Knitting Mystery 03 - A Deadly Yarn Page 3

  Megan nodded. “Just until she gets settled. She said there’s no hurry because it was all odds and ends. We’d already packed up her most important stuff, except her design portfolios. She was going to carry them with her.”

  “I can imagine. Those portfolios are—”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Megan interrupted, sitting up straight. “I’d told Allison I’d take her to the airport, but one of those idiot lights flashed on my dashboard today, so I have to take my car to the dealer tonight. Would you be able to drive Allison tomorrow, Kelly? I know it’s a lot to ask when you’re catching up with your accounts and all.”

  Kelly ran through her mental daytimer. “Sure, I’ll be glad to. Is it a morning flight?”

  Megan nodded. “Eleven thirty. I think I’ll come along, too. That way we can treat her to breakfast first then send her off to the Big City with some loud cheers.”

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  “Sounds good,” Kelly said, smiling at Megan’s enthusiasm. She’d noticed that Allison’s encouragement seemed to be working. Megan had already sent one of her knitting designs to a national magazine.

  “Oh-my-gosh, I’ve got to run to the dealer before it closes,” Megan said as she sprang from her chair. “Listen, tell Lisa I may be a little bit late tonight, but I will be there.”

  Kelly tucked the circlet of yarn back into her bag and rose to go. Her earlier vision of a quiet evening watching the sun slip behind the Rockies with Carl’s head on her knee had disappeared with Lisa’s reminder of practice.

  “I’m right behind you,” she said, following Megan out of the shop. “See you later.”

  Actually, the thought of practice had reawakened Kelly’s softball instincts. Watching sunsets could wait for another day, her muscles commanded. What she needed tonight was exercise—running the bases and chasing down balls. Who knows? Since Megan wouldn’t be there for a while, she might actually hit a homer to an empty right field.

  Kelly tugged at the brim of her USS Kitty Hawk cap, shifted her stance in the batter’s box, and waited for Lisa’s next pitch. If she was lucky, it would be low and to the right.

  Kelly’d been studying Lisa’s pitching habits since she started playing with the team last spring. Every pitcher had habits. Little things that tipped you to the next pitch, if you paid attention—and Kelly always paid attention.

  Lisa wound up and let fly, her long-armed motion sending the ball exactly where Kelly hoped. She connected with a satisfying crack, and the reverberation of ball meeting bat shot through her forearms with an electric charge. Kelly was already off the base, bat dropping from her hand, when she spotted the ball sail high out into an empty and Megan-free right field. Sweet.

  Three

  Megan balanced her coffee and pointed across the street.

  “That’s Allison’s building on the right.”

  Kelly checked traffic and made a swift U-turn on the nearly empty street, bringing her car flush up to the curb in front of Allison’s apartment building.

  The red-brick, three-story building was one of several that spread around the corner and down the street of this older neighborhood nestled close to the foothills. Older buildings and cheaper rents attracted college students and struggling families alike. Kelly glanced at the chainlink-encircled playground and noticed a bedraggled and broken tire swing dangling from its playground chain. The only children Kelly spotted were a few toddlers on the slide with young women keeping watch, be they mothers or caregivers.

  A long-ago memory flashed briefly before her eyes. Her dad fixing her roller blades one sunny Indiana Saturday morning. He’d used gray duct tape to hold the wheels in place so she could catch up to her neighborhood friends, the

  “pack” he called them. Kelly smiled at the memory. Her A DEADLY YARN

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  dad used duct tape to fix everything. Once again, she felt the bittersweet tug of loss.

  Megan left her coffee in the cup holder and pushed open the car door. “I’ll run up and get Allison. Her cell phone died yesterday, and she gave it to me to buy new batteries.”

  Megan patted her jacket pocket. “Problem is, I forgot all about it when my car light went on. I didn’t remember until this morning. I feel terrible that I didn’t get it back to her right away like I promised.”

  “Don’t worry. Allison was probably glad not to have any interruptions while she finished. I’ll bet you did her a favor,” Kelly reassured.

