Dropped Dead Stitch Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Jennifer’s Afghan

  Author’s Note on Recipes

  Nancy’s Butternut Squash Soup

  Diane’s Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Maggie Sefton

  KNIT ONE, KILL TWO

  NEEDLED TO DEATH

  A DEADLY YARN

  A KILLER STITCH

  DYER CONSEQUENCES

  FLEECE NAVIDAD

  DROPPED DEAD STITCH

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Copyright © 2009 by Margaret Conlan Aunon.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sefton, Maggie.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-05737-7

  1. Flynn, Kelly (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Knitters (Persons)—Fiction. 3. Murder—Colorado—Fiction. 4. Colorado—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.E37D76 2009

  813’.6—dc22

  2008054343

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Acknowledgments

  This was a special book to write in that it dealt with a very sensitive subject, and I wanted to make sure I handled it with sensitivity and respect.

  Special thanks go to a dear friend of mine who is also a PhD psychologist, author, lecturer, and retired faculty member of Purdue University, Dr. Kathryn N. Black. Dr. Black is one of the most gifted teachers and counselors I’ve ever met. And that’s saying a lot, since I’ve spent nearly thirty years living in academic communities. Dr. Black has counseled many patients over the years and was kind enough to share some of her insights with me.

  I also want to thank Ginger Mohs, a former detective with the Fort Collins Police Department. Ginger provided quite an education into criminal behaviors, including crimes committed, patterns of behavior, police procedures, as well as charges and sentencing. Ginger’s a great gal, and our “coffee consults” were as enjoyable as they were educational.

  Cast of Characters

  Kelly Flynn—financial accountant and part-time sleuth,

  refugee from East Coast corporate CPA firm

  Steve Townsend—architect and builder in Fort Connor,

  Colorado, and Kelly’s boyfriend

  KELLY’S FRIENDS:

  Jennifer Stroud—real estate agent, part-time waitress

  Lisa Gerrard—physical therapist

  Megan Smith—IT consultant, another corporate refugee

  Marty Harrington—lawyer, Megan’s boyfriend

  Greg Carruthers—university instructor, Lisa’s boyfriend

  Pete Wainwright—owner of Pete’s café in the back of Kelly’s

  favorite knitting shop, House of Lambspun

  LAMBSPUN FAMILY AND REGULARS:

  Mimi Shafer—Lambspun shop owner and knitting expert,

  known to Kelly and her friends as “Mother Mimi”

  Burt Parker—retired Fort Connor police detective, Lambspun

  spinner-in-residence

  Hilda and Lizzie von Steuben—spinster sisters, retired school

  teachers, and exquisite knitters

  Curt Stackhouse—Colorado rancher, Kelly’s mentor and

  advisor

  Jayleen Swinson—Alpaca rancher and Colorado Cowgirl

  Connie and Rosa—Lambspun shop personnel

  Prologue

  Early February

  Kelly Flynn jerked awake. Was that her cell phone ringing? The jangling noise sounded through the darkened cottage bedroom again.

  Who the heck would be calling in the middle of the night? Kelly fumbled beside the bed toward the nightstand, fingers searching for her phone.

  “Wha . . . phone . . . ?” her boyfriend, Steve Townsend, mumbled beside her.

  “Got it.” Kelly flipped open the little phone as she turned on the lamp. Sleep still clouded her eyes, so she couldn’t make out the name flashing on the phone’s view screen.

  “Kelly Flynn here. Who’s calling?” she demanded. Glancing at the bedside clock she saw the time. Two twenty. Not hearing a response, Kelly barked into the phone again. “If this is a crank call, I’m hanging up right—”

  A woman’s voice came, breathy. “Kelly, don’t hang up . . .”

  Kelly strained to hear, not recognizing the small voice. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me . . . Jen.”

  “Probably just a crank call. Hang up on ’em,” Steve said, propping himself on his elbow, squinting at the sudden light.

  Kelly shook her head and waved him quiet as she strained to hear her friend’s voice. “Jennifer, is that you? Are you all right?”

  There was a pause, then Jennifer whispered, “Can you come over, Kelly? Please . . .”

  Kelly sat up in bed and threw back the covers. “Sure I can. What’s the matter? Are you sick? That flu is going around.”

  “No . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . hurt . . .”

  “Jennifer needs to go to the doctor?” Steve said, sitting up now.

  Crossing the floor quickly, Kelly grabbed her jeans from the cl
oset and tried wiggling into them while she held the phone to her ear. “You hurt yourself? What happened?”

