Spin a Wicked Web

by Cricket McRae

  I looked at my watch. "Gosh. I didn't realize it was so late. I need to get going."

  "Oh, stay for dinner, Sophie Mae."

  "I'd love to, but I can't." I felt a little grumpy, realizing I'd spent so much time with the Kaminskis and had learned so little. The story about the high school teacher was interesting, but likely didn't have anything to do with Ariel's murder. If I hurried back to La Conner, at least I could fit in a solitary seafood dinner before having to drive back home.

  "We're grilling out," Gabi said. "Got a nice fresh salmon yesterday from a friend who fishes, these peas, and there are some baby potatoes ready in the garden to cook up with them."

  Hmmm. That sounded a lot like a seafood dinner right there. And, the thought niggled at me even though I tried to ignore it, I might still learn more about Ariel.

  "Please? Heck, you can even spend the night. No reason to drive all the way back tonight, is there?"

  Surprised by the invitation to stay overnight, I realized this woman, who didn't seem to work outside of the house, was quite lonely. The prospect of remaining longer grew on me. Maybe I could assuage Rocky a little. I even liked the energy of the boys, now clustered on the front porch playing some quieter game.

  But the meal offer clinched the deal. Fresh wild salmon and produce from the garden.

  "That dinner sounds terrific," I said. "I'd love to stay, thank you. But I do need to get back to Cadyville this evening."

  Gabi looked pleased. "Come out and keep me company while I get us some potatoes."

  I put the bowl of fresh peas on the counter, and Gabi hefted the heavy pail of shells, heading out the door to the garden. "These'll go straight into the compost pile."

  "May I use your bathroom?" I asked.

  "Down the hall there." She pointed through the living room to a hallway that ran behind the stairs to the second floor. "Ignore the boys' room; it's a disaster."

  I peeped into the room in question as I walked to the bathroom. Disaster, heck. It looked like a superfund site.

  On my way back out to join Gabi, I stopped cold. Tucked away in the corner of the toy-strewn living room sat a spinning wheel. It wasn't one of those cutesy decorative ones either; it looked a lot like a Schacht I had considered buying. A pile of seductive rovings and rolled batts overflowed a basket next to it, and the spool still on the wheel held a tasty variegated yarn in chocolate, red, and orange. The tuft of the batt left to be spun looked shiny and soft, maybe cashmere, or even silk.

  Resisting the urge to plunge my hands into the basket of fiber, I hurried out to join Gabi. I found her gently digging into hills of purple potatoes, teasing out the tiny new offerings near the surface. The skins of the potatoes were iridescent in the sunlight when I rubbed off the dirt. Unlike purple beans, purple potatoes kept their color when cooked.

  "These are going to be gorgeous with the bright green of the new peas," I said.

  Gabi grinned. "I know. Rocky doesn't realize it, but that's one of the reasons I grow this variety. I just love the way they look with other food on the plate." "

  I saw your spinning wheel in the house. Wouldn't a combination of those colors in a two-ply yarn be amazing?"

  She sat back on her heels and stared at me with delight on her face. "Sophie Mae, do you spin?"

  I nodded, then shrugged. "I just started, but I can't see stopping now. Never imagined something so mundane could be so addictive."

  "I've been doing it for years, but it's hard to find the time."

  "Years? I bet you have quite a stash of fiber and yarn." Spinners, like knitters and quitters, were known collectors of the basic "ingredients" of their craft.

  She laughed. "Rocky would die if he realized how much."

  "Would you show me some of it?" I asked, kneeling beside her and digging my fingers into the dark lush soil piled up around the potato plants.

  "I'd love to!"

  She stood and lifted the pail, which now held the delicate baby potatoes, and we went back into the house.

  Rocky came in from the shop and sat at the kitchen table sipping hot coffee as Gabi and I got things ready to steam and grill. His stoicism had returned in full measure, and I was glad to see any lingering rancor between him and Gabi had vanished. Tagteaming each other and finishing each other's sentences, husband and wife told me a bit about how the tulip farm worked. Then the boys came in, and we were treated to a recounting of the day's adventures while Gabi whipped up a pie crust. She sent the twins out to cut rhubarb and pick strawberries; by the time we had a big salad together they were back with their booty and we assembled the pie.

