Spin a Wicked Web: A Home Crafting Mystery Page 6

   

  "Aren't they? Of course, by the time the season is over we'll be sick to death of them."

  It was hard to imagine, but she was right. "That's what freezers are for. Do you have any clients today?"

  "Two" Her massage business had begun to slow for the summer, too. "At noon and at one."

  I have an errand to run. I'll be home later," I said.

  "Sounds good."

  I refrained from mentioning the errand involved spending time alone with a possible murderer.

  The ranch-style house was located on ten acres of land on the east side of Cadyville, set back from the county road that wound north from Highway 2. A large black dog and a smaller brown one greeted my arrival with joyous barks and wagging tails. Laughing at their enthusiasm, I pushed their cold noses away from my bare legs. A metallic clang sounded from behind the house as I reached for the doorbell.

  Chris didn't answer. Another loud reverberation carried through the air, followed by another and then another. A low droning underscored the mesmerizing rhythm. The dogs gamboled around me as I walked around the house to the backyard.

  The drone became the roar of an enclosed fire as I neared the source: Chris' blacksmith shop. No walls enclosed the thirty-bythirty space, but eight thick corner posts supported the octagonal roof. The floor was bare dirt, swept smooth. Her arm, pale in the relative darkness, rose and fell, the clank of the hammer on redhot metal sparking with each blow. The pounding stopped, and, with a pair of tongs, she transferred a flat, tapering rod from the anvil to the forge.

   

  Chris turned and saw me watching. I raised a hand in greeting.

  "Oh. It's you," she said, swiping at the sheen of sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. She beckoned me in. "Be careful. Forge's hot."

  The air close to the blaze warped and shimmered with heat. The tang of hot iron mingled with the earthy scent of Chris' perspiration. It smelled like hard work.

  "Do you want some iced tea?" she asked.

  "Sure"

  "Oh. Well, there's some in the big thermos over there. Should be some cups by it."

  I found the cups and opened the thermos. "Do you want some?" I asked. "You must be roasting in here."

  "I'm fine." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not being very gracious."

  Her hair hung lank, as if she hadn't washed it for days, and it was held back off her face on each side by blue plastic barrettes more suited to a ten-year-old girl. She wore a white tank top that needed an appointment with a washing machine, and faded jeans, frayed at the edges. I wondered whether it wouldn't be safer to wear long sleeves when working with hot metal.

  "Don't worry about it," I said. I could hardly recall the period right after Mike died. Mostly I remembered having to put on a good show for all the people who were trying to be nice to me. At the time it had felt almost like an imposition, but now I realized it had been one of the things that had kept me from falling apart completely.

   

  Chris, on the other hand didn't seem to be concerned with putting on a game face. She dipped a sopping bandanna out of a bucket of water near her feet, used it to swab the back of her neck, and then rubbed her forehead furiously, leaving behind a bright pink patch of skin.

  "Is there anyone who can stay with you?" I asked, and took a sip of tea. The stuff was strong enough to strip paint, and so cold it made my teeth hurt. I rolled the sweating cup across my cheek.

  "I don't want anyone to. I just want to get through this mess." She sat on a bench and waved to the space beside her. I joined her. She grew still, looking at me. Really looking at me for the first time since I'd interrupted her work. "Does Barr know you're here?"

  I shook my head. Well, he didn't, did he?

  "Do you know about the murder investigation?"

  I paused, and her gaze became suspicious. No way to lie here, and probably no reason to, either. Thank God. I was a horrible liar.

  "Oh, I know about it," I said. "For one thing, I found Ariel. And, yes, Barr mentioned something about you being a suspect."

  For a split second she looked triumphant, before it quickly faded to sadness underscored with a heavy dose of anger.

  "So did Ruth," I added.

  Chris looked at me curiously. "Is that why you're here?"

  "Did you kill Ariel?"

  "No!"

   

  "Okay then. I told you after the funeral that I'd lost my husband. I know how rough it is. But ... can I be frank?"

