Knit One, Kill Two Read online

  Kelly placed Carl’s food dish on the cement patio as the doorbell rang. Darn, she thought, heading inside the house. She was about to start her early morning run. Sunshine streamed through the cottage’s lacy white curtains. A perfect day.

  Yanking open the front door, she was surprised to see Mimi standing there, newspaper in hand. “Hey, good morning. What brings you over so early? Is the shop opening at six A.M. now?” Kelly joked.

  Mimi didn’t return Kelly’s smile. In fact, the worry lines crossing her attractive face deepened. “Kelly, there’s something in the paper you need to read. I’ve been hoping and praying I’m mistaken, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “What is it?”

  Mimi didn’t reply, but handed over the newspaper instead. Kelly took it and could not miss the front page lead article: “Second elderly woman slain in home.”

  She caught her breath and read on. Was this a copycat murder? the reporter speculated. Victim was found strangled in her modest Landport home. Kelly’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, no. Please, no. She poured over the article, searching for some identifying detail that would confirm what Kelly already feared inside.

  And then it jumped out at her. At the end of the article, the reporter mentioned the “bright red, yellow, and purple tulips” lining the walk to the victim’s white frame house on Maple Street. Kelly’s heart sank. It had to be Martha. Kelly’d noticed the glorious display of tulips lining Martha’s walk the last time she’d visited. And the absence of such a colorful arrangement at the neighboring homes along the street.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s Martha.”

  “Ohhhh, no,” Mimi whispered, wrapping both arms around herself. “I was hoping it wasn’t true, hoping—” She shut her eyes and turned away.

  Kelly felt sick to her stomach. She sank down on the front step, the newspaper dropping to her feet. She had done this. She was responsible for Martha’s death. It was her questions and search for answers that got Martha killed. No one in town even knew about Martha, not even her church. Helen had protected her cousin well—until Kelly came along. All those years of carefully protecting Martha’s whereabouts from an abusive husband, all for nothing. Kelly managed to blow Martha’s cover in a few days. She led the killer right to Martha’s door.

  Kelly’s gut wrenched, and the tears started to flow. Damn. There were still tears left. She’d never run out of tears, would she? She sank her face in her hands and let them fall.

  “I’m so sorry, Kelly,” Mimi soothed, voice beside her which indicated that Mimi had joined her on the concrete step. “I could tell you’d grown fond of Martha in the short time you knew her.” She rubbed Kelly’s shoulder comfortingly.

  “I killed her, Mimi. I’m responsible,” Kelly said through the tears.

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous, Kelly—”

  “The killer must have been watching and followed me to her house. I got her killed. It was me . . .” Kelly choked on the last words as another flood of tears washed over her.

  Mimi kept rubbing Kelly’s shoulder without speaking, all the while Kelly wept softly. Grief for Martha mingled with the still-raw grief for Helen. And her dad, even though that was three years ago. Everyone was gone. She’d just found a new family connection in Martha, only to have it yanked away before she’d even gotten to enjoy it. Why was it loved ones didn’t stay in her life? Was it her? Was she poisonous, or something? Even her old boyfriend left.

  Now that she was waist-deep in the swamp of recrimination and guilt, more hurt bubbled to the surface. Old, old wounds. Don’t forget your mother, an ugly voice whispered. She left you, too. And you were only a baby. The well that ran deep opened then, and tears continued to pour forth hot on Kelly’s cheeks.

  “Kelly, Kelly . . .” Mimi said. “You are not responsible for someone else’s actions. Least of all, this vicious killer who committed these crimes. Maybe he learned of Martha from Helen. Maybe there’s some connection between them all. Who knows? And we certainly don’t know what’s going on inside that sick mind.”

  Cried out at last, Kelly lifted her T-shirt and wiped her face, drying her eyes, wiping her nose. She had to move. Run. She couldn’t sit still anymore. She needed to chase away the dull ache inside. Push it back way down deep where she didn’t have to look at it or feel it. She pulled herself to her feet.

  “I’ve got to run, Mimi. I . . . I need time to think,” she said, brushing grit from the back of her latex shorts.

