Spin a Wicked Web: A Home Crafting Mystery Page 14

  The thing about making soap was that it was just dangerous enough that it demanded my full attention. My worries evaporated, and I found myself engaged in the magic of the soapmaking process yet again. I doubted I would ever become entirely blase about it. At least I hoped not. And right now it made me feel better to create something both beautiful and useful.

   

  Of course, that didn't mean I knew what I should do when I could no longer immerse myself behind the wall of work. The thought of a confrontation with Hannah gave me butterflies the size of dragons.

  Talk about overreaction, Sophie Mae.

  I pushed the thoughts out of my head and reached for a thermometer.

  The lye had heated chemically when mixed with water. When it had cooled to the temperature I needed, I poured the warm oils into the industrial-sized mixer I'd bought from a bakery in Seattle when it went out of business. Then I very, very carefully added the liquid lye and started the beater turning on the lowest speed. The liquids swished sluggishly together.

  I moved away from the mixer and removed my goggles, hanging them nearby for easy access for the next stage of the process.

  "Are you busy?" I nearly dropped the wooden soap mold I was holding when Meghan spoke from the bottom step.

  "Don't sneak up on me like that," I said with one hand over my racing heart. "What if I'd been handling lye?"

  "Sorry. I guess you are. Busy, I mean."

  I removed a glove and pushed back a tendril of hair that had flopped over my eyes. "What's up?"

  "Ruth's upstairs. Looking for you."

  "Can you entertain her for a few minutes? I'm almost done here."

  "You got it." Meghan returned upstairs.

   

  I could tell by the texture and viscosity of the soap that it had reached trace and was ready to pour. Donning my glove and goggles again, I turned off the mixer and, with a grunt, removed the bowl and carefully took it to the work island where the wooden molds, each of which held two dozen bars worth of soap, sat waiting. For the first couple I climbed onto a step stool and carefully ladled the thickened mixture into the molds. The last two I was able to pour directly.

  It took a little muscle, though. I thought of Chris wielding her hammer and tongs in the forge. She'd be able to pour the whole lot, I bet.

  When I had finished, I covered the soap with a light cloth to let it set up, cleaned up my workroom and myself, and headed upstairs.

  "How did it go?" Ruth asked.

  She, Meghan, and I sat in loungers in the strip of shade that ran along the back of the house. Erin was still at math camp, but Meghan would be leaving soon to pick her up. Out in the yard, the sunshine fell relentlessly on the garden beds. I could almost hear the plants reaching and stretching toward it, determined to procreate. Their biological imperative would benefit our table for the rest of the year. The hens clucked at each other in their pen, and in the neighbor's yard a pair of spotted towhees called to each other. A squirrel ran along the top of the cedar fence, pausing first to twitch his nose at us, and then his tail.

   

  The squirrel let loose with an irritated chatter, then flipped his tail at us one more time and scampered down the fence, out of sight.

  I felt kind of funny telling them what had happened in La Conner before I told Barr, but he'd had his chance. Besides, it seemed to fall under his gossip mandate.

  Taking a sip of lemonade, I said, "Rocky, Ariel's brother, is twenty-eight, has a wife and twin boys, an inherited tulip farm that doesn't make enough money to survive on, a side business as a car mechanic, prematurely thinning hair, and a lifelong blindness to who his sister really was. Gabi, his wife, is a competent, creative, family-oriented farm wife, doing her best to make do with what she has. She resented Ariel's hold over her brother and the money Rocky gave his sister."

  "She's the spinner?" Meghan asked.

  Ruth perked up at that.

  I nodded. "She has a fabulous stash, and she quilts and sews, too."

  "No wonder you like her so much," Meghan said.

  Hmmm. "I do like her," I mused. "She's one of those people who, on paper, you have a ton in common with, but there's a lot we don't, as well. Still, I think we could grow to be good friends."

  "It's too bad she lives so far away."

  "True," I said. "I did find out a few interesting things about Ariel herself, though."

