Sefton - Knit One, Kill Two

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

A thousand thanks to Shirley Ellsworth, the inspired owner of Lambspun of Colorado in Fort Collins, Colorado, the knitting shop I used as a model for this series and the place I first fell down the rabbit hole into this fascinating wonderland of color and texture. Shirley and her staff of gifted teachers and fiber artists never ran out of patience with my questions or encouragement for my beginning efforts. Thanks also to the Tuesday night knitting group for their rowdy and wonderful brainstorming of titles for this series of novels. And special thanks to Kristi for her last-minute artwork.

Thanks also to my agent, Jessica Faust, for her unceasing encouragement and support to write this knitting mystery. And special thanks to my wonderful editor, Samantha Mandor, for helping to bring Kelly and all her friends to life on the page.

Special thanks to my four daughters, my mom, and all my dear friends whove always believed in me and supported my writing dreams. And thanks to my ninety-two-year-old aunt, Ann, whose quilt of memories hangs on my bedroom wall.

And a special pat on the head to my dog, Carl, whos the model for Kellys golf-ball chasing pet Rottweiler. I must admit that fictional Carl is much better behaved than real-life Carl, with or without golf balls.

One

Kelly Flynn nosed her car onto the gravel driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the familiar little house perched beside a golf course. Everything looked the same. Aunt Helens beige stucco, red tile-roofed cottage looked as cozy and inviting as always. Golfers were scattered about the lush greens, doggedly working to improve their games. In the background the Colorado Rocky Mountains, still snow-capped in late spring, loomed over the entire scene. It was all picture-postcard pretty, just like Kelly remembered, except for one thing. Aunt Helen was deadmurdered a week ago in her picturesque cottage.

A burglary gone bad the police called it. Kellys gut still twisted at the thought. Aunt Helen would have fought back. Kelly knew she would. Even though she was thin as a stick and a foot shorter than Kelly, she was wiry and tough. And she had spirit. Spunk. Shed never go down without a fight. Not Aunt Helen. No way.

Kelly felt tears rise to her eyes again as she remembered her aunts favorite admonition: Never give up, Kelly-girl. If you want something bad enough, dont you ever give up. The tears escaped, running down Kellys cheeks, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. Shed never even had the chance to say good-bye. At least with her dad, Kellyd been able to tell him how much she loved him. Cancer might be an ugly way to die, but it was slower. Murder was a thief in the night, creeping in to steal away valuable loved ones. And this thief stole the only mother Kelly had ever known.

A cold, wet nose shoved against Kellys neck, and she turned to pat the shiny black Rottweiler head resting beside her shoulder. Carl always sensed her moods. Dont worry, boy, I havent forgotten you. Youre looking at that grass, right? She pointed to the manicured golf course, stretching from her aunts property all the way to the river that meandered diagonally through the scenic college town north of Denver.

Kelly let herself gaze. It had been six months since shed returned to Fort Connor, where she spent her early childhood. Every time she returned, she wondered how shed ever make herself leave again. The sky was bluer here, the air was cleaner, and the sun was brighter by a mile. A mile high to be exact, as Aunt Helen used to say. What a gorgeous day. If her aunt was still alive, she and Kelly would take one of their favorite hikes along a trail in the nearby Poudre Canyon. How could it be so beautiful with Helen gone?

Carl whined to get her attention, clearly eager to explore. Okay, boy, but you cant run on the course. The greenskeeper wouldnt appreciate your lifting a leg on every tee. Carl rolled his soft brown eyes to her in pleading mode.

Nope. Youll just have to make do with the yard. Kelly opened the car door and slid out, grabbing a leash as she did.

Carls ears perked up at the magic jingle, and he gave an excited yelp. That meant outside and play. Snapping the leash to his red collar, Kelly headed toward the small backyard. Tall cottonwood trees surrounded the property, shading both house and yard. Flower boxes were already planted, even though Kelly knew the frost date in northern Colorado was a yearly gamble. Somehow, Helen always won out. Her green thumb or gardeners luck could overcome even Colorados capricious weather.

Kelly made a mental note to water the plants that evening. She wasnt about to let Helens plants die with her. She swung the back gate open and ushered Carl inside. It isnt the golf course, boy, but its bigger than your yard for sure, she said, referring to her postage stamp- size townhouse yard on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Carl didnt waste time. He took off the moment his leash was unsnapped, nose to the ground.

The sound of another car coming down the gravel driveway caught Kellys attention, and she turned to see a red minivan drive up to the larger stucco and red tile- roofed house across the drive. A woman exited the van and entered the sprawling mirror-image of Helens cottage.

Both houses and the assorted outbuildings nearby occupied a pie-shaped wedge of land that clung to the corner of a busy intersection. Kelly remembered when both streets were country roads cutting through fields of sugar beets and sheep farms. Now, a big box discount store swallowed the opposite corner and townhouses clustered across the street.

At least her aunt and uncle had sold their farmland to the city for a golf course and kept only the cottage and its yard. If she squinted her eyes hard enough, Kelly could block out the golfers and picture her uncle heading to the barn years ago when he was still alive.

Kelly, is that you? a womans voice called.

Kelly shut the gate, knowing Carl would be occupied for hours identifying scents. She turned and recognized Mimi Shafer walking across the driveway. Mimi owned the knitting and needlework shop that now occupied what was once Aunt Helens and Uncle Jims farmhouse. Her aunt had been ecstatic about the arrangement, since she was an expert knitter and quilter, but Kelly had always felt vaguely resentful. She remembered when the house was filled with Aunt Helen and Uncle Jimand memories. But Uncle Jims long illness changed all that.

Now, Kelly felt nothing but gratitude. Mimi had been Aunt Helens closest friend and had never left Kellys side during yesterdays service. She gave names to faces and helped Kelly stand and sit through a liturgy that was no longer familiar.

Kelly straightened her white blouse and navy skirt. Not as tailored as her usual CPA firm attire, but sober enough for a lawyer meeting. She couldnt wait until she could change into a casual top and slacks, maybe even shorts if it stayed warm. Ever since she got back, shed been dressed up and meeting people. Just like the office. But Colorado meant sunshine and mountains and freedom to Kelly. And that meant shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers.

She brushed her chin-length dark-brown hair behind her ear and checked the barrette in back. Kellyd rushed through her shower and dressing in order to fit in a morning run along the trail that ran beside the motel. Shed barely checked the mirror. After yesterdays tears, she needed to clear her head. Running always helped her think.

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