Spin a Wicked Web (4 page)

That girl was going to get what-for, and the words for giving it
to her formed with each step I took.

The smell of oil paint and turpentine attested to some of the
activity in the studio. The area was divided into sections by moveable six-foot walls on wheels, so I could see the light was on in the
far corner. That wasn't where Ariel worked; it was where Ruth had
her spinning wheel and other equipment set up most of the time.
Perhaps she'd arrived before me after all.

My ire lessened. No way was I going to yell at Ruth about the
front door.

"Hello?" I called.

If Ruth had beat me to CRAG, then where was the old Buick
she shared with Thaddeus? And why was Ariel's car in the parking
lot?

"Hello?" I called again, weaving through the labyrinth of wall
sections.

Nothing.

I came around the corner. "Ruth?"

And pulled up short, staring at the floor.

My jaw fell slack as my mind struggled to process the information it was receiving. The figure lying on the floor on her back.
The open eyes, directed upwards, unseeing. The puff of blue and
green and pink fiber curled in her fingers.

The blue lips.

My first skein of homespun yarn wrapped around her neck.

I hadn't even had a chance to set the twist yet.

"Ariel?"

I HATE FINDING DEAD bodies. I mean, I really hate it.

And Ariel was definitely dead. I mustered the gumption to tiptoe closer, kneel down beside her, and feel for a pulse in her neck.
Not so much as a flutter under my fingertips. I couldn't even tell
whether she was warm or not, my own hands had grown so suddenly cold. It seemed crucial to know. I stood again, half-aware of
wiping my palm against my shirt.

I don't like touching dead bodies much, either.

Why was it so important to know whether she was still warm?
Something about how recently she'd been killed.

Murdered, actually. No question about it.

And that meant a murderer.

The thought clamped my jaw shut and sent whatever adrenaline I had left shooting through my veins like acid. I jogged to the
stairs, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. As I moved, my attention ping-ponged around the room, an animal seeking a predator, fear sharpening my hearing and sight to something nearly supernatural. Air whistled through the ductwork above. Colors
took on an eerie glow. One of Irene's sculptures seemed to leer at
me as I hurried by.

I had a sudden flash that this could be what it felt like to go insane. Taking a deep breath, I muttered to myself, "This is old hat
for you, Sophie Mae. Buck up. You've been through worse."

The 911 operator sounded ridiculously calm, given the fact
that I was reporting a murder. She told me to stay on the line, and
she'd send help.

"Sorry. I'll meet them outside," I said.

She didn't like me hanging up, but there wasn't much I could
do about that.

I stood in the shade of the giant yellow cedar in front of the coop and placed another call. Thank God, Barr answered his cell
phone after two rings.

"I found a murdered woman," I said.

A pause, then, "Could you say that again?"

I took a deep breath. "Ariel Skylark. The one I mentioned at
Scott's funeral, the skinny little blonde from CRAG? Well, she's
dead. Strangled at the co-op. I've already called 911."

He swore. Loudly. Not at me, of course, but still. Then, "Are you
okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm out front."

A flurry of voices in the background. "Hang on," he said.

A pause, more voices, and then he spoke into the phone again.
"I have to go. Apparently there's a murder I have to look into."

"See you soon," I said.

He was grumbling something unintelligible as he hung up.

It didn't take long before Barr screeched to the curb in front of
where I stood. Like a leggy supermodel at a movie premier, Detective Robin Lane swung out of the passenger seat of the patrol car
they'd obviously appropriated. Barr erupted from the driver's side,
took four long strides and stopped next to me.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said again. Actually, I still felt a little lightheaded,
but that seemed to be passing.

Detective Lane tossed her thick auburn ponytail and moved to
stand beside Barr, notebook at the ready. She seemed to be standing a bit too close, but I pushed that thought out of my mind.
Whatever her intentions might be, I didn't have to worry about
Barr straying. After all, he kept bugging me to move in with him.

A thought flickered across my consciousness: unless that was
what he'd wanted to talk to me about and kept putting off. Had he
changed his mind? He sure looked mad right now.

"Where is she?" Lane asked.

"Upstairs in the studio area. You know where that is?"

"We'll find it," Barr said.

"Good," I said. "Because I'm not going back in there. Can I sit
in your car while you work your detective magic?"

They exchanged glances. "Sure," he said.

So I sat in the front seat and waited. It wasn't that I was afraid
of dead people. Heck, Ariel was the second dead person I'd seen
that day. And I wasn't afraid of the murderer anymore, not with
Barr and Robin there.

But someone had squeezed the life out of her. On purpose. The
palpable violence of it took my breath away.

A knock on the window brought me back from my reverie.
Ruth Black stood on the sidewalk, peering at me quizzically. I
opened the door.

"What on earth is going on, Sophie Mae? No one will tell us."

I got out of the police car and looked around. All the other core
members of the co-op were there. Even Chris Popper, changed into
jeans and a T-shirt now, questioned me with her eyes.

"It's Ariel," I said. "She's ... well, she's dead."

