Dyer Consequences

by Maggie Sefton

  Mimi looked up at Kelly, clearly distracted. "Yes . . . Rosa said she’ll call us.” Then she glanced back at Connie, who was holding a black and white winter ski jacket.

  Kelly couldn’t help noticing the concerned look on Connie’s face and sensed it had nothing to do with Rosa’s emergency call. “What’s wrong? You two look kind of funny,” she said with a half smile.

  Mimi stared at the counter, her brow furrowed, and Connie spoke in a hushed tone. “Rosa found this jacket when we were clearing out Pete’s side of the basement. It had fallen beside the coatrack in his back room and was completely covered with trash. I recognized it immediately. It’s Tracy’s. She was wearing it that afternoon, the last time she came to the shop.”

  Mimi turned away from Connie—and the jacket— clearly disturbed by the reference to Tracy’s last night alive. Connie hastened around the corner. “Don’t worry, Mimi, I’ll take it away. Burt can give it to the police.”

  “Here, give it to me,” Kelly offered, reaching for the jacket. “You folks are busy in the shop. I’ll take it to my cottage. Burt can pick it up there.”

  Mimi gave Kelly and Connie a quick smile. “Thanks, girls. I appreciate that. It . . . it brings back memories.”

  Kelly headed for the front door again. Boy, she was getting lots of practice walking outside today. Her crutch was splattered halfway up already with mud from her travels. As she clumped quickly around the yarn bins, Kelly felt positively elated. Speed. Yes. She was moving faster, she could tell. Why, at this rate, she could do without her crutch earlier than six weeks. Maybe.

  “Whoa, look at you!” Megan exclaimed as she entered the shop and wiped mud from her boots. “Three weeks since the crash, and you’re down to one crutch already. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Lisa.”

  “I’m a one-crutch wonder, all right. I helped Rosa take trash to the dumpster, and I even drove her car out of the way of the trash truck,” Kelly bragged.

  Megan’s eyes popped wide. "No! How could you drive with your sprained ankle? That must have hurt like the devil.”

  Kelly shook her head. “Nope. Didn’t hurt at all. I’m thinking that ankle wasn’t sprained as badly as the doctor thought. Whatever, I’m grateful.”

  “Well, don’t throw that crutch away yet.” Megan pointed. “Whose coat is that?”

  Kelly lowered her voice. “It’s Tracy’s. Rosa found it in the basement. I’m taking it to my place and out of Mimi’s sight until Burt can give it to the cops.” Suddenly remembering her conversation with Burt the other day, Kelly beckoned. “If you’ve got a minute, Megan, I could use your help on the computer.”

  “Sure, what do you need?” Megan said, following Kelly through the doorway.

  “I need to check out someone on the Web, and you’re a master at that. Some strange coincidences have shown up in the canyon. Cars and trucks moving around. Different owners. All living at the same address.”

  “Coincidence?” Megan asked with a puzzled tone.

  “Yeah. The only thing is, neither Burt nor I believe in coincidences.”

  Kelly leaned away from her own laptop and peered at Megan’s laptop screen. Megan was seated at the edge of Kelly’s desk in the sunny dining room corner. Dueling lap-tops. A sign of the times. Can there be too much information? Apparently not.

  “What site are you on?” she asked, pointing to Megan’s screen.

  “It’s a controlled-access site for state agencies. Don’t even ask. I’m checking how many Lesters show up there. Let’s see, there’s a William B. Lester. That’s all.”

  Rats. She and Megan were striking out. Robert J. Lester didn’t show up on anything other than the auto registration records. No property records of any kind. And so far there was only one property owner recorded for 15432 County Road 11 in Colorado Springs. Carolyn Becker.

  “Darn it,” Kelly complained. “I was hoping we’d find something more on this guy. We know Geri Norbert is secluded in a treatment facility, and her sister, Carolyn Becker, lives in Colorado Springs. Lester is the only one from that address who’s been connected to the canyon. That truck and the Toyota don’t park themselves at night. It’s got to be him. I just wish we could find out something about him.”

  Megan nodded, her attention still on the screen. “I know it’s frustrating, Kelly, but a lot of Web searches turn out this way. Some databases are restricted, too. So we can’t access those.” She checked her watch. “Oops, I’ve gotta get back to my own stuff. Let me work on this some more tonight, okay?”