  “I understand,” Mimi said as she rose. “I’ll tell the others when they come into the shop, if you want me to.”

  “Yes, please. I don’t want to have to say it.” She reached over and gave Mimi a quick hug. Mimi squeezed back. “Thanks for everything, Mimi,” she said, breaking off before the tears returned.

  “I’ll tell Burt, too, when he comes in this morning,” Mimi called as Kelly started off.

  Kelly waved, heading for the edge of the golf course, which she followed until she picked up the river trail. Once on the paved pathway, Kelly decided to forego the scenic route she usually took. She wasn’t in the mood for too much beauty this morning. Instead, she went the opposite direction, knowing it would lead through an open, almost barren wilderness area, then skirt past an abandoned industrial site before winding through a deeply wooded and shaded passage beside the river once more. Traffic on this section of trail was sparser, which suited Kelly just fine. She wanted to think. Needed to think.

  She settled into her running rhythm and picked up her pace, early sun at her face. The sun felt good, and so did the rhythm. Dense trees started to thin and traffic sounds grew fainter as she ran. Each stride, each breath helping to ease the ache. Like rubbing a cramped muscle slowly, slowly, walking it out. Running it out.

  Who did this? Who killed these sweet women? Who was that vicious? And why? What threat could they be to the killer? What did Helen and Martha know that caused their death? Kelly sorted through one idea after another, discarding them right and left. None made sense. Trees thinned to disappearance, open grassland now. Three ravens, obsidian black, cried their complaint at being disturbed and took to the sky. What leftover feast had they found in the brush?

  Helen withdrew money to ward off the threat. It hadn’t worked. Was Martha lying when she said she didn’t know who the money was for? Kelly rounded a curve, startling more birds, flushing them into the air. No, no, that wasn’t right. Martha’s concern about the money withdrawal was too real.

  Maybe . . . maybe it wasn’t about the money. Maybe it was something else that made Helen and Martha a threat. Perhaps they knew something about someone. Information that could harm that person. Kelly let the thought simmer for a while as she headed out of the grassy area and toward the old factory site. Broken windows gaped in the concrete block walls like gouged out eyes, staring without seeing.

  It had to be about the baby and Helen’s hidden love affair, Kelly mused. Who would be threatened by that? Someone who had a position of respect in the community, perhaps? Someone who had secrets to hide. A face surfaced. A furtive glance that hinted at secrets. Stackhouse. Kelly’s breath quickened, even in the midst of her stride. She remembered Curt Stackhouse’s guilty denials about Helen. He was lying. Why would he lie unless he was trying to hide something?

  Kelly picked up her pace, rounding another curve that bordered the abandoned site. Far from the highway, no sounds of people or cars carried on the breeze. No one around for miles. Was Stackhouse the one? He was certainly a successful rancher. Land buyers and sellers courting him long distance even. Real estate deals right and left, Kelly surmised, caught up in this scenario. He mentioned his wife owning a business. Maybe he was afraid she’d divorce him if the truth came out. Maybe that would destroy his investment business, maybe—

  A raven’s shrill cry overhead startled Kelly from her creative imaginings. Suddenly, she felt a warning chill ripple through her. Turn. Turn now, her instinct said.
Still running, Kelly whipped her head around to look over her shoulder and was shocked to see a hooded cyclist bearing down on her—only a few yards away.

  Kelly leaped to the side of the trail with a surprised yelp as the cyclist whizzed by, a blur of gray sweatshirt and sweatpants. She couldn’t even see his face, it happened so fast. Or was it partially covered? Sunglasses. Yes, he wore sunglasses. And the gray hood covered everything else.

  Breath coming fast now, the workout’s disciplined breathing was gone, replaced by an adrenaline rush. Thanks to all those years of softball and sports, Kelly’s reflexes were razor sharp. She stood, hands on hips, wondering how any responsible cyclist would ignore the basic courtesies of the trail. The normal calling out of “coming up on the left” that one heard so regularly it was as familiar as early morning birdsong.

