Spin a Wicked Web (26 page)

I went up to the shelves and baskets filled with fiber ready to
spin. Gabi's stash hadn't been much smaller than this. The raw,
uncarded alpaca wool caught my eye, and I thought of Lindsey
Drucker, raising animals, spinning, weaving, and living with another artist. It couldn't possibly be as ideal of a lifestyle as it
sounded. I mean, could anything live up to being that perfect?

Lindsey was a woman with demons, after all. Demons Ariel
had shared, and that she'd tried to save her from.

"Sophie Mae," Irene called from the bottom of the stairs. "Sophie Mae! Zak's here, and I'm leaving. Now."

Sheesh. Give a woman a little time to shop, won't you? "Okay,
I'm coming."

I hit the ground floor, and Irene was out the door. Her son
turned to follow.

"Zak," I said.

He looked at me over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"I told Rocky Kaminski about the painting you wanted, but-"

"I know." His gaze jerked to his mother, already halfway across
the parking lot, then back to me. "His wife called me. Can I leave
the painting here for a day or two after I get it?"

"Rocky's going to sell it to you after all?"

He nodded.

"Okay." I noted the black grease under his fingernails. Was he
as handy at unfixing cars as he was at fixing them? And how would
that translate to strangulation? "You must have really loved Ariel,"
I suddenly blurted out. The words hung awkwardly in the air between us.

He looked surprised, then ducked his head as pink embarrassment crept up past the rivets in his ears.

I kept my tone mild. "It's nice that you want her picture, is all."
I busied myself behind the counter, deliberately not looking him
in the eye. Like facing a strange dog, I wasn't sure what I was dealing with here. Best not to appear threatening in any way.

"We were seeing each other," he said.

I risked a glance at him.

"But she broke up with me."

"Really? I'm sorry. That must have hurt"

"Not really," he said.

I stopped arranging and rearranging a pile of Post-its and
looked directly at him.

"It was kind of a relief when she did it. Ariel was kind of scary,
you know? We had some fun, but she could get really weird and
moody and mean. Besides, I kind of like someone else."

I pasted encouragement on my face. "Anyone I know?"

"Her name's Daphne. She was Ariel's roommate. She's, like, the
nicest person I've ever met."

Daphne had some additional attributes which might appeal to
a young man, as I recalled. But it was refreshing to hear a boy talk
about a girl being nice, and his voice became softer when he said
her name.

"The horticulture student? I met her once," I said.

"I guess you must think it's kind of weird for me to want one
of Ariel's paintings if she broke up with me, but I did like her, you
know. I think we would've still been friends."

"Zak!" Irene's voice floated back to us.

"Anyway, thanks. I'll see you soon." And Zak was out the door.

He'd see me soon? What was that supposed to mean?

Two HOURS LATER, I found out. As soon as Irene left, I added the
essential oil blend I'd customized for the co-op to the diffuser on
the counter and took a deep breath as the gentle fragrance overrode the stale air. After a while, customers started trickling in the
door. I wasn't busy the whole time, but enough people kept coming in that it felt worthwhile to be there. An older couple was in
the rear of the co-op looking at some of Jake Beagle's photography
when Zak returned.

The front door was propped open to allow the slight breeze in.
Zak was a skinny kid and barely filled half the frame. Behind him,
I saw an older model blue Suburban turn into the parking lot. I
recognized it right away. Zak hurried out as the Chevy pulled into
a space.

Gabi Kaminski swung down from the driver's seat. A sleeveless
white blouse showed off her tan, as did her denim shorts and
leather sandals. She'd plaited her smooth, caramel-colored hair
into a neat braid. She and Zak talked for a few minutes. I craned my neck to watch them. He seemed to be doing most of the talking. She gestured widely with one arm and laughed.

"Excuse me. We'd like to buy these." The gray-haired gentleman laid two of Jake's photos from the black-and-white Riparian
series on the counter and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"These are lovely, aren't they?" I asked while darting looks over
his shoulder. Zak was unloading something from the back of the
Suburban.

"They are indeed."

His wife said, "He's a fly fisherman, and these will keep him
company in the den when he can't get out to the river."

I smiled. "Mmm hmm."

Yep: it was the painting Zak had put the note on. I wondered
whether Rocky knew Gabi was selling it.

After I took their money, thanked them, and wished them a nice
evening, the couple finally wandered out. I followed them to the
door, then stepped back almost immediately so Zak could fit the big
canvas through the opening. Gabi followed closely behind him.
When she raised her head and saw me standing in the doorway, she
stopped like she'd run into a brick wall. Surprise flitted across her
face, rapidly replaced with a mask of careful indifference.

"You," she said.

Indeed. "Gabi"

Had this woman tried to kill me? I remembered the sound of
crunching metal, the screech of it sparking across the asphalt as
the eighteen-wheeler crushed my little truck into the ground. The
salt-sting of baking soda lingering in the air. My own fear during
the whole ordeal, still on my skin. I tasted it now, in the back of
my throat, along with a rapidly growing anger.

And here she was, in Cadyville, right in front of me. I wondered where Rocky thought she was, what he'd swear to this time.
Because I was fairly sure he had no idea she'd sold his dead sister's
painting to Zak.

I felt my nostrils flare.

Zak's gaze shuttled between us, his eyes narrowing as he tried
to discern the flavor of our hostility. He handed her a fistful of
bills. "It's all there, Ms. Kaminski. Thanks for bringing it to me. I
really 'preciate it."