  Kelly checked her own watch and was shocked by the time. Web searches ate up the clock. “Yikes, you’re right. Gotta get back to my accounts. Hey, you’re welcome to keep working right here, Megan. My coffee isn’t as good as Eduardo’s but thanks to you guys, my fridge is full of leftovers.”

  Nineteen

  “Fill ’er up, Eduardo. High octane, please,” Kelly requested as she dangled her coffee mug over the counter. “Where’s Jennifer? Isn’t she working the morning shift in the café anymore?”

  “I think she’s out with her real estate clients,” Eduardo said, pouring a dark stream into the mug. “Pete said she’ll try to make it in for the lunch shift. Those clients have kept her busier than usual this winter.”

  An aromatic plume wafted toward Kelly and she inhaled the seductive, rich scent of strong coffee. “Mmm, thanks, Eduardo. Now I can return to those numbers that are giving me such trouble.”

  Eduardo shook his head, grinning. “Be careful with those numbers, Kelly. They’re always changing.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” she said, noticing Burt enter the café from an outside door. “Hey, Burt, what’s up? You got any more information on J. D. Franklin?”

  Burt did not return her smile. “Nothing yet, Kelly. But I do have something else to tell you. Why don’t we find a quiet table?”

  No smile meant Burt had something serious to share, so Kelly gestured to a table at the end of the café. “Sure, I’ve already started working over here in the corner. I’m taking turns working at home and working over here. Trying to wean myself away from the shop’s warm and fuzzies, I guess. It’s kind of hard to concentrate on numbers with customers fondling yarns all around you.”

  She managed to move herself and the coffee across the café fairly speedily for a woman on a crutch. Balancing on her good foot, Kelly executed her “plop sit” into a chair.

  “Looks like you’re getting around pretty good now. You amaze me, Kelly,” Burt said in admiration.

  “That’s me, Amazing Kelly. Kelly-on-a-Crutch.” She grinned as Burt pulled up a chair beside her. “Now, what’s up? I can tell it’s something important from the expression on your face.” She took a deep drink of Eduardo’s brew and savored the tangy burn as it went down her throat.

  “Yeah, it is. Don called me this morning. He spotted the gray pickup at one of the canyon ranches like he thought he would. He even drove up and asked the young man some questions.”

  Kelly sat bolt upright. “Really? That’s fantastic! Way to go, Deputy Don!” She held up her mug in salute. “So, who the hell is this Lester?”

  “He’s the young ranch hand who works for you, Kelly. It’s Bobby. Don had a printout of the license photo, and he said it’s a match. Bobby is Robert J. Lester.”

  Kelly stared at Burt in disbelief. “What?”

  “I know. I had the same reaction. So did Don. That’s why he didn’t let on he was suspicious. He asked Bobby if there’d been any fires set on the ranch since the last one and acted like he thought it was some squatter spending the night. Apparently Bobby was real friendly and calm. Didn’t act suspicious at all. He told Don there’d been no more trouble at the ranch since he’d started keeping watch at night. He even gave Don your phone number in case he had more questions.”

  “But I’ve been writing checks to him as Bobby Smith for weeks.”

  Burt gave her a wry smile. “And all he had to do was go to your bank, show a fake ID, and cash the checks. No problem.”

/>   Her mind spinning a mile a minute, Kelly stared through the window behind Burt. Bright sunshine was steadily melting the snow-covered golf course. Spring wanted to come, badly.

  Bobby. Bobby Smith. Robert J. Lester. One and the same. Images of Bobby smiling and talking, helping with the animals, taking care of the ranch, her ranch. Friendly Bobby. Smiling Bobby. Sincere Bobby. Helpful Bobby. There was never a clue that Bobby was anything other than what he appeared to be—a friendly, young Colorado cowboy who loved working on a ranch. Helpful, hardworking...

  “Son of a—” Kelly bit off the stream of her dad’s favorite Navy curses. Meanwhile, each and every colorful invective ricocheted through her head. “That bastard!” she hissed. “It’s been him all along. Sneaking around, trashing my place, spying on me. He nearly killed Carl, and he damn near killed me! Dammit, Burt! I want to be there when Don arrests him! Let’s go get him now!” She grabbed for her crutch.

