Spin a Wicked Web

by Cricket McRae

  I nodded, though I had no idea what she was talking about.

  "Someone had knocked it off the table where it was displayed. Her arm was broken. I just knew Ariel had done it, in the dark, too lazy to turn on the lights, and too uncaring to bother picking it up." She gritted out the words. "The light shone down the stairs from above. I knew she was up there. So I took the sculpture upstairs to confront her. And you know what I found?"

  We all shook our heads.

  "I found little Miss Ariel Skylark going through Ruth Black's things. She was taking some of that pretty, shiny fiber Thea Hawke sells, right out of Ruth's case."

  Hoo boy. I hadn't been expecting that. Ruth kept a portion of her stash and fiber to use for lessons at CRAG in a small cupboard in the corner of her work area. The northern lights fiber Ariel had been clutching in her dead hand when I found her was indeed the same stuff Gabi had in her spinning basket which had sent us on such a wild goose chase. But Gabi had told the truth when she said she got the fiber from Ariel-and I'd been right when I figured Ariel wouldn't shell out the big bucks for a gift like that for her sister-in-law.

  Stealing from Ruth Black. Sheesh. The list in Ariel's "con" column just kept getting longer and longer.

  "You confronted her?" I prompted.

  "Oh, yes. And I told her we'd decided that she had to leave the co-op. That she had a day to get all of her stuff out." Irene pressed her lips together, the anger and fear on her face again as she remembered. "She laughed at me. Said she had no intention of leaving, and that I didn't have the authority to make her. When I insisted Chris was on board with the decision, she got a nasty look on her face. Told me she wouldn't go, and that if we tried to make her, she'd take us to court. Sue the co-op."

  "That's ridiculous," Zak said.

  "I thought so, too," Irene said. "And I told her that. Plus, if she didn't get her ugly paintings out of the building herself, we'd take them down for her and set them in the alley so she could pick them up. Well, that made her spitting mad, and she came at me."

  Her lips opened again, but no words came out. She rubbed her palm over her face and cleared her throat. When she managed to speak again, her voice was quiet. "I hit her with my Athena sculpture, and she fell down." Her eyes welled. "She just wouldn't go away. It didn't seem like we'd ever be rid of her. Thinking that made me a little nuts, you know? I saw that hank of yarn hanging over the back of the chair, and I grabbed it and wrapped it around her neck."

  She met Zak's horrified gaze, shunted her eyes toward mine and whispered, "I kept it there until she was dead."

  Not exactly self-defense, I thought. But an insanity plea didn't seem entirely out of the question. Poor Zak. Poor Irene, for that matter.

  I kept my tone gentle. "You hit her with the sculpture first?"

  She nodded.

  Understanding registered on Robin's face. The official story was that Ariel had been strangled. How could Irene have known Ariel had been struck first unless she'd been there? She slowly rose to her feet.

  "Where is it?" Barr asked, also standing.

  Irene licked her lips.

  "Did you get rid of it?" he pushed.

  She looked at Zak. "Would it prove that I was the one who killed that girl, and not Zak?"

  "I believe it might," Barr said, not committing to anything. But the look he shot my way was triumphant.

  "It's outside," she said. "In my workroom. I was going to try and fix it."

  And sell it in the co-op, no doubt. Nice way to get rid of a murder weapon-except she could have smashed it to pieces instead. I had to wonder if there wasn't a part of Irene that wanted to get caught.

  "So how did you convince Chris and Ruth to give you an alibi for the time of the murder?" I asked, not moving from the recliner. I wanted to get as much on tape as possible.

  Irene, looking paler than ever, covered her eyes with one hand for a few beats. Then she dropped her arm and said, "After I realized what I'd done, I panicked and called Chris. I told her what had happened, and she told me to get back to her place as fast as possible. I know I shouldn't have done it, that I should have just called the police and confessed right then, but I did what she said. When I got there, she told me Ruth would be there any minute, and that I should say I'd been at Chris' the whole time, hadn't left at all. That way I'd have an alibi, and both Chris and Ruth could back me up."