  Kelly already knew the answer. That was no ordinary cyclist. And he deliberately did not call out a warning because his intent was to run right into her. At the speed he was going, she’d have been knocked unconscious on the side of the road. Who knows how long she might have lain there in this desolate section before she was found?

  Something caused Kelly to look up then, and she swore she saw the raven perched on the roof of the gutted building. “Thank you,” Kelly said out loud to the bird. Its warning cry had brought her back from deep reverie in the nick of time.

  Kelly peered down both directions of the trail, comprehending for the first time how isolated she was right now. A cold chill ran up her spine. Get off the trail now, her instinct warned. Kelly glanced at her watch. She’d been running for more than thirty minutes. It was a long, desolate run back on the trail. What if the cyclist returned?

  The realization that the cyclist and the murderer may be one and the same resonated inside. It had to be Martha’s killer come back for Kelly. After all, the vagrant suspect was still locked up. Who else but Martha’s killer would come looking for her?

  Kelly didn’t need any more convincing. She took off into the scrubby, rutted terrain beside the trail, heading north. The trail ran diagonally through Fort Connor from the foothills northwest of the city to the southeast edge of the county, following the river most of the time. Kelly knew the highway lay to the north of the river at this point, and highway meant cars and people. She might have to hike a few more miles to the shop and home, but she’d be surrounded by traffic. Who would have thought she’d ever welcome traffic?

  The ruts became crevices and filled with prickly bushes. Kelly plunged through them all, keeping the morning sun on her right shoulder as a compass. She felt the thorny branches tear at her legs but didn’t even look down. Blood would wash off. At least the cyclist couldn’t ride out here. Heck, she could barely walk out here.

  At that moment, her left foot sank into some oozing ground, more muck than mud. Yuck, Kelly thought, as she yanked her foot free and tested for drier ground across the barren area. Up ahead, she thought she spied barbed wire. Instead of trepidation, it brought elation. Barbed wire meant boundaries. Fences. And probably the highway.

  Sure enough, Kelly heard the glorious sound of trucks, the whoosh and the rumble of heavy rigs on asphalt. Amen, she breathed, right before she tripped over a rock and tumbled forward. Splat. Face first into the dirt and grit. Muttering some of her dad’s favorite curses from his “navy days,” Kelly scrambled to her feet again. Brushing grit off her filthy T-shirt, she bent over to brush her knees and stopped. Why bother? Long bloody scratches marked her legs from knees to ankle. Might as well add skinned knees to the mess.

  Climbing the incline to the highway’s edge, Kelly released a huge sigh of relief. Yes. She was only a couple of miles from home. All that was left was the barbed wire. Kelly scanned the expanse of rusty wire, then took a deep breath, and gritted her teeth as she grabbed hold. Yanking two of the wires in opposite directions, she struggled through, feeling her expensive running shorts catch, then rip, as she yanked herself free—on the other side at last. Thank God her tetanus shot was up to date.

  Not wasting a moment, Kelly set off running alongside the highway. The thought of Eduardo’s strong coffee was enough to bring back her strength and her stride as she headed home.

  “Oh my gosh! What happened to you?” Megan exclaimed when Kelly finally stumbled into the shop.

  “Coffee . . . please,” was all Kelly said as she leaned over, hands on bloody knees, to catch her breath.

  Megan snapped into action. “Suzie, would you get Kelly a mug of Eduardo’s strongest? Put it on my tab,” she directed, gesturing toward the front of the shop. “And tell Mimi to come quick, if you see her.” Approaching Kelly, she offered, “We need to get you cleaned up.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Kelly said when she caught her breath. She’d sprinted the last half mile to the shop, dodging cars at intersections. “I’m going home to . . . to shower in a minute.”

  Mimi raced into the foyer and her mouth fell open at the sight of Kelly. “Oh, no! Kelly, did you fall down? What happened?”

  “I’ve been climbing through scrub brush and barbed wire to reach the highway,” Kelly said, straightening at the sight of Eduardo’s coffee headed her way. She reached out both hands as Suzie delivered the treasure into her grasp. “Ohhhh, Suzie, you’re a lifesaver.” With that, Kelly took a big drink, causing teenaged Suzie to flinch.

