"I'm Sophie Mae Reynolds," I said. Tut watched me, but his gently waving tail signaled more of a welcome. "Are you Gabrielle Kaminski?"
The woman came down the porch steps. "That's me. Everyone calls me Gabi."
She was in her late twenties, buxom, with light brown hair drawn back into a simple pony tail. The sunlight glinted off the smoothness of it. My hand ran through my own short mop when I saw it. Gabi had brown eyes and a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her lips were surprisingly pink against her tan, and they parted to reveal a slight overbite. She was taller than me, and gave the impression of bulk, mostly because of her chest.
A farmer's wife who looked like a farmer's wife ought to.
I held out the basket of soaps and preserves to her. "I'm Ariel's friend." A slight exaggeration. "I called yesterday about bringing her art up from Cadyville?"
She took the basket and smiled broadly. "Oh, look at all these goodies! That is just so nice of you."
"It's from everyone at the co-op," I said, exaggerating again.
"Well, you just tell everyone thanks, then. It's such a sweet thing to do." She turned back toward the door, still talking. "Now, I've got iced tea brewed, or there's cider from last fall. Or would you rather have a cup of coffee? I can warm some up from-oh, that's silly. I might as well make us up a fresh pot, don't you think?"
"Cider sounds delicious," I said.
I followed her inside. To the left, toys littered the living room. Straight ahead, a spacious kitchen in yellow and white. A basket of peas dominated the middle of the trestle table, and another large basket of produce sat on the counter: beets, Swiss chard, and a few early cherry tomatoes among the greens and onions. Though I'd traveled north, there was more sun and fewer trees here; a microclimate that allowed a longer growing season.
I pointed. "All that from your garden?"
She nodded as she poured out cloudy amber liquid and returned the chunky stoneware pitcher to the refrigerator. Ice cubes hissed and cracked as she handed the glass to me. I breathed in the sweet tang of apples before taking a sip of the cold homemade cider.
"Hope you don't mind if I shell some peas while we talk," she said. "We're having them for dinner, and it takes awhile to work through a big pile, you know?"
"I'll help." I sat down at the kitchen table and reached for a handful of pods.
She smiled, revealing more of the overbite. "Thanks! Just toss the empties in this pail."
"Ariel's artwork is in my pickup," I said.
"Rocky'll unload it later."
"Is he at work?" I asked, a little disappointed.
She nodded. "Putting a new transmission in Ollie Swenson's old Le Baron."
I'd told Gabi when I hoped to arrive, and received the impression Rocky would be there, too. But I didn't want to ask how long he'd be. I could stay for a while. After all, I was on vacation. In the meantime, Gabi seemed quite willing to talk to me, and she had a pile of peas to shell.
I pressed a pod between the pad of my thumb and the side of my forefinger. It opened with a popping sound. "Gabi, I'm so sorry about what happened to Ariel."
"Thanks" Her tone was light.
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She didn't seem all that broken up over her sister-in-law's death.
She glanced up at me without raising her head from where her hands worked rapidly over her dishtowel-draped lap. "Were you a close friend of hers?" Ping! A handful of peas bounced into the stainless steel bowl.
"Not what I'd call close, no," I said. "I only recently joined the co-op, and we hadn't had a chance to get to know one another very well. She seemed like a nice girl, though."
I was telling the truth. Until I'd heard about her mooching and affairs, Ariel had seemed like a perfectly nice girl, if a bit of an airhead who lacked empathy.
Gabi smiled uncertainly. She probably wondered why some woman who barely knew her sister-in-law had driven to La Conner to offer her sympathies. Her hands never slowed, though, and the bowl of shelled peas began to fill. The German shepherd wandered into the kitchen, black toenails clicking on the vinyl floor. I eyed him, still leery.
"Don't worry about Tut," Gabi said. "He's territorial-that's why we got him-but once he knows you're okay, everything's fine."
Still, I didn't plan on making any sudden moves. I glanced at my watch. "Does Rocky come home for lunch?"
"Oh, he'll show up pretty soon. He's out in the shop."
"I thought he was putting in a transmission," I said.
"Sure. He's a mechanic. No way could we make it on what the flowers bring in. So he has a shop around the back where locals bring anything with four wheels-and some things with two-for him to work on. Would you like to see it?"
"Yes, I would." "
I thought Rocky'd see you're here and come into the house, but he gets so involved he may not have noticed. I don't usually bother him while he's working, but he's been out there long enough. Let's go."
We got up, leaving the peas, and went out the back door. Three boys raced around the yard, yelling. One of them was waving a stick at the other two, but no one seemed to be in actual danger.
"All of those yours?" I asked.
"Only two." She pointed. "That one's Evan, and that one's " Noah. They're both six. Evan is seven minutes older."
I bet they're a handful."
She laughed. "Justin's the tall one in the red shirt. Belongs to the neighbor down the road. He might as well be mine, though, as much time as he spends here."
The shop was in what I'd thought was a barn. No horses, just horsepower. Inside, the concrete floor was pristine. Three cars awaited Rocky's attention, and the fourth hunkered over a pit in the middle of the floor.