A group intake of breath at that.

I cleared my throat. "She was strangled."

Stares all around.

"In the co-op. I came early for my spinning lesson with Ruth,
and found her."

The stunned silence drew out, until finally Ruth said. "You found
her?"

I sighed. "Yes"

That seemed to release them, and the clamor of voices rushed
over me like water, drowning me with their shouted questions.

A hand reached through them and grabbed my arm. Robin
Lane pulled me away, calling out, "We'll let you know when we
have more information."

Inside the co-op, Robin guided me to a corner and gestured
toward a rocking chair made out of plum-colored wood.

I shook my head. "Can't sit there. It's for sale. Purple maple.
Very expensive. See the sign?"

Lane looked disgusted. "What use is a chair you can't sit on?
Okay, come over here." And she led me behind the register counter, where we both perched on stools.

Barr appeared at the top of the stairs. "Robin's going to take
your statement."

I nodded my understanding. "There might be a conflict of interest for you, huh."

"Gee, you think?"

"I don't have much information," I said. "I found her is all. I
don't know her very well or anything."

He came down the stairs, the heels of his cowboy boots sounding a sharp report on each step. He'd changed out of his dress uniform, and now wore mushroom-colored slacks, a blue shirt, and a
string tie from his considerable collection. This one had a copper
slide, beaten into the rough outline of a leaf.

Leaning his elbow on the counter, he said, "What is it with you
and murder victims?"

"Hey," I said. "It's not like I enjoy it. And come to think of it, I
didn't have this problem before I met you."

"No. You met me because you have this problem."

Okay. Technically he was right.

"Are you going to sit in?" Robin asked Barr.

"If you don't mind."

She hesitated, at war with her affinity to play by the book.
"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Why aren't we doing this at the station?" I asked.

"There's still a lot to do here, and we thought you might want
to leave. But we need some information before sending you on
your way," Barr said.

"Okay. Shoot."

"How did you find her?" Robin asked, pen poised to take down
my answer.

I told them, and after that there were more questions about
when I got there and how long it took before I called 911. We spent
quite a bit of time on the open front door, and why I went upstairs
in the first place. I explained that I thought an artist must have
come in to work and left the door open. Then we moved on to
Ariel herself. What did I know about her? Not much. I told them
Ruth Black would probably know more. Ariel had always seemed
kind of standoffish around me; my gender probably hadn't helped.
Ruth seemed to get along with everyone, though.

"Did you see the yarn around her neck?" Lane asked.

"You mean the yarn she was strangled with?"

She nodded.

"Oh, I saw it all right," I said.

"Do you know if it came from here?"

"I know it did."

Lane looked the question at me.

"It was mine. The first two-ply homespun yarn I ever made, and
Ruth was going to show me how to set the twist on it this week."

Barr's eyes widened a fraction, but he didn't say a word.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"What exactly are you sorry for?" Robin asked, her tone suddenly hard.

"For being upset about the stupid yarn," I said. "I really liked it,
though. Even if it was kind of lumpy and thick and full of slubs, it
was the first time I'd created a decent amount of actual yarn on
the spinning wheel."

"Did you touch her?"

"Only on the neck, to see if she had a pulse."

Barr looked worried. Lane didn't look very happy with me,
either.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I can't possibly be a suspect," I said, exasperation leaking into my voice. "What should I have done? Assumed she was dead? What if she hadn't been?"

Robin Lane studied me for a long minute. I struggled not to
look away or protest my innocence further.

"You didn't like her, did you?" she asked.

I blinked. "Well, we weren't best friends."

I saw her name on those paintings." She indicated Ariel's work.

"Yes. She was an artist." I managed to say it with a straight face.

"Did she paint here?"

I nodded. "In one of the studio spaces upstairs. I believe she
did almost all of her work here."

"Was she interested in the yarn and knitting thing?" She couldn't
keep her disdain for such homey activities out of her voice.

"Not that I know of."

"Where was your yarn?"

I tried to remember. "Last I saw it was right after Ruth showed
me how to unwind it from the bobbin onto the niddy noddy. We
tied the hank and hung it over the back of her spinning chair.
You'd have to ask her whether she moved it later."

She scribbled in the notebook. "Do you know anyone who
might have a motive for killing the victim?"

I stared at her for so long she stopped writing and met my eyes.
"You want my opinion about who could have murdered Ariel?"

Her smile was wry. "I'm sure you have one."

"I have no idea." A little triumph in my voice, there.

Lane exhaled. "Okay, that's enough for now. You can go."

"Unless it has something to do with the way men reacted to
her," I said. Gawd. I just couldn't help myself. It was embarrassing.
"I'd find out who she was dating."

"We'll check into it. Thanks."

"But-"

"Go home, Sophie Mae." Barr's tone held quiet warning.

Fine. I didn't want to be here anyway.

Ruth Black was waiting for me in the parking lot, alone. She fell
into step beside me as I walked toward my little Toyota pickup.

"Ariel was strangled," she said without preamble, picking up
exactly where Detective Lane had rescued me.