  “Not me . . . he . . . he . . .” Tears flooded Jennifer’s voice.

  Kelly held absolutely still in the middle of the bedroom, jeans half zipped, sweatshirt halfway over her head. A shot of cold ran right up her spine. “Someone hurt you, Jen? Who was it?”

  “Son of a bitch,” Steve swore as he leaped out of bed.

  Jennifer’s wet voice came again. “A guy at the bar followed me home.” An anguished choke. “Can you come over please?”

  “I’ll be right there,” Kelly said, pushing her arm through the backwards sweatshirt. “Lock your door.”

  “We’ll take my truck,” Steve said as he strode nude across the small bedroom.

  “Steve’s coming, Jen—”

  “No! I can’t see anyone else . . . not yet. Just you. Please, Kelly . . . please!”

  Kelly waved at Steve as he grabbed his discarded jeans from the chair. “Okay, Jen, whatever you say. I’ll come alone.”

  “Call when you’re at the door, so I’ll know it’s you.”

  “Don’t worry. I will. I’m leaving now, okay? See you in a few minutes,” she said as she flipped off her phone. “Jen says she can’t see anyone else right now. Just me.”

  “No way! What if that guy is still around?” Steve protested.

  “I’ll park right in front of the condo building. It’ll be okay,” Kelly reassured him. “I’ll call you as soon as I get there, I promise,” Kelly said as she headed toward the front of the cottage, Steve right behind her.

  “If I don’t hear from you in twenty minutes, Kelly, I swear to God, I’m driving over there,” Steve warned.

  Kelly pulled on her ski jacket and grabbed her bag. “Twenty minutes. Promise.”

  Kelly’s Rottweiler, Carl, raised his head from his doggie bed in the corner of the dining room and blinked at the conversation taking place in the middle of the night.

  “And find out that bastard’s name so I can beat him up.”

  “Go make some coffee and calm down.” She waved at him as she headed out the front door.

  “Yeah, right,” Steve called as Kelly carefully made her way down the icy, snow-packed front walk. Normally, the thought of coffee would send the caffeine lobe of her brain into alert. But right now, Kelly couldn’t feel anything except the cold inside her gut.

  Kelly stared at her best friend’s scratched, swollen face, the dark purplish bruises already forming on Jennifer’s neck. Kelly’s heart wrenched inside her. “Oh, Jen . . . I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Jennifer sat hunched on her living room sofa, wearing a dark sweat suit. She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap.

  “You said he followed you home. Did he break in or something?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “No . . . he knocked and said someone from the bar left something for me.” She raised her head and closed her eyes. “I should never have believed him. When I opened the door, he pushed inside and grabbed me.”

  Kelly placed her hand on Jennifer’s arm and squeezed. “Did you know him from the bar?”

  “No, I hadn’t seen him before tonight. I was there with friends, and when they left he came over and sat down beside me.” A pained expression crossed her face. “He was one of those cowboy charmers . . . you know, full of sweet talk and lies. I started flirting with him for a while until I went home. I guess I didn’t notice him following me.”

  Kelly noticed the bruising on Jennifer’s wrists, and the anger that was simmering inside heated to a boil. She sprang from the sofa. “We’ve got to get you to the hospital right now, Jen. You need to be treated.” She took out Jennifer’s shamrock green winter coat from the closet. “Here, Jen,” she said as she helped her friend from the sofa, then held the coat open.

  Jennifer slipped into the coat and took the purse Kelly offered.

  “I’d better give Steve another call on the way over so he’ll know where we’re going.” Taking Jennifer’s arm, she guided her toward the front door. “And when we’re at the hospital, we’re going to call the police. You’re pressing charges against the bastard who assaulted you.”

  Jennifer drew back, pulling away from Kelly, her face pale white beneath the ugly red scratches. “No! No! I can’t!” she cried.

  “Yes, you can, Jennifer.” Kelly reached for Jennifer’s arm again. “I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”

  Jennifer shook off Kelly’s hand and backed up. “I can’t press charges, Kelly. No one would believe me!”

  Kelly shook her head, trying to dismiss her friend’s fears. “Of course, they will, Jennifer—”

  “Of course they won’t!” Jennifer insisted. “I’m at the bar all the time, and I’m always leaving with guys. You know that. Face it, Kelly. Nobody would believe me if I said some guy raped me. They saw me drinking and joking around with him. They wouldn’t believe me, Kelly!”

