Dropped Dead Stitch (23 page)

“Yes, she does. She thinks what’s bothering Greta is that she didn’t find the right therapist for Bonnie when she really needed help. Greta found several different therapists, but Bonnie’s depression kept getting worse. After Bonnie committed suicide, Greta blamed herself. According to Mary, Greta believed that since she was studying psychology, she should have recognized Bonnie’s signs earlier.”

“Whoa, that’s one heavy load of guilt Greta’s carrying around. She couldn’t possibly have recognized all of Bonnie’s signs.”

“Absolutely. Besides, family members become quite adept at hiding their symptoms from their families.”

“When did Greta find Dr. Norcross?”

“Mary said it was about a year after Bonnie’s suicide.”

“That is so tragic. Is Mary going to take her concerns to Dr. Norcross?”

“She said she would.” Lisa paused. “I told Mary my first thoughts were that Greta had been sexually assaulted, and the retreat brought back all those memories. But Mary thinks everything that happened at the retreat and Everett’s death must have shaken loose some of Greta’s old traumatic memories. She said that Greta withdrew from friends after Bonnie died.”

Kelly mulled over what Lisa told her. “Well, it appears Dr. Norcross was able to help Greta years ago. So, I’m sure she’ll be able to help her again. It sounds like she already is, given that comment you overheard.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sure Dr. Norcross is on top of it . . . it’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

“I keep thinking about all those appointments I saw on the calendar. Greta has been seeing Dr. Norcross three times a week, and she seems to be getting more and more agitated every time I see her. She doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

Kelly didn’t have an answer for that. So she told her friend the only reassuring thing she could think of. “You don’t know that for sure, Lisa. Maybe Greta
is
doing better. Only Dr. Norcross knows. Why don’t you leave it for her to decide?”

Lisa released a long sigh. “Yeah, you’re right, I know you’re right.”

“Wow, can I tape that? I want to play it back again when you’re giving me a hard time.”

“Okay, okay . . . listen, I have to get to a physical therapy appointment. See you tonight.”

“Right. And bring your game. We need a pitcher on the mound, not a therapist,” Kelly teased before she clicked off.

Picking up the vest again, Kelly knitted another three rows, thinking over everything Lisa had said. Poor Greta. Losing a family member to suicide was horrible from what she’d heard. The surviving family members worry that they should have been able to prevent it somehow. It was a double tragedy to Kelly’s way of thinking.

Another row and another formed on her knitting needles, as Kelly wondered what on earth had happened in Bonnie’s young life that would have caused her to end it all. She couldn’t have been out of her twenties, because Greta was in her early thirties now, just like Kelly and her friends. What had happened?

After another few moments of pondering, Kelly’s curiosity overcame the knitting.
I’ll never finish this vest
. She slid her laptop out of her bag and fired it up, listening to the whirring electronic purr. When the icons popped up on her screen, Kelly clicked the browser, then the familiar search engine, where she entered the name “Bonnie Baldwin.”

Various listings and items appeared and Kelly perused them all, but none of them referred to Greta’s sister. These other people were older or lived in different places. Kelly scrolled farther, then closed the screen and flipped open her cell phone again. Punching in Megan’s number.

“Hey, Megan, can you do another quick search for me?” she asked when her friend answered.

“Actually I’m right in the middle of a spreadsheet. Can I do it later tonight?”

The mention of spreadsheets reminded Kelly she had some waiting for her, too. She continued to ignore them. “It’ll only take you a moment on one of your restricted sites. I’ve already tried to find this person on Google and got nothing. Please, pretty please. I’ll never be late to practice again, I promise.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Promise, scout’s honor, cross my heart . . .”

“Okay, okay . . . give me a second while I log in.”

“You’re a jewel. A pearl.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Even if you’re giving Mimi and Burt ulcers with those lists.”

Megan laughed softly. “You’ve been talking to Burt.” “Oh, yeah.”

“Okay, I’m in. Who’re you looking up?”

“A young woman named Bonnie Baldwin who died about three years ago here in Colorado. Committed suicide in Poudre Canyon.”

“Oh, no . . . that’s awful.”