  “Oooooo, watch out, it’s hot,” she warned.

  Kelly didn’t care. What was a burned tongue compared to all the other scrapes and bruises she’d received this morning? Another big swallow and she’d begin to recover, she was sure.

  “Why were you climbing through brush?” Mimi demanded, concern still evident. “I thought you were running on the trail.”

  “I was, but I got chased away.” She had to have another long drink before she could tell this story. But before she could begin, another voice interrupted from the adjoining room.

  “Mimi, do you want to take a look at this first cabinet and tell me if you like the angle?” Steve said as he rounded the corner. “I can move it another inch—whoa! What happened to you?” He stared at Kelly.

  “Someone chased her on the trail,” Megan announced.

  “What?” Steve cried. “Did he hurt you, Kelly?”

  “Look at her,” Suzie interjected, eyes round. “She’s all torn up.”

  Kelly held up her hand, quieting the speculation. “I wasn’t actually chased. Some guy on a bicycle nearly ran into me on the trail. And I decided it wasn’t an accident, so I got out of there the best way I could. Unfortunately, I was in the section down by the abandoned beet processing plant, and the trail veers pretty far from the highway at that point. So, I had to hike through some nasty brush to get out. Plus, barbed wire.”

  “Oh, Kelly,” Mimi’s voice trembled. “Was he actually following you?”

  “Probably,” she nodded. “I don’t think it was by chance he caught up with me in that deserted stretch.” She took another sustaining drink of the rich dark brew and felt strength returning to her strained legs.

  “Did you get a look at him?” Steve asked in a low voice.

  “I did, but he was all covered up in a hooded gray sweatshirt and sunglasses, so I couldn’t tell features. Plus, he was going so fast, he was just a blur.” Her mouth hardened. “Bastard. He was headed right for me. No warning, nothing. If I hadn’t turned when I did and saw him coming, I’d be lying unconscious beside the trail right now.”

  Mimi shuddered, Megan’s pale face got even paler, while Steve’s features darkened into a scowl.

  “Kelly, you have to tell the police,” Megan insisted.

  Kelly made a dismissive noise. “And listen to Lieutenant Morrison tell me it was my overactive imagination. No thanks. I’ll tell Burt. He’ll believe me, then maybe he can get the message to Morrison.” She drained the cup.

  “Burt should be in shortly, Kelly,” Mimi said. “I was planning on telling him about Martha, too.”

/>   “Yes, please do, and ask him to make sure the information gets to Morrison, would you?” Kelly placed the empty mug on a table spilling over with tidy bundles of yarn. Her bloodied hand looked garish among the bright spring colors. “I’m going home to shower and clean up all these scrapes. I’m a mess.” She brushed her hands down her filthy shirt and shorts.

  “You’re coming back over here afterward, right? I mean, Burt will want to talk with you, I know he will,” Mimi declared.

  Kelly nodded. “I’ll come back later. I’ve got to log on to my office site and get some work done. Ask Burt if he’ll hang around till lunch.”

  Without another word, she was out the door and down the steps. She’d come back all right. Check with Burt, get his opinion, and grab some more of Eduardo’s coffee before she took the long drive out to Stackhouse’s ranch.

  Fifteen

  Kelly shifted her coffee mug and tote bag to one hand and yanked open the shop’s front door. Smoothing her lightweight sweater over her jeans, she stood for a moment and let the familiar surroundings sink in. It always felt so good here. Everytime she stepped inside, she could feel the difference immediately. Soothing, relaxing, she couldn’t quite put it into words. But it felt good.

  Recognizing Jennifer’s voice, Kelly headed toward the main room. Jennifer and Lisa both sat at the library table, knitting as usual. Lisa was offering assistance to a woman twice her age beside her. And Jennifer had something other than emerald-green yarn in her lap.

  “Hey, are you finished with the sweater?” Kelly asked as she settled into a nearby chair.

  Jennifer looked up at Kelly with a concerned expression. “Yeah, I finished yesterday. Listen, how are you? Mimi told us all about your . . . your . . .” Jennifer paused, watching Kelly’s finger to lips then pointing to the new knitter across the table.