Free Unraveled by Maggie Sefton Page A

of land that she’d picked out twenty years ago. Up in Redstone Canyon. Renee always talked about building a house there. It had great views of the Buckhorn Creek and valley. That bastard sold it last year. Did it on purpose because he knew she loved it.” She scowled. “He was one mean son of a gun. I’m surprised one of those clients he cheated over the years didn’t do him in. Even Renee said she wanted to plug him.”
    “Well, she’s got all his assets now,” Kelly said. “Turner’s dead and they’re still married. No divorce.”
    Jennifer looked pensive for a minute. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. I didn’t want to say anything before because it sounded so insensitive. I mean, the woman just lost her husband. But maybe Renee Turner really would be interested in selling that Poudre Canyon property to Housemann.”
    “Hell, nobody is gonna grieve Fred Turner. Least of all, Renee,” Jayleen declared. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she does sell it. Let’s hope so.”
    “That would be great,” Jennifer said, returning to the peach fiber. “Nothing can happen until after the estate is settled, but it would be good to know that a deal could eventually go through.”
    “Well, I’m sure my client Housemann would like to know,” Kelly added. “He’s really interested in that property.”
    Burt appeared in the doorway of the adjoining classroom, holding a white plastic bag. Creamy white fleece protruded over the top of the bag. “Hey, is there room for me and my wheel?” he asked with a smile.
    “Sure, Burt, come and join us,” Kelly invited, beckoning him over.
    “Hey, Burt. You and that bag remind me. I’ve gotta ask Mimi about some fleeces I promised her.” Jayleen effortlessly swung her jeans-clad leg over the chair as she rose.
    “Well, you’d better get up front because she’s there now, and it’s nearly closing time.” Burt pulled his spinning wheel from the corner and plopped the plastic bag beside. Settling into a chair, he pulled the wheel toward him.
    “I’ll talk to you folks another time,” Jayleen said as she headed for the foyer.
    “Bye, Jayleen, and thanks,” Jennifer called after her, as she shoved the peach wool and needles into her bag. “I lost track of time. I’ve gotta go home and change and get over to the university for that banquet going on tonight.”
    “Sorry you had to go through that again, Jennifer,” Burt said with a fatherly smile. “Walking in on a death scene. Not good.”
    “Well, it won’t happen again, Burt,” Jennifer said as she rose to leave. “Kelly and I aren’t driving together into canyons anymore. She’ll explain. Gotta go, guys.” She gave a wave and headed toward the foyer.
    “What was that all about?” Burt asked, clearly confused.
    “Oh, Jen’s convinced we have bad canyon juju.” Kelly returned to her yarn and discovered the stitches had loosened. Strange. Maybe recycled silk was one of those temperamental yarns. She knitted several stitches easily and regained her rhythm.
    Burt began drafting some of the fleece in his lap, pulling the fibers apart with his fingers, stretching them, to make them easier to spin. His feet began the treadle’s steady rhythm while Burt started feeding the drafted fleece, or roving, onto the wheel. Smoothly the roving slid through his partially separated fingers and onto the strand of yarn that wound around the wheel and onto the spindle.
    Kelly loved watching Burt spin. It was peaceful and calming. Kelly sat and knitted two entire rows, the only sound the hum of the wheel.
    Finally, Burt spoke. “I heard from Paul Graves, an old friend with the county police. I’d left him a message last week after we talked. Paul said it appears Fred Turner committed suicide, but they’re waiting for the medical examiner’s report.”
    “It certainly looked that way,” Kelly said, still focusing on her stitches.
    “As you know, sometimes things aren’t as they appear.” Burt gave her a