  We ate under an apple tree out back. It wasn't until after dinner and dishes were done that I got a dose of Gabi's fiber stash.

  SEVENTEEN

  As I STARTED FOR the basket in the corner by the spinning wheel, Gabi called from the kitchen that we were going down to the basement. The sky was still light, but the sun would set soon. Rocky offered to get the boys into bed, and Gabi took him up on the offer.

  "I'll be getting myself off to bed then, too," he said. "Long day tomorrow, and it starts early. Sophie Mae, it was nice to meet you. Thanks for bringing the paintings all the way up here. I sure appreciate it."

  He still didn't say Ariel's name.

  "It was no trouble. I'm glad I could help. And what a treat that dinner was!" I said.

  He nodded at that. "Sure was." He gave his wife a peck on the cheek, bid us goodnight again and went to round up the twins.

  Gabi led the way downstairs, bottle of merlot in hand. I followed with two glasses. The basement was unfinished, but in one corner she'd created an area devoted to crafts. A little natural light came in from two window wells on that side of the house. She augmented that with a combination of fluorescent and incandescent lights, so the space was bright and cheery even as the sunlight faded outside. A sewing machine dominated a long industriallooking table, with a set of half-finished curtains heaped beside it. Behind, shelves held an assortment of fabrics, and a folded quilting frame leaned against another wall. Apparently, when it came to crafting, Gabi was more than a one-trick pony.

  With a flourish, she opened a wide, deep cabinet in the corner, revealing a rich assortment of sensuous fibers and neatly wrapped balls of yarn stacked in baskets. The colors ranged from delicate baby-blanket pastels to deep, saturated jewel tones vibrating with exuberance. They all begged to be touched, and I happily complied.

  "Oh, wow," I said. "This is some stash. Did you spin all of these yarns?"

  "Not all of them. Sometimes in a yarn store or a knitting shop you just can't resist picking up something new, you know?"

  "Yeah. It gets awfully expensive, though, doesn't it?"

  "I've gathered this stuff over years and years, and I have friends who raise sheep and alpacas. That means a lot of very cheap fiber if I'm willing to clean it, card it, and dye it myself."

  I looked at her in amazement. "You do all that?"

  She looked at the floor, modesty prevailing. "When I can. It's hard with two boys and a husband to take care of. Sometimes, though? I stay up most of the night spinning, and Rocky doesn't even know it, he's such a sound sleeper. I'm tired the next day, but somehow calmer, too"

  "I know what you mean." I stroked a particularly silky royal blue and teal roving. "What's this made of? It's not alpaca, is it?"

  "Oh, no. Hmm. Let's see, I think it's soy." She dug out a tag I hadn't noticed. "Yep, soy fiber. I ordered it online last year, curious about how it would spin up, but I haven't had a chance to get to it yet.

  We spent the next hour exploring the offerings of her extensive fiber stash and talking about the different flavors. In addition to soy-and if you could make yarn out of bamboo, why not make it out of soy, for heaven's sake-she had silk "handkerchiefs," a variety of sheep's wool from coarse to fine, fluffy alpaca, angora, cashmere, mohair, even a tuft or two of musk ox.

  "Musk ox? You've got to be kidding," I said.

  "Oh, no. You can even get camel hair to s
pin, and some people spin up the hair from their dogs." "

  I bet that smells great if you use it to make a sweater and then get caught in the rain."

  She laughed. "Then there are the plant fibers. You've seen the bamboo and soy, but of course there's also corn and cotton and hemp and flax."

  "Flax?"

  "That's what linen is made out of. Some people say in the fairy tale, Rumpelstiltskin spun flax into gold for the miller's daughter, not straw."

  "Huh. Now how did I manage to live this long without knowing that?"

  We finally exhausted ourselves, as well as the wine, and returned upstairs. It was dark outside, and I was surprised to find the clock read almost eleven-thirty.

  "Uh-oh," I said, and dug my cell phone out of my bag. Sure enough, Meghan had left me a message.

