  “Listen, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “We’ve got a loom in the back, so why don’t we say we’re new to the area, just settling in, and you’re a weaver.”

  “I can barely knit, now you want me to weave?”

  Steve grinned. “Work with me, okay? We’re newcomers, and we’re buying land north of town. And we’ve been thinking about adding some sheep or alpaca—”

  “I just saw an alpaca for the first time today. What if he asks me a question?”

  “Just hand off to me, I’ll answer. You’re the weaver, and I want to start breeding alpaca—whoa, there he goes.” Steve pointed ahead as the black truck turned onto a private road.

  Kelly watched a dust cloud kick up in the truck’s wake as they passed. There was a large, two-story white house in the distance and a sprawling red barn. She also noticed the fencing around Stackhouse’s ranch was in good condition. Black and reddish brown cows dotted one pasture, and she thought she spied sheep in a far meadow backing up to the foothills.

  “We’ll go down to the crossing then turn around,” Steve suggested.

  “Okay, I’m a weaver, and we want alpaca, and we’re ignorant. But how do we explain why we’re there?”

  “We can say someone at the shop told us that he’d be a good person to give advice about this business.”

  Kelly nodded. It might not be great but it was better than what she had, which was nothing. “Okay, let’s go with it. Let’s just get him talking. I’ll take it from there.”

  Steve slowed at the intersection of the two county roads and turned the truck around. “Good luck. Any idea how you’re going to ease into it?”

  “Not a clue,” she replied as they approached the private road to Stackhouse’s ranch. “I’ll play it by ear. See what happens.”

  They turned onto the road and slowed, a cloud of dust billowing around the truck. “This’ll be interesting,” he said.

  It certainly will be, Kelly thought, her mind sorting through and discarding one question after another as they followed the driveway all the way to the barnyard. To her surprise, Stackhouse emerged from the barn and, seeing them, walked to the side of the split rail fence bordering his pasture as they drove up.

  “Okay,” Steve advised, parking the truck. “Just keep that great smile, and we’re halfway there.”

  If only a smile would do it. Kelly jumped from the truck to the ground, straightened her T-shirt, and forced her brightest “meet the client” smile. Corporate life had its benefits. She could talk to anyone now without showing the emotion within. But this was not the corporate world, and she’d need a folksy, just-starting-out innocence to appear natural. She took a deep breath. That would be harder to pull off. Kelly hadn’t felt innocent in so long, she’d forgotten how.

  Steve met her beside the truck. “Okay, here goes,” he said, smile already in place.

  Kelly fixed the brightest smile she could find as they started across the barnyard. Stackhouse stood waiting, hands on hips, Stetson pulled low. “Hi there!” Kelly chirped loudly, waving her hand as they drew nearer.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Steve called out. “I hope we found the right ranch. Are you Curt Stackhouse?”

  “Yes, I am. What can I do for you folks?” Stackhouse replied as Kelly and Steve paused a few feet from him.

  “Well, then, we found the right place, honey,” Steve said, glancing to her before he reached out to shake Stackhouse’s hand. Kelly bit her cheek to keep from frowning at the familiarity. “I’m Steve Townsend, Mr. Stackhouse, and this—”

  “Kelly Flynn, sir,” she said, offering her hand to the tall rancher, who was observing them closely. Stackhouse shook her hand firmly. His hand was big and warm and calloused, a working rancher’s hand.

  “We’re gonna be married this summer, and we’ll be buying some land north of town pretty soon, maybe thirty acres or so,” Steve said, then put his arm around Kelly’s shoulders, drawing her closer. Kelly nearly bit her lip in two this time. Steve knew she wouldn’t blow their cover by pushing him away.

  “Really?” Stackhouse said, brow quirking. “Whereabouts?”

  “We’ve been looking at some acreage near Wellesly. I’m renting in Fort Connor now because it’s close to my job at Advanced Tech. I’m an engineer there. I came to the university years ago, well, and I haven’t been able to leave since.” Steve glanced around with a guileless look. “It’s so beautiful, I had to stay.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Stackhouse’s mouth. “I’ve heard that story a lot over the years,” he said.