  Ruth leaned forward.

  "For one thing, she had an affair with a teacher in high school."

  "Oh, that poor little thing," Ruth said.

   

  "Ariel's friend from high school would agree with you. Her sister-in-law, on the other hand, said it was all Ariel's fault and that she deliberately seduced the teacher in order to get a good grade."

  "Her friend from high school?"

  I told them about my conversation with Lindsey Drucker, including what I'd learned about Ariel's eating disorder.

  When I'd finished, Ruth gazed at me with sadness. "She was one messed-up kid, wasn't she?" Her eyes welled, and she looked away, blinking rapidly. Ruth was one of the most tender-hearted people I knew.

  Meghan, another bastion of sympathy, nodded her agreement.

  "Gabi suspects Ariel was also responsible for the accident that killed her and Rocky's parents," I said.

  Both women looked surprised. "Gabi sounds like a very bitter woman," Meghan observed.

  Ruth murmured her agreement. "At least when it comes to her sister-in-law."

  "Like I said, I think she's doing the best she can."

  "This whole situation must be very hard on all of them," Ruth said. "I, for one, think it was very nice of you to take that little girl's artwork up to her family, and I'm glad you met another spinner."

  "Say, Ruth?" I asked.

  "Yes, dear?"

  "You were over at Chris' house the night Ariel was killed, right?"

  She met my eyes and slowly nodded. "Along with Irene. Her husband's funeral was the next day, and the three of us have become quite close through the co-op."

  "Jake was there, too?"

   

  "For a little while. As her friend and her doctor. She'd asked him for something to help her sleep, and he brought over some samples."

  "So he didn't stay long?"

  "He left a little after seven-thirty."

  Plenty of time to provide Felicia with an alibi.

  Ruth looked at her watch. "I have to go-Uncle Thad will be needing his dinner, and he's helpless as a newborn when it comes to feeding himself." She stood, and Meghan and I clambered to our feet as she took her leave.

  Back in the house, Meghan collected her wallet and car keys. "How 'bout pizza for dinner? I can whip up some dough and we can all make our own after I pick up Erin." "

  I won't be here for dinner. Barr offered to cook for me."

  She grinned. "You're kidding."

  I grinned back. "Don't wait up."

   

  TWENTY-TWO

  I TURNED A CORNER, and the canvas bag of groceries on the seat next to me started to topple. My hand shot out in a classic Mommove to prevent the bag from tumbling to the floor by blocking it with the side of my forearm. Keeping my eyes on the road in front of me, I moved the bacon to make the bag less top-heavy.

  Barr might be making me dinner, but I planned on making him breakfast the next morning.

  He greeted me at the door, laying a big smacker on me and then taking the bag. When he saw what was in it, he waggled his eyebrows in approval and carried it into the kitchen.

  "What is that heavenly smell?" I called after him.

  "Garlic sauteed in butter," came the answer from the other room.

  There was a big bunch of flowers in the living room. They sat on a simple, glass-topped coffee table.

  The spool was gone.

   

  I felt a little guilty, complaining about it so much earlier. But not so much that I couldn't handle it.

  He returned with two
glasses and an open bottle of single malt Scotch. The enticing aroma of smoky peat drifted my way.

  "What's for dinner?" I asked.

  "You'll see." He sat down on the sofa, and I joined him. He poured a finger of Scotch into each glass and handed me one. We clinked them together.

  "To new beginnings," he said.

  I looked at the coffee table and smiled. "To new beginnings," I agreed. "Thank you for the flowers. And for getting rid of the spool."

  He settled back against the corner cushion. "You're welcome. Now give."

  I spent the next hour telling him every detail of my trip to La Conner. He listened carefully, only interrupting a couple of times to clarify a point. When I'd finished, I retrieved Ariel's diary from the tote I'd brought that also contained a change of clothes and basic toiletries.

  Handing it to him, I said, "I know it was a bad idea to take this. I'm sorry."