Kelly heard the sound of Megan’s fingers entering information on the keyboard. “Yeah, apparently she drove up there and took an overdose of sleeping pills.”

“Poor thing. I wonder what made her do that.”

“That’s what I’m wondering. I hoped there might be something listed, some information, maybe.”

Megan was quiet for a couple of minutes and Kelly was, too, not wanting to interrupt her friend’s concentration. Finally, Megan spoke. “Well, all that shows up are her car registration, her registration at the university, and her obituary. Looks like she’d gone through her junior year, studying agricultural economics.”

“What does her obituary say? How old was she?”

“She was twenty-two. Wow, so young to die.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really. Obits never go into detail about suicides. It simply says there’ll be a private family graveside service. Lists family members. Greta Baldwin. Is that the Greta who’s Lisa’s friend at the university?”

“Yep, the same. And Lisa’s been worrying about her. Seems like the retreat stirred up painful memories, and she’s getting depressed like she did after her sister died.”

“Oh, that is too bad.”

“Thanks, Megan, I’ll let you get back to work. In fact, I need to do the same. See you tonight.”

“Be ready.”

Kelly clicked off her phone and returned to her laptop. She quickly moved the cursor to open her client accounting files before she was tempted away again. Avoidance only worked for so long.

 

 

“Heeeey,
batter, batter, batter, batter, batter,” a man’s voice called.

Kelly glanced over at the bleachers. Spouses, boyfriends, relatives, and friends sat clutching soft drinks and coffee cups, encouraging Kelly’s team. Fan support definitely helped, but it couldn’t make up for dropped balls, missed throws, and cold bats.

Nothing worked tonight. Everybody on the team was playing poorly.
What was the matter with them?
They’d been practicing for a month and were looking sharp. Kelly expected they’d take this game easy. Instead, they all looked like they’d just walked on the softball field for the first time since winter. They were lousy.

Maybe it was the rain, Kelly mused, looking for an excuse. They’d been rained out of the game last night. But that didn’t make sense. They’d played in the rain before and won.

And it wasn’t the other team beating them, either. They’d beaten this Windsor team before. But tonight, they were beating themselves. Once they started making errors—dropped balls, missed catches—the mistakes multiplied, spreading like wildfire throughout the team. Contagious.

Megan missed a catch in right field and had to run it down while three players scored for the other team. Lisa’s pitching arm deserted her, and she could only throw easy-to-hit balls which arrived right over the plate. And Kelly dropped the ball trying to tag a runner out. She couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

It was depressing to watch.

“Heeeey, batter, batter, batter!” another family member called to Liz, their shortstop, who was at bat.

Liz is a strong, consistent hitter
, Kelly thought as she stood waiting for her turn at bat. Maybe Liz would get a hit. Meanwhile, Kelly was hoping she’d get a line drive this time. She’d struck out the last two times at bat. Just like the rest of the team. Nobody was hitting tonight.

“C’mon, Liz, knock it out!” she called to her teammate.

The pitcher’s ball flew over home plate. Liz swung and missed.

“Yer out!” the umpire yelled, jerking his thumb to the bench.

Kelly dropped the bat and went to retrieve her base-man’s glove again. Three batters in a row. Three strikes each. Three outs. Kelly’s team was back on the field.

It was going to be a long night.

 

 

“Hey,
another Fat Tire over here.” Greg held up the empty bottle with the colorful label. A nearby waitress nodded and handed him a bottle from her tray.

Kelly tipped back her ale and sank into the chair at their favorite outdoor café in Old Town Plaza. The sky was velvet blue, the crescent of a new moon hanging over them. The night couldn’t be more perfect, with balmy temperatures and just the hint of a breeze. As the month of May drew to a close, the weather had warmed to the low eighties.

Summer was almost here. Summer days stretched out before Kelly in a comfortable vision of nights filled with ball games and good friends. Trips to the mountains, hiking, camping, sleeping out under the stars like last summer. She and Steve coaching their favorite teenagers in summer ball leagues. Cookouts and canoe trips. Good times . . . or, they should be.

