Spin a Wicked Web: A Home Crafting Mystery Page 7

  Blue and red lights flashed in my rearview mirror: a silver Impala, the "undercover" prowler of the Cadyville police department. At least Barr had shown a little subtlety and kept the siren off.

  The siren chirped.

  Nice.

  I wondered what he'd do if I didn't stop. Arrest me?

  The siren chirped again.

  Perhaps not the best time to find out. I turned onto a residential street and pulled over.

  Barr got out. I stayed where I was and rolled down the window. Our conversation on the phone the night before had been short and slightly uncomfortable. When he stopped beside me, I silently offered my license and registration.

  He ignored it. "Are you still mad at me?"

  Hmmm. "I don't think so. Why, has something else happened?"

  "I talked to my mother," he said.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "She said Hannah took a week off. My brother, clever bear that he is, told her about the money from my uncle." He rolled his eyes. "Randall, who's seven years younger than I am, by the way, has a bit of a crush on Hannah. Mom thinks he was trying to impress her."

  "So she's here for the whole week?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "No. I called her over at Horse Acres. Sent her packing in no uncertain terms."

  Wow. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "That seems kind of mean," I said.

  He grinned. "I can call her back and tell her to stay. We could all go out for dinner, if you'd like."

   

  "Nah. That's okay."

  "Thought you might say that," he said.

  "Listen," I said. "I'm on my way to talk to Ariel's roommate about where to send her CRAG art. Do you know about Ariel's brother?"

  He nodded. "His address was in her things."

  Of course. I knew he and Robin would've already gone to Ariel's apartment, but I felt a little deflated anyway.

  "His last name isn't Skylark?"

  "Nope. Kaminski."

  "Ruth said Ariel changed her name," I said.

  "Apparently so."

  " why?

  He lifted a shoulder. "She liked the sound of Skylark better than Kaminski."

  "Did you learn anything else interesting?" I asked, a note of frustration creeping in.

  "From the roommate? Not much." He looked regretful. "Robin, well..."

  Ah.

  "Come over for dinner tonight," I said. "We're having lamb."

  His eyes widened. "Grilled?"

  "Of course."

  "Count me in."

  "See you then." I rolled up my window.

  He placed his right hand against it, the pattern of his palm pressed against the glass. With one finger, I traced his love line. My eyes lifted and met his. I bit my lip.

  We both smiled.

   

  TEN

  ARIEL HAD LIVED IN an apartment on the second floor of a lone twelve-plex on the corner of Maple and Pine. Someone had purchased and rehabbed the old building and painted it a sumptuous apricot with green and maroon trim. Planter boxes lining the tiny balcony railings dripped purple verbena, blood-red geraniums and lobelia in deep rich shades of sapphire. A rack in front supported a row of bikes. To the right, an expanse of asphalt hosted a series of compact and economy cars, most of them sporting parking stickers from the neighboring college. These were primarily digs for students, and nice digs at that.

  I climbed the stairs, my sandals scuffing on the wooden steps, and rapped on the metal door with my knuckles. Rustling sounds came from inside, and then slowly the door opened.

  "Yes?" A tall woman in her early twenties grinned down at me. Her hair was blue black, the kind that has to come out of a bottle, and it fell unfettered to a pair of impressive-and unharnessedbreasts. She was so tall I found myself staring straight at them. My face grew hot as I realized what I was doing, and I craned my neck up to look into a wide pale face with amused green eyes.

   

  "Hi," I said. "I'm Sophie Mae Reynolds. I'm a member of the artist's co-op Ariel belonged to."

  The smile faded. "Oh"

  "She lived here, didn't she?"

  The woman nodded.

  "I'm sorry. You must be pretty shaken up by what happened."

  "Yeah. I mean, well ... yeah." She stepped back and held the door open. "I'm sorry. Please, come in."

