Cricket McRae - Spin a Wicked Web

Meghan opened the front door as I came down the stairs. Erin trailed behind her, reading a book while shuffling up the sidewalk.

"Hey, I thought you were spending the evening at Barr's." My housemate turned and placed a canvas bag of books from the Cadyville library on the bench by the door.

"I'm going back over there. But I won't be gone long."

She whirled to face me. "What's wrong?" Pouncing on something in my tone. Her eyes narrowed as she took in my ensemble.

Erin tripped on the door frame as she entered the house, eyes never leaving the copy of An Acceptable Time she held open with both hands. I glanced down as she caught herself and continued past me into the kitchen.

"I'll tell you later," I said.

"She's in another world. Tell me now." Refusing to be put off.

"I'm going back to ask him about the woman who showed up on his doorstep when I was there earlier."

"Woman?"

"Yeah. The one who looks freakishly like me."

She raised one eyebrow.

"The one who says she's Barr's wife."

The other eyebrow joined the first.

"Gotta go," I said, brushing by her. "Jealousy calls."

Outside, I yanked the door of the Toyota open so hard the hinges creaked.

Okay, so I had to admit it: I was hungry. The smell of grilling meat infused the air as I sat on the front step of Barr's little house. My growling stomach did not help my frame of mind, which was good. I needed a reservoir of anger to draw from, strength to face the idea that the future I had anticipated might well be swirling down the drain. So I sat hunched around my dudgeon and waited for him to come home.

End of June in the Pacific Northwest. Red-winged blackbirds called liquidly to each other in the wetland down the hill to the north. It would be light until well after nine o'clock, and the sky still held a high, thin blue. Only a few clouds crouched on the horizon, waiting to erupt into the crazy pastels of the impending sunset: pinks and oranges, peach and yellow, eventually morphing to red against the navy sky. The splash of colors to come reminded me of the bamboo I'd been hoping to try in my lesson with Ruth. The stuff would be like spinning clouds, so the soft colors were more than fitting. I wondered whether the woman who dyed the roving, a local named Thea Hawke, had felt compelled to imitate the sunset as she'd chosen her dyes and lovingly applied them to the ethereal fiber.

Oh, brother, Sophie Mae. Get a grip. Stop musing about spinning and think about what you're going to say to Barr when he gets here.

My stomach growled again. The oblique angle of the light niggled at my memory. This was the time of day that, as a child, was unavailable in the other seasons. After dinnertime, still light enough to play outside, offering the promise of packing in more activity before parental summons brought you in for bed. Innocent times. Long gone times.

Sometimes being an adult got pretty darn old, I thought. Was there any possible way to account for Hannah's appearance out of nowhere, her looks, her wifeness? I couldn't imagine a scenario in which Barr hadn't lied to me. Just flat-out lied.

I hated being lied to. My anger flared again, accompanied by a hot, sick feeling.

My head jerked up at the sound of a slowing engine and tires on concrete. Barr's car door opened and cowboy boots hit the ground. He strode toward me. Slowly, I stood.

"What a nice surprise, finding you here," he said. "You're not going to believe it, but we already have a pretty viable suspect."

His arms encircled me, and I stifled the urge to push him away. Instead I stood quietly and waited. Barr pulled back, a puzzled look in his eyes. "Ariel was having an affair with Scott Popper. We think Chris may have had something to do with it." Regret passed over his features, and I couldn't help but remember his obvious pity for Chris at the funeral.

Then he shook his head, and his features smoothed. He smiled down at me. "You look great, by the way. Did you do something different with your hair?"

Chris? Had killed Ariel? Confusion nearly swamped me. "But-" I stopped myself. Concentrate, Sophie Mae, concentrate.

"Anyway, I for one, wouldn't mind a little help from an interested citizen who might be able to get information through, uh, unofficial channels."

Huh?

When I didn't respond, he said, "Hey, what's wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy to be off the hook. Plus, I thought you'd jump at the chance to help out." He tousled my hair.

I jerked away from his hand. "Knock that off. You know I hate it."

Slowly, his arm lowered. "What's going on?"

I started to bite my lip, then stopped myself. "I came by earlier. While I was here, your wife stopped by. Hannah. She wanted me to tell you she's staying at the Horse Acres Bed and Breakfast."

Barr rolled his eyes. "Great. I should've known she'd come scratching at the door about now."

Well, I don't know what reaction I'd expected, but that wasn't it.

"You're married?" I asked, appalled.

"What? Of course not."

"Have you ever been married?"

He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Sophie Mae, please, you have to-"

"I don't have to do anything."

He dropped his hands. "You knew I was married." He actually dared to sound irritated.

"I did not!"

"Listen, can we go inside to fight? Or would you rather the neighbors take part?"

Teeth clenched, I stomped into the house. He went into the kitchen and returned with two beers. Twisting the top off of one, he handed it to me and sank into his favorite TV-watching recliner. I sat on the ugly plaid couch and put the bottle on the spool from hell. It nearly tipped over on the rough surface, and I just managed to catch it.

"I hate this table," I said.

"Okay. We can get a new one."

"It's the homeliest piece of furniture I've seen in my entire life."

A flash of amusement crossed his features. "I told you about Hannah," he said.

"Oh. Right. And when exactly did you do that? You tried in the car after we had Thai food the other night, but then we had to go chase an ambulance. And you never had the courage to 'fess up any of the times I've asked you since."

His forehead wrinkled. "What are you… wait a minute." His face cleared. "You think that's what we needed to talk about?"

Now I was unsure. "Isn't it?" I took a shaky sip of beer.

"No, no. Nothing like that. Remember when I told you that ten years or so ago I was involved with a woman who works at my parents' dude ranch? That it was a mistake, and didn't work out?"

"Sure"

"That was Hannah."

I gaped at him. "Involved? Getting married is `involved'? What are we then, acquaintances?"

He sighed. "It only lasted a couple months. It was a long time ago. I wasn't trying to keep anything from you; I really did think you understood that we'd been married for a short time."

Damn it. That took the wind right out of my sails. Barr had indeed told me about that woman. It was just possible I'd misunderstood the level of their "involvement"

He'd neglected to mention what she looked like, though.

"Well, you certainly do like a type, don't you." I felt bitter and defeated at the same time.

"Type?"

"She looks just like me. Or rather, I look like her, since I'm the Janey-come-lately. At least I used to look like her." My hand started to go to my short hair, but at the last moment I scratched my nose.

"God," Barr said. "Sometimes I just want to shake you."

And I just want to shoot you, I thought, but didn't say. A bolt of understanding hit me, a very personal glimmer of how crimes of passion can occur.

"So why is she here?" I asked.

He looked uncomfortable. "I can't be sure, but I imagine she wants to get back together."

Great. As mad as I'd been, as much as I'd already considered that we might be done and over with, that still hit me hard in the solar plexus. "Do you want to get back together with her?"