Maggie Sefton

by Knit One, Kill Two (lit)

  “Here you go, boy. All yours,” Steve called and threw several golf balls into the yard. Carl responded with an excited bark and raced off to catch them as Steve approached Kelly. “Maybe these old balls will keep him off the course.”

  Kelly had already forgotten. “Yeah, thanks. Let’s hope it works.”

  “Let’s hope,” Steve said with a grin as he reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a golf ball. “I rescued these a minute ago. Carl had six of them.”

  Kelly winced. “Darn it! I was hoping—”

  “What? That he’d heed your lecture?”

  Kelly scowled at him, which seemed to amuse Steve to no end. He actually grinned wider. Brother, this guy annoyed her on purpose. What was with him, anyway? She took a deep breath. “Noooo, I was hoping he’d get bored and stop, I guess.”

  “Why would he? It’s a fun game. He steals balls. You fuss at him. Do you scowl at him the same way? I mean, like you are right now?” Steve laughed. “Face it, Kelly. You’re fun to tease.”

  Of course, that only made Kelly scowl more, which made Steve laugh even more. “Don’t you have something better to do than stand here and be annoying?” She challenged.

  “Matter of fact, yes. I’m going to throw these balls back onto the course so the golfers can find them, then go take Mimi to see some cabinets,” Steve said as he turned to leave, then stopped. “Uh oh. Too late. I think Carl’s busted.”

  To Kelly’s dismay she spied three male golfers striding off the edge of the greens and headed right toward them. One man, in plaid slacks, pointed at them with his golf club. When he drew closer, Kelly could see he didn’t look happy.

  “Hey! Are those my golf balls? Dammit! I’ve been looking for them,” he yelled as he strode up.

  “No, Mr. Houston, those are some old balls of mine,” Steve answered congenially, pointing toward the balls scattered about the yard. “I was about to place yours on the greens now. The dog’s new to the neighborhood, and I’m sure the balls were just too tempting. He’ll settle down.”

  “Settle down, my ass!” Houston yelled, clearly furious. “I’ve been losing balls all week because of him.”

  Kelly noticed his two middle-aged golfing companions hung back from the fray a few feet and stared at the ground. The balding man shook his head and grinned at his taller, better-dressed companion.

  “It’s your lousy slice, Frank, that’s been losing the balls,” Baldie taunted. “The dog’s just doing what comes naturally. Chasing balls.” Then he and his natty friend snickered in unison.

  Watching Houston’s face flush even redder, Kelly spoke up. “Mister, I apologize for my dog—”

  Houston cut her off, jabbing his club toward Carl. “That mangy hound has no business stealing my golf balls just because they roll over here. I’m going to report him!”

  Watching the club’s movement, Carl burst into a ferocious, snarling bark, glaring right at Houston. Houston jumped back.

  “See? He’s vicious! Look at him!” he yelled, which only made Carl bark more.

  “Carl, easy!” Kelly commanded, hand raised, as she stepped between Houston and her dog.

  “For God’s sake, Frank, put the club down!” Well-Dressed yelled. “You’re deliberately provoking him.”

  “Yeah, Frank,” Baldie interjected. “You’re on his turf now. If you wanta discuss territorial imperative with a Rottweiler, go ahead. We’ll pick up the pieces.”

  Oh, great, Kelly worried. They’ve already put Carl into the killer Rottie category.

  “Carl has never attacked anyone before, I assure you,” she swore, hoping to convince them.

  “He’s vicious, I tell you! Vicious, and I’m gonna report him—”

  “Look, Mr. Houston,” Steve interrupted, stepping forward. “I can vouch for the dog myself. He’s not vicious, are you, Carl?” Steve placed one hand on the fence and gestured to Carl. Carl obliged instantly by standing up, paws on fence, so Steve could rub his head. Steve patted Carl with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other, withdrawing the stolen golf balls. “Here you go,” he offered them to Houston. “Now, I’ve got a much better way to solve this. Why don’t—”

  “Look at that!” Houston exclaimed, staring at the balls. “Tooth marks on my new Titleists! I just bought these.” His companions snickered behind their golf gloves.

