Dropped Dead Stitch (24 page)

“Naw, we lost. Boy, we’re still rusty. I think we would have played better if we hadn’t been rained out. We need to get our rhythm back. Our batting was lousy.”

“Hey, summer is only beginning,” Jennifer said as she dumped the plates into the plastic tub behind the counter. “You guys will be knocking it out of the park before you know it.”

“I hope. Steve’s team lost, too, so we all went to Old Town and drowned our sorrows.”

Jennifer poured a dark stream into Kelly’s mug as the last two café customers in the alcove left. “How’s Steve doing? It’s getting worse out there. Foreclosures are starting to pop up all over town.”

Kelly smelt the aroma drift toward her nostrils—strong and heady. Nerve cells snapped online. “He’s holding on, hoping none of his Wellesley homes get hit. But, it’s such a bad time now . . . people are losing jobs.”

Jennifer nodded, with the expression of someone who had witnessed these boom-and-bust real estate cycles before. Jennifer had built up scar tissue. “And when they lose their jobs, then they lose their homes. It’s inevitable, because they can’t make the mortgage payments. I’ve got my fingers crossed that Northern Investments will weather this storm. They’re a reputable lender. The riskier companies are already going belly-up.”

Kelly searched her brain trying to place the company Jennifer mentioned. “Who’s Northern Investments again?”

Jennifer smiled and patted her on the arm. “It’s the mortgage company that’s handling all the loans for Steve’s Wellesley homes.”

“Ooops, I knew that,” Kelly said, feeling guilty.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything. Real estate agents are always the first to know who’s going under and who’s still afloat.”

Kelly flinched at Jennifer’s metaphor. She took a deep drink of Eduardo’s rich brew as she watched Jennifer wipe off the alcove café tables. The warm spring morning had enticed most breakfast customers outside onto the patio.
Good.
She wanted some privacy.

“Jen, I wanted to give you a heads-up,” she said, approaching her friend while she worked. “Detective Peterson may be paying you another visit. I’m not sure, but maybe.”

Jennifer glanced up. “Something’s happened, I can tell.”

Kelly nodded, dropping her voice so the kitchen staff couldn’t hear. Thankfully Pete was nowhere in sight. His antennae were so acute when it came to Jennifer, he would be homing in on Kelly’s signal right now if he was nearby.

“Yeah, it turns out that Zarofsky has an alibi after all. Seems he was at his ranch with his drug-dealing brother cooking up meth.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Oh, lovely. He was the one you were hoping would replace me at the top of Peterson’s list, right?”

“Yeah, he’s guilty, all right. Just not of murder.”

Jennifer stared off into the café. “Don’t worry about it, Kelly. There’s no way I can prove I wasn’t involved in Everett’s death. Peterson will either believe me or not.”

“I know, I know, but . . .”

“You wanted to fix it,” Jennifer said, smiling at her. “Some thing’s you just can’t fix, Sherlock. Cal Everett’s dead. I went out that night for a walk alone. You can’t change that. It is what it is.”

Kelly didn’t like that. She was used to solving problems. Accounting problems, business problems, financial problems, even people problems. Now there was a great big problem involving her dear friend, and Kelly couldn’t do anything. She felt helpless. Kelly hated that feeling.

“At least Peterson knows you. That’s something.”

Jennifer walked up and put her hand on Kelly’s arm. “I have a feeling everything’s going to be all right. So stop worrying, okay?”

Kelly sighed. “Okay, I’ll try. But let me know if Peterson wants to talk to you again.”

“Absolutely,” Jennifer agreed with a nod. “Now, you go into the shop and finish that vest before it’s too hot to wear it. I’ve got to check my outside customers.”

Kelly raised her mug in salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.” Then she headed toward the hallway that led into the knitting shop.

Lambspun customers were already prowling the bins and shelves, examining bright summer yarns. Kelly fingered some skeins of cotton and silk as she strolled through the rooms on the way to the knitting table. This would be a good time to catch up on her accounts. There was nothing like numbers to keep her mind occupied. Number problems were a lot easier to handle. You didn’t worry about number problems. You solved them.

As she trailed her fingers across a bin of enticing bamboo and silk blended yarns, Kelly noticed a woman exploring the skeins of novelty yarns in the corner. Something about her looked familiar. Kelly observed the woman, watched her sort through the bins.
Where had she seen her before?
Dark brown hair in a ponytail, looked in her thirties, maybe. Where was it?