  Ruth had told me she went back because Chris had broken down the night before the funeral. But when I was in the smithy with her, Chris had told me it was the first time she'd really cried since Scott's death. Now that made sense.

  I leaned forward. "Only Chris knew she was lying. You tricked Ruth."

  Irene sighed. "She could've said she'd left and come back, but after you found Ariel, she was afraid for Chris. She didn't want her to be blamed. So she fudged a little on the truth-on her own, not because I made her, or even asked her to-in order to strengthen Chris' alibi. But you have to understand, she really thought I'd been there the whole time, so she believed Chris had an alibi."

  Ruth's heart had been in the right place, but she'd ended up protecting someone who'd actually killed Ariel. Chris, on the other hand, had intentionally aided and abetted. She'd had good reason to hate Ariel, too. No wonder she'd protected Irene.

  "Worked out pretty well for you, didn't it?" Robin said, her lips drawing back in disgust.

  Defiance flashed across Irene's features. "Until now."

  "Show me the statue you hit her with," Robin said.

  Irene hesitated then nodded toward her son. He'd run through the gamut of emotions as he'd listened to his mother confess to murder, and now sat stunned on the sofa with his hands still behind him. "Take the handcuffs off of him."

  Robin narrowed her eyes, but after a long moment complied, pulling Zak to his feet. Metal scraped against metal as she removed them, sounding loud in the room. He rubbed one wrist, still staring at his mother.

  We all filed upstairs behind Irene. Barr smiled his approval when I grabbed my tote bag off the coffee table on the way. We went through the white and beige kitchen to the back door, and outside. A small building stood in the far corner of the backyard. It was little more than a glorified shed. Together we crossed the yard, and Irene opened the door. A table and chair took up most of the interior. Shelves lining the walls held figurines in various stages of completion, as well as neat packages of clay waiting to be shaped into something more. A variety of shiny, clean tools lay in a row on the tabletop. Even here, where Irene made her art, there was little color and no decoration.

  She took one of the chunky statuettes down from the shelf and held it out to Robin, who told her to put it on the table. Then she put the handcuffs on Irene and started the whole Miranda thing over again. Zak looked on with a mixture of sadness and repulsion on his face.

  Irene met my eyes, and I saw that the fear she'd been carrying around seemed to be gone. Then she mouthed something at me, and nodded. I blinked.

  Barr and I went outside. I gave him my tote bag, and he removed the tape recorder and turned it off. "What did she say to you?"

  "She said…" I shook my head. "I think she said, `Thank you.' Can you believe that?"

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his look was tender. "Guilt is a hard thing to carry around."

  I thought about things I'd done in my own life. Not murder, but still. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

  As we walked toward the patrol car, Barr sighed under his breath.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "This was such a fiasco, and it could have been avoided if my partner wasn't so pigheaded. Do you have any idea how much paperwork we're going to have to fill out now?"

  "Well, at least you got your killer," I said.

  "At least one of them."

  "Meaning… you think Ariel killed Scott?"

  He nodded. "It sounds like a possibility. I'll talk to Zak and to the other mechanics at the shop and see if I can find out anything more. It won't make him any less dead, bu
t Chris might like to know what really happened. Might make a difference with his life insurance payout, too."

  "Except Chris might be looking at some jail time, too. Don't you think?"

  A rueful expression settled on his face. "What the hell was she thinking, covering for Irene like that?"

  "My bet? She was thinking that in the same situation, she might have done exactly the same thing. Ariel had a real talent for inciting love and hate. Which one depended on your gender."

  THIRTY-THREE

  BARR SPENT THE REST of the afternoon at the police station with Irene, processing and doing paperwork and whatever else you have to do when someone confesses to murder. We'd agreed to meet at his house that evening, and as I made the short drive in Meghan's Volvo, I kept replaying the events in Irene's basement in my mind. What kept coming back to me over and over was the look in Zak's eyes as he'd watched his mother confess to murder. As with so many others involved with the case, his life was now changed forever.

