"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?
THIRTEEN
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?"
"No, I'm here to see you. Like Jake, I'm worried about how this terrible incident has affected the co-op members. I'm really here because I wanted to check in with you about how Jake is taking it."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why would Jake be taking it worse than anyone else?"
I shrugged. "He seemed more upset about Ariel's death than some. He's a very caring man"
She held my gaze for a long moment. "Meaning?"
I licked my lips. "Nothing. Only ... you know... he's a nice guy."
"Particularly to Ariel."
Thin ice here. I could feel it beginning to crack under my feet. "I don't know. Was he?"
Felicia stood. "I'll let Jake know you stopped by."
"Oh. Um, okay. Thanks." I rose to my feet as well.
She walked me unceremoniously to the front door and opened it. "Thanks for stopping by, Ms. Reynolds. 'Bye, now."
"Um," I said, nonplussed by how smoothly she'd kicked me out. The door shut in my face.
No wonder Barr and Robin hadn't gotten very far que
stioning the Beagles.
Meghan met me at the front door. "Hannah came by."
My eyes widened, and I began looking wildly up and down the street for Barr's ex or her rental car.
"Oh, she's gone now," Meghan said. "I don't think she looks that much like you."
I grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the house. "What did she want?"
She gently pulled out of my grip and studied me. "To talk to you, of course"
"About what?"
Another long look. "About Barr, I expect. I don't know for sure because we didn't chat all that long."
"Did she seem ... you know?" I swirled my finger by my head.
"Bonkers?"
I nodded.
Meghan's shoulders relaxed, and she laughed. "She seemed like a perfectly reasonable woman, certainly nice enough. When I said you weren't here she said she'd try again tomorrow."
"Ha! Well, I won't be here tomorrow. And come to think of it, she's not supposed to be, either. Did she say where she's staying now that she's checked out of the Horse Acres B&B?"
She shook her head. "No. And I asked if you could call her, but she said she didn't know when she'd be near a phone."
"Probably doesn't want Barr telling her to leave town again"
Meghan said, "That'd be my guess"
"I'm sorry she bothered you," I said. "And it sounds like she's going to do it again tomorrow."
"Will you relax? It's not a big deal. And you said she only took a week off from her job in Wyoming, so she's going to have to leave town pretty soon, anyway."
As long as Hannah didn't quit her job at the Ambrose ranch altogether, thinking she'd soon be swimming in money.
"She came by the house, Barr. What does she want from me? Why isn't she bugging you?" I was clenching the phone so hard it hurt. One by one, I forced my fingers to relax.
He sighed. "I don't know, hon. I really don't. I've asked the patrols to keep a look out for the car she listed on the registration at Horse Acres, but no one has seen her. I'm doing my best to get her out of your hair."
I felt guilty for making a big deal out of it. He had better things to do. "Oh, heck. It's okay. I'm going out of town tomorrow anyway.
"Have you already gone over to CRAG?"
"Yessir. And that phone call Ariel's roommate picked up was probably from Felicia Beagle. Ruth told me Jake had `fatherly feelings' for Ariel, but his wife misunderstood them."
Barr snorted.
"I agree. She probably didn't misunderstand at all. Apparently Felicia found some e-mails Jake had written to Ariel, and she didn't care for what they said."
"I wonder when she found them," Barr said. "Recently?"
"No idea. I even dropped in on her, thinking she might open up to me."
"Any luck?"
"None at all. Does she have an alibi for the time Ariel was killed?"
"I'm afraid she does. Jake said he was home with her."
"Oh"
"Don't worry. We'll figure it out. Listen, I need to go. Call you tonight, okay?"
"Okay." I hung up feeling disgruntled.
For one thing, I didn't know if I bought the idea of Jake providing the alibi for his wife. And secondly, it had been several days since Barr and I had spent the evening together, and he'd only offered me a phone call later.
A phone call? That was it? Sheesh.
FOURTEEN
THAT NIGHT I wAs putting a few things away in my workroom when Erin came down to say good night. She hugged me for so long that I asked if anything was wrong.
She shook her head against my shoulder.
"You sure, Bug?"
A nod, then, "Do I act all snotty about being smart?"
I pulled back so I could look her in the face. She wasn't crying, but she looked pretty miserable nonetheless.
"No. You do not act all snotty about being smart. Who said you did?"
She looked at the floor.
"Zoe?" I guessed.
"Uh huh."
"Do you know why she said that?"
"No" Erin's voice was sullen.
"So when did this come up?" I asked.
"At dinner last night. I was telling her about some of the stuff we did in math camp yesterday." She turned her face up toward mine. "Do you know anything about Fibonacci numbers?"
"Nope. Never heard of them."
"Well, they're this really cool series of numbers that represent the ratio of all sorts of things in nature-the spirals in sea shells and sunflower seed heads and pinecones and-you know about phi, right?"
"Uh ... sort of."
Her face fell.
"I'm sorry, Bug. I'm just not into math. But you're obviously getting pretty passionate about it, and that's great. No, really," I said, seeing her skepticism.
