Spin a Wicked Web: A Home Crafting Mystery

by Cricket McRae

She leaned back. "So? Let her in."

  "Really?"

  "Or talk to her out there. Either way, I don't know what you want me to do about it"

  I grimaced. "Neither do I. All I know is, I don't want to face the music, but the music is standing right on the other side of our front door."

  "Go on. You can do it. Then come back and tell me what she said."

  I sighed. "Fine."

  In the entryway, I took a deep breath, grasped the knob, and flung the door open.

  She stood on the bottom step, looking up at me and hugging herself with thin arms. Her short-sleeved cotton camp shirt was wrinkled, as were the Capri pants. She wore an old pair of Keds with no socks. She radiated an aura of disheveled youth and vulnerability.

   

  I didn't buy it.

  "Come on in," I said and led the way into the house. She trailed behind like a lost child.

  Brodie greeted us in the foyer, and Hannah bent to pet his wiggling little self. He grinned up at her and gave a little yip.

  Traitor.

  "Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?" Arsenic?

  She shook her head. "No thanks."

  So much for putting it off. Whatever "it" was.

  "I have some work to do. We can talk while I do it," I said in Hannah's general direction.

  "Okay."

  Sheesh. What a conversationalist.

  We traipsed through the kitchen and down the narrow wooden stairs to my basement workroom.

  I didn't know what this woman wanted, or how she had the audacity to come visit me at all, but whatever her reasons, I liked the idea of dealing with her on my own turf. Indicating a stool on the other side of the center island where I worked, I said, "Have a seat."

  She sat, craning her neck as she took in the kitchen appliances, the many work surfaces. "Cassie says you're a soap maker."

  "I am." I waited for the next question. Talking about soap was easy.

  But she wrinkled her nose. "It smells funny in here."

  "It smells like rosemary in here." My voice was flat. "Which, last time I checked, wasn't all that funny."

   

  "Oh," she said.

  I used a wire grid to cut through one of the slabs of soap I'd poured previously. And waited. Glanced up. Then I picked up a knife and began trimming the uniform bars, smoothing the edges.

  She watched the motions of my hands as if mesmerized. I tried to imagine this person cutting my brake line. Trying to kill me. I debated whether or not to confront her about it, very aware of how badly that had gone over with Gabi Kaminski.

  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Hannah."

  She looked up.

  "Why are you here?"

  "I ..." She licked her lips. "Well, I want you to give up Barr."

  "Excuse me? Give him up?"

  "Yes."

  "Like `give' him to you?"

  "Well, I guess it would look like that."

  "No. It would be like that. Barr's a big boy, Hannah. Neither of us gets to decide what he does."

  "You haven't been together very long. I've known him forever; we come from the same town. We have a history together, and you don't. And even if he won't admit it, he still loves me."

  The knife slipped, and I nearly took off my thumb. Very carefully, I laid the blade on the work surface. My hands might have been trembling, but I managed to keep my voice low and even.

  "This is ridiculous. I'm not having this conversation with you. You should go."

  Raw fury at my dismissal flared in her eyes for an instant. She quickly blinked and looked away.

   

  "I had him first." She sounded like a petulant child. Now tears magnified those big green eyes and made the long lashes shine in a way I imagined would pull at the heartstrings of a lot of men.

  Kind of made me cranky, to tell the truth.

  "Well, you need to come to grips with the fact that you don't have him now. Coming here and talking to me about it isn't going to change anything."

  "But I love him!" she wailed.

  Oh, for heaven's sake.

  "I'm sorry. I can't give him to you, even if I wanted to." Which I emphatically didn't. After all, I loved him, too. Besides, possession is nine-tenths-well, you get it.

  Possession. Did I really think of Barr as a possession?

  Of course not.

  But he was still mine.

  She tried again. "I need him."

  More like his bank account. "Hannah, if this is a conversation you should be having with anyone, it should be with Barr." Oh, God. What was I saying?

  "I've tried, but he just won't listen."