  “And I’ve always wanted to come back,” Kelly did her best to gush. “I grew up here when I was a little girl, until my dad had to take a job out of town. But I’ve always wanted to return. I’ve been working back East since college.” She gestured, keeping her eyes Barbie-doll wide. “And then I met Stevie on a cruise, and it’s just so wonderful! Now, I can come back home!” Her voice ran up a whole octave at the end of that sentence.

  Stackhouse observed them both for a few seconds. Kelly held her Barbie pose, even though she felt her cheek start to twitch. “Well, that’s a real nice story, folks, but I have to wonder why you’re telling it to me.”

  Steve gave a chuckle. “Well, you see, Mr. Stackhouse, Kelly here is a weaver. In fact, that’s a new loom in the back of the truck. We bought it from Sam Gepardson today. And—”

  “You know Sam Gepardson?” Stackhouse asked. “He’s a fine craftsman. A real artist.”

  “Yes sir, that he is, sir. We met him when we picked up the loom, but he was highly recommended by the folks at Kelly’s favorite shop in town, House of Lambspun.”

  “Ohhh, yes!” Kelly jumped in, gesturing again. “They’re so helpful. You see I’m new at all of this, and they tell me everything to do.”

  Stackhouse nodded, the skeptical expression Kelly first noticed no longer present. “They’re good people. My wife’s a spinner, so she knows the woman who runs the place, uhh . . .”

  “Mimi?” Kelly supplied with another exuberant gesture. “Oh, yes, she’s been so much help. And all the other people there, too. That’s why we’re here! It was one of them who suggested we come see you.” She turned to her accomplice, Barbie still in place. “Stevie has alpaca questions.” She could tell Steve was trying his best not to laugh.

  “That’s right,” he went along with an agreeable nod. “You see, we were thinking we might add some alpaca once we move in, and this woman in the shop, right, honey? She said you’d give us good advice on the business. Even told us how to get to your ranch.”

  Stackhouse peered at them. “What was her name?”

  At this, Kelly called up a Lizzie mannerism. Hand to her breast, she exclaimed, “Oh, my goodness, I simply cannot remember. But she was tall and blonde and very, very pretty,” she volunteered Lisa’s description.

  Stackhouse shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I wish I knew who it was, because that’s kind of strange advice. You see, I don’t have any alpacas. I’ve got a few hundred sheep, though. My wife has a small milling business in addition to her spinning.”

  “You don’t?” Kelly squeaked, eyes wide. If they got any wider they’d pop out.

  “Whoa . . .” Steve exclaimed, guileless still. “Well, I’m sorry we disturbed you, Mr. Stackhouse. I guess the lady was mistaken, honey.”

  “I’m sorry you folks wasted your time,” Stackhouse removed his hat, running his hand through his pewter gray hair. “Listen, let me gi
ve you a couple of phone numbers to call—” At that, a familiar cell phone jangle sounded. “Uhhh, excuse me, folks,” he said, then slipped the phone from his jeans and stepped away a few paces.

  Kelly grabbed the moment. She turned to Steve with her most formidable frown. “You are so out of line, mister.”

  “Who, me?” Steve declared, all innocence. “What’re you talking about?”

  “You know what I mean. Move the arm. Now.”

  “Hey, I was just getting into the role,” he teased.

  “Sure, you were. Move it.”

  “But we’re engaged, remember?”

  “Move it or lose a rib. Your choice.”

  Steve backed away, laughing, arms in the air “hands up” style. “Hey, who was that a minute ago? I’ve never seen her.”

  “That was Barbie, and she’s just your type,” Kelly said, unable to suppress her own laughter.

  “Sorry for the interruption, folks,” Stackhouse said as he approached. “Let me give you a couple of names of breeders here in town. They can answer all your alpaca questions.”

  “That would be great, sir. Thank you,” Steve said.

  Stackhouse started to dig in his pocket, and Kelly realized she’d better act fast if she wanted more from Stackhouse than friendly conversation. Grabbing the most plausible line she could think of, Kelly plunged in. “Did you grow up here your whole life, Mr. Stackhouse?”

