Dyeing Up Loose Ends

by Maggie Sefton

  “That’s awful!” Cassie said, blue eyes wide in total shock.

  “I agree,” Rosa added.

  Megan continued. “Apparently, a driver passed by and saw Sheila, wearing a hooded bright red Christmas cape, kneeling beside Juliet’s dead body on the street. She was probably checking Juliet’s pulse or something. Burt told us later that’s how some of Juliet’s blood obviously got on the edge of the bright red Christmas cape. Red blood wouldn’t be noticed at first, but that’s how the police were eventually able to arrest Sheila. She had the cape with Juliet’s blood on it.”

  “I’m so glad she didn’t get away with it,” Rosa said, her fingers working the yarn in her lap.

  “Wow . . .” Cassie said, leaning back into her chair. “These stories really are better than those Greek tragedies in my literature classes.”

  Megan smiled. “Well, we promised you dramatic stories.”

  “Didn’t all that happen right before Christmas that year?” Rosa asked.

  “I think you’re right,” Megan agreed. “Yes, yes. That was the Christmas that both Kelly and Jennifer were helping Hilda and Lizzie with the Saint Mark’s Christmas pageant with the thirteen-year-old junior high students.”

  Rosa started to laugh. “Oh, I remember Jennifer talking about that. From everything I heard, those kids were a handful.”

  “Ohhhhh yes,” Megan agreed with a grin. “Every few days Kelly and Jennifer had another funny tale of their adventures with the thirteen-year-olds. Let’s see . . . there was Joseph who was wired up with his ear buds, the shepherds were texting, and Mary had a nose ring.” This time, Megan laughed out loud as Cassie and Rosa joined her.

  “Well, at least that story didn’t have any scary characters in there,” Cassie said.

  “Right,” Rosa agreed. “There were lovestruck widows all going after the same eligible bachelor. That was strange but not scary.”

  “This is fascinating,” Cassie said. “What came after the lovestruck widows?”

  Megan glanced toward the bookshelves on the other side of the room. “Let me see . . . I think that was when Kelly and Jennifer went to a knitting retreat up in Poudre Canyon for a long weekend. Kelly said there were several women there from a local support group for those who were healing from physically abusive relationships.”

  “I’ve heard Jayleen talk about the Alcoholics Anonymous support group she sponsors every week over at the Mission,” Cassie said. “They’ve helped a whole lot of people.”

  “That’s for sure,” Rosa agreed.

  “Oh absolutely,” Megan added. “The problem with this particular group on this particular retreat was the owner of that beautiful canyon ranch happened to be a man who had once physically abused one of those women on the retreat.”

  “Oh no,” Cassie said.

  “Apparently, the retreat organizers didn’t have any idea,” Megan continued. “The ranch owner was supposed to be out of town, I think. The support group didn’t even know who the ranch owner was. Anyway, the owner showed up around dinnertime, and that’s when he and his former victim happened to bump into each other as people were leaving the dining hall after dinner. Kelly said there was a huge scene, as the woman became almost hysterical at the sight of that guy. The rancher escaped into his main ranch house, Kelly said. The retreat-goers were all staying in the modernized bunkhouses next door.”

  “I hope that guy left right away,” Cassie remarked.

  “It would have been better for him if he had left then,” Megan said. “But apparently, he did not. He just stayed inside his ranch house drinking. Everyone could see him, Kelly said. Then they all went into the bunkhouses and went to sleep. The next morning when everyone gathered for breakfast in the dining hall, someone walked out onto the pretty deck that overlooked a branch of the Poudre River and let out a piercing scream. Lying on the rocks below was the rancher, Kelly said. He was obviously dead, judging from the way his body was twisted.”

  “Oh wow! What happened?” Cassie asked, leaning over the forgotten pile of magazines. “Did that woman kill him?”