The cloud in that sunny picture was the uncertainty about Steve’s business. Worry nibbled around the edges.

Kelly glanced around at her teammates and friends scattered at various tables, consuming pizzas, sandwiches, fries, soups, wings, and drowning their disappointments with a variety of Colorado microbrews. If only they hadn’t played so lousy tonight. Even Steve’s team lost to Greeley, its archrival.

“Boy, did we stink tonight,” Megan said, slouching over her half-eaten sandwich.

“Don’t remind me,” Lisa said, sinking back in the metal chair.

“You think
you
stunk?” Greg challenged. “Trust me, we reached a whole new level of stench tonight.”

“I don’t wanta think about it,” Steve said, looking morose as he nursed his beer.

“To Greeley, yet. Man, that hurts,” Marty added before popping a French fry into his mouth.

“Why don’t we simply chalk this one up to first game screwups?” Kelly offered. “We’ll get our rhythm back. You know we will. The season’s just started.”

“First game screwups? I’ll drink to that,” Greg said as everyone leaned forward to clink beer bottles.

“While we’re waiting to get better, let’s order more wings,” Marty suggested.

“Batting practice would help more,” Megan countered. “Who’s up for extra practice tomorrow? We can use the cages at the university.”

“I’m in,” Kelly said, raising her hand as her cell phone rang. Digging in her pocket, she recognized Burt’s phone number flashing on her view screen.

“Hey, Burt, what’s up?” she asked as she left the noisy table.

“Hi, Kelly. I’ll bet I got you in the midst of you guys celebrating in one of your favorite Old Town pubs.”

“Well, you’re half right. We’re in an Old Town pub, but we’re drowning our sorrows after playing really lousy tonight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Kelly. And I’m afraid I’m not bringing good news, either.”

Kelly stepped to the edge of the café, away from customers so she could hear better. “What’s happened, Burt?”

“I heard from Vern tonight. Bill Zarofsky finally admitted he did return to Everett’s ranch later that night—”

“
Yessss!
” Kelly exulted.

“Hear me out, Kelly. Everett paid Zarofsky the past due amount he owed on the loan and promised to pay off the balance early. Zarofsky said he didn’t believe him and threatened him with a lien. Then he went back to his own ranch. He and his brother Kevin spent the rest of the night cooking up meth. He can verify that he returned before midnight, because Kevin called him on his cell phone as he was turning into the driveway. So the cell phone calls will be able to corroborate the time Bill returned and the location through GPS coordinates. So, he’s no longer considered a ‘person of interest’ in Everett’s death.”

“But why?” Kelly protested, trying to keep her voice from rising. People were walking in Old Town Plaza; children were playing in the fountain. “He admitted he went to see Everett. Maybe they had a fight. Maybe he grabbed the check and ran for his truck . . .” Kelly stopped herself, knowing those arguments didn’t make sense.

“He’d have no reason to kill Everett, Kelly, and you know it. Everett had given him most of the amount due, according to Zarofsky. So he had no motive. If Everett was dead, he’d never get the rest of his money.”

Kelly turned away from the families strolling in the plaza. “I know, I know . . . it’s just that I had all my hopes pinned on Bill Zarofsky being guilty. And now that he isn’t, Jennifer goes back to number one on Peterson’s list.
Dammit!
”

“I feel the same way, Kelly. Unfortunately, we can’t change the facts.”

“What will happen now, Burt? Is there anything we can do?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s in Peterson’s hands, and he’ll keep investigating until he’s satisfied, and there’s no way to know how long that will take.”

“
Damn
,” Kelly whispered again.

“We have to trust in Peterson’s good judgment. Listen, I’ve got to hang up now. I’m beat. Talk to you tomorrow, Kelly.”

“Thanks, Burt,” she said, listening to him click off. She shoved her phone into her pocket and headed back to the café. Tonight kept getting worse and worse.

“Jen,
when you have a second, could you fill up my mug, please?” Kelly leaned against the café’s counter, dangling her empty coffee mug.

“Be right over,” Jennifer said as she gathered dirty plates from an empty table. “How was your game last night? Did you guys win?”