Suddenly Kelly remembered. The canyon retreat. The woman was one of the attendees. One of Dr. Norcross’s patients.
That’s it.
Kelly searched her memory, waiting for a name to come. Her name started with an
E. Edie. That’s right.

Another memory popped into Kelly’s head. Edie was the one who had been out of town. She was Greta’s roommate.

That thought started more ideas churning. Maybe Greta talked to Edie about her sister and her suicide. After all, they shared a cabin while at that emotion-filled retreat. Maybe they talked and shared with each other when they were alone.

“Edie, is that you?” Kelly said, venturing closer.

The woman’s head jerked up, and she stared at Kelly for a second before smiling in recognition. “Hey . . . Kelly, isn’t it? How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. Weren’t you out of town or something? I think I remember you mentioning at the retreat that you had to travel a lot with your job,” Kelly fudged. Edie had mentioned her job, that was all.

“Yeah, I’ve been away on business for a couple of weeks. Consulting has its demands. But I put a reminder on my daytimer to check out this shop when I returned. I remembered how you guys described it and the yarns.” She gazed around in admiration. “Boy, you didn’t exaggerate.”

Kelly grinned. “Yeah. It has that effect on people. We call it the ‘yarn trance’ or ‘fiber fever.’ ”

Edie laughed. “Well, you’re right about that. I’ve picked out several yarns trying to decide which is best for my new project. I want to knit a triangular shawl. Maybe you can take a look at my pattern and see if I’ve got the right thing or not.”

Startled that anyone would actually ask her opinion of knitting techniques or procedures, Kelly hesitated a beat. “Sure, I’ll be glad to. Why don’t we take your basket over to the table, and we can take a look.” She plopped her bag on the knitting table, then gestured to the chair beside hers. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Edie settled and began rummaging through her basket of yarns, then pulled out a pattern. “I was thinking of knitting the shawl with a lot of different yarns. Then I found this big ball of special yarns and wondered if it would work all right with my pattern. What do you think?”

Kelly looked over the page and inwardly sighed in relief. She’d made this shawl herself.
Whew!
“Oh, this is a nice pattern, and it’s easy to knit. I’ve done it myself.” She fondled the ball of yarns Edie had chosen. “Just to be sure, you’ll want to knit a gauge swatch to see if these yarns will match the gauge the pattern recommends. Looks like you’ve got the right needles, circular size 15.”

Edie looked doubtful. “How do I make a gauge swatch?”

Kelly recognized that look. She’d worn it a lot. “It’s easy. All you have to do is cast on about twelve or so stitches, then knit about six or eight rows. Then you measure with a ruler. That will tell you if you’re getting four stitches to the inch like the pattern says.”

“I can do that,” Edie replied, confidence resurfacing.

Kelly took out her vest-in-progress while Edie started to cast stitches onto her needles. Kelly deliberately let a couple of quiet minutes pass before speaking. Let the meditative and relaxing knitting “vibe” take over. Something about the relaxed knitting activity made conversation flow, just like it had at the retreat that weekend.

“Didn’t you and Greta share a cabin at the retreat?” she ventured finally.

Edie nodded, keeping her concentration on her stitches. “Yeah. She’s a really nice gal. Good martial arts instructor, too. I may take it up. If I ever find the time.”

“Yeah, I liked Greta, too. That’s why I’m concerned. Lisa says she seems to be going into some kind of depression lately.”

Edie looked up. “Really? Ohhhh, that’s too bad. She seemed okay at the retreat. Of course, I didn’t know her before.”

Kelly knitted another few stitches. “Apparently she’s acting really nervous and jumpy and doesn’t want to talk to people. She’s withdrawn from everyone. Lisa said some of Greta’s friends are really getting worried. One of the therapists has known her for a long time and said Greta got like that after her sister died a few years ago.”

Edie shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know how traumatic that was for Greta because she told me. That evening after Jennifer had shared what happened to her . . . well, Greta and I started talking when we got back to the cabin. I wasn’t able to share in front of the others, but somehow talking to Greta made it easier.”

“Sounds like she’ll make a great therapist.” Kelly stitched to the end of the row. “So, she told you that her sister killed herself?”