She began counting the money. "Happy to do it."

"Did you have any trouble finding the place?" he asked.

She looked up. "What? Oh, no. You gave excellent directions."

Sure. Like she'd never been to the co-op before. Probably just
one more lie to add to the list.

When she'd finished with the money, she put it in her purse.
"I'd better get back. Rocky's watching the boys."

"Gabi," I said again. "May I have a word?"

"I'm not really in the mood to chat right now." She began to
turn away.

I kept my voice even and low, though my anger had grown exponentially during their short exchange. "We need to talk."

Ah, those magic words. She paused, then turned back. I could
hear her breathing. We both looked at Zak.

"Oh, um, right. I gotta go," he said, no doubt anxious to escape
the mounting tension. He gestured toward the painting. "I'll pick
this up later, 'K?"

"No problem," I said.

`degK," he said again. "Bye."

After he'd left, I shut the front door and locked it. I might be
locking myself in with a killer, I realized, but I was too angry to
care. Besides, it wouldn't have been the first time. Remembering,
my hand started to go to where my long braid used to hang down
my back, but I stopped and let it drop.

"Thanks again for siccing the cops on me, Sophie Mae. That
was real special. I don't know why I ever thought you were a nice
person." She stood regarding me with both arms folded across her
chest. "Now what's so important that we have to talk about?"

"I think you know."

"Gosh, I'm afraid I don't." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.

"A semi totaled my pickup earlier today when my brakes went
out."

Something crossed her face, then was gone. Guilt? Fear? As
carefully as I'd been watching, I couldn't tell.

"Why are you telling me this? It has nothing to do with me,
and you're obviously fine if you're here."

"Oh, I'm fine and dandy. However, my brake lines were deliberately cut." Okay, so I was jumping the gun. But she was right
there in front of me, and I wanted to see her reaction.

She met my eyes without flinching.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?" I
asked.

She glared. "What exactly are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm asking you straight out. Did
you mess around with my truck?"

"Of course not! And you'd better not go around telling anyone
that I did, or I'll sue you for defamation of character!"

Oh, brother.

I pushed further. "Guess Rocky must have changed his mind
about keeping all of his sister's artwork if you sold that piece to
Zak, huh."

Her eyes slewed to the side. "That's none of your business."

Bingo.

But it didn't make her a murderer.

Gabi's eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you want?"

"I want to know if you killed Ariel. I want to know if you tried
to kill me." The words flew out of my mouth, propelled by anger at
the idea that she'd done exactly those things. Goose bumps rose on
my arms. I clamped my mouth shut.

I watched the accusation settle into her psyche. I barely dared
to breathe. Gabi, on the other hand, turned pale under her tan and
began sipping oxygen through her overbite, almost panting. Suddenly red rage infused her face and she stood, towering over me. I
backed away a few steps, then forced myself to stop.

"How can you say such a horrible thing?" she hissed. "I've never
met anyone so cruel."

I stood my ground. "Not as cruel as your sister-in-law's murderer."

"Are you crazy? Rocky told you I was home that night."

"Sure he did. But we both know you could have sneaked out
when he was fast asleep, and driven down here to meet Ariel. Did
you plan to kill her before you came? Or did she ask for yet more
money? What did she do to send you over the edge?"

Her lips turned up, then down, as if she didn't know what to do
with her mouth. She shook her head. "I'd never kill anyone. I was
home that night. All night. Rocky knows that. He'll swear to it."

"And someone saw you messing around with my truck," I lied,
looking her straight in the eye. Who's a bad liar? Not me.

It seemed to work. Gabi looked really scared.

But she still didn't tip. "They couldn't have. I was home last
night, too."

"And Rocky will confirm that."

"That's right. Listen, I don't know what your problem is, or
what you want from me, but I didn't do anything wrong." Her
voice wavered on the last few words.

I kept pushing. "Why did Ariel have Thea Hawke's bamboo
fiber clutched in her hand when I found her? Why do you think
we came up to see you about that fiber, anyway?"

She blinked. And slumped.

I took the opportunity and walked to the other side of the counter. "Gabi. You know what I'm talking about. You took those batts
when you were here. I understand. You couldn't help yourself. You
must have been looking at them when you were talking to Ariel,
which is why she was by Ruth's spinning supplies instead of in her
own studio space."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled.

"Ariel had a tuft in her hand. She must have grabbed it from
you when you came up behind her." I said, thinking out loud now.
"No, not yet. Because you were holding my yarn."

Her head jerked up. "Your yarn?"

"My yarn. My first sheep's wool two-ply." I couldn't keep the
fury out of my voice, consumed with the thought that she'd used
my yarn to kill that little girl.

"I have to go," she whispered, backing toward the front wall.
She reached behind her back and fumbled with the lock on the
door. Turned the knob. It opened.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she insisted one last time and
fled.

I followed, but she was already pulling the Suburban out of the
parking lot. She left rubber on the asphalt and barely missed hitting a silver sedan with Canadian license plates. The driver honked
as she sped away.

The adrenaline seemed to disappear from my veins in a reverse
rush. Weariness and inexplicable regret settled on me, heavy as sin,
and I had to sit down on the bench located outside the door until I
got my bearings again.

A bitter feeling that I'd screwed up crept over me and took up
lodging in my stomach. Screwed up royally.