"Well, when I told Zoe about it, she said I was being all conceited about being smart. She's smart, too, you know. It's not my fault her mom makes her go to soccer camp instead of math camp. So I told her she was being snotty about being a big jock."
"You guys don't usually fight." "
She shrugged and looked away. "Yeah"
"Feel pretty bad now, huh," I said.
I guess." She ground the toe of her flip-flops into the poured concrete floor.
"I bet she feels pretty bad, too. Why don't you give her a call?"
"... maybe"
"Tomorrow. After you've both slept on it a little longer"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. G'night, Sophie Mae."
"'Night, Bug."
At the stairs she turned around. "Are you going to move in with Barr?"
Oh, gosh. Deep breath. "I don't know."
"Well, I hope you don't," she said. "I want you to stay here."
I could only manage a nod.
Planning to leave early the next morning, I called it a night at ten o'clock and went to bed, but for some reason I couldn't settle down. I lay in bed feeling twitchy and itchy and wide, wide awake. Finally, I gave up and went down the hall toward the stairs. Through Meghan's closed bedroom door I could hear her murmuring, talking to Kelly out in New Jersey. As I walked past Erin's open door, Brodie raised his head, his big pointed ears silhouetted against the night-light.
The spinning wheel Ruth had brought over still sat in the living room. She'd also brought two paper bags of fiber for me to practice on. I retrieved a straight-backed chair from the kitchen, set it next to the wheel, and added two small pillows from the sofa to provide back support while I perched on the edge. Chairs actually designed for spinning had very shallow seats, more like stools with tall, narrow backs to enable the spinner to freely pump the foot peddle that rotated the wheel. Carefully, I oiled the moving parts of the wheel to reduce friction and wear and tear. This was a traditional wheel made by the Ashford company. I wondered if something like this was what I would ultimately choose for myself. There were many reputable wheel manufacturers and different designs of wheels. There were even portable ones that folded up and had a handle for carrying.
Of course, the most portable way to spin was the drop spindle, a device that looked like a stick with a perpendicular disk near one end. You stood and spun the spindle, which twisted the fiber attached to the top into yarn. Gravity provided the draw for the yarn. As the spindle neared the floor, you wrapped the yarn around the stick and began the process again. Of course, for me this was all merely theory; as fascinated as I was by the idea, Ruth hadn't taught me how to use one yet.
Expecting to find more of the natural wool I'd used to make what turned out to be a murder weapon, I opened a bag. Instead, I found a luscious rolled batt of Thea Hawke's hand-painted bamboo fiber in sunset hues-the exact thing I'd been so excited to try when I went in for my lesson and instead found Ariel. I'd mentioned how much I liked it to Ruth, and she'd remembered. What a sweetheart. I'd pay her back for it.
Oh, but how it felt, smoothly glid
ing through my fingers, the colors twisting together to make a gorgeous, variegated yarn that looked good enough to eat. As the spool gradually filled, the tension in my shoulders abated, my breathing deepened, and one by one the thoughts racing around in my head fell still. After awhile, I wasn't thinking about anything at all, the act of spinning fiber into yarn capturing my entire attention. I'd tried to meditate before, but never with an ounce of success. This had to be the most Zenlike thing I'd ever done.
When I ran out of raw fiber, I came back to myself enough to look at the clock. I'd been sitting there, pumping my foot up and down for over an hour! Better than any sleeping pill; I'd drop right off now. Plus, several yards of incredible yarn filled the spool. I'd have to find something marvelous to make with it. Heck, anything I made with it would be marvelous.
I removed the tension from the brake band and slipped the drive band off the wheel, then stood, stretching my palms up to the ceiling to work the kinks out of my back.
Oh, yes, I was addicted. I definitely needed to start shopping for a wheel of my own.
La Conner was located fifty miles northwest of Cadyville. When I left at 7:00 a.m., the air still held the sweetness of dew caressed by the early sun. Sipping coffee from a travel mug, I admired the increasingly pastoral view as I drove north on Interstate 5. At exit 221, I ditched the main highway and headed west through Conway and Stanwood on a series of roads that wound through lush farmland.
For twenty-five years, spring tourists had descended upon La Conner and the surrounding towns of Stanwood and Mount Vernon for the annual tulip festival. Buses took folks out to admire the profusion of multicolored blooms in the fields, where they could ooh and aah like spectators at a fireworks show, take pictures to their hearts' content, and buy more bulbs and tulipthemed geegaws than you could shake a stick at.
It was a lot of fun, granted, but I was glad the festival was over for the year and I'd only have to navigate the usual summer crowds.
Meandering through the bucolic June morning, I reviewed what I knew about Ariel so far. She was a bad artist, but didn't seem to know it. She was too lazy to get the training she needed to improve. Didn't want to deal with college because the expectations were too high, and she'd have to take classes she didn't like in order to get a degree in something she did like. She mooched money from her roommate. Jake Beagle had either a fatherly or carnal interest in her, though there was no evidence she'd been interested in him one way or the other. She wanted to marry money, but she had an affair with the husband of someone she knew.
Spin a Wicked Web: A Home Crafting Mystery Page 9
