Close Knit Killer

by Maggie Sefton

  Just then, Hal Nelson ran over from the parking lot. “Back off, Rizzoli!” he yelled. He shot Rizzoli a glare as he helped Malcolm up from the gravel.

  “You tell him to back off!” Still furious, Rizzoli pointed toward Malcolm. “I’ve been to prison, but you’re the one down a rat hole! Nobody’s to blame for what you’ve become! You did it to yourself!”

  Kelly watched a silent Malcolm stare at Rizzoli, stricken.

  “You better leave now, Rizzoli,” Nelson said in a cold voice.

  “You bet I will. Tell your agent to call me when the contract’s signed,” Rizzoli snapped, then turned and stalked off to his car. The tires squealed this time in Rizzoli’s haste to leave the driveway.

  Kelly ran over to Malcolm, who still stared—white-faced and shaking—after the departing Rizzoli. “Are you okay, Malcolm? Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, grasping his arm. Nelson still had hold of the other arm.

  “No . . . I’m . . . I’m okay,” Malcolm answered, in a hushed voice.

  “Why don’t we go inside the café and get you a cup of coffee and something to eat?” Nelson said, guiding Malcolm toward the garden patio.

  “That’s a good idea,” Kelly said, following Nelson’s lead and guiding Malcolm toward the garden pathway leading to the café. She couldn’t help noticing the stares from customers who didn’t expect drama to accompany their breakfast alfresco.

  Waitress Julie walked over to them as they approached the steps leading to the café back door. “I swear, if that man ever shows up here again, I’m going to accidentally pour hot coffee all over him,” she said with an uncharacteristic scowl, lifting her coffeepot in defiance.

  Wow, Kelly thought as they climbed the steps. Jared Rizzoli seemed to ignite universal animosity. Even good-natured Julie was mad at him.

  Jennifer pushed open the door and held it for all three of them to enter. Kelly followed Nelson and Malcolm, and Jennifer muttered none-too-softly to her, “I tell you, that Rizzoli is a piece of work. I almost wish Hal and I weren’t doing business with him.”

  “Hey, hold your nose and take his money,” Kelly said in a rasping whisper as she passed. “You can use it, and so can Hal. He told me so.”

  Hal ushered Malcolm over to a small table for two around the corner and helped him into a chair. Clearly, Nelson was making sure Malcolm got settled. Glancing toward the grill, Kelly noticed Rosa standing in the back hallway watching everything.

  “Brother, this morning’s confrontation had an even bigger audience than yesterday’s with Barbara,” Kelly said.

  Rosa hastened their way. “That man is a menace. I can’t wait until he leaves town. All he’s done is rile up all the people he cheated years ago. You’ve seen those stories in the newspaper, right?”

  “You couldn’t miss them,” Jennifer said, picking up her tray as she headed around the grill to load breakfast orders.

  “Is Barbara all right?” Kelly asked, suddenly worried that Barbara’s fiery outburst yesterday had triggered a health problem.

  Rosa’s brown eyes grew larger as she leaned closer to Kelly and lowered her voice. “Madge came in this morning to teach Burt’s class all by herself. When I asked where Barbara was, she said that Barbara took a day off. Madge said that last night, Barbara was still so mad at Rizzoli she went down to the hotel where he was holding one of his seminars. And she confronted him right there in front of everyone! Then Rizzoli’s security guards took Barbara away and threatened to call the police! Can you believe that?”

  “Oh, no! Please tell me Barbara went home.”

  Rosa nodded. “Yes, thank goodness. But still, can you imagine down-to-earth, practical Barbara doing something like that?” She shook her head.

  “No, I can’t, Rosa. I tell you, I was really concerned about Barbara yesterday. I was afraid she might blow an artery or something after that confrontation outside. Mimi’s known her for a long time. Has she ever mentioned any health problems?”

  “Yes, I remember her saying Barbara has high blood pressure and is on medication for it,” Rosa said. “So you were right to worry about Barbara. I was, too, and keeping my fingers crossed nothing would happen.”