  I stepped into an herbal oasis. There were potted plants everywhere, at least fifty of them, clustered around every window, tucked into corners and onto bookshelves under grow lights, lining the kitchen counters. Every one of them had some kind of culinary or medical application, and sometimes both. There were lavender and rosemary, sage, oregano, and a variety of thymes. Mints were interspersed with feverfew, calendula, scented geraniums, and chamomile.

  "Wow," I said. "This is amazing. Is that borage?"

  She nodded, obviously pleased. "I grew it from seed. Would you like something to drink? I have some iced tea."

  "That would be great, thanks."

  I wandered around the little apartment in wonder. All the plants were incredibly healthy, not a yellow leaf nor leggy one among them, despite being crammed into the tiny living space.

  She returned and handed me a sea-green concoction that smelled of mint. "I'm studying horticulture."

  "Well, you've got the green thumb for it." I sipped from the tall glass, condensation already forming along its sides. Mint and a myriad of other herbal infusions. "This tea is lovely, um ... I'm afraid I don't know your name. We only knew that Ariel lived here and that she had a roommate."

   

  "Oh! I'm Daphne. Daphne Sparks."

  "Nice to meet you. Were you and Ariel close?"

  She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Not really. We weren't even friends. I found the apartment, but couldn't afford it by myself, so I advertised for someone to share it with me. That was almost a year ago. Ariel answered the ad, and at first I thought she'd make a good roommate."

  "At first?"

  She blinked and looked away. "It doesn't do any good to talk bad about her now."

  "No, you're right. Listen, the reason I'm here is because there's a bunch of her art over at the co-op, and we don't know who to give it to." "

  I don't want it."

  I laughed, then quickly covered my mouth.

  Her lips twisted in wry response. "Sorry. I guess it just isn't my " style."

  I understand."

  "But you know, I think she had potential, and if she'd been willing to learn more, Ariel might've been pretty good. That's how I met her. She was going to school, like me, only she was in the art department." "

  I didn't know that."

  "She dropped out. Too many classes she thought were boring, too much homework," Daphne said.

  "Did she have a job?"

   

  A half shrug. "She was a part-time hostess at The Turning Point."

  "Hard to make a living doing that, even if it is the fanciest restaurant in town," I said.

  Daphne snorted. "She didn't. Make a living, that is. She owes me almost two grand." She looked at the floor. "Or owed me, I guess.

  Not exactly peanuts. I took a drink of cold tea.

  She continued. "Ariel kept saying she was going to go back to school, then get a really good job. But really? She was determined to meet a rich guy who'd want to marry her."

  "How was that working out?" I asked.

  "Lots of dates, lots of overnighters she'd bring here. Not a lot of marriage proposals from what I heard. Probably didn't help that she had a thing for men who were already married." She looked at the floor. I could tell she felt bad talking about Ariel, even though she'd obviously taken advantage of Daphne. "She was also hoping her art would take off and support her. Being accepted into the coop was the first step in proving to the art world that she had real talent, she said."

  The Cadyville Regional Artists' Co-op? Related in any way shape or form to the "art world"? I almost snorted. Instead, I asked,
"Did she have any particular boyfriends?"

  A shrug. "She was gone a lot. I was gone a lot. When we were both here we got so we avoided each other"

  "She had an affair with the husband of a friend of mine. It caused a lot of pain," I said. Well, Barr had said to gossip, hadn't he?

  We'd been standing as we talked, and now Daphne sat down on the overstuffed sofa. I moved to a window box and ran my fingers through the thick, gray-green leaves of a French lavender in bloom. The intense fragrance curled around me like a hug.

   

  "Maybe your friend is the one who called," Daphne said.

  I turned. "Called here?"

  She nodded. "I answered. She sounded furious."

  Chris hadn't mentioned calling Ariel, but that didn't mean she hadn't. And if she had, it was a sure bet she'd sound furious.

  "Did she tell you her name?" I asked.

  "Huh-uh. She told me to stay away from her husband, then hung up on me after I said I was Ariel's roommate."

  "It must have happened quite awhile ago," I prompted.

