Spin a Wicked Web (13 page)

And, of course, I fell in love with a man who worked even more
than I did. Was it possible that Barr and I hadn't spent enough time
together in the last eight months to really get to know each other? In
my basement workroom, I shook my head, resisting the notion. I
did know him, despite the mix-up about his having an ex-wife.

Enough. I had things to do.

I called my teenaged helper, Cyan Waters, and told her to take
the next day off. She didn't mind a bit. Then I googled Rocky Kaminski and found the website for the tulip farm he and his wife,
Gabrielle, owned near La Conner, Washington. I printed out the
directions on how to get there. The phone number was on the
website, so I copied that down, too.

Gabrielle Kaminski answered the phone when I called. I explained who I was and that I'd be in La Conner the next day. Would
she and her husband like for me to bring Ariel's art up with me?

"That'd be awful nice of you, if it's not too much trouble." The
shouts of children in the background then, and she said, "Hang on
a sec." Muffled voices and the distortion of a palm over the receiver. "You boys take your lunch outside and eat on the porch.
And no throwing food, you hear?" A pause, and then to me, "Okay,
I'm back. When do you think you'll be here?"

"In the early afternoon, I should think. Is that convenient?"

"That'll be just fine. We'll see you then."

Then I called Ruth, Irene, and Jake. Ruth assured me that the
police had given her permission to go back inside, and the co-op
would reopen the next day. Apparently Chris had influence with
someone who pulled a few strings with the police, hurrying things along. Not surprising; after all, her husband had been a cop and
she had an alibi for Ariel's murder. When I told everyone what I
wanted to do they agreed to meet me that afternoon at CRAC-
even Irene said she'd come. We'd all sign a card for the Kaminski
family, and they'd help me load Ariel's paintings into the covered
bed of my small pickup.

Before heading over to the co-op, I filled a gift basket with soaps
that looked like quartz crystals and smooth river rocks, a few lip
balms and lotion bars, an eye pillow filled with flax seeds, two jars
of homemade raspberry jam and a jar of pickled asparagus. It was a
bit much, but I wanted to do something nice.

The gift basket took longer than I'd anticipated, so I got there
late. I rushed in to find Ruth and Irene, hands on hips, silently
looking at the big stark canvases that leaned against the front
counter. Empty spaces gaped on the wall where they'd hung.

Ruth greeted me, smiling with her eyes. She held out a sympathy card. "We've all signed it. Did you bring the blankets?"

I took the card and uncapped a pen. "Thanks for picking this
up. The blankets are in the bed of my truck."

"Zak," she called. "Jake?"

"She's here?" They clomped down the stairs.

"Hey, you two. Thanks for helping out," I said.

"No problem." Jake said. Beside him, Zak nodded silent agreement. "We'll just take these out for you, pack them up."

"Okay, thanks," I said, and bent over the card. "Mine is the gray
Toyota with the topper. The back is open, and there are blankets
to pad the paintings."

Each took a big canvas and carried it out the door. I turned to
Irene and Ruth. "Do you think we should do something more than just pad them in blankets? Something a little more professional? And I was going to keep them in the truck overnight, leave
first thing in the morning."

Irene scowled. Ruth said, "The paintings will be fine. I'm sure
her brother will be grateful."

"Yeah, I guess they'll be all right. As concerned as Jake was
about Ariel's art, I'm sure he'll pack them well."

This time Irene snorted. I raised my palms. "What? Did Jake
have a thing for her or something?"

She stared at me for several seconds, then without a word
turned and strode to a display of her sculptures on the other side
of the room and began rearranging them.

Ruth watched her with sympathetic eyes.

Zak and Jake came in and grabbed a couple more paintings.
When the door had closed behind them, I turned to Ruth, "Did I say
something wrong?"

"Not really. You see, Jake did have feelings for Ariel, but I think
they were of a fatherly sort more than anything."

I'd seen how he looked at her. Fatherly, my ass.

She saw my expression and insisted, "He was very protective of
her."

"What did Felicia think about that?" We were talking in low
tones, and Irene steadfastly ignored us, fussing with a statue of a
squat dancing woman with flowers in her hair.

Ruth hesitated. "Felicia may have misunderstood. Apparently
she found some e-mails Jake had sent Ariel, and found their tenor
a bit too, er, intimate."

"Ah," I said. "But his motives were pure, eh?"

"I like to think so," Ruth said, holding my gaze.

"So do I," I said, since that seemed to be what she wanted.

She nodded, and I had to wonder if Felicia's possible motive
for killing Ariel was lost on her. It was the same motive Chris supposedly had, after all. But did Felicia have an alibi?

In no time, Jake and Zak had loaded and wrapped the paintings. I
thanked them again, and Jake left, saying he had to get back to the office. I'd been surprised he'd been able to get away from his practice at
all on such short notice; more evidence of his feelings for Ariel.

We all went outside. Irene stalked over to Zak, who was standing in the parking lot by my truck, and pointed to her car. He
shook his head. She said something, and he shook it again. She
opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Yanking her car
door open, she got inside without looking at any of us and roared
out of the parking lot.

"What on earth is wrong with Irene?" I said. "Did I make her
that angry with that comment about Jake?"

Ruth sighed. "She's been through a lot, Sophie Mae. Her husband left her nine years ago for a younger woman. The divorce
was not in the least bit amicable, and now he's started a whole
new family. Irene was deeply hurt."
"

I had no idea. No wonder the idea of Jake being attracted to
Ariel hit a raw nerve. Did she know Ariel was having an affair with
Scott Popper?"