  "Please. I'm sick and tired of people tiptoeing around me."

  "My husband died of cancer, not in a sudden accident. He wasn't having an affair. And I wasn't accused of killing his lover. So in my book, this has got to be even harder on you than it was on me. I thought you might want someone to talk to. Or cry on. Or yell at."

  She stared at me, and for a moment I thought I'd gone too far. Then a smile tugged at her lips.

  "I'm available. That's all," I said.

  "Noted," she said. "I think I'll have some tea after all."

  I poured frigid brown liquid out of her thermos into a plastic cup and handed it to her.

  "Why do they think you did it?" I asked.

  Barr hadn't told me much, and I was curious. He was no dummy, after all. Maybe she really had killed the girl. I eyed her bulging biceps.

  She sighed. "You already know that Scott and Ariel were having an affair."

  "How did the police find out?"

  "I told them."

  "You knew about it before the accident?"

  "Oh, yes. I knew. He knew I knew. She knew I knew. Everyone concerned knew. Hell, the cops he worked with probably already knew before I told them." "

  I don't think so," I said. "Barr seemed pretty surprised."

  She stood and grabbed the tongs, used them to remove the flat bar of metal from the forge. It glowed a high, bright yellow that was almost white at the tip. She lifted the hammer. Slam! I jumped at the burst of sound.

   

  "But he didn't want to stop seeing her. He was going to leave me." Fury rode her tone. She shifted the angle of the bar on the anvil. Bang! I jumped again, even though I'd seen it coming.

  A trail of perspiration trickled down my side under my T-shirt, and I leaned back, away from the heat. No wonder Barr and Robin thought she had a good motive if she'd acted like this when they'd talked to her. Naked anger rolled off her in waves.

  "I told them all of that," she said. "I wanted them to know what kind of man they worked with. I wanted them to know he wasn't as perfect as they seemed to think he was."

  She clenched her fists around hammer and tongs so hard they turned white and began shaking. For the first time I felt a trill of fear, and I shivered in spite of the heat.

  Then her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't even realize why they were here. I thought it was a condolence call. I handed myself to them on a platter." She was choking out the words now.

  She put the tools down with studied care, and I jumped up and led her back to the bench. The sobs that followed sounded like they were being ripped out of her chest against her will. I took a chance and left her, running to the back door and into her kitchen. I rifled quickly through her cupboards. There. I grabbed the bottle of Hornitos and ran back out to the smithy. I tossed her iced tea on the grass, replaced it with a shot of tequila and set it on the seat beside her. Then I patted her on the back, and waited.

  It took a while for her to run down, but when she did, she slammed the shot in one swallow with a grateful glance my way, shuddered once, and was quiet.

   

  "Wow," she said. "That's the first time I really cried about it."

  I wondered whether "it" referred to Scott's death, or his affair with Ariel-or both.

  "Believe me," I said. "It won't be the last time. But it will get better"

  I still couldn't get over the affair between Scott and Ariel. They were so mismatched: he, a rough-and-tumble, racecar-driving cop who was at lea
st twenty years her senior, and she, an airy, unfocused artist. He'd been good-looking enough, but I didn't get what she'd seen in him beyond that. Maybe she'd had a daddy complex?

  Yuck.

  "There's something I don't really understand," I said. "Why would you kill Ariel three days after Scott's accident?" It wasn't the most tactful thing to say, I know. But geez, how else was I supposed to put it? Talk about closing the barn door after the horse is long gone.

  "They think I was so mad that I didn't care."

  "That's nuts," I said.

  "They think I'm nuts. Anyone who kills someone else out of jealousy is nuts. If I'd actually done it, I'd agree with them."

  I couldn't help it. I had trouble thinking about Ariel and Scott without my doppelganger nibbling constantly at the edge of my attention. Of course it was nuts to kill someone out of jealousy. But there was a tiny part of me that could understand going nuts in precisely that way.

  "How long had you known?" I asked.