  "Nope. Just last week"

  I thought about asking her what day, but that seemed to be pushing it. She already looked uncomfortable talking about Ariel's affairs as it was. Heck, between the phone calls and bringing men home all the time, I was surprised Daphne hadn't killed Ariel herself.

  Of course, I couldn't know for sure she hadn't.

  I fingered a tiny rosemary formed into a spiral topiary. "This is exquisite."

  She gazed fondly at the little plant as if it were a child. "Thank you.

  "How long had you and Ariel lived together?"

  "Almost a year. The lease is coming up, and either she was going or I was, or both."

  "You'd already talked about it?"

  "Not really. Ariel wasn't the easiest person to talk to, so I kept putting it off."

  "Not easy to talk to," I repeated.

   

  She shook her head. "Kind of... volatile. Hard to reason with if things weren't going her way."

  I finished my tea. "Thanks for this. I'll just put the glass in the kitchen, and get out of your hair."

  "You're welcome." She stood.

  The kitchen counter served as a half-wall separating it from the living room. More plants spilled over the window sill.

  "About the art: did Ariel have any family?" I asked over my shoulder as I put my glass in the pristine sink. "I heard about a brother. Maybe he can tell me what to do with it."

  "Yeah. He lives up north. His name is Rocky Kaminski. I don't know the address or the phone number, though. The police were here earlier today, and they took her address book."

  I walked back into the living room. "Did they take anything else?"

  Another shrug. "Some paperwork. They may've taken some things from her room; I didn't go in there with them. They just told me not to get rid of the rest of her stuff until they call me. I sure hope it's soon, because I have to find someone to share expenses right away if I'm going to stay here." She walked toward the door.

  I followed. "Do you mind if I ask how her bill with you got so high?"

  Daphne fidgeted with a fingernail. "It's kind of embarrassing, actually. It happened bit by bit, falling behind on this bill, and then that one. And she always had a good reason, a story about how she couldn't pay me right then, but the money was on the way. And she did come through with money sometimes. Just not all of it."

  Ariel sounded like the roommate from hell.

   

  "Good luck," I said. "If I hear of anyone who'd be interested, I'll send them your way."

  "Hey, thanks. I appreciate that."

  Back in the cab of my truck, I thought about the address book. Barr and/or Robin Lane would be contacting Ariel's brother. Well, of course they would; he was her next of kin. But I'd better be careful not to appear to Robin as if I was trying to interfere with her investigation. Maybe it'd be better to have one of the other coop members contact Rocky Kaminski about taking Ariel's art.

  But who? Irene wouldn't do it. Jake probably shouldn't do it. And Ruth didn't even like to drive outside of town.

  That was when I realized I wasn't thinking about calling Rocky Kaminski at all. I was planning a trip to La Conner.

  I didn't want to give the task of following up with Ariel's brother to anyone else. I wanted to go up there, not only because I was curious about what her brother might be like, but because I wanted to get the heck out of Dodge.

  The murder and Barr and his ex-wife woes were enough to escape from temporarily, but now that I thought about it, I hadn't taken even a single full day off from my business in almost a year. I wanted a mini-vacation. If I happened to find out more about Ariel's murder, so be it.

  I just had to tread carefully.

  On the way home, I kept expecting-even hoping-to see Barr behind me again, curious about what I'd learned from Daphne Sparks. But I didn't see the Impala.

  About halfway home, however, my constant monitoring of the rearview mirror did net a nondescript economy rental car that looked an awful lot like the one Hannah had been driving. I took a few extra turns, but she stuck with me. As I parked on the street in front of the house, her car pulled up even with my truck. She glared at me for a few seconds, then slowly and deliberately smiled. It wasn't a nice smile at all. As she sped away, I resisted giving her the of one-fingered salute.

   

  Apparently Barr had not, as he put it, sent her packing.

   

  ELEVEN

  I PLUNGED INTO A frenzy of housework. Unfortunately, I'm wired to clean and tidy before venturing away from the home fires. It was only a day trip to La Conner, too, which shows how pathetic my life had become.