  I couldn't help it. I took the leap. "Did you sabotage my brakes so I'd get in a car wreck?"

  She stared at me. "What?" Standing now, her tone went from zero to sixty in nothing flat. "How dare you," she spluttered. "I mean, God!"

  "Hannah, you need to leave now."

  She blinked. "But-"

  "No. Really."

  Her lower lip crept into a pout. "You're mean"

   

  That, too.

  "I'm sorry you're unhappy. And I'm sorry you feel the need to spread it around so freely, but we don't have anything left to talk about."

  Her features grew hard and her gaze sharpened. "You won't win. You're only a temporary interloper, Sophie Mae. He's supposed to be with me, and he's going to be, in the end. Whether you do the right thing or not."

  "Listen, sister. He's not mine to give. He's his own man, with opinions and affections and desires. I could no more give him away than I could give away the weather. If he wants you instead of me, then so be it."

  She smirked.

  "But he doesn't," I continued. "He wants me, and there's nothing you can do to change that. Not a damn thing."

  "She's right." Barr's voice came from the bottom of the stairs, startling both of us. His tone was gentle as he said, "Hannah, there's nothing left between us. You know that. Go on home to the ranch. It's where you belong."

  "Come with me," she said, pleading.

  He slowly shook his head.

  She turned and stomped toward the stairway, hands clenched into fists by her side, fingers white. Barr moved aside as I followed her upstairs and through the house to the front entryway. Not once did she turn around, not even as she jerked the door open and exited the house. The loud slam of the door brought Meghan out of her office.

  "Sounds like someone left unhappy."

   

  I nodded, thoughtful. "Miss Hannah wanted something, and she didn't get it."

  Barr spoke from behind me. "Sophie Mae was wonderful."

  "Really?" I asked.

  He quoted me. "`I could no more give him away than I could give away the weather."'

  I rolled my eyes. How corny.

  "I think you convinced her," he said.

  "What do you think she'll do now?" Meghan asked.

  I shook my head. "I don't know."

  "I think she'll go home," Barr said.

  But I was just as concerned with what she might have already done. Despite her dramatic protestations, Hannah hadn't actually denied sabotaging my pickup.

  Meghan, Barr, and I had moved into the kitchen for a late supper of spinach salad topped with chicken, tomato, avocado, and black olives in a warm vinaigrette. Erin and Zoe had made up, and Erin was spending the night over there. Ruefully, I realized I already missed the little imp, and I still lived with her. As she got into her teens, summers would only get busier.

  Barr had happened upon his ex and me fighting over him like schoolgirls because he had news. Now he laid it out.

  "It's official. Your Toyota was deliberately sabotaged."

  Relief washed over me. "Excellent," I blurted out without thinking. After all I'd accused Gabi of earlier, wouldn't it have been ironic if my brakes failed simply because my truck was old and had fallen apart?

   

  Barr lifted an eyebrow at my reaction and took a bite of avocado.<
br />
  "That was fast," Meghan said, standing at the sink and rinsing her plate. She ate like a bird, and always finished her meals before everyone else. "What about Scott's patrol car?"

  "They found some indications that the steering wasn't working properly."

  I lifted my chin in an I-told-you-so gesture. "Sabotage?"

  He looked uncomfortable, then nodded. "I should have known."

  "You did," I said. "At the funeral, you suspected."

  "But I didn't do anything about it."

  Meghan closed the dishwasher door and turned. "You can't go around being suspicious of everyone and everything, Barr. That would be paranoid, especially in a sedate little town like Cadyville. Didn't you say once that was why you moved here from Seattle in the first place, because you felt like you were becoming so jaded? It looked like an accident, and so you treated it like one."

  Sedate little town? Meghan obviously hadn't been paying attention.

  Barr didn't say anything. I reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, then withdrew his fingers from mine. Not interested in being comforted.

  Well, at least I could distract him. "Um" I bit my lip. "I kind of messed up."