  “I’ve got a better way to solve this, Mr. Houston,” Steve offered. “Let me help with that slice of yours. See if we can reduce the angle a little. You’re almost on the green now—”

  “By about fifty yards,” Baldie said with a derisive snort.

  “And with a little tweaking, we can get you straightened out, I’m positive,” Steve continued, barely missing a beat.

  “You giving free lessons, Steve?” Well-Dressed inquired with a smile. “If so, sign me up.”

  “On special occasions, Alan,” Steve replied.

  “What’s so special about this?”

  Steve shrugged. “I like the dog and don’t want to see him get a bad rep.”

  Kelly watched this exchange with fascination. The older men were paying careful attention to Steve, as if his offer of golf lessons was a big deal. Even Houston had calmed down. Brother, Steve must be one heckuva golf instructor.

  “You serious about those lessons?” Houston peered at Steve.

  “Absolutely.”

  “What if it takes more than one lesson?” he bargained with an oily smile.

  “Then it takes more than one.”

  “Jeez, Frank, don’t push it,” Baldie jabbed. “Take the lessons and leave the dog alone.”

  Houston scowled at Carl, who returned the favor. “Okay, I’ll take you up on the offer. When can we start?”

  “I’ll check my schedule and give you a call,” Steve said. “Got a card?” Houston searched his pocket and obliged.

  Kelly felt the ball of tension in her stomach start to recede, until she heard a woman’s voice call out.

  “Hallloo! Excuse me? Are you gentlemen searching for golf balls, I hope?”

  Oh no,Kelly thought as she watched a very pretty blonde, attired completely in pink shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes walk up, dangling a golf club side to side.

  “I seem to have lost mine,” she declared. “It’s so embarrassing. I’ve just started lessons, and I’m absolutely awful! I declare, I’ll never master this game. I don’t know how I hit one all the way over here.”

  “Frank, why don’t you check those,” Baldie ordered, pointing to Houston’s toothmarked balls. “Maybe one of them is hers.”

  “Oh, no,” she shook her golden head. “Mine are specially marked, and they’re pink. That’s so I can’t lose them.”

  “Good idea, ma’am,” Steve said with a lazy smile. Well-Dressed hid his laughter behind a sudden cough.

  “I’ll be sure to look for it, ma’am,” Kelly offered. “I’m afraid my dog has been tempted by the flying balls and—” She paused, watching Carl suddenly bound over to the corner of the yard and nose behind the flowerpots, then trot back to the fence.

  “What the—?” she said, staring at the object in Carl’s mouth. “Carl, what have you got?” She held out her hand. Carl obediently dropped a pink golf ball into her palm.

  “Oh, my!” Pinkie exclaimed. “He found my ball. What a nice doggie.” And she reached out to pat Carl on the head. Carl slurped her hand while everyone except Frank Houston laughed out loud.

  Kelly walked up the narrow sidewalk leading to Martha’s front porch. The concrete was cracked and broken in places, she noticed, and the little frame house was badly in need of paint. However, the gardens were immaculately tidy and filled with blooming plants. Splashy bright tulips—red, yellow, purple—reached for the sun. She glanced about the older neighborhood streets. Kelly hadn’t been in Landport for years, usually passing straight through on the way into the canyons. As a small, northern bedroom community for Fort Connor, the pace was slower and appealed to many who wanted out of the traffic and ever-increasing develo
pment to the south.

  As Kelly started up the creaky wooden steps, she heard the squeak of a screen door opening. Martha appeared in the doorway, in a pale-blue cotton housedress and bedroom slippers.

  “Hello, Kelly, come in. I’ve made us a pot of tea,” she greeted and held the screen door wide.

  “Thanks, Martha, that’s sweet of you,” Kelly said as she entered. Then she held out a slim rectangular box. “I brought these. They’re from that fancy chocolate shop in Old Town.”

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet, Kelly. Thank you.” Martha’s thin face brightened with a smile. “You settle into a comfy chair, and I’ll bring our tea.” She placed the chocolates on the dining room table as she walked past.

  Kelly glanced about the sparsely furnished living room and dining room and noticed a familiar chair beside the floor lamp. She headed straight for it and sat down, immediately sinking another two inches lower. She remembered this chair. It was Uncle Jim’s and was one of Kelly’s favorite spots to read when she was a child. She ran her fingers over the worn upholstery with fond recollection of enjoyable hours spent there.