  “Hold on there, Kelly,” Burt said, reaching out to stop her. “We can’t charge Bobby with anything. It’s not against the law to own a truck and a car in the canyon, even if you do move them around at night and park on someone else’s property. There’s no proof that Bobby did anything. Nothing can be traced to him.”

  “Of course it’s him!” she argued. “He was using that Toyota so I wouldn’t see him spying on me. Dammit! That’s why I didn’t see him anywhere around when I drove up to the ranch. I’ll bet he parked that Toyota in the trees and was waiting for me to show up. Bastard!”

  “Still, there’s no connection between Bobby and anything that happened in the canyon, let alone here in town. Not the vandalism, not the killing of that woman’s dog, not Carl’s poisoning, not even the cutting of your brakes. Nothing. So far, he’s been clever as hell.”

  Anger shot up Kelly’s spine like a righteous fire. “But that’s not right!” she said louder, causing heads to turn at the other end of the café. “He can’t get away with that, can he? He deliberately cut those brakes, Burt. I could be dead! That’s attempted murder, isn’t it?”

  Burt shook his head with a rueful smile. “There’s no proof he did it, Kelly. Even if there was, it wouldn’t prove attempted murder. He could say he simply wanted to scare you enough to dump the property.”

  Kelly scowled through the window. Scowled at the sunshine. Scowled at the snow melting on the golf course and the dead patches of grass showing through. “Damn it, Burt, there’s got to be something we can do.”

  “Don’t worry, Kelly. The cops will find a connection. They always do. Bobby’s left other loose ends dangling somewhere, and the police will find them. Maybe Deputy Don will, who knows? He’s taking this case to heart.”

  Another wave of Navy invective washed over Kelly, pushing for release. “Bastard!” she muttered before taking a deep drink, trying to quench her anger with coffee. But even coffee could not quench this fire. “And there’s nothing on him in police records? This guy went straight from upright citizen to trashing houses, killing dogs, and threatening me?”

  “Well, not quite. We have found evidence of juvenile records. Nothing serious, though. But at least that points to a history of troublemaking. Apparently, he’s kept his nose clean since then. No charges of any kind. A couple of speeding tickets is all.”

  Kelly snorted. “Troublemaking. I’ll say. Trying to kill people, you mean.”

  A familiar tune sounded, and Kelly recognized Burt’s cell phone. “I’ll talk to you later, Kelly. Don’t worry, Bobby will slip up, and they’ll get him,” Burt said as he rose from the chair.

  Kelly watched Burt head outside into the sunshine, cell phone to his ear. “Slip up,” huh? She’d like to help that bastard slip up.

  “What the heck are you doing, Kelly?” Jennifer’s voice called across the driveway.

  Kelly didn’t stop her pacing to answer. Her clumping pacing, that is. Mud splattered up to the knees of her sweat-pants, she’d been clumping along with one crutch from one end of the Lambspun driveway to the other for the last hour. And getting madder and madder by the minute.

  “I’m trying to calm down, but it’s not working,” she told Jennifer when she approached. “You got my phone message?”

  “Yes, I did,” Jennifer said, slipping a hand into her bright green winter coat as she walked beside Kelly. “Your instructions were loud and clear. Emphasis on loud. I’ll make sure I don’t mention anything about Bobby at the office. But I’m afraid I won’t call J. D. Franklin and tell him his buyers can shove their last offer up their butts.”

  “Why not?” Kelly snapped, still pacing. Jennifer stopped on the sidewalk, watching her.

  “Professional courtesy and all that. Even I have my standards, ” she said with a smile. “Besides, our delay strategy is working. Franklin called this morning and said his clients wanted to know—”

  “Screw them!”

  “—if you planned to accept their last offer by tonight’s deadline or make a counteroffer of your own. So, I think we should continue to drag out the process.” Jennifer stared off toward the empty golf course. “What I really wish is that the police would find someone who saw Franklin and Tracy together.”

  Kelly paused her angry walking for a moment. “So do I, Jennifer.”

