She stared at me. 'He wants you to?'
I nodded.
'Well. I, um… ' Meghan rarely looked as flummoxed as she did at that news. 'I guess nothing I say is going to make any difference.'
'I'm not investigating. I promise. I'm not asking a bunch of questions or putting myself in danger. I'm just acting as some extra eyes and ears because Robin Lane may be gorgeous, but she has the tact of a sledgehammer when it comes to questioning people about murder.'
Understanding settled onto Meghan's face. 'Ah. Promise you'll be careful?'
'Cross my heart.'
She started to leave, then turned back. 'You do lead an exciting life, don't you?'
I snorted. I couldn't help it. 'Yeah. Maybe a little too exciting.'
She grinned. 'Goodnight.'
''Night,' I said, and reached for the lamp. It was only ninethirty, but I was ready for some shut-eye. I heard Meghan dialing New Jersey as I drifted off.
Fitful dreams punctuated my nighttime and early morning hours, and sunlight began to creep through my window at four-thirty. Days were long on both sides in the summer.
At six I gave up trying to sleep, showered again, and donned a lightweight skirt and T-shirt in response to the weather forecast; the temperature was supposed to advance into the nineties, which was hot for this early in the summer. Humidity curled in the air like a languid animal after a big meal.
Meghan, mom of the world, had breakfast waiting for me when I came downstairs a bit before seven. Fresh strawberries from the farmer's market piled in a bright blue bowl and splashed with cream looked like a Fourth of July decoration as much as something to scarf down to start the day. Chicken and apple sausage, also from the farmer's market, was joined within minutes by eggs scrambled with fresh chives and oregano. The eggs had probably still been warm from the chickens when she'd cracked them into the bowl. A steaming cup of coffee topped the whole meal off. How could I even think about leaving this?
'Where's Erin?' I asked, between bites of sausage.
Meghan joined me at the table with her own plate. She nodded toward the backyard.
'Already?'
'Not the chickens this time,' she said. 'I told her if she'd weed bed three I'd take her to the river this afternoon after camp to swim.'
'Nice' We only had four small vegetable beds, but they seemed to require constant attention. 'I'll weed one today, too.'
'Do you have time?' Meghan asked.
'Oddly enough, I'm pretty much caught up, except for the usual order filling. Cyan is coming by tomorrow, so I can have her do some of that.' I bit into a juicy strawberry and let out a low moan. 'God, these are good.'
'Aren't they? Of course, by the time the season is over we'll be sick to death of them.'
It was hard to imagine, but she was right. 'That's what freezers are for. Do you have any clients today?'
'Two' Her massage business had begun to slow for the summer, too. 'At noon and at one.'
I have an errand to run. I'll be home later,' I said.
'Sounds good.'
I refrained from mentioning the errand involved spending time alone with a possible murderer.
The ranch-style house was located on ten acres of land on the east side of Cadyville, set back from the county road that wound north from Highway 2. A large black dog and a smaller brown one greeted my arrival with joyous barks and wagging tails. Laughing at their enthusiasm, I pushed their cold noses away from my bare legs. A metallic clang sounded from behind the house as I reached for the doorbell.
Chris didn't answer. Another loud reverberation carried through the air, followed by another and then another. A low droning underscored the mesmerizing rhythm. The dogs gamboled around me as I walked around the house to the backyard.
The drone became the roar of an enclosed fire as I neared the source: Chris' blacksmith shop. No walls enclosed the thirty-bythirty space, but eight thick corner posts supported the octagonal roof. The floor was bare dirt, swept smooth. Her arm, pale in the relative darkness, rose and fell, the clank of the hammer on redhot metal sparking with each blow. The pounding stopped, and, with a pair of tongs, she transferred a flat, tapering rod from the anvil to the forge.
Chris turned and saw me watching. I raised a hand in greeting.
'Oh. It's you,' she said, swiping at the sheen of sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. She beckoned me in. 'Be careful. Forge's hot.'
The air close to the blaze warped and shimmered with heat. The tang of hot iron mingled with the earthy scent of Chris' perspiration. It smelled like hard work.
'Do you want some iced tea?' she asked.
'Sure'
'Oh. Well, there's some in the big thermos over there. Should be some cups by it.'
I found the cups and opened the thermos. 'Do you want some?' I asked. 'You must be roasting in here.'
'I'm fine.' She sighed. 'I'm sorry. I know I'm not being very gracious.'
Her hair hung lank, as if she hadn't washed it for days, and it was held back off her face on each side by blue plastic barrettes more suited to a ten-year-old girl. She wore a white tank top that needed an appointment with a washing machine, and faded jeans, frayed at the edges. I wondered whether it wouldn't be safer to wear long sleeves when working with hot metal.
'Don't worry about it,' I said. I could hardly recall the period right after Mike died. Mostly I remembered having to put on a good show for all the people who were trying to be nice to me. At the time it had felt almost like an imposition, but now I realized it had been one of the things that had kept me from falling apart completely.
Chris, on the other hand didn't seem to be concerned with putting on a game face. She dipped a sopping bandanna out of a bucket of water near her feet, used it to swab the back of her neck, and then rubbed her forehead furiously, leaving behind a bright pink patch of skin.
'Is there anyone who can stay with you?' I asked, and took a sip of tea. The stuff was strong enough to strip paint, and so cold it made my teeth hurt. I rolled the sweating cup across my cheek.
'I don't want anyone to. I just want to get through this mess.' She sat on a bench and waved to the space beside her. I joined her. She grew still, looking at me. Really looking at me for the first time since I'd interrupted her work. 'Does Barr know you're here?'
I shook my head. Well, he didn't, did he?
'Do you know about the murder investigation?'
I paused, and her gaze became suspicious. No way to lie here, and probably no reason to, either. Thank God. I was a horrible liar.
'Oh, I know about it,' I said. 'For one thing, I found Ariel. And, yes, Barr mentioned something about you being a suspect.'
For a split second she looked triumphant, before it quickly faded to sadness underscored with a heavy dose of anger.
'So did Ruth,' I added.
Chris looked at me curiously. 'Is that why you're here?'
'Did you kill Ariel?'
'No!'
'Okay then. I told you after the funeral that I'd lost my husband. I know how rough it is. But… can I be frank?'
'Please. I'm sick and tired of people tiptoeing around me.'
'My husband died of cancer, not in a sudden accident. He wasn't having an affair. And I wasn't accused of killing his lover. So in my book, this has got to be even harder on you than it was on me. I thought you might want someone to talk to. Or cry on. Or yell at.'
She stared at me, and for a moment I thought I'd gone too far. Then a smile tugged at her lips.
'I'm available. That's all,' I said.
'Noted,' she said. 'I think I'll have some tea after all.'
I poured frigid brown liquid out of her thermos into a plastic cup and handed it to her.
'Why do they think you did it?' I asked.
Barr hadn't told me much, and I was curious. He was no dummy, after all. Maybe she really had killed the girl. I eyed her bulging biceps.
She sighed. 'You already know that Scott and Ariel were having an affair.'
'How did the police find out?'
'I told them.'
'You knew about it before the accident?'
'Oh, yes. I knew. He knew I knew. She knew I knew. Everyone concerned knew. Hell, the cops he worked with probably already knew before I told them.' '
I don't think so,' I said. 'Barr seemed pretty surprised.'
She stood and grabbed the tongs, used them to remove the flat bar of metal from the forge. It glowed a high, bright yellow that was almost white at the tip. She lifted the hammer. Slam! I jumped at the burst of sound.