  I guess I should have been surprised to find Hannah's rental car parked in front of Barr's house, but I wasn't. I was beginning to wonder if she'd ever leave us alone. What had Irene said about Ariel? That it seemed like she would never go away.

  And look what had happened to her.

  The door was open, and I walked right in without knocking. Hannah stood in front of the sofa. She turned her head, and fury filled her eyes the instant she saw me. She'd cut off her long braid and now sported a short, tousled mop that mimicked my own. A wave of distaste washed through me when I saw it. Words of protest on my tongue, I turned toward Barr, who stood across the living room from her. They died when I saw the expression on his face, at once surprised, fearful, and pleading. The skin on the back of my neck tingled. Tension crackled in the space between them, and I could feel it extending toward me.

  What was his ex up to this time?

  "Did I interrupt something?" I asked. Couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but I didn't really try, either.

  "Sophie Mae," Barr said. "Please don't take this wrong, but I need you to leave. Go home. I'll call you as soon as I can." The pleading in his eyes increased.

  I was stunned. "What's going on here?"

  "Please," he said.

  Hannah shifted, snagging my attention.

  And I saw the gun.

  She held it easily in her hand. I don't know anything about guns, but it seemed big enough to do some real damage.

  I looked at the gun. I looked at Hannah. She smiled. Then she pointed it at Barr.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Make him go back to Wyoming or shoot him?"

  She made a noise of exasperation in the back of her throat, and pointed the barrel at me. "Shut up. This isn't about you."

  "The hell it isn't."

  Barr took a step toward her. She swung the weapon toward him again, and he stopped.

  Oh brother.

  "Let me handle this," he said, voice low and calm. I had a sudden notion of him dealing with a horse or a cow-or a grizzly bear-using the same tone. "Hannah will let you go. Won't you, Hannah?"

  She started to nod, then shook her head once. Her eyes darted left and right, and her shoulders hunched defensively. It was one thing to start waving a gun around at Barr, but another to add a third party, and her rival at that. My presence had backed her into a corner. My neck tingled again at the thought.

  Barr was right. I should leave while I still could and let him handle his loony ex.

  On the other hand, I had an idea.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," I said, and walked between them and into the kitchen.

  Hannah looked confused as I passed. So did Barr.

  I opened the cupboard and took out a glass. Ice clattered out of the refrigerator door into the glass, and then I ran tap water into it. Took a long drink.

  "Anyone want anything?" I called.

  Silence.

  "Water?" I opened the fridge again. "There's some root beer in here."

  "No thanks," Barr said from the other room.

  "Hannah?"

  "Uh, no," came the hesitant reply.

  "Okay, then," I said, returning to the living room. I walked straight up to Hannah and snatched the gun out of her hand. She was so surprised she didn't resist.

  "This time you've gone too far," I said. The edge in my voice could have cut glass.

  Barr was at my side in an instant. I gave him the gun and turned back to his ex-wife. Utter defeat slumped her shoulders, and she stared down at the floor.

  She nodded. "I just-"

  "You cut your hair."

  Silence.

  "You can't force someone to love you."

  "I know."

  "But you can do a pretty good job of making them dislike you. A lot."

  Her head snapped up, eyes searching for Barr's. "Do you hate me now?"

  A pause, and then he said, "You've got to stop this nonsense. Go back to the ranch. It's where you belong."

  "Yeah." She grimaced, and looked between us.

  "So go home," I said, "and leave us alone."

  She blinked. "I'm sorry."

  "Good," I said. "'Bye"

  So I wasn't as easygoing as Barr. Sue me.

  And she left this time. Really and truly left.

  ***

  "What were you thinking?" I couldn't keep the frustration out of my voice as I asked Ruth the question. My spinning wheel whirred, the spokes a blur, and the natural wool roving I was spinning accumulated on the spool at a rapid rate.