"Dang it!" a male voice said from somewhere. "Gabi, that you? Grab that clutch spring compressor and bring it over here."
She smiled at me and went to an array of tools on a bench along one wall, searching with her eyes. "I don't see it. Oh, wait a minute, here it is." She hefted an awkward and arcane-looking contraption and walked around to the far side of the pit.
"Hey honey," Gabi said. "Ariel's friend from the co-op is here."
Rocky came around from the other side of the car, eyebrows raised. He was about five-ten, with dark, prematurely thinning hair and a hooked nose. Muscles roped through his arms and across his bare chest and abdomen.
"Hiya," he said, holding out a grimy hand. Then he flushed, pulled it back and began wiping it on a greasy rag. "Sorry. Occupational hazard."
"No problem," I assured him. Fishing in my oversized tote bag, I found the sympathy card. "I brought the paintings Ariel had on display at the co-op. And this." I held out the envelope.
He took it, carefully drew out the card, and opened it. He looked at it for a long time. His eyes moved from one signature to another, and back again. At last he looked up, and his face was wet.
"I didn't know she had so many friends. Thank you."
I swallowed, feeling like a big, fat liar. "You're very welcome."
A quick glance at Gabi. She was focused on her husband, face pinched with distress.
"Ariel was the artistic one," Rocky said. "She was the one in the family who got all the talent. I just know how to fix things." He looked at the ground and shook his head, smiling.
I was at a complete loss as to what to say; any response was bound to come across as insincere. For the gazillionth time I wished I was better at prevarication.
Luckily, Gabi stepped in. "You're a better mechanic than your sister was an artist, and you always were."
"Don't talk about her like that, Gabi." Grief laced the words. He turned to me. "She was a wonderful artist. And she was just as good as me at fixing cars and stuff. We were restoring that '69 Cougar there, together." He gestured to a maroon street rod in the corner. "Hadn't had much of a chance to work on it in the last year or so. She couldn't come up to visit much, and I only work on it when she's here."
We all spent awhile looking at the half-finished
vehicle on blocks, pieces and parts arranged precisely on the tarp around it. I had a sudden flash that the car would become a mechanical shadow of Miss Haversham. I saw it a hundred years in the future, in exactly the same place, rusted, covered with dust and cobwebs, waiting for Ariel to come back and help her brother put it together again.
Rocky walked a couple steps away, as if unable to look at the Cougar anymore. The movement shook me out of my daze.
"I had no idea Ariel was mechanically inclined," I said.
His small smile didn't reach his eyes. "She didn't look like that kind of girl, she was so little and pretty, but she could take an engine apart and put it back together, have it running like a kitten in no time."
"Was it just the two of you?" I asked. "Any other brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. Just us. For years we only had one another, after both of our parents were killed in a car wreck."
"That must have been horrible. How old were you?"
"I was twenty-one," Rocky said. "Ariel was sixteen."
Right. She'd mentioned that when she more or less said Chris should just get over Scott's death. "That must have been especially difficult for her, so young," I said.
"It was hard on both of us. But I took care of her, and we got through it." The last words were clipped, and he moved farther away.
His nerves were already raw, and in my enthusiasm to understand Ariel I'd apparently overstepped the bounds of tactful behavior once again.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He smiled and shook his head. "That's okay. It's kind of hard to talk about right now, is all."
"Of course."
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then opened them again as if making a decision. "Do you know who found her?"
Oh, God. "Um, yeah."
He waited.
"I'm afraid it was me."
His eyes widened. "Oh!"
SIXTEEN
WELL, I HAVE TO tell you, I'd be hard pressed to find a more awkward moment than that. We both looked anywhere but at each other.
Finally, Rocky said, "Well, maybe it's not good to speak too much of the dead."
Not quite what I'd been hoping for this trip, but understandable. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and it was obviously too soon to quiz him about his sister.
"A police detective came yesterday, with all kinds of questions. Horrible questions. I can't do it anymore." He mopped his face with the grimy rag. "I mean, how could anyone have done that-" His voice cracked, and he turned away.
"I'm so sorry," I said yet again.
He nodded, silent.
Gabi indicated the door with a jab of her chin. Once she and I were outside again, she said, "He doesn't like people to see him so upset."
"Of course," I said. "Maybe you could help me unload Ariel's art, and I'll be on my way."
"Why don't you take it back to the co-op and sell it and then send us the money," Gabi said, her voice laced with bitterness.
I'm sure my surprise showed on my face.
"She owed us a lot," Gabi said in a confiding tone.
So much for not speaking about the dead.
"Well," I said. "You might be able to sell one of the pieces. There's a note on one of them from someone who's interested in buying it."
Rocky's voice came from behind us. "I want that art. Every single piece if it. Just show me where it is."
Gabi shook her head and walked toward the house. I led him around to my truck and opened the topper. I reached for a painting.
"I'll take care of them. You go ahead in the house and have Gabi get you something to drink," he said.
I didn't mention his wife had already plied me with cider, but obediently turned around and walked toward the front steps.
"Miz Reynolds?"
I turned.
"I'm sorry if I sounded rude. I want you to know how much I appreciate you driving these all the way up here."