  But he didn't look upset. "From what you said, it probably wouldn't come into play in any court case anyway. If it does, you're a private citizen. If Robin or I'd taken it without a warrant, then it wouldn't be admissible, but you're you, and while a judge might not appreciate that you basically stole it, anything in it could still be used in court."

  "So I did good?"

  He glowered melodramatically from under his eyebrows. "It's wrong to steal."

   

  I grinned. "Sorry."

  His face relaxed. "Well, okay, then."

  "It must make Robin nuts to work with you."

  "If it does, the feeling's mutual."

  "Uh-oh. Are things okay between you two?"

  He shrugged. "Sure. She's not happy about the Hannah thing taking up so much of my time, but then again, neither am I"

  "Still don't know where she is, huh." At least she wouldn't try to talk to me tonight, I figured.

  "She's nowhere in Cadyville, and we haven't been able to find her in any of the neighboring towns, either."

  "Maybe she left after this morning."

  "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. I didn't believe it, either.

  "And Ariel's murder?" I asked.

  "Lots of running around, lots of follow up, not much in the way of results. Robin's nearly apoplectic with impatience. But we're making some progress, learning more every day."

  Naturally I wanted them to find the killer, but hearing there was a soupcon of trouble in paradise didn't exactly bother me. I nestled my back into the cushions and took a sip of Scotch. Mmm. My favorite: Laphroaig. Barr had thought of everything.

  "Do you think Ariel could have had anything to do with Scott's death?" I asked.

  "Even if she really did have the mechanical ability to damage his vehicle, he was killed in his patrol car. It would have been awfully risky to sneak into the motor pool to do that."

  I sniffed. "`Motor pool.' It's a parking lot behind the police station, Barr."

   

  "Fenced off, with limited access," he said. "It still would have been risky."

  "Did he always drive the same car? Or do they switch around?"

  Barr gave a facial shrug. "Same one. And he could have taken it home, parked it in the driveway; many officers do. But he liked to leave it at the station, and drove his truck to and from work."

  I took another sip of Scotch and changed the subject. "So who are the suspects in Ariel's murder?" I held up my hand and began ticking them off on my fingers. "There's Chris."

  "Alibi," Barr said.

  "I know. But right now I'm focusing on who might have wanted Ariel dead, not opportunity."

  "What, you think someone hired it out?" he asked.

  "How should I know? It's a possibility, isn't it?"

  "Strangling someone with your yarn? Sounds more like a crime of passion. Though you may be interested that the medical examiner told us Ariel was struck on the head with a blunt object before she was strangled."

  I perked up at that. "Really? Was she knocked unconscious?"

  "Possibly, but probably not."

  "But she might not have been able to fight back, at least not much. Not that she was very big or strong to start with. So whoever strangled her might not have been that strong, either."

  "True. And please don't say anything to anyone about the blow to the head. We're trying to keep that under wraps. 11

  I nodded my agreement. "So anyway, we have Chris, because Ariel was sleeping with her husband. And Irene, because Ariel was sleeping with her son."

  "Same alibi."

   

  "Right. Then there's Felicia, because she thought Ariel was sleeping with her husband."

  "But she wasn't?"

  "Apparently not, according to Ruth and Lindsey."

  "Okay."

  "Then there's Zak," I said. "Because Ariel was sleeping with Scott."

  "At least Scott couldn't have done it," Barr said.

  "But: Jake could have known about both Scott and Zak. He may have been jealous."

  "By giving Felicia an alibi, he's giving himself one."

  "Exactly."

  "Then there's Daphne, her roommate. Ariel owed her a bunch of money, and it didn't look like she'd pay it back anytime soon. Daphne wanted a new roommate right away," I said.

  "That's really reaching, Sophie Mae."

  "Yeah, probably."

  "What about the brother?" he asked.

  "I didn't get any idea that he had a motive. He adored his sister and seems devastated by her death."

  "His wife?"

  "There was no love lost between Gabi and Ariel, but they live awfully far away."

  "It's only an hour drive."