  Kelly looked out toward the café and watched Jennifer walking toward the grill where Eduardo had placed more breakfast orders. “Well, let’s hope that episode with the security guards was a wake-up call for Barbara. She needs to calm down and leave Rizzoli alone. He’s a scumbag, from what I’ve heard about him and seen for myself. And he’s certainly not worth risking her health over.”

  “You’re so right, Kelly. Let’s hope Barbara can put the past to rest. Oooops, I hear the shop phone. Talk to you later.” Rosa hurried back around the corner into the shop.

  Kelly walked over to the grill where Jennifer was loading up her tray. “Sounds like Rizzoli has already made an offer on the land.”

  “Yep, and at the asking price, too. And accompanied by a cashier’s check for half the purchase price. With the balance to be paid at closing in ten days. Naturally, Hal accepted the offer and signed it immediately.” She gave a wry smile.

  Kelly let out a low whistle. “Wow, he really must be rich. The papers weren’t exaggerating, I guess.”

  “Actually, the gossip in the office is his wife’s the wealthy one. She and he knew each other years ago, before he got into financial trouble with the law. Anyway, she inherited a bundle when her first husband died, while Rizzoli was in prison. Apparently he found out and started writing her. Love blooms in strange places, I guess.” Jennifer lifted the tray to her shoulder. “Listen, I’ve gotten all the bedroom stuff packed or into garment bags. So the only things left for you to pack tomorrow will be stuff from our desk drawers and then the kitchen, of course.”

  Kelly gave a dismissive wave. “Piece of cake. We’ll be finished before dinner tomorrow, I predict.”

  Jennifer grinned. “Pete says to tell you guys he’s gonna make everybody their favorite pie when he gets back.”

  “Ooooh, make mine pecan.”

  Jennifer started to turn away, then stopped. “Oh, yeah. Pete finally got in touch with Tanya. She claimed her cell phone wasn’t working. They’re over in Omaha, can you believe? Anyway, Pete said she ‘panicked’ when he asked her if she could come back to Denver to help take care of Cassie. Tanya says the band is starting to get recognition now. So, she can’t come back. She’s singing backup with them and doing their publicity.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “So Pete told her that he was going to bring Cassie up here to Fort Connor to stay with us. Ben’s going to be recovering and in rehab for months.”

  Kelly gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll bet Tanya was relieved to hear that.”

  “Ohhhh, yeah.” Jennifer nodded. “And that made Pete feel even better about bringing Cassie here. Tanya clearly wants no responsibility for her daughter, so Cassie will be better off here with us.”

  “Sounds like it. Listen, stop by Megan and Marty’s tonight, why don’t you? Lisa and Greg will be out, so the rest of us are relaxing with pizza. It’s too hot to sit outside for dinner.”

  “Pizza’s good. I’ll be there,” Jen said, then returned to her waiting customers.

  “Want some coffee, Kelly?” Julie offered, pot at the ready.

  “I sure do,” Kelly answered, suddenly realizing she no longer had her mug with her. “You know, I think I dropped my mug in the driveway when Malcolm and Rizzoli were getting into it. Let me retrieve it. Hold that offer.”

  “Will do.”

  Kelly left through the café back door and ran down the steps, still unable to forget the stricken look on Malcolm’s face.

  Seven

  Kelly leaned against the faux granite kitchen counter and looked out into what would soon be Jennifer and Pete’s great room. Jennifer was right. The living and dining rooms were more spacious than normally found in most smaller three-bedroom houses. Another tribute to Steve’s architectural ingenuity.

  Right now, the entire great room was filled with boxes, boxes, and mor
e boxes as her friends unpacked books, files, decorative objects, framed pictures, maps, and more books. A sofa, love seat, two chairs, and several bookcases were barely visible beneath the boxes.

  “Okay, for drinks I’ve got three super-sized iced coffees, two diet colas, and one lemonade,” Kelly read from the small memo pad in her hand. And six super burritos, two Mexicali, two beef and cheddar, two veggie. Did I forget anything?”

  “Yeah, bring one of Pete’s pies, preferably blueberry.” Marty looked up from the box of books he was unpacking.

  “And don’t forget vanilla ice cream,” Greg added, as he pulled a framed map of the United States from a packing box.

  “You guys,” Lisa chided, lifting a large garment bag from the sofa. “Can’t you wait till dinner tonight for dessert?”

