Cricket McRae - Spin a Wicked Web

I took the card and uncapped a pen. "Thanks for picking this up. The blankets are in the bed of my truck."

"Zak," she called. "Jake?"

"She's here?" They clomped down the stairs.

"Hey, you two. Thanks for helping out," I said.

"No problem." Jake said. Beside him, Zak nodded silent agreement. "We'll just take these out for you, pack them up."

"Okay, thanks," I said, and bent over the card. "Mine is the gray Toyota with the topper. The back is open, and there are blankets to pad the paintings."

Each took a big canvas and carried it out the door. I turned to Irene and Ruth. "Do you think we should do something more than just pad them in blankets? Something a little more professional? And I was going to keep them in the truck overnight, leave first thing in the morning."

Irene scowled. Ruth said, "The paintings will be fine. I'm sure her brother will be grateful."

"Yeah, I guess they'll be all right. As concerned as Jake was about Ariel's art, I'm sure he'll pack them well."

This time Irene snorted. I raised my palms. "What? Did Jake have a thing for her or something?"

She stared at me for several seconds, then without a word turned and strode to a display of her sculptures on the other side of the room and began rearranging them.

Ruth watched her with sympathetic eyes.

Zak and Jake came in and grabbed a couple more paintings. When the door had closed behind them, I turned to Ruth, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Not really. You see, Jake did have feelings for Ariel, but I think they were of a fatherly sort more than anything."

I'd seen how he looked at her. Fatherly, my ass.

She saw my expression and insisted, "He was very protective of her."

"What did Felicia think about that?" We were talking in low tones, and Irene steadfastly ignored us, fussing with a statue of a squat dancing woman with flowers in her hair.

Ruth hesitated. "Felicia may have misunderstood. Apparently she found some e-mails Jake had sent Ariel, and found their tenor a bit too, er, intimate."

"Ah," I said. "But his motives were pure, eh?"

"I like to think so," Ruth said, holding my gaze.

"So do I," I said, since that seemed to be what she wanted.

She nodded, and I had to wonder if Felicia's possible motive for killing Ariel was lost on her. It was the same motive Chris supposedly had, after all. But did Felicia have an alibi?

In no time, Jake and Zak had loaded and wrapped the paintings. I thanked them again, and Jake left, saying he had to get back to the office. I'd been surprised he'd been able to get away from his practice at all on such short notice; more evidence of his feelings for Ariel.

We all went outside. Irene stalked over to Zak, who was standing in the parking lot by my truck, and pointed to her car. He shook his head. She said something, and he shook it again. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Yanking her car door open, she got inside without looking at any of us and roared out of the parking lot.

"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?

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.