A deadly yarn, p.4
A Deadly Yarn, page 4
Megan stared as if transfixed by Morrison’s gaze for a few seconds, then stammered, “I-I-I don’t know, Lieutenant. I’ve rarely been over here before today.”
Morrison scribbled in his notebook, and Kelly tried to catch Megan’s eye to give her a reassuring smile. But Megan was still staring, clearly ensnared in Morrison’s authoritative spell.
“When Ms. Dubois didn’t respond to your calling her name, that’s when you found her on the floor?” he continued in a low voice.
“Y-yes, yessir!” Megan squeaked, then cleared her throat. “I started walking around the apartment, calling out, and I-I saw her—on the floor. It was horrible!”
“Yes, I imagine it was,” Morrison said in a tone that could pass for reassuring. Kelly could barely believe her ears.
“Tell me, did you notice anything that had been disturbed or out of place in your absence? I understand you were here with Ms. Dubois helping her pack until nearly five yesterday afternoon.”
Megan cleared her throat, and Kelly noticed she looked slightly calmer. “Her portfolio drawings were out of the case and on the floor. And some hand-carved beads that Allison bought on the way home from Santa Fe are missing. She had them on the desk yesterday, and they’re gone now.”
Morrison bent over his notebook. “You said you were acquainted with Ms. Dubois from the knitting shop that you both frequented. Did you ever see her with any of her other friends? From the university or elsewhere?”
“No, sir,” Megan said, shaking her head. “Allison was involved in lots of artist groups all over town, not just the university. But I—” She gestured to Kelly. “I mean, Kelly and I only knew her from the knitting shop.”
“But you knew each other well enough to take a trip to Santa Fe over the weekend, right?” Morrison’s eyebrows furrowed together in a look Kelly remembered. “That’s a long drive. Did she talk about having problems with anyone? A boyfriend, perhaps?”
Tired of being completely ignored, Kelly jumped in. “She did mention her boyfriend once or twice, Lieutenant. But she said she’d broken up with him.”
Morrison’s bushy eyebrows arched at Kelly’s comment, but he studiously wrote it down.
“Ohhhhh, yes!” Megan spoke up in an excited voice. “I remember now! She did break up with him. His name’s Ray, and he called yesterday while we were packing.” Megan’s wide blue eyes got even wider if that were possible, and her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “And Allison was really upset, too. He was yelling at her over the phone. I could hear it! She finally hung up on him and turned off her phone.”
“Do either of you know this Ray’s last name?”
Kelly and Megan both shook their heads.
Morrison scribbled then checked his watch. “Well, thank you ladies,” he said as he slipped the notebook into his coat pocket. “You’ve been very helpful. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch. We’ll also be contacting the family once we locate them.”
“Please, Lieutenant, could you tell us when you’ve found the family?” Megan asked. “I’d like to express my condolences to them personally. I think Allison said they live in southwestern Colorado, near Durango.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know, Ms. Schmidt,” Morrison said in a kinder voice.
Realizing that Morrison was clearly leaving her out of the loop, Kelly once again spoke up. “We’d also appreciate knowing if there’s to be a service of any kind. Allison had a lot of friends who would like to pay their respects.”
“Certainly,” he said with a nod, then cocked his head as if remembering something. “Oh, yes, one last thing. Do you know if Ms. Dubois was depressed or distressed about anything in her life?”
Megan spoke up before Kelly could open her mouth. “Good heavens, no! She was just starting out on a new life, a new career that she’d been working for. She was so excited she could barely sit still.”
Morrison didn’t reply, simply nodded. “Perhaps this new life had become overwhelming for her,” he suggested. “Perhaps her boyfriend didn’t want her to leave. Did she ever voice any conflicting thoughts about this new life?”
“Absolutely not!” Megan retorted with an emphatic nod. “This was the chance she’d been working and waiting for.”
Kelly sensed where Morrison was going with this and was amused by how forcefully Megan was refuting the detective’s theories. “What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?” Kelly said, cutting to the chase.
Morrison turned his stern gaze to hers. “I’m merely offering the possibility that this death may be the result of a suicide.”