  Megan gave a rueful nod and sprinted up the concrete apartment steps. Kelly shifted her gaze to the nearby foothills. Nestled this close, the houses on the far west side of town didn’t have the same views of the Rockies looming behind the ridges that the eastern edge of the city provided.

  Spectacular views, usually accompanied by higher price tags.

  Listening to Jennifer talk about the rise in real estate values in her hometown, Kelly knew sticker shock drove many families of modest means to head for the western edge. But Kelly actually liked these views. The houses were tucked protectively into the foothills, whose colors changed as the sun tracked across the sky. Peach and rose at dawn, gray-green in the glare of midday, purple at sunset, disappearing into deep blue-black at moonrise.

  Kelly spotted the early October hint of autumn on the ridges, a subtle glimpse of an orange bush or a swath of golden aspens. Fall. She loved the colors, the smell of falling leaves, the early morning chill in the air, the hint of winter to come. Maybe she’d take Lisa up on her offer to go camp-ing one weekend. She could handle a moderate hike. Of course, Lisa’s idea of moderate might not . . .

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  “Kelly! Kelly, come up here, quick!” Megan’s shrill voice cried out, startling Kelly from her autumnal musing.

  She leaned down to peer through the open passenger window, but didn’t see Megan at the front door. Glancing up, Kelly spotted her at an open second-floor window.

  “What’s the matter?” she called.

  Instead of answering, Megan beckoned frantically. Kelly shut off the engine, pocketed the keys, and raced inside the building. Taking the steps two at a time, she grabbed the banister and hurried up the stairs leading to the second floor. A white-faced Megan was waiting for her at the apartment door.

  “What’s the matter?” Kelly demanded as she strode into the nearly empty living room. “Where’s Allison?”

  She quickly scanned the room and saw nothing unusual, except for the absence of Allison. Two scuffed black suitcases sat in the far corner next to three packing boxes.

  There was another half-filled packing box sitting open.

  Several of Allison’s portfolio drawings were spread out on the floor next to the leather carrying case. The rest of the room was empty except for two metal folding chairs and a battered metal office desk and a rolled-up sleeping bag.

  “She’s . . . she’s . . . oh, God, Kelly,” Megan said in a choked voice, wringing her hands. Kelly had never seen Megan like this before.

  “Megan, where’s Allison?” she asked again.

  Instead of answering, Megan pointed a shaking finger toward the desk. That’s when Kelly got a cold feeling. Part of her didn’t want to see what was on the other side of the desk. The other part of her couldn’t stop herself. She had to see what had terrified Megan.

  Kelly cautiously approached the desk. That’s when she saw the legs. Black pants, brown sandals. Kelly recognized those sandals. Allison had worn them on the drive home A DEADLY YARN

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  from Santa Fe. Kelly edged around the desk and felt the visceral punch of recognition hit her in the gut.

  Allison lay on the floor, head turned to the side, blonde hair spread out around her in a halo, blue eyes staring wide and lifeless. A multi-colored wool shawl lay across her body. Kelly recognized the beautiful piece as one of Allison’s recent weavings. Was she wearing it when she fell, Kelly wondered?

  “She’s . . . she’s dead,” Megan whispered behind her. “I checked her throat for a pulse. And there isn’t any.” Her voice broke off.

  Kelly quickly surveyed the area around Allison, looking for something, anything that might explain this. Did she fall and hit her head on the desk? There was no trace of blood on the floor. No implement of any kind lay around Allison’s body, either. Only a coffeehouse paper cup with corrugated sleeve, dribbling what was left of its contents, lay beside her empty hand.

  “Oh, God, I’m gonna be sick,” Megan croaked.

  Kelly quickly turned and placed her hands on Megan’s shoulders. “Megan, go sit down right now and put your head between your knees,” she ordered. “I need you to pull yourself together.”

  Megan did as she was told and collapsed into a nearby metal chair, her head dropping between her knees. Meanwhile, Kelly drew closer to Allison’s body, sank to the floor, and carefully placed two fingers on Allison’s throat. Maybe Megan missed the pulse. Kelly held her fingers there for nearly five minutes, hoping to feel a faint flutter. Nothing.

