Spin a Wicked Web (17 page)

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.

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 spin, 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.