  Marty looked at her, horrified. “Blasphemy!”

  “We need sustenance for the last laps,” Greg added, setting the map against the wall.

  “You better not drip any berry juice on the furniture,” Megan warned as she pulled out a desk drawer, then placed several files inside it. “I’ll be checking.”

  “Will she really?” Greg asked Marty.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Dude, how do you stand that?”

  Marty grinned. “She looks so cute when she’s annoyed. Sometimes I drip stuff on purpose.”

  “What!” Megan stared at him, aghast.

  “That’s cute?” Greg pointed to Megan’s half-annoyed, half-shocked expression.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Greg shook his head, opening another packing box. “You two are seriously strange.” He lifted some hardcover books from the box. “Hey, they’ve got a collection of Charles Dickens classics. I may ask to borrow one of these.”

  “Better check the title page,” Steve advised as he lifted two metal bed rails to his shoulder. “Pete collects old books with original engravings. I don’t think he’ll lend you those.”

  Greg flipped to the title page of the hardbound book and his eyes widened. “Whoa, eighteen seventy-six!” He turned the page. “Wow, look at this.” He pointed to a surrounding page with an engraved picture.

  Steve paused on his way to the master bedroom. “I told you. Be careful with those. Now, who wants to help me set up the queen bed?”

  “I will,” Lisa volunteered, following Steve. “Now that you mention it, I didn’t see any other beds at their apartment. The kid needs a bed.”

  “Ooooh, good catch,” Megan said, glancing around. “We have a fold-up cot in the garage. But a bed would be better.”

  “I’ve got one in storage,” Steve called from the bedroom. “We can bring it tomorrow.”

  “I’d better go get the food,” Kelly said as she grabbed her car keys and cell phone. “We don’t want Marty keeling over from hunger.”

  “You need any money, Kelly?” Lisa asked, from the door of the bedroom.

  “Naw, my treat,” Kelly said, walking toward the well-lit foyer.

  “Why don’t you call in the order before you leave?” Marty suggested. “My stomach’s growling already.”

  Kelly laughed as she headed out the door. Once outside, however, she scrolled through her phone’s directory and punched in the café’s number. She might as well give the grill cooks a head start on those burritos.

  She settled in her car, which was parked in front of the cozy and comfortable ranch-style house on the corner of Steve’s Wellesley development. It was only two blocks from the house where Steve and Kelly lived and one block from both Lisa and Greg’s home and Megan and Marty’s.

  The phone at Pete’s café rang several times. Saturday lunch crunch, Kelly surmised, and waited. Finally she recognized Julie’s voice answer. “Hey, Julie. Kelly, here. I’ve got a big order for the gang. We’re moving Jen and Pete today, remember? We started at seven this morning, and we’ve been living on donuts. Time for some real food.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sure, Kelly. Tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll get Eduardo and Frank right on it.”

  Kelly recited the lunch order. “I’m in Wellesley now, so I should be there in ten minutes or so. Depending on traffic, of course. On a gorgeous summer Saturday, there’s usually lots of people and lots of cars.”

  “All right, I’ll tell them to get right on it. Oh, you’ll have to enter through the Lemay Avenue driveway. Police have blocked off the Lincoln Avenue entrance entirely. Customers from the café and the shop are parking along the Lemay driveway and onto the grass. It’s a mess.”

  It took a few seconds for Julie’s words to sink in. “Why did police block off the Lincoln entrance? Is there a marathon going along that route or something?”

  “I wish it were. Some guy died in his car last night, I guess. He was parked next to the trees across the driveway from Lambspun’s front door. I haven’t had time to even go look outside, we’ve been so slammed with customers. But early this morning, one of the temp waitresses said she talked to police when she walked over from the bus stop. It must have been six o’clock.”

  “Good Lord! Did he commit suicide or something? Who would park in our driveway and do that?”

  “Who knows, Kelly. I gotta get back to work. See you in a few minutes.” Julie clicked off.

  Kelly tossed her phone to the adjoining car seat, then revved her car’s engine. What on earth would possess someone to end it all in a parking lot?

  * * *

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, guys,” Kelly told the busy grill cooks. “I’ve gotta go see what’s happening outside.”