  It began, "Why do you even have that thing if you don't turn it on, Sophie Mae?" I sighed. Just because I was starting to remember to turn on my cell phone didn't mean I was used to actually carrying it around on my person all the time. She should be happy I had it at all.

  The message ended, "Are you coming home tonight or not?" In between there was a lot of stuff that sounded a tad too much like nagging from my housemate. I hated being nagged, but I had to admit that in this case I pretty much deserved whatever I got.

  I deleted the message and hung up the phone, sighing. "Better go. I'm in trouble at home."

  "Was that your boyfriend?"

  "Worried housemate," I said.

  "Oh, gosh. You can't go now," Gabi said. "It's way too far, and you've been drinking."

  Well, true enough, but I'd only indulged in a glass at dinner and another in the basement. I'd be okay having ingested ten or eleven ounces of wine over five hours. However, the wine bottle was indeed empty, and now that I really looked at Gabi, I could see she was flushed and a little tipsy.

  "I'll be all right," I said, though the truth was that I felt bone weary, and the thought of the drive didn't hold much appeal. "Besides, I didn't bring an overnight bag."

  "Oh, don't worry about that," she insisted. "I can set you up with everything you need. You just call home and let her know you'll drive back first thing in the morning."

  I made a decision. "I'll see if I can get a hold of her. If I can, I'll go ahead and stay."

  "Oh, goodie," Gabi said.

  That gave me pause. Oh, goodie, indeed. But the idea of waiting to drive home in the morning was still mighty appealing. I called home, and Meghan answered on the second ring.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "I'm fine. Things kind of got away from me, and now it's late, and I'm going to stay up here."

  "You're still in La Conner?"

  "Close enough. I'm at Ariel's brother's house. We got to yammering, and his wife? Gabi? She's a spinner, so we got kind of involved in talking about… well, stuff. You know."

  Meghan sighed. "I know."

  "I've had a couple of glasses of wine, too, and Gabi invited me to stay. It seems like a good idea." "

  I guess you'd better then."

  "Tell me I didn't wake you."

  "No, I was talking to Kelly. Did you find out anything about Ariel?"

  "Not much. I'll tell you about it when I get home."

  "All right. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Gabi was delighted to learn I'd be staying, all oh goodie all over again. "While you were on the phone I put out a nightgown in the guest bedroom, and I had a spare toothbrush and some other things. You'll have to share the bathroom with us upstairs, but at least the little beasts don't go in there, so it's clean."

  I thanked her, and turned toward the stairway to the second floor.

  "Oh, wait," she said. "Let's sit out on the porch now that it's cooled off and have another glass of wine before bed."

  "I think I've had enough," I said. "It's been a long day."

  "Please?"

  Oh, Lord. I was beginning to regret staying, but I was stuck now. "The bottle's empty."

  "I opened a new one." She held up a fresh bottle of white zinfandel like a trophy.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, "Okay. One glass, and then I'm off to bed."

  "Okay."

  On the porch, I had to admit the cool air felt nice. It smelled of vegetation and dust, occasionally cut by the sweet scent of a hardy jasmine planted in a pot in the corner. I could make out the tiny, white star-shaped flowers wending up the porch railing.

  I took a sip of wine, which was enough to confirm I still detested white zin.

  Gabi said in a suddenly quiet voice, "I know Rocky's reaction must seem odd."

  I tried to switch gears from our previous light-hearted conversation. "He's grieving. Everyone does that differently."

  "There was a policewoman here yesterday."

  "He mentioned that."

  "She asked a lot of questions."

  "Well, that's her job," I said.

  She shifted in the chair beside mine. "Some of the questions were a little harsh. Put Rocky on edge. She almost acted like it was Ariel's fault she got killed."

  Nice, Robin. Real nice.

  "But he answered the questions, didn't he?" Of course I itched to know what the questions-and answers-were, but I resisted. "Because he wants to find out who killed his sister, too."

  "Oh, sure. Of course. It was just kind of hard on him, you know. He loved Ariel, but she's caused him a lot of grief over the years. At least this will be the last of it."

  "The money?" I asked.

  "And the men."