  “No, it wasn’t her. It was someone else. Someone no one would suspect. She was one of the workshop knitting teachers. A real quiet type, but she happened to be a close friend of the woman who had been abused by the rancher. Jennifer said the workshop teacher was so disturbed by what the rancher’s sudden appearance did to her dear friend, she waited until late that night to go out to the deck and confront the rancher, call him the scumbag he was—who knows what she was going to say. Kelly added that the rancher must have been drinking a lot, because he started advancing on her and cursing her. Both Jennifer and Kelly told us they learned that the instructor instinctively went into self-defense mode and bent over to block his advance, but the rancher was so drunk, he stumbled backward and fell right over the deck railing to the rocks below. Later on, Kelly and Jennifer would learn that the instructor was horrified by what happened and panicked, running off the deck and back to the bunkhouse where everyone was asleep.”

  “Oh brother,” Cassie mused out loud. “I hate to say it, but it sounds like the drunken rancher deserved it. I know that sounds awful to say, but . . .”

  “Not at all, Cassie. All of us felt the same way. That guy brought all his trouble on himself,” Megan said. “At least it sounds like that to me. If he hadn’t been drinking, then he wouldn’t have stumbled over the deck railing.”

  “Was the workshop instructor charged with murder?” Cassie asked.

  “No, because she did not intend to kill the drunken rancher, but she was responsible for his death. We all got Marty to be her lawyer, and he pleaded self-defense for her.”

  “Yes, and what a great job he did,” Kelly announced as she walked back into the main knitting room, oversize coffee mug in one hand. “I see you folks have been moving along through Lambspun’s dramatic events while I was on the phone.”

  “Hey there, Kelly. Cassie has been absolutely glued to her chair while we told her about some of Lambspun’s . . .” Rosa paused. “How shall I say it?”

  “Murders,” Cassie offered with a wicked smile.

  Rosa laughed softly. “Straight to the point. I think you must have learned that from Kelly.”

  Kelly grinned. “It sounds like you’ve gone past the knitting retreat murder.”

  Megan set her knitting aside and rose from her chair. “Now I want one of those coffee drinks. Does anyone else want one?” she asked as she walked toward the central yarn room.

  “I’m good,” Kelly said.

  “How about you, Rosa?”

  “I’m still sipping from my morning coffee mug,” Rosa said. “Meanwhile, I’m trying to remember some of those other murders. Cassie’s curiosity has spurred mine.”

  Kelly pondered for a minute. “You know, I think it was our scholarly historian drama. Yes . . . Eustace Freemont. Do you remember him?”

  “Oh my goodness, yes,” Jennifer said as she walked back into the café. “He was Lizzie’s devoted suitor.”

  “Lizzie had a suitor? You mean a boyfriend?” Cassie asked with a grin.

  “Yes, indeed, and she still visits him in the Larimer County Correctional Facility if I’m not mistaken,” Kelly added.

  “I think she does.” Rosa nodded, her fingers speedily working her knitting needles.

  “Now that sounds like a good story,” Cassie said with a big grin. “Tell me.”

  “Let’s see. I think some details are coming into focus now,” Kelly said, staring at the bookshelves across the room again. “Eustace came to Fort Connor and contacted the same real estate office where Jennifer works. He said he wanted to make an offer on a canyon property Jennifer had listed, but what Eustace was really interested in was revenge. He came to kill this real estate investor Fred Turner who had cheated his mother out of her dearest possession, the Poudre Canyon property that had been in her family for o
ver a hundred years. Years ago, Eustace’s mother had a family emergency and needed money. Fred Turner had a sleazy reputation, and he drew up a contract that required Eustace’s mother to repay the entire loan with a balloon payment after a year. Eustace’s mother was so desperate to take care of her family’s medical needs, she didn’t go over the contract. Consequently, Fred Turner obtained Eustace’s family property when the full loan came due and Eustace’s mother couldn’t pay it.”

  “That’s sneaky,” Cassie said.

  “Well, yes, but it’s perfectly legal. Contracts are legal documents, and people have to be very careful when signing them.” Kelly took a sip of coffee. “Apparently, Eustace’s mother was so heartbroken over losing the family’s century-old property that she died shortly thereafter. Eustace was convinced she died of a broken heart.”

  “That is so sad,” Rosa said.