“Impossible,” Megan declared vehemently, crossing her arms as if squaring off with the detective. “We’re her friends. We would know.”
Morrison gave Megan a weary smile. “Sometimes a person’s friends are the last to know,” he said as he turned to walk away. “We’ll be in touch.”
Four
Kelly concentrated on the deep rose circlet of yarn, stitches rhythmically adding row after row to the sweater-in-the-round. She’d been sitting at the shop’s library table for over two hours this morning. Just like yesterday, she’d found herself unable to start on her usual morning routine at the computer. She’d work on client accounts later. Right now, Kelly wanted to be surrounded by the warmth of the shop, where she could talk to friends and people she’d grown to care about these last six months. She needed to be here.
It had been two days since Allison’s death. Two days of answering horrified questions from her knitting friends and others at the shop who knew Allison. Everyone was shocked. Allison was so full of life, so creative, so talented, so young. How could she be dead? She was only twenty-seven. Two years younger than Kelly. Much too young to die.
Kelly took a deep drink of the dark, rich coffee that was the cafe’s specialty. Strong coffee was a daily essential to Kelly, like her morning run along the river trail that meandered through the normally quiet college town. She doubted she could get through all those corporate accounts without Eduardo’s potent brew.
She glanced about the empty room that had once been her Uncle Jim’s and Aunt Helen’s farmhouse living room. The library table dominated the room now, and open bins and wooden crates were stacked everywhere, crammed with yarns. Frothy mohairs draped along the wall, intricate weavings hung over the fireplace, and colorful patterned socks moved in the breeze from the open window as if they were dancing.
Bookshelves bulged with knitting books and magazines on every fiber topic imaginable. Kelly’d been surprised there were so many fiber artists. Knitters, spinners, weavers, quilters, fabric designers, wearable artists, and needleworkers of every persuasion. How did people do all those intricate projects, she wondered, after paging through some of the magazines.
“Hey, there,” Megan said in a subdued voice as she approached the table. Collapsing into the chair across from Kelly, she withdrew a navy blue yarn and needles from her knitting bag.
“How’re you doing?” Kelly asked her friend, noticing that Megan lacked her usual spark. She seemed drained of energy ever since Allison’s death. She’d even abandoned her usual bright yarns. Somehow Kelly couldn’t picture lively, energetic Megan wearing a subdued, dark institutional blue.
Megan sighed. “Okay, I guess.”
“Have you heard from Allison’s parents yet?” Kelly asked, aware that Lieutenant Morrison had given only Megan’s name to Allison’s mother and father when they arrived yesterday.
“I called over to the police this morning to see if Allison’s parents had arranged a funeral or something, and the detective said her parents were taking her back home to Durango for a private family burial. They’re not having anything here at all.”
Kelly watched Megan try to hold her emotions in check, but tears pressed on her voice. “Maybe that’s for the best, Megan,” she suggested softly.
“But what about her friends?” Megan protested, her eyes glistening. “We wanted to say goodbye.” Her fingers seemed to stumble with the drab blue yarn, as if Megan’s nimbleness had deserted her.
“I know, Megan,” Kelly tried to soothe. “But maybe that was simply too much for her parents. They’re devastated, no doubt. And heartsick.”
Megan glanced down at her needles, slowly moving through the knit stitch. “Maybe you’re right. I confess, I’ve only been thinking about how much we’ll miss Allison.”
The tinkling sound of the shop’s doorbell sounded over the usual morning hubbub of customers searching for yarns and the helpful shop staff bustling about to find what they needed. Kelly sat without speaking, letting the quiet meditative feeling settle over her. She’d become addicted to the peaceful sensation that knitting brought with it. Her thoughts became more ordered. New ideas popped into her mind. As her fingers worked the familiar motions with the colorful yarn, Kelly found herself solving problems that had eluded her before. Strange. Even the knottiest problems seemed to untangle all by themselves as she knit. While she added row upon colorful row, solutions magically appeared. Now she understood fully what Mimi meant whenever she said she’d “knit on it.”