  “Sure did.” Stackhouse found his pen then withdrew a card from his back pocket. “So’d my father. We’ve ranched here since 1910.”

  “Oh, goodness,” Kelly said. “My aunt grew up here, too. What year did you graduate from high school?”

  Stackhouse smiled. “In 1955. A long time ago.”

  “Oh, my!” Kelly chirped, hand to breast again. “That’s when my aunt graduated, too. What high school?”

  “Fort Connor High.”

  “Goodness, what a coincidence. She went there, too. Maybe you knew her. She was Helen Flynn, then. Her parents had a small sugar beet farm east of town.”

  The change in Stackhouse’s expression was barely noticeable, but immediate. Kelly would have missed it if she hadn’t been staring at him intently with her wide-eyed pose. Barbie was useful after all. A light appeared in his eyes for a split second, then was gone.

  He glanced down and wrote on the card. “You know, that name does sound familiar. But I can’t bring back a face.”

  “Ohhhh, she was really pretty back then, I’ve seen her pictures,” Kelly gushed. “She was petite with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. And I’ll bet she had a lot of friends!”

  Stackhouse looked up and gave Kelly a guarded smile. “I’m sure she did, Miss Flynn. But I just can’t place her. Sorry.” He turned to Steve and handed him the card. “Here, you go. These folks will tell you all you want to know about the alpaca business.”

  “Hey, thank you, sir,” Steve said, shaking Stackhouse’s hand again before he turned to Kelly. “You ready to go, honey?”

  “Thank you so much,” she said, letting Steve take her arm as they started to leave. “You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Stackhouse.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t remember your aunt.” Stackhouse caught her gaze for a second.

  Yes, you did, Kelly said to herself. But to Stackhouse, she simply waved and called out, “That’s okay, thanks so much for helping.”

  Steve waved as well as they headed toward the truck. “He’s lying,” he said softly.

  “You betcha,” Kelly concurred with a vigorous nod.

  Steve opened her door, and Kelly scrambled in.“ Hey, can Barbie come back for the trip home?” he asked.

  “Not on a bet,” she said and slammed the truck door shut.

  Twelve

  “You split the yarn into fourths, like this,” Mimi directed, slowly pulling the strand of yarn apart. “Then, you’ll use a darning needle and thread each little tail under and around and into the stitches to hide it.”

  “I don’t have a darning needle,” Kelly said, feeling deficient somehow.

  “It’s okay. We keep a supply right there in that little cedar box.” She pointed to the center of the library table. “Megan, would you please hand me a needle? I’ll get you started, Kelly, then you can finish.”

  Megan retrieved a needle. “Here you go. That’s a great scarf, Kelly. I love those colors.”

  Kelly beamed with the pride of accomplishment. Considering how rocky her introduction to knitting had been, she was still amazed she’d created something so beautiful. She ran her hands over the colorful chunky-knit scarf. Now all she had to do was wait until autumn so she could use it. Or maybe not. April brought springtime temperatures and flowers, but springtime in Colorado was a fickle suitor. As likely to drop several inches of snow and freezing cold as seductively warm days that hinted of summer.

  “There, now weave it in and around until there’s only a little bit of yarn left, then tie a knot,” Mimi said, demonstrating each step. “And snip, you’re done.”

  “Wow. That’s the first easy thing I’ve learned. Even I can do that,” Kelly declared, taking the scarf and needle.

  Slowly she replicated Mimi’s movements. This step certainly was easier than the binding off process when her scarf was finished. Kelly wasn’t sure how pulling one stitch over another would result in a finished edge, but darned if it didn’t. Only a few maneuvers and she had a finished scarf in her lap. Except for the two dangling tails of yarn on each end and in the middle.

  Mimi sank back into her chair and sipped her Earl Grey. “Thank you again, Megan, and you, too, Kelly, for what you did yesterday,” she said, shaking her head. “Goodness, I had no idea it would become so . . . uh, challenging, shall we say?”