  He was right. Why did an hour's drive through the country seem so much longer than the hour's drive to downtown Seattle?

  "Okay, put her on the list," I said.

  "The friend? Drucker? I'll tell Robin about her tomorrow, so she can follow up"

   

  I shook my head. "She may have more information to give you about Ariel-she clammed up on me all of a sudden at the end of my visit-but I don't see her as the murderer."

  Barr took a sip of his drink. "Okay, who else?"

  "I can't think of anyone. Can you?"

  He sighed. "She'd dated several other men, some of whom were married. But it was all awhile ago. You've hit the current ones. There certainly do seem to be a lot of convenient alibis floating around."

  "Somebody's lying," I said.

  "Somebody always is.,,

  "Well, this somebody's starving. Any chance you're going to feed me anytime soon?"

  He stood up and offered me his hand. "Come on, woman. Let's get some victuals in you."

  The tiny table in the kitchen was actually set with candles and dishes that matched. It was still light outside, but Barr lit the tapers anyway. Then he served shrimp scampi over rice with a simple salad. It was delicious. He had the good sense to buy a ready-made dessert, and the further good sense to make it cheesecake-only my favorite sweet indulgence in the whole wide world. He garnished it with fresh raspberries. As night fell, we snuggled on the sofa and watched an old black-and-white movie on TV.

  I was giddy as a school girl on Valentine's Day by the end of the movie and the wine. And I may have even giggled a bit during the activities that followed. Afterward, relaxed in the crook of Barr's arm with a light breeze curling in the open window, I listened to his deep breathing and thought about how happy I was when I was with him. Maybe this living together thing would work after all.

   

  At three a.m. I was wide awake again, thoughts running around in my head like rats in a cage. I found myself reflecting on what Barr had said earlier, before we drifted off to sleep. Ever since he'd told me about the money his uncle had left him, questions had been collecting in the back of my mind. As we cuddled in the dark it seemed easier to talk about, so I'd brought up a biggie.

  "Are you going to quit your job now that you have a ton of money?"

  "What? Why would I do that?"

  "People win t
he lottery, they quit their jobs. Follow their dreams. I just, you know, wondered."

  He'd laughed. "I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but most of it will be invested for when I do quit my job. But I like being a cop, and I like being a cop in Cadyville."

  "No changes?"

  "Oh, I imagine there'll be a few. Maybe I'll get a new car or something. But if you're worried that I'm going to change my whole life just because I have some dollars to play with, you can stop. It's just money. I'm just me."

  I'd also read that a lot of people who won the lottery were miserable and ended up going through their winnings within a few years. Barr was practical and viewed his inheritance as security, though. The guy was solid as a rock.

   

  Sighing with contentment, I pulled the sheet higher. The breeze wafting in the open window held the fragrance of roses as well as a chill. As I began to doze, my mind drifted to the list of suspects we'd discussed earlier. Which one had Ariel angered to the point of murder?

  She'd looked so small there on the floor of Ruth's studio space. Hmm. That was kind of strange. Why hadn't she been in her own studio space? She didn't spin. She didn't do anything involved with fiber or yarn, and had never showed any interest in learning. But she'd had that tuft of fiber clenched in her hand; I'd seen it myself. I could see it in my mind's eye now.

  It had been green. With a little blue and pink. Like the northern lights. The colors of nature obviously inspired Thea Hawke's choices of color combinations in her hand-painted batts.

  Green and blue and pink. Like the stuff Gabi had buried in her spinning basket. Said she'd bought it online.

  My eyes opened.

  I watched the sky brighten slowly on the other side of the window, from a lighter shade of night to early dawn. The air gradually filled with the songs of early birds looking for their proverbial worms. From beside me came the sound of light snoring. Finally, I slid out of bed and padded out to the kitchen. Barr's laptop sat on the counter.

  Thea Hawke Designs had a very nice website, but she referred anyone who was interested in her unique creations to the Cadyville Regional Artists' Co-op. She didn't sell online.