“Excuse us,” a woman’s voice said from the adjoining room. “But is one of you Megan Schmidt?”
Kelly swiftly turned to see a middle-aged couple standing hesitantly in the archway. There was something familiar about the woman’s face, even though Kelly saw dark shadows beneath her eyes. The balding man at her side stared at the floor.
“Yes, I’m Megan Schmidt,” Megan spoke up, clearly surprised that someone was looking for her at the shop. “How can I help you?”
The woman slowly approached the table, both hands tightly clutching a brown purse. “Lieutenant Morrison at the police department said we might find you here. We’re…we’re Allison’s parents.”
Both Kelly and Megan came to their feet at that. Being closer to the couple, Kelly extended her hand first. “Mr. and Mrs. Dubois, I’m Kelly Flynn, and I was a friend of Allison’s. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
Mrs. Dubois clutched at the breast of her beige knit dress and glanced away. “Thank you.”
Megan scurried around the table, hands reaching out. “Mr. and Mrs. Dubois, I am so, so sorry. We’re all just heartbroken to lose Allison.” She grasped Mrs. Dubois’s hand with hers, her pale face radiating concern.
Mrs. Dubois’s mouth tightened and her shadowed eyes glistened. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Lieutenant Morrison said you were the one to find Allison. I’m so glad it was a friend and not some stranger.” She fumbled in her purse and withdrew a handful of tissues. “It’s just so tragic. What a loss…”
Megan nodded, seemingly unable to put her grief into words, so Kelly spoke up. “I understand you’re taking Allison back to Durango for a family service. Is there an address where we can send flowers?”
Mr. Dubois stepped forward then and took his wife’s elbow. Kelly looked into a stern face. Lines drooped down from his mouth indicating a lifetime of frowning. “Flowers won’t be necessary. We want to keep this quiet. Allison will be put to rest in private.” Jerking his wife’s arm, he said in a gruff voice, “Come along, Mary. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
Kelly held her tongue. Mr. Dubois was clearly uncomfortable in their presence.
Megan, however, took in her breath in an audible gasp. “Oh, but you must let us send something. Flowers, or a gift to charity. Something in Allison’s name.”
Mrs. Dubois reached out to pat Megan’s arm. “That’s sweet of you, dear. But under the circumstances, it would—”
“Mary, that’s enough!” Mr. Dubois snapped.
Mrs. Dubois closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “These are her friends, Fred. They cared about Allison.”
Fred Dubois spun on his heel. “I’ll be in the car,” he barked and stalked from the shop.
Kelly watched Mary Dubois take another deep breath as if steadying herself. Curious at her last comment, Kelly ventured, “What circumstances are you talking about, Mrs. Dubois?”
“Lieutenant Morrison told us that the medical examiner had found a lethal dose of barbiturates in Allison’s body and in the coffee she was drinking.” Her eyes sought the floor as her voice dropped. “They think Allison may have committed suicide with sleeping pills.”
Megan sucked in her breath, both hands flying to her breast. “No! That can’t be true! Allison wouldn’t…she couldn’t…” The rest of Megan’s protest died on her lips.
Mary Dubois looked up again, and Kelly flinched inside at the raw grief on her face. She instinctively reached out and patted Mary Dubois on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry. It’s a shock to hear that, Mrs. Dubois. Allison had everything to live for.”
That comment seemed more than Mary Dubois could bear, and her face betrayed her pain. She squeezed Kelly’s hand as she turned away. “Yes, she did. Thank you, girls, for…for being her friends,” she said before she ran to the door and out of the shop.
Kelly stared after her, her heart aching for the mother’s grief she’d just witnessed.
“I can’t believe that, Kelly,” Megan whispered, shaking her head as she stared blankly into the adjoining yarn room. Somehow the colorful yarns looked muted now. “There’s no way Allison would kill herself.”
“I don’t understand it, either, Megan,” Kelly admitted with a sigh. “But the evidence speaks clearly that she died of barbiturate poisoning. Either it was accidental or deliberate.”