  Jennifer snickered at the end of the table as she worked the emerald yard. “You gotta love Lizzie. She knows no shame. A woman after my own heart.”

  Megan scowled across from her. “Stop that, Jen. Don’t you dare encourage her. Lizzie doesn’t need any more ideas.”

  “Who, me?” Jennifer said, all innocence. “Never.”

  Laughter sounded over the hum of the wheel in the corner, as Burt interrupted his spinning long enough to tease. “You’re incorrigible, Jennifer.”

  “I know, it’s one of my finer traits.”

  “I still cannot believe Lizzie did that,” Mimi said, smile winning out.

  “Believe it,” Kelly intoned, tucking in the fourth strand, only one dangling tail to go. Changing the subject, she added, “But the best thing that happened was our trip to the rancher’s place after the festival.”

  “Our?” Lisa teased across the table.

  This time it was Kelly’s turn to scowl. “Well, I had no car, so I persuaded Steve to follow this rancher, Stackhouse.”

  “The hunky cowboy in the yearbook?” Jennifer pried.

  Kelly nodded. “One and the same.”

  “Steve didn’t know the family?” Mimi asked.

  “No, he said the name was familiar, that’s all.” Kelly jabbed a tuft of red wool through the needle’s aperture. “And to tell the truth, it worked better because there were two of us. We pretended we were ignorant alpaca breeders-to-be and were sent to him for information. He bought it, thank goodness, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to ask him questions.”

  “What kind of questions?” Megan ventured, binding off the edge of her turquoise sweater.

  “Well, I wanted to see his response when I mentioned Helen’s name, so I worked up to it. Asking him if he grew up here, where he’d gone to school, stuff like that. Then, I slipped Helen in.”

  “What’d he say?” Lisa prodded, examining the stitches on her coral sweater.

  “He said he couldn’t remember her even though the name was familiar, but the expression on his face said different. Even Steve saw it. It was subtle, but you could tell he knew Helen.” Kelly gave a mission-ac
complished nod.

  “Kelly, I hope you’re not suspecting this rancher on the basis of a facial expression,” Mimi cautioned.

  Kelly exhaled a sigh, listening to the rhythmic hum of the wheel behind her. She and Steve had discussed the same thing when they drove back to Fort Connor yesterday. It was obvious Stackhouse knew more than he was saying. He’d recognized Helen’s name. He remembered her, but he wasn’t admitting it. Kelly thought she saw a flicker of something else in his eyes. But nothing else was visible on that suntanned and weather-beaten face. “I know,” she admitted. “A guilty expression proves nothing.”

  “Yeah, it might not be guilt at all. It could be heart-burn,” Jennifer joked, causing a ripple of laughter.

  Lizzie popped into the room then and bustled over to the bookshelves. “Mimi, we have those spring sweater patterns you showed me last week, don’t we? Hilda is finishing her class and wants to show them the next project. Now, where are they?” she worried out loud as she removed a large three-ring binder and started paging through it.

  “They should be there, Lizzie, I checked yesterday,” Mimi advised, rising from her chair.

  “Ohhh, here they are, dear,” Lizzie declared, familiar smile returning. “Don’t get up, I’ll copy them.”

  “Hey, Lizzie, I hear you had a little field trip of your own yesterday,” Jennifer tweaked.

  “What do you mean, dear?” Lizzie replied as she slipped the plastic-encased patterns from the binder.

  “Jennifer . . .” Megan warned ominously.

  Jennifer continued, unfazed. “To visit the bonny lads of Scotland. A piper, too, I heard.”

  Lizzie beamed, hand to breast. “Ohhhhh, yes. He was an exceptionally handsome gentleman, tall and broad, with full gray beard.”

  “Tell me, Lizzie—”

  “Jennifer!” Megan tried again.

  Kelly knew exactly where this was going. So did Lisa and Mimi, she could tell from their smiles. Megan was wasting her time trying to divert Jennifer.

  “Tell me, Lizzie, was he regimental or not?”

  “Regimental, dear? Whatever do you mean?” Lizzie glanced over her shoulder as she headed toward the classroom.