  Meghan came and sat down at the table. She gazed at me for a long moment. "What did you do, Sophie Mae." Her tone was flat.

   

  I sneaked a look at Barr. He sat back in his chair, eyebrow slightly arched again.

  "Er, I kind of accused Gabi Kaminski of killing Ariel."

  Meghan's jaw dropped. "You didn't."

  I winced. "I'm afraid I did. I also accused her of fooling with the brakes on my truck."

  "Before you even knew for sure it wasn't an accident?" Incredulity from Barr. "What were you thinking?"

  "It just sort of happened. She brought one of Ariel's paintings down for Zak Nelson, and I knew darn well Rocky didn't know she was selling it, and I kept thinking about how she had a handy answer for everything when we were up there, but I didn't really believe any of them, and that huge truck demolishing my little pickup was scary, damn it." I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to continue, but Barr cut me off.

  "It's okay," he said. "Scary doesn't even cover it, I'm sure. You must have been terrified."

  I nodded furiously, swallowing against the lump that had risen in my throat. Barr smiled at me, and I tried to smile back. Didn't dare look at Meghan, or I would have started bawling right then and there.

  "Did Gabi say anything incriminating?" he asked in a quiet tone.

  When I was able to speak again I answered, "Not really. And I'm afraid I pushed her really hard. Now all I can think of is to try and trick her into confessing. Maybe wave Ariel's diary around in her face and say there's evidence in it. Or I could try blackmailing her, and see if she pays up to keep me quiet."

   

  "Oh, you've got to be kidding," Meghan said. She stood up and walked to the sink, looked out the window at the darkening yard.

  "That," Barr said, "is a terrible idea."

  I pointed my finger at him. "It could very well work."

  He just looked at me. Of course he was right. It was a stupid idea. If I wanted to climb out of the hole I'd dug by shooting my mouth off to Gabi, that wasn't the way to do it.

  Meghan turned. "Did it ever occur to you that the reason she didn't confess is because she didn't kill Ariel?" Her voice overflowed with disbelief. "I mean, if you knew for sure she was guilty, you wouldn't have to trick her into admitting it; Robin and Barr would be able to prove it."

  I had a fair amount of wonder in my own voice when I said, "Are you actually implying that there aren't any murderers who get away with it? That there aren't crimes that go unpunished because the police don't have enough evidence?"

  She frowned. "Are you saying there aren't people who are convicted despite being innocent?"

  I thought of all the suspects in this case and slumped in my chair. Put my head down on the table. Oh, God.

  "If you're wrong, you've tortured that poor woman for no good reason." She squinted. "This is a side of you I don't see very often. I'm not sure I like it."

  "Yeah," I mumbled. "I don't like it either." I didn't know what to think, couldn't see the forest for the trees. There wasn't any real evidence against Gabi, only my ideas about what might have happened. But she had a viable answer for everything, and simply hadn't reacted to any of my questions in a suspicious way.

  All I'd done was make a potential friend hate me for life.

   

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE NEXT MORNING MY alarm buzzed at seven, but I shut it off and went back to sleep. An hour and a half later I woke again, still feeling exhausted. It took me another half an hour to drag my sorry carcass out of bed, clothe it, and wander down to the kitchen.

  A wire basket of eggs sat on the counter, and I cracked two small brown ones into a frying pan. Then I assembled a sandwich with the fried eggs on Meghan's home-baked bread, mayonnaise, catsup, dill pickles from the pantry, and a big slice of cheddar cheese. Comfort food from my childhood. I almost moaned as I bit into it, and immediately began to feel better. Two cups of coffee to wash down the fried egg sandwich, and I was ready for work.

  I went down to the basement. First I finished cutting and trimming the lye soaps, then laid them in neat rows on my storeroom shelves to cure. So soon after making them, they were still quite alkaline, but the chemical process of saponification continued internally as they sat on the shelf, ultimately resulting in a soap milder than any commercial bar. An added benefit was that cold process soaps like mine still contained naturally occurring glycerin, adding to their humectant and emollient qualities.

