Close Knit Killer Read Online Free

closer to where Kelly and Nelson stood
     on the sidewalk, Kelly did notice something. She recognized that thin bearded face.
     She’d seen him before, but where?
    “Well, you gentlemen have your work cut out for you, that’s for sure. I’ll come over
     and check on your progress because I work over there in the cottage.” She pointed
     across the driveway. “Aunt Helen left me the cottage in her will, along with the mortgage,”
     she added. Both men smiled.
    “You should keep that property, Ms. Flynn. This is a choice piece of land, as you
     know. I bet your aunt Helen wouldn’t want you selling it off.”
    “No, siree,” the older man spoke up.
    “I agree,” Kelly said, then turned to the bearded man. She finally remembered where
     she’d seen him. “Excuse me, but I think I’ve met you before. Isn’t your name Malcolm?”
    The bearded man flushed slightly and a smile appeared. “Yes, ma’am. I recognize you,
     too. You came into the Mission one day a couple of years back with Miss Jayleen and
     Jerry. You asked me questions about that young girl who was found dead on the trail
     beside the river.”
    “That’s right!” Kelly exclaimed. “You were really helpful. No one else had seen that
     girl except you. Thank God you spoke up.”
    Malcolm flushed deeper and gazed down at the driveway. “Well, I wanted to help out
     Mr. Jerry and Miss Jayleen. They’d been really good to me. And they still are.”
    “You know, I remember that story in the paper,” Nelson said, turning to Malcolm. “Did
     you see that girl being killed, Malcolm?”
    Malcolm looked horrified. “Oh, no, sir! I never saw any of that. I just saw someone,
     looked like a man to me, walk that girl down the trail and leave her sitting on a
     rock.”
    “That’s exactly right,” Kelly said. “If it weren’t for Malcolm speaking up, the killer
     would have gotten away with murder.”
    Hal Nelson smiled at Malcolm and put his hand on his shoulder. “Good for you, Malcolm.
     You really stepped up. I’m proud of you.”
    Malcolm looked down at the ground again, clearly embarrassed. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson.
     That’s good of you to say.”
    “It’s the truth, Malcolm. You provided the clue that led to solving the case. If you
     don’t believe me, ask Burt Parker. He’ll tell you,” Kelly chimed in.
    Hal Nelson laughed as he walked toward the back of his truck. Several toolboxes sat
     inside along with ladders and other gear. “That is the truth. Burt was a detective
     here for many a year.”
    “And he’s still detecting,” Kelly added as she turned back to the sidewalk. “It was
     nice meeting you two. You’ll see me going back and forth from my office to the shop.
     Eduardo’s coffee keeps tempting me.”
    “Take care, Ms. Flynn,” Malcolm called over his shoulder as he went to help Nelson
     lift the toolboxes from the truck bed.
    “You, too, Malcolm,” Kelly said as she sped down the sidewalk. She should really get
     inside and see how much work she could accomplish before lunch. Kelly skipped up the
     brick steps to the Spanish colonial–style farmhouse and heaved open the heavy wooden
     front door.
    Stepping inside the Lambspun foyer was always a delight, a visual treat for the senses.
     It never disappointed. Baskets and chests, spilling over with fat balls of thick yarn
     or skinny twists of whisper-thin fiber. Tables were stacked with twisted coils of
     hand-dyed mohair and silk, a rainbow of colors. Kelly couldn’t resist stroking the
     sensuous softness.
    Knitted, crocheted, and woven creations were everywhere. Hanging from open doors of
     an antique dry sink. Draped along the walls above tables and shelves. Old steamer
     trunks and wide wicker baskets bulged and spilled over with colors and textures. With
     her one free hand, Kelly succumbed to the yarn’s siren call—
touch, touch
. She indulged herself as usual, touching everything in sight. Mohair and silk, alpaca,
     bamboo, baby alpaca, merino