Megan pursed her mouth in a stubborn expression that Kelly recognized. “No. It couldn’t be deliberate. Maybe she drank a lot at that awards banquet and got confused with the pills. She told me she always took sleeping pills when she needed to crash. She must have been confused. It couldn’t be deliberate.”
Kelly held her tongue. She knew that right now Megan couldn’t accept any other possibility for Allison’s sudden death. Megan needed time to process everything they’d learned. In fact, Kelly felt a part of her own mind rebelling at the thought that Allison would take her life. They both needed time to let the awful events settle.
She placed her hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Do you want to go into Pete’s for some coffee? We can see if Mimi can join us,” Kelly suggested. They could both use some of Mimi’s maternal nurturing.
Megan shook her head. “Not right now, Kelly. I need some time alone. I need to think. Maybe I’ll take a walk.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Why don’t you head out on the river trail where I run every morning? There’s an entrance on this side of the golf course.” She pointed toward the far end of the shop.
“Maybe I will,” Megan said as she scooped her knitting back into the bag. “We’ll do that coffee another time.”
“It’s a deal. Say hello to Carl when you pass by, okay? His feelings get hurt when people ignore him,” she joked.
That brought a small smile to Megan’s face, which was Kelly’s intention. “Will do. See you later, Kelly,” she said as she headed for the door.
Kelly stood alone for a moment, letting the familiar sounds of the busy knitting shop wrap around her like a comfortable sweater. Then, she grabbed her empty mug and headed for the cafe. With or without friends, it was coffee time.
Rounding the corner that lead from the shop into the cafe, Kelly spied the cafe’s owner, Pete, standing near the kitchen talking with two men. Both men wore red shirts with DUGAN CONSTRUCTION printed in white letters.
“Hey, Pete. Are you remodeling or something?” Kelly said as she leaned over the counter and dangled her empty mug. After six months, Pete’s staff were well used to her coffee routine.
Pete turned his friendly grin her way. “We’re adding on, Kelly. These guys are going to enclose the porch and build a new one so we can add more seating.”
“Whoa, that’s great to hear, Pete,” she said, remembering her small business clients from years past. Most went belly-up within five years. “That means business is good.”
“It’s been really good, Kelly,” Pete said with a nod. “In fact, I’m thinking of adding a dinner menu. What do you think about that?”
Kelly’s accounting lobe fairly vibrated with pleasure. Pete’s business must really be doing well. She grinned. “That’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you. Pete’s Porch is definitely the success story accountants love to hear.”
“Here you go, Kelly,” the young waitress said, handing over the mug.
Kelly inhaled the aroma and sighed. “Thanks, Sara. You guys keep me going.”
Pete turned to the builders and grinned. “See, we get our customers addicted to the food and coffee, and they have to keep coming back.”
Kelly waved goodbye as she returned to the shop. Checking her watch, she knew she had to return to her accounts before noon, or she wouldn’t keep up. As she rounded the corner, however, she nearly bumped into someone she hadn’t expected.
Curt Stackhouse jumped back before they collided. “Whoa, sorry, Kelly. I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he apologized.
Kelly stared at Curt, shocked at the difference she saw in him. Big, sturdy Curt, the epitome of the Colorado rancher had lost a lot of weight. Curt had been in good shape for a man well into his sixties. Now, he looked positively skinny. That’s not all that had changed. Curt’s face looked more careworn than could be explained by decades in the sun.
“Curt, how are you?” she exclaimed. “When did you get back from traveling with your son?”
“About a month ago, I guess,” Curt answered, glancing to the side. “I’ve been staying over at my daughter’s since then.”
“I’ve wanted to call you, but Mimi said you were still out of town,” Kelly said, noticing even more differences in her stalwart friend. Subtle things. Even his voice didn’t have its usual firm self-assured sound.
The sudden death of Curt’s wife, Ruth, from a heart attack last summer had clearly knocked Curt off his feet. After over forty years of what Kelly figured was an exceedingly happy marriage, Curl was all alone. The pain of loss was visible on his face, etched in with the windswept lines of Colorado’s rangeland. She’d heard that Curt’s son and daughter had taken their distraught father into their homes, hoping to ease his loss.