   

  Handling the new soap, though most of the time I'd worn gloves, had been hard on my hands. So had all the gardening of late. One of the solutions to what I referred to as "farmer's hands" was the solid lotion bars I made from beeswax, olive oil, and cocoa butter. These little gems were scattered all over the house for Meghan and me to use in the summer. But I'd just run across a lotion recipe on a website that sounded soothing and smoothing, and I wanted to try it. With all the manufacture I did for sale anymore, I didn't have as much opportunity to experiment with new formulas.

  I gathered my ingredients and started melting the oils, shea butter, and beeswax together. The recipe called for witch hazel and lanolin, as well as free glycerin and rose water. An emulsifier would be necessary in order to properly blend the water-based elements with the oils. Lecithin would serve as a perfect binder, especially when combined with beeswax. Orange and lavender essential oils would complement the rose water to provide a fresh, light scent.

  Using a hand blender, I whipped everything together, then returned every few minutes as the mixture cooled, whipping briefly each time. Finally, I used the blender steadily for several minutes. The result was a pastel, peach-colored fluff that melted into my skin. I rubbed some of it into my ragged cuticles and took a jar up to Meghan, doing bookwork in her office.

  "Thanks," she said, and immediately started massaging it into her own hands.

   

  "Sure" I sat down in the chair facing her desk. Through the halfopen door, the fountain in the massage room behind her made babbling-brook noises. I closed my eyes for a few moments and allowed the sound to flow over me.

  "This smells delicious. I'm half-tempted to take a bite," she said.

  "Mmm hmmm."

  A long silence, filled only with the serenade of running water.

  "I'm sorry," she said, out of the blue.

  I opened my eyes. "What for?"

  "For coming down on you so hard about Gabi last night."

  My right shoulder rose and fell. "Don't be sorry. You were right. Are right." I shifted in the chair. "You know, the thing that's making me so crazy? There've been two situations we've been involved in where people died, and each time it looked like an accident. But we figured out what really happened." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "Now we have a straightforward
murder, and it looks like the killer-whether it's Gabi or not-is going to get away with it." "

  Meghan shook her head. "You have to give Cadyville's finest some credit. They're still working on finding out what happened. Have a little faith." "

  I guess." Even I could hear the doubt in my voice.

  She smiled and said, "I know Barr asked for your help, but it's not your responsibility to find out what happened. It's their job. If you can help, great, but you've let this whole thing get under your skin too much." "

  I keep trying to back off."

  I know. Don't let it get to you, okay?"

   

  I stood up and took a couple of steps to the doorway. "You're right. As always. Thanks for watching out for me."

  She blew out a puff of air. "Well, geez. Somebody has to."

  I'd just finished packaging the last of the custom bath fizzies for the wedding shower when the doorbell upstairs chimed. I hurried up to answer it.

  Barr stood on the other side of the screen. "I'll trade information for food," he said.

  "Funny man." I gestured him inside. "It's a deal. Tonight's dinner selection has an Asian theme. But first you have to hang out in the workroom while I clean up. Meghan's gone to pick Erin up from math camp."

  "I love watching you fuss around down there," he said, and laid a big smacker on me before I could bristle at the term "fuss"

  He followed me downstairs and settled onto a stool at the end of my work island. I went back to gathering small cellophane bags together and organizing the short lengths of satin ribbon used to tie them shut.

  "Information before food," I said.

  He laughed. "It's nothing much." Still, there was satisfaction on his face.

  Intrigued, I continued to tidy the packaging materials and tried for nonchalant.

  He fingered his string tie, this one a round sand-colored stone with the imprint of a tiny fish fossil in it. "We may have figured out who the killer is," he announced.

   

  Nothing much, indeed.

  "Who?" I leaned my elbows on the counter. "Stop teasing."

  "We questioned Zak Nelson this afternoon. We hadn't before, at least not in enough depth. After you found out from Lindsey Drucker that he and Ariel had been dating, we decided to go back and have another conversation with him."