  “It seems that’s when Eustace, who wrote history books on the Old West, decided to administer some frontier justice of his own,” Kelly said. “He posed as a potential property buyer who wanted to look at Fred Turner’s canyon property that Jennifer had listed. Jennifer and I drove up there and walked into the cabin to find Turner’s dead body lying on the floor. He was shot in the head, and the gun was lying near his hand. Burt told us later that Eustace had shot Fred Turner and tried to make it look like suicide. He had left the canyon before Jennifer and I drove up there. So there was no sign of his involvement.”

  “Frontier justice,” Jennifer said solemnly. “Now, Eustace is working as a librarian in the Larimer County Correctional Facility, and that’s why Lizzie goes to visit twice a week.”

  “Do you think Eustace will ever get paroled or something?” Cassie asked.

  Kelly shrugged. “Who knows? Meanwhile, Lizzie and Eustace clearly consider themselves a couple. A different kind of couple, but still a couple.”

  “Wow,” Cassie mused aloud as she gazed toward Lambspun’s windows. “That is a very special love affair. What a great story.”

  “Yes, it is,” Rosa commented.

  “So . . . what came after the tragic lovers, Lizzie and Eustace?” Cassie asked.

  “Let’s see . . .” Kelly said, looking across the room to the bookshelves on the other side. “Jump in here, Jen and Rosa. What ‘dramatic event’ occurred next?”

  Jennifer stared at the shelf of knitting magazines beside the library table. “Was that when we were all getting ready for Megan’s wedding?”

  “Oh yes! We were all having our bridesmaid dresses made by seamstress Zoe.” Kelly’s expression saddened. “That was a hard situation to deal with, that’s for sure. Especially Zoe’s abusive husband, Oscar.”

  “Whoa!” Cassie quickly sat upright. “What was that about?”

  “We were all getting prepared for Megan and Marty’s wedding.” Jennifer picked up the story. “And we were having our bridesmaid dresses fitted and altered by this great seamstress Megan knew here in Fort Connor named Zoe. She was excellent, too. The problem was, she lived with an abusive husband, Oscar. None of us could understand why a smart woman like Zoe would stay with a guy like that. Anyway, one day Zoe finally got away from him and literally escaped over to Lambspun. She moved her seamstress business into Mimi’s little office next to the workroom. Then Lisa took her over to the battered women’s shelter here in Fort Connor and checked her in. Lisa had volunteered there for years.” Jennifer smiled. “And Kelly had a chance to go toe-to-toe with Oscar. Lisa said it was great to watch.”

  “Thank goodness you did that,” Rosa said. “Otherwise that brute Oscar might have killed Zoe.”

  “Yes, we got her away from Oscar just in time.”

  “Did someone kill Oscar?” Cassie asked. “He sounds like a real scumbag to me.”

  “No, Oscar wasn’t the victim,” Rosa said. “And I think we can all agree that ‘scumbag’ is the nicest thing we can say about Oscar.”

  Cassie’s expression changed to shock. “Don’t tell me he killed Zoe?”

  “No, no,” Rosa said, glancing up from her stitches. “Zoe was the victim in that murder, but it wasn’t Oscar, and I don’t think any of us ever suspected the real killer.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my full attention now,” Cassie teased. “What happened?”

  Kelly took a sip of coffee. “Go ahead, Rosa. You’ve got the floor.”

  Rosa smiled. “All right. I was going to hand off to all you folks, but a lot of memories are coming back now. As I remember, Zoe was killed at night over in that large Presbyterian church parking lot on Taft Hill Road. She had gone there to teach a knitting class and was sitting in her car later that night when someone came up to her car and shot her in the head.”

  “Why in the world would she be sitting in her car late at night?” Cassie asked. “That sounds a little scary to me. Especially since Zoe knew that scumbag Oscar could be creeping around, looking for her.”