  "About three months. I found out shortly after it started." She looked longingly at the bottle of tequila, sitting on the ground.

   

  I poured out another and handed it to her. "Were you angry at Scott?"

  She gave me a look, then downed the second shot. "No, I thought it was great that he was seeing a woman who could have been his daughter, and didn't seem to give a damn whether I knew it or not. What's to be angry about?"

  "Yeah, okay. Sorry. Stupid question. Do you have any kind of an alibi for when the murder occurred?"

  "I might."

  I looked the question at her.

  "Detective Lane asked me what I was doing between eight and ten, night before last. If that's when that little bitch was killed, then I'm home free."

  I readjusted my idea that Ariel had been killed the morning of Scott's funeral. Apparently her body had been at CRAG for hours before I found her.

  "What were you doing?" I asked.

  "Ruth and Irene were over here. Jake was, too, for a while. They were here from a bit before seven until after ten."

  I took in the blue half moons under Chris' red-rimmed eyes, the tiny tremor in her hand even after knocking back a couple shots of tequila. Could she handle an arrest, a trial, the scandal that would result in a town this size?

  "So let's hope Robin asking you about that time means that's when the murder occurred. Then they'll have to look elsewhere," I said. As long as Robin didn't turn her attention back to me.

  Chris' eyes flicked up at me and then away again. "I know that department. Scott worked there for fifteen years. They know what they're doing. It's just that right now they're going down the wrong track" She stood and nodded toward the house. "Do you want something to eat? People have given me so much food, and I don't have much of an appetite right now. I think I'm done beating up on metal for this afternoon."

   

  "No, thanks. I have to be going. But Chris?"

  "Yeah?"

  "The offer to talk still stands. If you want to be left alone right now, that's fine, but if you change your mind, well..."

  "Okay. Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

   

  NINE

  "So WHAT ARE WE going to do with her art?" Jake Beagle asked. "We can't just keep displaying it at the co-op. What if someone wants to buy it?"

  "Fat chance," Irene muttered.

  Jake, Irene, Ruth, and I had gathered around a small rickety table in the corner of the Beans R Us coffee shop to talk about how to keep the co-op from going under. All of Cadyville knew a woman had been murdered in the studio, and the yellow crime scene tape strung over the exterior doors provided a constant reminder in case anyone forgot. No one was allowed inside, so we couldn't retrieve any of our belongings or any of the artists' stock or supplies.

  Behind the counter, the barista, Luce, fussed with bags of coffee beans and craned her head so as to best hear our conversation.

  "Making money off someone's death isn't right," Jake said, still talking about Ariel's big splotchy paintings.

  "Isn't that something we should worry about later?" I asked. Irene was right; no one was likely to buy Ariel's art right away. After all, no one had bought any of it yet. "Right now isn't the main problem getting back into the building?"

   

  Irene flicked a quick sidelong look my direction.

  "Detective Lane told me we'd be able to get back in tomorrow afternoon, at least downstairs. The crime scene people may be done with the upstairs by then, too." Ruth said.

  All eyes turned to me, as if I should have already had this information. I looked at the floor. Barr and I had only spoken briefly on the phone since he'd dropped the triple bombshell of ex-wife, sister and fortune on me the previous afternoon.

  "So, it is pertinent, what we do with Ariel's art." Jake again. "If we're going to re-open.CRAC"

  Irene scowled at him, then quickly transferred her gaze out the window. Ruth sat quietly and watched all of us. Chris had said she'd rather not join us, and no one blamed her. Ruth had invited me along, just as she had invited me to join the co-op in the first place. I'd jumped at the chance to be in on the discussion, but now I felt like an interloper.

  "You may be right," I said. "She must have some family."

  "Just a brother, I think," Ruth said. "Up north, around La Conner. I don't know his name." She looked the question at all of us, and we all shook our heads.

  "There can't be that many Skylarks in La Conner," I said.

  "I believe he has a different last name. Ariel changed hers to Skylark," Ruth said.