  “Nothing to see, Kelly,” Eduardo said, deftly sliding a veggie-stuffed omelet onto a plate. “Frank checked a few minutes ago, and the cops have taken everything away. Ambulance came for the guy’s body over an hour ago, I think.”

  “Yeah, and the tow truck was hooking up to take the car away,” the thin, bearded man said as he turned sausages on the grill. Pete’s homemade sausage patties sizzled, emitting a savory sage-and-herb aroma into the air. Kelly’s nostrils twitched. Breakfast temptations started warring with the lunch aromas floating through the café.

  “Well, I’ll see if Rosa or Connie know anything,” Kelly said, as she headed for the hallway that led to Lambspun.

  As she neared the classroom area, she spotted Rosa supervising a woman working on one of the small portable looms. She must be teaching a Saturday class, Kelly decided, and veered back toward the yarn rooms at the front of the shop. She skirted around the Mother Loom and the shelves filled with cones of colorful threads and trims and lacy ribbons of yarn. Through the opening into the front room, Kelly spotted Connie behind the counter helping a customer. Four more customers waited patiently in line. Two of them stood staring out through the large, multipaned front windows.

  Kelly gave Connie a wave and walked to the window to look out. Three police officers were outside, along with two suited men, whom Kelly figured were detectives. She didn’t recognize either man. But she did recognize something else. A tow truck was sitting at the end of the driveway, which opened to Lincoln Avenue. The driver obviously was waiting for a policeman to remove all the orange-and-white traffic cones that had blocked the entrance.

  Kelly stared at the dark car that was being towed by the truck. It was a familiar design. A popular and expensive road car. A high-performance European road car. Exactly like Jared Rizzoli’s car. She stared at the license plate and glimpsed the last three digits—592—before the truck pulled the car around the corner onto the street. Kelly couldn’t remember ever noticing Rizzoli’s license plate, but something about those three digits looked slightly familiar.

  Kelly glanced back at Connie, choosing her words carefully. “I think I recognize that car, Connie. How about you?”

  Connie looked up from the skein of bright daffodil yellow yarn she was holding and met Kelly’s gaze. She nodded. “Ohhhh, yeah. So do I. It’s him.”

  “Who’s ‘him’?” a woman in line asked Kelly.

  “Just some guy who showed up here in the shop lookin
g for someone who owned a piece of canyon property. He wanted to buy it, from what I heard,” Connie replied.

  The woman glanced to a younger woman standing in front of her. “I wonder if he was killed over a piece of land?”

  The young woman shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time. This is the West. People fight over land and water.”

  Kelly zeroed in on their conversation. “Uh, excuse me, but did you say ‘kill’? I thought it might be suicide.”

  “Nope,” the young woman said authoritatively. “I was walking through the garden trying to get into the shop by way of the café. And I heard one of the cops talking on his cell phone. I distinctly heard him say the guy was killed.”

  Another woman who was browsing among the assortment of knitting needles and crochet hooks turned around. “And I saw the medics removing his body to the stretcher. There was a lot of blood on the front of his suit.”

  Kelly simply stared at them as those images formed in her mind. It was clear that Jared Rizzoli had enemies. He’d cheated scores of people in town. Many lives were ruined. But, still . . . “Why would someone kill him in the Lambspun parking lot? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Look around,” the younger woman said, gesturing outside to the driveway and golf course adjacent. “Lots of trees and bushes over in that spot. Later in the day, not that many people are playing golf. It’s not full summertime light yet. Someone could have killed him that evening when everyone here and in the café was gone. No one would see them or find him.”

  The older woman standing beside Kelly shivered visibly. “That sounds awful.”

  Kelly watched the policemen and detectives conferring. “Have the police asked you and Rosa anything?”

  “They sure did,” Connie said as she handed a package with a Lambspun sheep logo to her customer. “They came in around nine o’clock this morning and questioned Rosa and me. I told them I didn’t even notice the car when I came in because I drove in through the Lemay Avenue entrance. And Rosa did, too. So, neither of us saw anything. And once we opened the shop, it’s been nonstop busy with customers, so we haven’t had time to look out the windows.” Connie picked up the skein of yarn the next customer in line handed her.