  “That’s a good point,” Rosa said, smiling at Cassie. “Zoe was supposed to be waiting for one of the staff at the battered women’s shelter to drive over and escort her back to the shelter where she would be safe. But apparently the women’s shelter had received a phone call that night instructing the shelter staff person not to show up at the church until ten thirty. That was about an hour later than usual. Zoe would naturally wait for the escort to show up before she drove off. So that’s why she was still waiting in her car late at night when the murderer came.”

  “And the murderer was . . . ?” Cassie teased.

  Rosa grinned. “The murderer was a quiet, modest seamstress named Vera who also did a lot of sewing for Lambspun customers.”

  Cassie blinked. “What? A seamstress killed Zoe?”

  “An older lady who had been harboring a huge grudge against Zoe for years,” Jennifer supplied as her fingers rapidly worked the bright yarn.

  “What kind of grudge? What did Zoe do to this Vera?” Cassie asked.

  “Zoe stole one of Vera’s original bridal designs,” Rosa answered. “Vera told all of us at Lambspun that Zoe had come to work in Vera’s sewing business years ago, and when a national bridal magazine held a big contest for bridal fashion designs, Vera was going to submit a beautiful bridesmaid dress design. One of her own original designs. But she was shocked to learn that Zoe had already sent in that very same design to the national magazine some weeks earlier, and Zoe had been one of the top ten designers selected. Their designs were published in the magazine, and Zoe’s reputation blossomed. So much so that she left Vera and started her own designer seamstress business, which became very successful, thanks to a lot of Lambspun customers.”

  “Whoa . . .” Cassie said, a frown puckering her face. “That was really unfair and dishonest. Didn’t anyone ever call out Zoe on her cheating?”

  “Not really,” Jennifer replied. “By the time poor Vera found out and told all of us about it, the national contests were all finished and so was the magazine publicity. We all felt really bad for Vera. She kept this picture of her design in her purse as well as a copy of the magazine with the contest winners, and she would bring out her picture and put it next to the magazine and show us the similarity.” Jennifer released a long sigh.

  “I still remember looking at her picture and Zoe’s design in the magazine,” Kelly said. “And I have to admit, those designs were identical.”

  “I think poor Vera went a little off when all that was going on,” Rosa said, more rows of stitches appearing on her needles. “To murder Zoe like that, she must have lost touch with reality.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying someone’s gone a little crazy, Cassie,” Jennifer said.

  “It sure sounds like it,” Cassie said. “Is Vera in a women’s prison or something?”

  “Yes, there’s a women’s correctional facility in the state of Colorado,” Rosa added. “That was such a sad story. It still gets me down to think about it.”

 
; “Okay, then let’s leave the cheated seamstress case and move to the next,” Cassie suggested. “What murder happened after that?”

  “Let’s see . . .” Jennifer pondered as she wrapped the yarn and slipped a stitch off her needles. “After Zoe, after Zoe. Oh, I know. That was when Burt and Mimi remodeled the old garage. They hired a really good builder named Hal Nelson to repair the building so they could bring in all sorts of fleeces and spun yarns to offer for sale.”

  “Ohhhhh yes, and Hal Nelson was using good guy Malcolm whom Jayleen had been helping over at the Mission,” Kelly remarked. “So I recognized Malcolm when I saw him working with Hal Nelson as they first started repairing the building.”

  “Hal Nelson was a good man,” Rosa said. “He was always trying to give people a second chance, particularly men who had lapsed into alcoholism. I remember talking to him once, and he mentioned that Malcolm’s family had lost everything when that Ponzi scheme con artist came into town years ago. Malcolm had actually been working in investments with a company, so naturally, Malcolm felt responsible when everybody lost money.”

  “Jared Rizzoli was that con artist’s name,” Megan said as she walked back into the room. “And a lot of people lost their life savings and everything when Rizzoli first came into town. Someone’s father shot himself when he learned he and his family were wiped out. Who was it?”

  “Oh yes, it was Barbara’s mother, Madge, who told us her husband, Barbara’s dad, killed himself after his family’s savings were all wiped out,” Jennifer said. “And I remember watching Barbara storm out into the garden patio one morning to confront Rizzoli. Wow, she was shaking, she was so mad. She blamed him for her father’s suicide and everything.”