  "Really?" Jake asked, bushy eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

  Irene rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're surprised."

  "What about friends around here?" I asked.

  Everyone shook their heads.

   

  "No one?"

  "Us," Ruth said. "And she had a roommate"

  "I wasn't her friend." Irene's tone was flat. "But I guess Jake was." She gave him a little wink, which looked downright weird coming from her.

  He looked out the window.

  Sheesh. What was wrong with these people?

  "Tell you what," I said. "I'll go talk to her roommate, see if I can find out more about her brother. Maybe we can just ship the art off to him."

  Irene pressed her lips together, as if to keep from saying something. Jake nodded his approval.

  "That would be nice," Ruth said with a slight look of triumph on her face. "Now, what do we do about the bad publicity?"

  No one responded. Sighing inwardly, I stepped up again. "I've got to say, I don't think it's a problem for business. People are weird, and they'll want to see where the murder happened. We need to change the lock on the doors and implement some rules about being safe when working there, but for the most part, I bet we get more traffic than ever."

  Jake leaned his rather squarish chin on a meaty fist. Eyeing his spatulate digits, I reflected that it was a good thing he hadn't chosen gynecology as a specialty. "You may be right," he said.

  We finished our coffee drinks and shuffled out, squinting, to the hot, bright street. Through the window I saw Luce reach for the phone, but there wasn't anything we'd said that was a big secret.

  Go for it, girl. Gossip on.

   

  "I thought you said you weren't going to investigate Ariel's murder," Meghan said, tying up an heirloom tomato plant with strips cut from old pantyhose.

  I looked up from where I was sowing another section of slowbolt cilantro. "Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm not investigating anything. Only checking with her roommate to find out where to send her art."

  "Sure you are." She walked over to the large wicker basket on the ground between us. "The zucchini plants are going nuts. I'm going to strip some of the blossoms."

  Yum. I'd been waiting for a chance to add squash blossoms to a light stir-fry, or stuff them with fresh mozzarella and chopped pumpkin seeds, dust them with chipotle chili powder and flour and f
ry them all golden and crispy.

  Finished with the cilantro, I began harvesting the outer leaves of the lettuce. "We have a ton of this red-leaf. How about wilted lettuce and stuffed squash blossoms with some grilled lamb tonight?"

  "Now you're talking," Meghan said. "You should invite Barr over.

  I sat back on my heels and let my fingers sift through the dirt at my feet. "Oh, all right."

  It felt like Meghan was playing matchmaker, which was pretty weird since I'd dated the man in question for several months already.

  She bent over the tumbling vines. "Do you think she did it?"

  "Who?"

  Her look told me to stop being stupid. "Chris."

  "I don't know. I doubt it. It sounds like she has an alibi."

  "So you went over there today?"

   

  I nodded. "I told you Barr asked me to keep my finger on the pulse of the CRAG crowd."

  "I knew you'd get involved one way or another." She finished tying up another tomato plant and stood upright, stretching her back. "At least you have permission from the police this time."

  Well, maybe not all the police. Robin would pop a vein if she knew Barr had asked for my help.

  "I'm going to run over and talk to Ariel's roommate now, while I'm thinking about it;" I said.

  One side of Meghan's mouth turned up. "Okay. See you when you get back"

  As I guided my little Toyota pickup down the street toward the address Ruth had given me, I pondered the exchange at Beans R Us. Irene-mousy little Irene-had been downright nasty at times. It was obvious she'd disliked Ariel intensely. Ruth had been uncharacteristically taciturn. Jake, on the other hand, had been vociferously insistent that Ariel's art was well taken care of. He seemed quite upset by her death. Oh, don't get me wrong; her murder was horrible. It was just that something about his reaction made me think it was a little more personal for him than even, for example, me-the woman who had actually found her body.

  Lordy, what was the deal with the CRAG members? They were like a dysfunctional family. I bet they had a few dirty little secrets hidden away, too.