  Besides, the harder I scrub, the less I think about things that are bothering me. And between Ariel and Hannah, I was plenty bothered.

  Two loads of laundry, a sparkling clean refrigerator, stove, and kitchen floor, a swept front step, tidied mudroom, two scrubbed toilets and a dusted living room later, I fell into a kitchen chair, drank a glass of iced coffee and contemplated the pile of lettuce I'd taken out of the fridge and put in the sink.

  Time to get back to work.

  There is something about rinsing every square inch of every leaf of lettuce to rid it of dust and make sure no crawlies make it onto the dinner plate that is back-breaking. We hadn't even reached the time of year when we did most of our canning and pickling, but I was getting that stuck-over-the-sink feeling already. I'd never do it if it weren't for the fact that I absolutely love how a big pile of lettuce wilts into a manageable, delectable mound when tossed with crumbles of bacon, a little hot bacon grease and warm cider vinegar mixed with a little salt, pepper, and sugar. It wasn't food you could get in a restaurant, and besides, for me, it was one of the definite signs that summer had arrived.

   

  Cleaning takes a certain amount of concentration; rinsing lettuce does not. My mind was now free to obsess about Hannah.

  My second view of her today confirmed it: she looked a lot like me. But men are well known to find a certain type of woman attractive.

  Of course, women have their preferences, too. Which was entirely beside the point.

  I wondered if she was a nice person. Well, she would be, wouldn't she? I mean, Barr wouldn't go and marry someone who ate kittens for breakfast or yelled at old ladies. Because I had to give him credit for his taste in women, or else what was I saying about me?

  Oh, B.S., Sophie Mae. She followed you around town and gave you the stink-eye right in front of your own house. She's been told to go home, but she wants her ex-husband's money. Face it. She's not nice at all.

  Two million dollars. Some women would do a lot for money like that.

  Like what? Beg, steal ... kill?

  Oh, man. This was nuts. I reached for the kitchen towel, dried my hands and went out to the hallway for the phone. My heart went kachunka ka-chunka as I waited through the rings for Barr to answer.

&nbs
p;  

  He picked up.

  "I thought you might like to know your ex-wife followed me home."

  "Hell," he muttered under his breath. "Okay. I'll take care of it."

  "Is she violent?" I asked.

  "What? No, of course not."

  I wondered whether he really knew.

  "Sophie Mae? Can we talk about this tonight? I'm kind of in the middle of something."

  "Sure. I'll see you later." I pushed the off button on the cordless handset and replaced it in the cradle. I went back to my pile of lettuce, thoughts roiling.

  When I was nearly done, Meghan came in and offered to take over.

  "That's okay. But I wouldn't mind some company," I said.

  She flipped on the kitchen light. I hadn't realized how dark it had become with the sun on the other side of the house.

  "Okay. When you're done I'll stuff the squash blossoms," she said.

  I'd almost forgotten. The thought made me feel a little better.

  A very little.

  I heard a faint clicking noise and looked over my shoulder to see Meghan knitting peach-colored cotton yarn into a rectangle.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Making a purse for Erin. Apparently Zoe got one for her birthday, and Erin feels left out." Zoe had been Erin's best friend since first grade.

   

  "Those two haven't been hanging out as much this summer," I said.

  "I think it's the math camp," Meghan said.

  "I didn't even know you knitted."

  "My mother taught me. I haven't done it for a while, but all your talk about spinning and fiber inspired me. It is kind of fun."

  Well, of course Meghan would already know how to knit, would be able to pick it up after years and years and create something totally funky and cool like that little bag. I sighed, thinking about how I struggled with the twin needles, preferring a simple crochet hook and only a few loops of yarn to worry about at a time.

  "I called Barr," she said. "He told me you'd already invited him to dinner."

  I finished the last leaf of lettuce, tossed it in the drainer and turned around with the dishtowel in my hands. "Do you know what he did today?"

  "Uh, no."

  "He pulled me over on Cedar Street. Lights, sirens, the whole bit."