  I took a chance. "You know, she was having an affair with the husband of one of the other artists at the co-op."

  Gabi shook her head. "Another married man? Of course she was.

  I shrugged. "Maybe they fell in love. It happens."

  "Oh, she wasn't in love." Gabi sipped her wine. "Ariel didn't know how to love, not really. Trust me, she benefited in some very practical way."

  "How sad."

  Gabi was silent for a moment. "And dangerous."

  Maybe it was the hour, maybe the wine, but the conversation was taking a baffling turn. "Dangerous how?"

  "Their parents. She didn't get along with them. Always felt like they were too hard on her."

  I waited.

  Gabi leaned in, the cloying smell of cheap wine rolling off her. "The car wreck. I saw Ariel doing something to their car before they left that day." She sat back.

  It took me a moment. "Are you saying she caused the crash that killed their parents?"

  Light leaking out of the window from inside illuminated the fear on Gabi's face when she realized she'd said too much. "Oh, heavens no. It's not like that"

  "Then what did you mean?" I asked.

  Gabi looked toward the screen door and lowered her voice even more. I could hardly hear her as she said, "Just forget I said anything, okay? It doesn't matter now anyway, does it? She's dead." She put her hand to her forehead. "I guess I just can't hold my wine. Please don't say anything to Rocky."

  "He doesn't know?" I asked.

  She shook her head again, her chin swinging back and forth in an exaggerated way. "There's nothing to know."

  EIGHTEEN

  I WAS AWAKENED BY the distant sound of a rooster the next morning, crowing at the brightening hour of five a.m. Too early to go downstairs, and no way was I going back to sleep. I'd been half thinking, half dreaming about what I'd learned about Ariel so far, and now that I was fully awake the thoughts were clamoring too loud to allow further rest. Plumping my pillows and sitting up in bed, I took in the details of the Kaminski's guest room. I'd been too tired the night before to do much more than change into Gabi's kind offer of a nightgown, turn out the light, and climb into bed.

  Looking around in the dawn light, I saw cream-painted walls and a ceiling so pink it was almost fuchsia. Next to the louvered doors of the closet, an old-fashioned white dressing table dominated one corner, the surface noticeably empty of girlish potions and unguents. Opposite the window hung two giant posters, both velvet textu
red and brightly colored so they'd glow under a black light. The first showed a rather petulant-looking fairy with elaborate, luminous wings; the second depicted a winding road to an imposing castle that could have been either romantically gothic, or frighteningly Bram Stoker. I found both of them a little creepy, and was glad I hadn't noticed them before dropping off to sleep the night before. A battered dresser, gauzy pink curtains, and the double bed-dressed in pink and white gingham, for heaven's sake-rounded out the furnishings.

  With two boys in the house now, and the fact that the Kaminski children had grown up here, there was no other reasonable explanation: I was in Ariel's girlhood room. The thought gave me a bit of a turn, then made me curious. After my interesting evening with her family, especially Gabi, my mental picture of Ariel was beginning to fill out. Still, I had to remember that, while the information I was getting from Gabi didn't really contradict anything I'd learned earlier, it was still just one source.

  Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I reached for my shorts, now in a crumpled heap on the floor. I must have been too tired to fold them. Wouldn't Barr love living with a slob like me? He should count himself lucky I'd put off moving in.

  I dressed, happy enough to add the hooded sweatshirt Gabi had given me to wear the night before to my early morning attire.It was chilly in the new dawn, and likely to stay that way until the sun had a chance to work her magic. No one seemed to be moving around in the household yet.

  I eyed the closet.

  The louvered doors didn't open smoothly, but I managed to make a minimum of racket. It was stuffed with clothes, most of them winter garb that looked like it belonged to the entire family. Gabi made good use of Ariel's old closet for storage. Well, what did I expect? A shrine to the departed sister? Hardly. I wondered whether Ariel had resented her space being taken over like that.

  Quietly pawing through the items hanging on the rod, I found two dresses in the back that were certainly not suitable winter wear. They were too skimpy for most summer temperatures, and even then only if you were going for a certain look. I took one out and held it up to the window, noting the outline of the corner of the barn roof outside through the flimsy material.