Spin a Wicked Web: A Home Crafting Mystery

by Cricket McRae

"What did she say?"

  "I wasn't home either time." I rubbed my eyes. "I just don't know what to think. And then when this happened this morning, we had to wonder."

   

  "Now listen," Cassie said. "Hannah can be a little flighty, but she never struck me as the sort who would really hurt anyone. She'll come back here soon enough. Maybe she just wants to meet the woman who captured Barr's heart so thoroughly. Don't begrudge her that."

  "Yes, ma'am," I said. "I'll try not to jump to any conclusions."

  "Don't call me ma'am, for heaven's sake. I'll try to get a hold of that girl from this end, see if I can't talk some sense into her."

  "Oh, gosh. I don't want to cause any trouble between you and an employee." And the last thing I needed was to make Hannah even angrier.

  "Now don't you worry about that. And Sophie Mae?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm awful glad you're okay. I haven't met you face-to-face yet, but I'm getting real fond of you already. You take care of yourself, hear?"

  "I will. Thank you."

  I felt better after talking to Cassie Ambrose. She had a calming, grounding effect. I could only imagine what it would be like in person. But the truth was she didn't know much more than Barr or I did about Hannah's mechanical ability.

  My teenaged helper, Cyan, was eager to work after missing a day. Business had been gradually picking up during the previous six months, so when she arrived I dumped a ton of recent online orders on her, armed her with an inventory list, boxes, tape, packing peanuts, and my computer, and told her she could stay as long as she needed to get it all done. She set to her tasks with cheerful alacrity, the Dixie Chicks thumping away on the portable stereo I'd recently added to my workroom.

   

  Since I didn't have a vehicle at the moment, I had to walk to CRAG. I'd promised to watch the retail shop for the four-to-eight evening shift now that we were open again. I wasn't going to let the co-op down just because a semi destroyed my only means of transportation. Not that I wouldn't have changed my mind in a second if Barr had actually taken the day off.

  Oh, my poor little Toyota. It had been such a steady and reliable companion for so long. I missed it already. What could I possibly get for the insurance money? It was an old pickup by their standards, and they probably wouldn't give me much for it. Getting a new vehicle, even a used one, would be expensive.

  Vehicle failure seemed to be quite the theme surrounding Ariel's murder, but in truth it had nothing to do with how she was killed. Ariel had been hit on the head and then strangled. And she sure as heck hadn't been the one to cut my brake line.

  But had she cut Scott Popper's? Barr would find out, whether he was the lead detective on the case or not.

  Irene was seated behind the register at CRAG, looking bored. She glanced up when I walked in, then went back to the occasional desultory swipe of her pencil across the drawing pad open in front of her.

  "Hi." I slung my tote bag under the counter with a dull thump. "Has it been busy?"

  She sniffed. "No. You were wrong. No one's come in."

  "Well, perhaps no one knows we're open again. It happened kind of fast."

   

  "Maybe"

  What an Eeyore. "Are you going to stay awhile, or do you need to get going?"

  "I'm waiting for Zak to come get me," she said, filling in the shading on a meaty arm. I glimpsed enough of the rest of the drawing to see she was designing yet another of her female power figurines. "He's late. Again. But then, so are you."

  I looked at the clock on the wall. "I was here on time."

  She sniffed again.

  Oh, brother. What did she have against me, for Pete's sake? I'd never so much as said boo to her before joining CRAG, and my interactions with her since had been infrequent and low key.

  "As long as you're here, I'm going to go upstairs and check out some of the fiber for sale."

  She shrugged without looking up. Her pencil scratched across the rough Bristol board.

  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?

   

  TWENTY-SIX

  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.

   

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE UNUSUALLY NICE SUMMER weather we'd been enjoying had been pushed out by a low pressure system and glowering skies. I walked quickly, hoping to beat the rain while at the same time gratefully inhaling the cooler air. Thoughts ping-ponged around my brain as if superheated. The more I thought about it, the more I questioned whether Gabi had killed Ariel. All the evidence seemed to point that way, even if she did have reasonable explanations for everything. But her reactions to my accusations were out of sync. She seemed more afraid than guilty. I wished I knew her better, so I could get more of a read on her. If only I could know for sure whether or not she was telling the truth.

  As I came up our block, I saw someone on our front step. The closer I got, the more it looked like me sitting there.

  Oh, great. Just what I needed.

  Hannah Ambrose stood as I approached, her weight on one foot as if she were on the verge of running away.

   

  If I'd had the sense of a gnat I'd have walked right on by, let her twist in the wind long enough to talk herself out of her visit.

  But I apparently didn't have the sense of a gnat. "Hello, Hannah"

  She looked at the ground. Awkwardly shuffled her feet. "Hi."

  This was not the cocky, confident woman I'd met on Barr's front step.

  I stopped in front of her. "You here to see me?"

  She nodded. "Uh huh."

  "Give me a second."

  "Okay."

  I went inside, shut the front door in her face and marched into Meghan's office. She looked up in surprise.

  "Hannah's outside," I announced.