"No problem at all," I said. I watched him fumble with one of the large canvases for a moment, but couldn't think of anything to say that would make any difference at all. I turned and went into the house.
I found Gabi sitting back at the kitchen table, working away on the pile of pea pods. Her face was red, her hands a blur.
I sat down and reached for another handful. "I'm sorry if I upset your husband."
"Oh, heck. I'm the one upset him, not you. I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut about that sister of his, even now. He wouldn't stand for it when she was alive, either." Her expression was strained with worry. "I guess now we'll never see that money."
I looked around the kitchen. The parts of the house I'd seen so far were clean, but well-worn. The vinyl in front of the sink was torn and the curtains were faded. I didn't know how much land they were able to devote to the tulip bulbs, or how much Rocky was able to bring in with his mechanical work, but the budget here seemed pretty tight.
"If it helps at all," I said, "I don't think keeping the art at the co-op would do much good. It wasn't exactly flying out the door. I doubt that you'd have seen much money from it, anyway."
Gabi's laugh was sharp. "Well, that figures. Ariel and Rocky were the only ones who ever thought she was any good."
"Well, I'm not saying she was bad," I hedged. "Just not, you know, popular with the buyers. It's possible she'd have sold more if the prices hadn't been quite so high."
The look she gave me said she didn't believe me. "Let me tell you a little something about Ariel." Another handful of peas rained into the bowl. "She was a slut."
I paused in my pea shelling, jarred by how she grated out the word.
"Oh, I know. I'm not supposed to talk about her like that. But if you knew her at all you'd know I'm telling the truth. Are you married?"
I shook my head.
"Boyfriend?"
"Yes"
"Well, I sure hope you didn't let him spend much time around her, because men were idiots whenever she was around, and that girl knew how to take advantage of it."
"I'm not sure what you mean. Oh, I know she was pretty popular with the male of the species, but how did she take advantage?" I caught myself starting to lean forward in eagerness and forced myself to sit back in my chair.
"Every which way she could," Gabi said. "I've known that family forever, grew up on the place next to here."
"Rocky married the girl next door."
She smiled. "Yep. We were meant for each other from the start."
"So you knew his sister very well."
"Too well. Here's an example of what I mean: in high school, she had an English teacher, name of Randolph Owens. Made the kids read, lots and lots, as part of his class. Ariel didn't like having to read a lot-too boring, too much work, and she sure didn't like being told exactly what she was supposed to read. So she didn't do it. Tried to fake it in class, got some CliffsNotes, you know the drill. But she wasn't clever enough to pull it off, and everyone in class knew she hadn't done any of the reading, including Mr. Owens. Heck, she even talked about it."
I glued an interested look on my face and shelled faster. So Ariel was lazy. That wasn't exactly a news flash.
"But she got an A in that class," Gabi continued. "She and Mr. Owens had an `arrangement,' if you know what I mean. He lost his job over it."
Well, that was news. "That's terrible," I said.
"Now don't be thinking she was some kind of victim. She seduced him, and she did it because his class was hard, and she didn't want to do the work in order to get a good grade. And she needed the good grade in order to up her GPA and get into college. Not that it did much good, since once she got into college she just turned around and dropped out. Maybe the professors there weren't as easy to manipulate.
"She was a user. She used people to get what she wanted, and if that meant she had to sleep with them, well, that didn't seem to bother her one bit. Didn't have much use for women in general, since her charm was somewhat lost on them. But still, there were those who saw how little and cute she was and
wanted to mommy her, take care of the little thing. She wasn't above using that, either."
"But she didn't fool you," I said.
"Not for long. But her brother, my darling husband, who is just about the sweetest man on this planet in my opinion, well, she played him like a fiddle their whole lives. He's five years older'n her, but she managed him like I manage this mangy mutt here." She chucked the German shepherd under the chin as if it were a child.
"That's sad, in a way," I said. "People like that don't usually have a lot of friends. I imagine she was pretty lonely."
Gabi blinked. "I never really thought about it that way, but I guess you're right. 'Course she had that friend from high school. Lindsey. Thick as thieves then, and I know they're still in contact."
"Lindsey," I repeated. "I think she might have mentioned her." A bald-faced lie, that, but Gabi didn't seem to notice.
"Lindsey Drucker. Still lives here, just down Bowers Road. She's married now. She and Ariel were awful close, but they sure took different paths in life. Lindsey seems happy enough with the one she chose."
The back door opened and the kitchen filled with loud boy voices clamoring for a snack. Gabi rose and fetched a gallon of milk and a cookie jar packed to the top with old-fashioned chocolate chip cookies.
"All right, you heathens. Go out and eat on the porch, where I can just sweep up after your mess." Loading each child with a plastic glass of milk and a handful of cookies, she shooed them out of the house. They seemed content enough to go, taking Tut with them.
"Don't you feed that dog any cookies," Gabi called. "If he eats chocolate he'll die."
She sat back down and gave me a sheepish grin. "I know it would just make him sick, as much chocolate as is in those cookies, but I've learned by now that boys don't do so well with subtle differences like that. Here, have a cookie."
Spin a Wicked Web Page 10