  "I never should have lied," Ruth said, her voice sheepish beside me. She was also spinning, but her wheel turned slowly.

  I didn't look up, afraid I'd lose my rhythm and foul up my yarn. "What did the police say? Are you in trouble?"

  "Probably less than I ought to be. It doesn't hurt that I'm a feeble little old lady."

  I laughed.

  "I have to go to court and testify," she said.

  "Against Chris and Irene?"

  "Yes." The word was clipped.

  I stopped spinning and looked at her. "You don't want to."

  "Of course I don't want to, but it's the right thing to do." She calmly fed a soy-silk blend into her wheel. "People can't go around killing people."

  I couldn't have put it better myself.

  "Well, I have to testify, too," I said. "Chris didn't only protect Irene by lying for her and tricking you into doing the same. She also confessed to tampering with my brakes. They're going to try her for attempted murder."

  Ruth's wheel slowed to a stop, and she looked up with a shocked expression. "Chris made you have that wreck? Why would she do that?"

  I shrugged. "She thought I suspected Irene, and if Irene went down, so would she. Which is, of course, exactly what happened."

  "Did you?"

  "What? Suspect Irene?"

  She nodded.

  "Not at that point. But sometimes guilt can make you a little paranoid, you know?"

  Ruth started spinning again. A few minutes later I heard her murmur, "Maybe I won't mind testifying against them so much after all."

  ***

  People had indeed gone around killing people. Irene had killed Ariel, and it certainly looked like Ariel had killed Scott Popper. Barr had talked to Dusty and Zak, and they'd pinpointed the last time Officer Popper's car had been serviced: the day before his accident. And sure enough, Ariel had been hanging out with Zak that day. They'd even recalled a period when they'd been slammed with work, and she'd had full run of the shop.

  Next they figured out what tools she might have used, and Barr had them all fingerprinted. They found two of her prints. But the clincher was that her prints were also found on the rack-andpinion steering mechanism of Scott's patrol car. They couldn't wring a confession from her now, obviously, and if she hadn't died Ariel probably would have gotten away with the murder. As for her parents' car wreck, we'd never know about that.

  And Hannah? Cassie called to assure us that she'd returned to the ranch. Last we'd
heard, she was making a play for Barr's younger brother, Randall. If she managed to hook him she wouldn't even have to change her name.

  ***

  "You've got to be kidding;" I said. It was a week later, and I'd thought things were getting back to normal.

  "Not even a little bit. Go ahead, turn around." Barr, grinning like an idiot, produced a silk scarf from his pocket.

  We were standing in the entryway of the house. Meghan leaned in the doorway to the living room, arms folded.

  "Do you know what this is all about?" I asked her.

  "Yep."

  "And you're not about to tell me," I said.

  "Nope"

  I looked at Barr again. Still grinning. Well, if it was going to make him that happy. I turned. "Don't tie it too tight."

  "Afraid he'll mess up your hair?" Meghan asked.

  "Shut up."

  He finished tying the blindfold, and put his hands on my shoulders. "Out front."

  What on earth?

  I stumbled on the front step, but Barr caught me. Carefully he led me down the sidewalk, then we paused and he opened the gate. The sun was warm, the silk was soft against my face, and chickadees called to one another up and down our street. I heard Meghan's steps behind me.

  "You didn't buy me a pony, did you? Because I've always wanted a pony, ever since I was a little girl."

  "In a manner of speaking," Barr said.

  "What? Tell me you didn't go get me a horse or some such nonsense, Barr Ambrose, because I don't know how to ride a horse, and I don't have time for a horse, and I don't even know if I like-"

  Barr grabbed my hands before I could rip the blindfold off.

  "Will you relax? Geez, sometimes you make it awful hard to be nice to you."

  Chastened, I dropped my arms.

  "Now come down here," he said.

  I did what I was told.

  More footsteps behind, and Erin 's breathless voice. "Has it happened yet?"