A pained expression pinched Ruth's features. She nodded.

"How is Chris doing? Have you seen her?" I asked. "I went by
and talked with her like you asked, but I figure the ball is in her
court now."

"I spoke with her on the phone yesterday," Ruth said. "I think
your visit helped. She seems to want to mourn alone, though."

Chris had a strong independent streak, and was a bit of a loner.
"That might be okay," I ventured. "As long as it's not for too long.
She might simply need time by herself to process everything that's
happened."

"Indeed. And I'm keeping an eye on her, don't you worry. Now
you give our best to Mr. Kaminski and his family, and I'll talk to
you when you get back. It's very nice of you to do this, you know."

"Oh, I welcome the chance to get out of town, if you want to
know the truth."

"It's a nice drive," she said. "Enjoy" She went back into the coop building, her pace brisk and businesslike.

Zak stood by my pickup, apparently waiting for me.

"So you're going to see Ariel's brother," he said as I approached.

I nodded. "He has a tulip farm in Skagit County."

"Um, I put a note on one of the paintings I want to buy. Is that
okay? Do you think he'll let me?"

Oh, wow. "Uh, I don't know. But I'll make sure he knows you
want it."

"I'd appreciate that." He sounded so much more grown up
than he looked, with the barbed wire tattoos on his biceps and the
metal sprouting out of his face. And he'd never be able to fix the
damage from those rivets in his ears.

Then his eyes welled up with tears, and he turned quickly away.
Raising a hand in farewell, he practically jogged down the street.

Ohmygosh. What was that all about? Ariel had had the most
amazing effect on the male of the species. How did she do it?

BARR AND ROBIN HAD talked to Jake and Felicia already, to no
avail. I didn't know her very well, but perhaps I'd have better luck
talking to Felicia Beagle than they had. For one thing, I was a
woman, and I'd found women tended to talk more readily to another women. And then there was also the fact that I wasn't Detective Robin Lane.

Jake had gone back to the office. If Felicia was at home, she'd
likely be alone.

The Beagles lived in a new McMansion in a recently developed
neighborhood on the east side of town. Their house had a turret,
for heaven's sake, and enormous columns flanked the stone steps. I
felt like a poor cousin as I parked my old truck in the driveway and
got out. There were no vehicles in sight, but there wouldn't be.
These were not people who parked on the street.

The doorbell reverberated inside, a long musical tone that
would have driven me nuts after a month. Maybe they didn't get
many visitors. Maybe Felicia was tone deaf. She opened the door almost immediately, and I wondered whether she was expecting
someone.

"Hi," I said. "I don't think we've formally met, but I'm a member
of the Cadyville Regional Artists' Co-operative with your husband."

"Of course," she said. "Ms. Reynolds, isn't it?"

"Sophie Mae, please."

"And I'm Felicia. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you."

The interior was decorated expensively, but still felt comfortable and welcoming. The furniture-lots of leather and dark
wood-was oversized, which probably suited Jake just fine. Several of his framed photographs adorned the walls, along with a
variety of drawings and simple watercolors. The intense, almost
cloying perfume from a gardenia in the hallway drifted around us
as we walked by, the sound of our footsteps echoing back faintly
from the vaulted ceiling.

Felicia herself, perfectly coifed as always, wore white capris and
a white T-shirt with a short white jacket. Her manicured toes were
painted deep red, and housed within thin, white strappy sandals.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked as she led me into
the living room.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. I hope I'm not disturbing you," I said.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm taking the day off today."

On my days off I wore sweats or shorts and a T-shirt. Heck, I
wore the same things when I was working. I sat in a wingback upholstered in butter-soft red leather. No chair should be allowed to
be that comfortable. Visitors would never leave.

"Where are you working?" I asked.

Her chin lifted. "I volunteer for a variety of organizations in both
Cadyville and Seattle. I'm particularly interested in the theater." She
settled gracefully into the matching leather sofa.

I cocked my head, recognition dawning. "You were an actress,
weren't you? I recognize you now. What were you in? Let me
think..."

"I like to say I'm still an actress, though, truth be told, I haven't
been paid for it for years." Her voice was smooth and pleasant, her
manner warm.

I held up my palms. "I'm sorry. I can't remember where I know
you from."

"Most people don't recognize me at all. I did a few commercials, years ago. And I played Malissa Harris on Mountain Time for
part of one season."

"Of course! I watched Mountain Time when I was in college. It
was one of the first prime-time soaps, and since I lived in Colorado I loved that it was set in Vail. You," I pointed at her, "were a
very evil lady."

She laughed. "I was indeed. Downright ruthless. I loved playing
that character. I only wish it could have lasted longer. But Malissa
was written in specifically with the intention of killing her off."

"So why don't you act more now?"

Shrugging, she said, "Cadyville is pretty far from the center of
things. I don't need to work. Heck, Jake doesn't even need to work,
but he enjoys his practice, and I wouldn't want to take that away
from him. Maybe one of these days we'll move closer to the city,
but for now we like living here."

I wondered. Felicia, self-possessed as she was, seemed isolated.
It didn't seem to bother her, but then again, she didn't seem like the type to let you know if something bothered her. And she was
nicer than I'd anticipated. Someone I'd like to have dinner with.

"Enough about my defunct acting career," she said. "Was there
a particular reason you dropped by?"

"Well, as I mentioned, I'm part of CRAG, and I know Jake. You
know about the murder there, of course."

She nodded. "Of course. Jake's been very concerned about the
other co-op members." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, and
weren't you the one who found her? How silly of me. You're here
to see Jake, aren't you?"