  The cold sensation that Kelly had experienced months ago when she’d been the one to walk in on a similar scene ran through her. She held her crouching position and scrutinized her dead friend, forcing away the revulsion.

  There was no visible mark on Allison’s face, and no mark on her forehead either. Could she possibly have fallen 24

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  and struck her head so severely the blow would kill her?

  Kelly’s logic rebelled at that thought. Besides, she was lying approximately three feet away, facing the desk. If she’d hit her head, wouldn’t she have fallen closer?

  Suddenly, the image of her friend, Burt, from the shop popped into her head. Former police investigator Burt would probably smile at her amateur analysis. Still, Kelly felt compelled to observe everything she could, remembering how important small details were in the previous investigation.

  She gingerly lifted the woolen shawl covering Allison’s torso, half-expecting it to be hiding a bloody wound which would explain how a young, talented, and vibrantly alive Allison could be lying here dead. Kelly held up the shawl, intently surveying Allison’s white cotton shirt. There was no trace of any stain, bloody or otherwise. She gently lowered the shawl back to its original position.

  Rising from her crouch, Kelly slowly circled the body at her feet, scanning the bare wood floor surrounding her.

  There was nothing on the floor except Allison and the cup of spilled coffee. She stared at the back of Allison’s head and saw no trace of blood peeking through the pale gold curls.

  What in heaven’s name caused this! Kelly’s mind screamed. Allison was embarking on the first day of her new career, a career for which she’d sacrificed and worked long and hard. How could this happen? Did she have a heart condition or some other hidden health problem?

  “Megan, did Allison ever mention a health problem?”

  Kelly asked.

  Megan slowly raised her head, face still pale. “I . . . I don’t think so,” she said. “Do you think that’s what happened?”

  “Well, something awful happened,” Kelly said, frowning at the floor. “Either she had a life-threatening health problem, or she fell and hit her head on the desk and died. I A DEADLY YARN

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  mean, there’s nothing here, no blood, no weapon to indicate she killed herself—”

  That last comment seemed to rouse Megan. Color returned to her face in a flush. “Kill herself?” she retorted.

  “Allison wouldn’t do that, Kelly! You know her. I mean, she had everything to live for.” Megan’s hand jerked out expressively.

  “I know that, but there has to be some explanation for this,” Kelly answered, then looked at her friend solemnly.

  “Listen, Megan, I’m going to call the police now, but first I want you to take a careful look around and see if you notice anything different in the apartment. You were here with Allison until late in the afternoon. Anything you notice could help the police. I learned that much from Burt.”

  Megan stared in the direction of Allison’s body. “I don’t think I can look at her again, Kelly. I swear, I can’t.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t look at Allison,” Kelly instructed as she pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “Just take a good hard look at everything else. Floor, desk, boxes.”

  She gestured to the nearly empty room. “Don’t touch anything. Just look around. It’s important, Megan.”

  “Okay,” Megan acquiesced and rose shakily from the chair. Taking a deep breath, she turned her back to the body and started walking through the apartment.

  Kelly thumbed through her cell phone’s directory until she found a name from the past. Lieutenant Morrison of the Fort Connor police department, the taciturn detective in charge of her Aunt Helen’s murder investigation. She hesitated before she punched in the number, wondering if Morrison had ever forgiven her for solving her aunt’s murder and capturing the real killer.

  Kelly watched Megan tour the apartment as an official sounding voice came on the phone. She was relieved it wasn’t Lieutenant Morrison, but another officer. Kelly carefully explained where they were located and how they had 26

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  arrived and found their friend dead. The young officer’s voice crept up the scale in apparent excitement as he took the information and assured Kelly that investigators would be there shortly, advising her to stay put. Kelly promised she and Megan would be waiting.

  “Nothing’s missing, Kelly,” Megan announced. “Only the portfolio drawings are out of the carrying case, that’s all.