  “Meanwhile, let’s get back to real estate business. We’ll wait until the last minute tonight to respond to their offer with another counter and give them a week to respond. We’ll be inching away from the top price, while they inch away from the bottom. I sense they assume we’ll eventually settle closer to their price, so they’ll keep making counters. If you really get sick of dealing with them, simply ignore their last offer.”

  “That’s all?”

  Jennifer nodded. “As soon as they submit a counteroffer, your previous offer is null and void, like it never existed. Then all you have to do is let the deadline expire on their offer. So, what do you say? Let’s give the police more time to dig up stuff on these people, okay?”

  Kelly scowled at the mud. “They’re scheming, devious, bastards, just like Geri Norbert. That whole family must have inherited lying, cheating, and stealing genes. I’d like to go down there—”

  “And what? Beat them with your crutch? C’mon, Kelly. There’s nothing you can do, because you can’t prove anything. Has it occurred to you that all of this might be some gigantic coincidence?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences and neither does Burt. Bobby and that family are behind all these incidents . . . these crimes!” Her hand jerked out in frustration. “Trashing my house and car, poisoning Carl, killing that woman’s dog, and damn near killing me!” Kelly returned to her pacing, while Jennifer stared at the ground.

  “I agree these people definitely want to buy Geri Norbert’s ranch. Whether they’re the same family or friends, who knows? And maybe they are the ones who’ve got a vendetta against you.”

  “Vendetta is right. They’re out to get me, I swear.”

  “Maybe and maybe not. Face it, Kelly. There are other people out there who probably hold a grudge against you. Geri Norbert isn’t the only person you helped put in jail.”

  Kelly stopped her pacing and turned to face Jennifer. Early afternoon sunshine streamed down, making even the mud sparkle. She was aware of the cold breeze against her cheeks, the smell of mud. “What do you mean?”

  “I remember your saying Lieutenant Morrison reminded you that you’ve been responsible for leading the police to four different killers. If not for you, Kelly, those people would have gotten away with murder.”

  “What are you saying, Jen? That there are several people in Fort Connor who hate me? Gee, thanks. That really makes me feel good.”

  “No, I’m not saying that . . . exactly. I just wish you’d be more careful. You scare me sometimes. You scare all of us. You get right in people’s faces, Kelly. You make them say things, admit to things, trip them up. I’ve watched you. You’re relentless.” Jennifer stared off toward the golf course. “Maybe Bobby and that crew from Colorado Springs are be
hind all the trouble. They probably are, and I hope they’ll slip up so the cops will catch them. But part of me is afraid you’ve pissed off somebody else, some psycho who’s lurking around town.”

  Kelly tried to capture the image that Jennifer described, but it wouldn’t come into focus. A psycho lurking in Fort Connor who was out to get her? Her analytical side spoke up. Riiiight.

  She couldn’t help but smile, even though she could tell Jennifer was serious. “A psycho, huh? Boy, Jen, I don’t know if I can handle that or not. What with Jayleen’s ‘bad juju’ and now you with some stray psycho, I might as well hide at home in my cottage and never come out.”

  “Hey, Megan, what’s up?” Kelly said into her phone as she continued tabbing through the accounting spreadsheet on her computer.

  “I’ve found something else about Robert J. Lester. My friend who works for the university was able to access enrollment records for previous years. It seems Lester was a student at the branch near Colorado Springs a couple of years ago. He took a course in ranch management but didn’t finish. Dropped out. And he’s not registered now.”

  “Well, well,” Kelly said as she leaned back in her office chair. Carl padded across the dining room floor and rested his chin on her knee, waiting for a head rub.

  “She also checked the name Bobby Smith, but nothing showed up.”

  Kelly gave an exasperated sigh. Then an idea suddenly pushed itself forward. “Hey, Megan, if you’re online, could you check the main university directory, please? The one here in town. Check the separate departments and see which one teaches courses on ranch management.”

  “Sure, hold on a sec.”

  Kelly sipped the last of Eduardo’s coffee and rubbed Carl’s silky soft ears. Carl offered first one ear, then the next. Meanwhile, the sound of Megan’s keyboard clicking away drifted over the phone.

  “Okay, got it. There’s a Department of Forestry, Range-land, and Park Management. Now, what?”

  “See what courses they have in ranch management this semester and who the professors are.”