  Helen must have given it to Martha years ago, she mused, scrutinizing the other furniture as well. By the time Martha emerged with a small tea tray in one hand, Kelly had identified three chairs and two end tables that once resided at her aunt’s. She wondered if Helen had provided all the furniture. Didn’t Martha have furniture of her own? Kelly also couldn’t help noticing the definite absence of a common item in most elderly women’s homes: knickknacks.

  There were none on the fireplace mantle or on the shelves. Lacy crocheted doilies adorned the backs of chairs and shelves instead. As for framed pictures, there was only one hanging on the wall. It looked to be an enlarged photo of Helen and Jim. Every older home of this vintage that Kelly had visited over the years had its walls covered with family portraits and modern photos. Memories recaptured. Where were Martha’s family photos? Where were Martha’s memories?

  Martha crossed the living room, teacup in hand. “Here you go, my dear.” She offered the cup to Kelly. “I’ve put some cream and sugar in it already. Is that all right?”

  Not really, but Kelly would bite her tongue before saying so. “That’s fine, Martha,” she lied as she accepted the cup. “Come, sit. Stop fussing about me.”

  Martha took her cup and settled into a high-backed maple rocking chair. Kelly noticed she steadied the saucer against her left hand while she held the cup with her right and wondered how she’d injured her arm. But then, Kelly had so many questions she didn’t know where to begin. Meanwhile, Martha rocked quietly and sipped her tea, studying Kelly.

  “I can see you’ve got a lot of questions, Kelly,” Martha spoke up. “Foremost, you’re probably wondering why Helen never told you about me.”

  “Ahhh, yes,” Kelly said, relieved Martha initiated the subject. “I have to admit I’m curious. Helen always said she was the only one left in Colorado.”

  A smile sparked briefly on Martha’s thin face, then was gone. “Well, I guess that’s technically true. I lived my whole life in Wyoming.”

  Kelly gestured toward the empty walls. “I was actually hoping you had some photos or family albums. It would be wonderful to see some of these relatives. Do you have any photos at all?”

  A cloud passed across Martha’s face. “Yes, I had many albums and pictures, Kelly. A lifetime’s worth. But they’re all back in Wyoming. Back in what was once my home.” She sipped her tea.

  “What happened? Did you lose your home?” Kelly asked, intrigued by the cryptic reply.

  Martha set her empty teacup on an end table and folded her hands in her lap before she settled a somber gaze on Kelly. “No, I walked away from it. Ran, actually. In the middle of the night. I literally took the clothes on my back and my purse, that’s all. You see, my husband’s drinking had increased over the years, and he started hitting me. Just a slap at first, but it got worse each time. I won’t go into the details, they’re still too painful. But one night, four years ago, he broke my arm, then he passed out on the sofa, drunk. That night, I knew I had to escape, or he might kill me the next time. I ran five miles down the road to the closest neighbor and begged them to drive me to Cheyenne. There, I called Helen. She’d always said to call if I ever needed her. Bless her soul, she drove up to get me that very night.”

  Kelly sat mute, stunned by what she heard.

  Martha continued. “Helen took me to the hospital in Fort Connor, then helped me find this place, and even paid the rent until I got my Social Security checks again. She asked her lawyer, Mr. Chambers, to help me. You see, I was deathly afraid of my husband discovering where I was. So, Mr. Chambers handled everything, dear man.” She rocked silently, staring ahead.

  Kelly sat in silence, questions bombarding her inside. “Martha, I’m so sorry,” she said finally. “Trust me, I will never divulge your whereabouts to a living soul, I swear.”

  Martha’s thin face relaxed visibly. “Thank you, Kelly. You’re truly as caring as Helen always said you were. But we no longer have to worry. I read in the Wyoming papers last January that my husband had died. Drinking, of course. He ran his truck off the road and crashed into some boulders one night. He died instantly, the paper said.” Her voice trailed off wistfully. “It was so very sad and such a waste. He really was a good man at heart. It was the drink that did it.”

  Kelly held her tongue and decided to turn the conversation toward the future, not the past. “Has Mr. Chambers checked into your inheritance rights, Martha? You and your husband were still married, right?”