  The suitcases are packed, and there are the boxes she wanted me to ship to her once she called with the address.

  She was packing the last one.”

  “What about the desk?” Kelly gestured toward the cluttered desk. “It looks like she hadn’t finished going through things here.”

  Megan stared at the desk as Kelly shoved the phone back into her pocket and checked her watch. These past few months had given her a taste of how long police investiga-tions and questioning could take. Last summer, she and Jennifer had been kept in nearby Bellevue Canyon for hours as police combed through a murdered friend’s home. Of course, interviewing the vanload of visiting knitters had been the real slowdown, she remembered with a grim smile.

  “The beads,” Megan spoke up in a quiet voice. “The hand-carved beads Allison bought in Santa Fe. They’re gone.” She pointed toward the desk. “They were right there on the desk yesterday, I remember. Allison spread them out, showing me some of the design ideas she wanted to use with them.”

  Kelly stared at the desk. There were various papers scattered about and a purse she assumed was Allison’s. There was also a checkbook and pen, but no beads. “Are you sure, Megan?”

  Megan nodded. “Positive. She was trying to explain this design. She wanted jagged lines running through the fabric, or something like that.”

  “Do you have a pen with you?”

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  “I think so,” Megan said, searching her back pocket and drawing out a ballpoint.

  “Good, now use that and carefully lift up the papers on the desk and check to see if the beads are hiding under-neath. You’ve got me curious.”

  Megan leaned over the desk, clearly hesitant to disturb anything, and slowly slid the ballpoint beneath the closest pile of papers. No beads were visible. She lifted the other papers scattered across the desk. Again, no beads. “They’re not here, Kelly.”

  “Maybe she packed them already,” Kelly mused out loud.

  Suddenly the sharp sound of a siren in the distance cut through the air. Megan jerked back from the desk with a gasp, face draining of color once again.

  Kelly reached over and took the pen from Megan’s shaking hand before she dropped it. “Take it easy, Megan,” she reassured her friend, placing a hand on Megan’s shoulder.

  “It’ll be okay. The police won’t bite. Just keep picturing friendly old Burt.”

  The cold cement steps outside Allison’s apartment were getting harder and harder the longer Kelly sat there. She and Megan had been sitting on the steps ever since they were first questioned by the responding officers. The two uniformed policemen had been polite but firm. Kelly and Megan were to remain there until the criminal investigation unit had finished examining Allison’s apartment. Lieutenant Morrison, head of the investigation, would want to talk with them.

  Oh, joy, Kelly thought. That should be fun. She remembered Morrison’s brusque manner after she’d questioned his conclusions about her aunt’s death. Morrison could be 28

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  intimidating. She could handle Morrison, but he was bound to scare the daylights out of Megan.

  Kelly glanced at her friend, who was hunched in a semi-crouch on the concrete. Her face still pale, eyes darting about, watching every movement as investigators ran up the steps beside them. In and out of the apartment—some carried cameras, others held small cases or briefcases. All of them running up the concrete steps with grim determina-tion. Megan stared wide-eyed at each group.

  Reaching over to her friend, Kelly patted her arm.

  “Don’t worry, Megan. This will all be over in a little while.

  That lieutenant will take our statement again and ask us some more questions, then we can leave.”

  Megan chewed her lip. “I hope so. This is all so awful.”

  Kelly was about to agree when she watched what little color that had returned to Megan’s face drain away in an instant as she stared past Kelly’s shoulder.

  “Oh, God—” Megan whispered.

  Jerking around, Kelly saw two medical personnel maneuver their way through the apartment building doorway, carrying a stretcher. Allison. Covered now with an institu-tional shroud instead of her colorful woven shawl, her body was carefully carried down the steps. Kelly and Megan leaped to their feet to clear the way for their friend as she was taken to the ambulance. They both continued standing until the ambulance had closed its doors and pulled away from the curb.

  That’s when Kelly heard a distinctive gruff voice behind her. “Ms. Flynn, I understand you and your friend were the ones to discover the victim, correct?” Morrison asked.