Edie returned to her swatch, making slow, careful stitches. “That was so tragic. It sounded like Greta found the best counselors she could, but they must not have been a match because her sister didn’t respond. I mean, none of us ever gets over being raped, but if we’re lucky, we learn how to overcome and not let it define our lives. That’s why I’m so grateful I found Dr. Norcross.”

Kelly stared at Edie, momentarily speechless. Bonnie Baldwin had been raped?
Good Lord!
That had to be the reason she committed suicide. And Greta blamed herself for not saving Bonnie. No wonder Greta had spiraled into a depression after the retreat. Being surrounded by women who had suffered the same trauma was bound to bring all of those old memories swirling back.

“Good Lord, I didn’t know her sister was assaulted,” Kelly breathed. “How awful.”

Edie nodded. “According to Greta, some guy followed her sister home from a bar in Fort Connor one night. Told her she’d left something at the bar, then forced his way in. Just like Jennifer described.”

A cold chill rippled across Kelly’s skin at the sound of Edie’s words and the raw emotion beneath. Kelly sat in silence. There was nothing she could say which could express the revulsion she felt right now.

Her thoughts, however, were anything but quiet. They screamed for Kelly’s attention. A guy followed Bonnie home, lied about her leaving something at the bar, then forced his way in. Bonnie’s assault was exactly like Jennifer’s. Could that be a coincidence? Was the same attacker responsible? Did Cal Everett rape Bonnie, years before he raped Jenifer?

Kelly’s pulse started to race with the thoughts that zoomed through her mind now. She’d bet anything it was Everett. The attacks were so similar. Did Greta learn who raped her sister, or did she put it together when she heard Jennifer’s story?

“Did Bonnie go to the police? Did they find out who did it?”

Edie shook her head, still stitching. “Apparently Bonnie didn’t want to go to the police, even though Greta begged her. She never filed a report.”

“So they never learned who the attacker was?”

“No. Greta said Bonnie swore her to secrecy about the rape. She didn’t want anyone to know. She simply withdrew from everyone, Greta said.”

“Damn . . .” Kelly said softly. “If only she’d pressed charges, maybe . . . maybe that guy would have been found and caught.”

“Maybe. Some attackers never are, Kelly. That’s why Greta worked so hard to find good therapists for her sister. She said she kept watching Bonnie close off, and she didn’t know what else to do. Greta said she must have taken Bonnie to five different therapists over two years.”

“That is so sad,” Kelly said softly, staring at her yarn. “And poor Greta is carrying such a huge load of guilt around.” She started knitting once again, wondering how to ask the next question that pushed forward. “Did Greta ever try to find out who the guy was?”

“Yeah, she tried. She said she went to that bar and asked the bartender some questions, but he didn’t remember seeing her sister, let alone the guy with her. Greta said she wanted to find out who he was so she could confront him. Tell him he was responsible for Bonnie’s death. Hold him accountable. That’s what she said.”

Kelly knitted another row of stitches, sorting through her thoughts. They’d slowed down as well, no longer speed-racing like they did whenever a new scenario formed in her mind. Now, they played through her mind more deliberately, so she could consider each possibility.

It sounded like Greta had tried to learn the identity of her sister’s attacker. Had she figured it out? Did she already know it was Cal Everett? Is that why she came on the retreat? Or, did she listen to Jennifer’s account of her assault and suddenly realize the similarity? That must be it.

Kelly stitched another row, then another, as those possibilities played through her mind. Clearly Greta was sorting through everything she learned that weekend.
Is that why she shared her sister’s story with Edie? Was she preparing herself to confront Cal Everett?
She’d told Edie that she wanted to face Bonnie’s attacker and hold him accountable for what he did. He caused her sister’s death.

Did Greta confront Cal Everett that night? When? She and Edie retired to their cabin about the same time as Kelly and Lisa. There were still women by the campfire. They would have told police if they saw Greta walking about.

Suddenly, a stray memory floated into Kelly’s mind. Dr. Norcross had heard a truck engine and got up in the middle of the night to investigate. But there was someone else who was awake in the middle of the night. Burt said Edie told police she awoke at night to see Greta standing in the cabin doorway. She’d asked Greta what she was doing, and Greta said she’d heard a noise outside.