  A smile played with the corners of Martha’s mouth. “Ever the accountant, aren’t you, Kelly? Helen depended on your cool head and sharp mind. Yes, Mr. Chambers is looking into the estate for me. Again, for free. I can never repay that man.”

  “Are your children in Wyoming?”

  Martha’s smile vanished. “In a matter of speaking. Our only child, our son, Ronald, died when he was only seventeen. He was driving too fast on one of the country roads. He’s buried there on our land.” Her voice faded away.

  Kelly sat and sipped the sugary tea, choosing her words. She hadn’t expected to hear a story such as this. “Martha, I will be happy to help you in any way I can,” she said finally. “When Mr. Chambers finishes with the estate settlement, I’ll do your taxes, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, would you? That would be so helpful. I confess I’ve never had a head for business. Ralph always handled that, including our taxes.”

  Kelly paused, forming her next question. The possibility that Helen had intended the loan money for Martha had been niggling in her mind ever since she’d learned of Martha’s existence. Maybe she could work into it.

  “How is your health, Martha?” she ventured. “I mean, does your arm give you any trouble? I notice you favor it.”

  In affirmation, Martha stroked her left arm gently. “It twinges when the weather changes. And of course, I no longer have the same use of it that I used to. But I’ve adjusted. I’ve even learned how to open jars.” She lifted her chin a bit, Kelly noticed.

  “So, your health is good, then,” she continued to probe. “I mean, your heart and everything?”

  Martha almost looked amused. “Yes, indeed, it is. I know I look frail, and the arm adds to that, but inside I’m strong as an ox, Kelly. I used to work sunup to sundown on the farm years ago. Kept me healthy, I guess. Why do you ask?”

  Kelly let out a sigh. “Well, to be honest, I was wondering if you held the answer to something that’s puzzling me. You see, I learned last week that Helen had refinanced the mortgage on her cottage and withdrawn a large amount of money. She never told me she planned to do that. So I was trying to figure out why she’d need the money and not tell me.” Kelly stared through the tall living room window, not really seeing the trees outside. “When I heard about you and met you briefly in church, I confess, I thought perhaps she’d intended the money for you. And maybe you needed it for . . . for something.” She ge
stured in an attempt to explain. “Maybe you needed an operation or surgery . . . I don’t know.”

  “Money? H-how much m-money?” Martha whispered, her face completely drained of color.

  Kelly glanced back at the sound of concern and set her tea cup on the table immediately. It was a good thing Martha had said she was healthy, because she looked as if she was about to pass out that minute. “Martha, are you alright?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. “Tell me about this money again. When did Helen withdraw it?”

  That cold feeling returned to Kelly’s gut. Clearly, Martha knew nothing about Helen’s large withdrawal. The neat and tidy answer to the money puzzle had been eliminated, leaving Kelly once again with her nagging doubts. “Helen never told you she was taking out another mortgage and withdrawing cash?” she probed.

  “Never. When did this occur?”

  “Chambers said she called him the very day of her death and told him she’d just received the check from the loan company. He also said he never dreamed she’d cash it that afternoon.”

  “That was the day she was murdered?” Martha looked truly horrified now.

  “Yes. That’s the thing that bothers me the most. The very day she cashes a check for twenty thousand dollars, someone just happens to break into her house and kills her.” Kelly deliberately let the lingering resentment seep into her voice.

  Martha sat bolt upright in the rocking chair. “ Twenty thousand dollars!” she exclaimed, eyes as round as saucers.

  “That was my reaction, too,” Kelly declared. “Frankly, I was hoping you were the answer. Now, I’m left with all my nagging doubts about her death.”

  “What do you mean, Kelly?” Martha asked, concern evident on her face. “The police have the wretched man responsible for her death. He’s in jail, I thought.”

  “The man in jail is a vagrant the police saw running away from the vicinity that night. They’re convinced he’s the killer because he has a history of drunken violence.” She screwed up her face. “He has no recollection, of course. And on top of that, all the money is missing. Not a single bill was found at the house or near the river. And that doesn’t make sense to me, Martha. The police have all sorts of theories for how the money disappeared, but—”