  Kelly sought for an answer to Jennifer’s claims, searched for a way to refute them. She believed Jen and so would all of Jennifer’s closest friends. But those regular bar patrons, the “barflies” as Jen called them, they weren’t real friends. And maybe they wouldn’t believe her. Maybe Jennifer was right. “But, Jen . . .” she tried again.

  Jennifer’s face started to crumple, tears spilling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “They wouldn’t believe me, Kelly. They’d laugh . . . they’d laugh . . .” She choked back a sob.

  Kelly felt her heart break, and she opened her arms to her wounded friend. Jennifer collapsed against Kelly’s chest and wept, great wracking sobs shaking her body. Kelly held her friend as tears ran down her own face.

  One

  Early May, three months later

  Kelly yanked open the door to House of Lambspun, the knitting shop directly across the driveway from her cottage. Both cottage and knitting shop were identical in design—beige stucco, red-tiled roof, Spanish colonial. But where the cottage was getting cramped with Steve and Kelly bumping into each other, the sprawling knitting shop was spacious and inviting. Rooms opened and flowed one into another, and all of them spilled over with yarns and fibers.

  Springtime bright colors greeted Kelly as soon as she entered the foyer, beckoning her to touch. Fluffy balls of eyelash yarns—yellows, greens, reds—and glistening skeins of multihued ribbons, all waiting to be turned into scarves, warm weather tops, sleeveless vests, or whatever. Kelly fingered the soft fibers, stroking the ribbons as she passed by, getting her tactile “fix” for the day.

  She spied her friend Megan in the adjoining room, seated at the long library table where knitters, spinners, and other fiber workers regularly gathered. A bright yellow, loose-knit sweater was forming on Megan’s busy needles. “I’m glad to see someone else taking a break from the computer screen,” Kelly said as she deposited her coffee mug and knitting bag on the table. “I swear, we’re probably ruining our eyes staring at the computer all day.”

  Megan glanced up with a bright smile, fingers still working the yarn. Kelly couldn’t understand how Megan and friends could knit without looking.

  “Yeah, I know how you feel. I needed a break. My latest client insists that I join in his conference calls every week with his entire IT staff, and he had loads of charts filled with columns of numbers and figures.” Megan brushed her jet-black hair away from her face. “Boy, I have to blow up those figures double-size to see them.”

  “Don’t mention figures to an accountant. It makes us antsy,” Kelly teased as she pulled out the summer vest she was knitting with varying shades of red yarn, crimson to deep rose. “I’ve already started those corporate accounts that Curt referred to me. He knew I was looking for some additional consulting.” She pictured Colorado Rancher Curt Stackhouse, her fatherly mentor and advisor.

  “Curt’s always looking out for us. It’s like having another Dad.” Megan’s smile faded. “He was in here yesterday with Jayleen. They were bringing the last of those fleeces from his storage ro
om into the shop. Curt came over to me while Jayleen was up front with the staff, and he asked how Jennifer was doing. I told him she’s doing much better now, thanks to that therapist Lisa found. Curt looked real relieved to hear that and said he would tell Jayleen. They’ve been so worried.”

  Kelly remembered how concerned everyone in the Lambspun shop family had been after they heard about Jennifer’s assault. But like true family, all of Jennifer’s friends and everyone who cared for Lambspun’s lively free spirit closed in tightly around her in loving support.

  “Thank goodness for Curt, otherwise Steve and Greg would have found that guy and beaten him to a pulp.”

  Megan looked up, astonished. “How could they find him? Jennifer didn’t know his full name.”

  “They went over to the bar one night and grilled the bartender. He said he couldn’t remember the guy’s name because he didn’t come into the bar that often. But Steve and Greg tried to track him down anyway. They would have done it, too.” She gave a wry smile. “Even Pete asked to go along. He was out there behind the café every day, pacing back and forth, he was so upset. Steve told me that made him think twice. That and Curt’s conversation.”

  “When was that?”

  “A couple of weeks after it happened. Curt invited both Steve and Greg over one night.” Kelly concentrated on her knitting, sliding one finished stitch after another off the left needle and onto the right. “He reminded them both that if they found out who the guy was and went to ‘teach him a lesson,’ they’d wind up being charged with assault. Then they would go to jail rather than the scumbag. Of course, Curt had lawyer Marty there to bolster his argument.”

  Megan blinked. “My Marty? I don’t remember his saying anything.”