Rocky took a step forward. 'What the heck is this all about? Of course my wife was here all night, and so was I. I thought you cops were supposed to find my sister's killer, not go around harassing her family.'
'Mr. Kaminski-' Barr began. A low growl issued from deep in the dog's throat.
Rocky held his hand up. 'You can just get on out of here now. I won't put up with this anymore. If you need us, you get yourselves a piece of paper to make it official, but otherwise you just leave us alone.'
Barr nodded. 'I understand. Thank you for your time. Sophie Mae?' He indicated the door.
I edged carefully by Tut, terrified he'd take a chunk out of my leg. As I passed by, Gabi said, 'I'll be sure and send your watch to you if I find it.'
Rocky glared at me. 'You're not welcome here, you hear me?' Real fury rode his words. I shivered and nodded my understanding.
Barr stayed close behind me, hand on my elbow, and the constant grumbling of the massive dog followed us all the way to the car.
TWENTY-FOUR
'I DON'T THINK WE'RE going to be able to make a case against Gabi Kaminski,' Barr said.
We were almost halfway home. I felt like an idiot, caught in my stupid lie, and silence had settled over us for several miles. I jumped when he spoke.
'Does that mean she didn't kill Ariel, or that you can't prove she did it?' I asked. 'Because if she didn't, you made me look like a real jerk in there.'
'Sorry. How was I supposed to know you were going to manufacture a lost watch?'
'But you said we'd lie and cheat!' I protested.
'I said we could if we had to. We didn't have to.'
I sniffed.
'Anyway,' he continued. 'I'm unconvinced she's a murderer. She was extremely cooperative, and her husband vehemently assured us that she was home all that night.' He cracked the window. 'He was pretty angry that we questioned her at all. I can't really blame him.' Barr didn't look regretful, though. All just part of the job for him. I, on the other hand, still felt sick to my stomach.
'Great,' I said. 'And you have yet another alibi provided by a spouse.' I twisted toward him in the seat. 'But Gabi told me herself that sometimes she stays up all night spinning and Rocky never knows. She could have easily left the farmhouse at night without anyone knowing.'
Barr frowned. 'How early does Rocky go to bed?'
'When I was there the other night? Around nine, I guess. The twins, too. He's an early riser, and the twins are only six.'
'She might have had time to drive down to Cadyville. It would be cutting it awfully close, though, to fit in that eight-to-ten o'clock timeframe.'
'But it's possible,' I said. 'And what about the way she acted about the bamboo fiber?'
He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. 'Ariel gave it to her. Brought it up the last time she visited. Can't prove her wrong. And she didn't seem too worried when I took that sample.'
'Hmm. I just don't see Ariel dropping the big bucks for that fancy fiber, just to give it to the sister-in-law who didn't even really like her.'
'Maybe she was trying to make nice.'
Maybe so. Maybe Gabi had been making headway with Rocky, trying to convince him to stop lending his sister money, and Ariel needed to get on her good side.
'Then why was she so upset about us being there?' I grumbled.
'Believe me,' Barr said. 'I've interviewed a lot of people. That was mild. Rocky was far more upset than she was.'
'So that's it? She gets away with it?'
'Well, at some point we might be able to link forensic evidence to her.'
I thought he might be humoring me now, but I still asked, 'Is that in the works?'
'We didn't find much. I was hoping they'd find evidence under Ariel's fingernails, but there was nada.'
'Maybe Gabi came up behind her, and Ariel never had a chance to fight back.'
'God, Sophie Mae. Your imagination kind of scares me.'
'You'd have this conversation with Robin in a heartbeat, and her imagination would be useful. Just because I'm not-' tall, auburn-haired, fashionable, and a sure shot with any kind of firearm ever made '-a police detective doesn't mean I can't figure a few things out.'
We got back to Cadyville around seven-thirty, and Barr went to update Robin on the new information from La Conner. I drove home and spent a mundane evening with Meghan and Erin, watching a movie on DVD, doing my best to push Ariel's murder out of my mind. If Gabi really had killed her, I might have to come to terms with the fact that she'd get away with it.
Great in theory; not so easy in practice. I went to bed early, but slept fitfully, my slumber punctuated with dreams of being caught in a huge sticky web, surrounded by laughing spiders with all too human faces.
The next morning I awoke feeling tired and groggy. I finally forced myself out of bed, showered and dressed, and pasted a smile on my face. Meghan and Erin were leaving for math camp, so I grabbed a cup of strong coffee and went down to my workroom to take inventory.
After making all the custom bath fizzies for the wedding shower, I was low on baking soda. I made notes of some other items I needed and spent some time online, restocking frequently used essential oils and bulk ordering cocoa butter, palm oil, and coconut oil. Then I trundled out to my pickup to run a few local errands.
After a quick stop at the bank, I picked up a twenty-pound container of baking soda from the nice folks at the Cadyville food co-op, who let me order wholesale through them. I also went by the apiary supply store and bought several pounds of unfiltered beeswax; it was amazing how quickly I went through the stuff.
Resupplied, I headed for home. The whole experience with the Kaminskis still sat heavy along my shoulders. I couldn't seem to shake it. Every day Barr had to deal with people lying to him, disliking him, even being afraid of him. Sighing, I signaled to turn onto Tenth Street, wondering how he handled it so well.
I shifted my foot to the brake pedal… and nothing happened. My attention snapped back to the present. The pedal sank all the way to the floor, but my truck didn't slow a bit. I tried pumping it.
Zilch. Nada.
Deep breath. Think, Sophie Mae, think fast. And whatever you do, DON'T PANIC.
The speed limit in town was only twenty-five miles an hour, and as usual, I wasn't in enough of a hurry to break it. So it wasn't like I was careening down some winding mountain road, ready to tip off a cliff at any moment. If I had to lose my brakes at all, I probably couldn't pick a better place to do it than meandering through sleepy Cadyville, Washington.
The Toyota was, however, headed down a hill.
I yanked on the emergency brake.
The truck didn't slow an iota.
I tried to downshift.
That didn't work, either.
This might be more than faulty brakes. Another arrow of fear stabbed through my solar plexus. My fingers curled around the steering wheel so hard they hurt, but I didn't loosen my grip.
The slope was gentle, but the pickup's speed was increasing. I eyed the edges of the street, thinking I could nudge up next to a curb. It wouldn't be great for the tires, but it would slow me down. But this street had no curbs. I'd go straight up on the sidewalk, and then into someone's yard. By now I was going fast enough that I might end up in their living room.
There must be other options. Had to be. Think of something, Sophie Mae. Now.
A cross street ahead, and a stop sign to go with it.
No choice but to brazen it out. Clenching my teeth, I leaned on my horn and sailed into the intersection. A cream-colored Mercedes approached from the right, and the driver didn't even slow. Narrowly missing my bumper, she leaned on her horn, too, and yelled at me out of her window.
It wasn't a very nice name to call someone under any circumstances, and given my current straits I yelled something equally not nice back at her.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I considered bailing out and letting the truck veer on alone. My hand moved to unhook my seat belt, then stopped. There had to be a better way. Not only would a tumble like that hurt, probably a lot, but a runaway vehicle could do real damage. It could hit a child, for heaven's sake.
There. Pine Street. It wended up a long hill, and if I could make the turn, it would serve the same role as the runaway truck lanes off interstate highways in the mountains.
Turning onto another street would be risky. I calculated the approach, steered as wide as I could, and, teeth clenched, swerved right onto Pine. Rubber squealed against pavement. My sunglasses skittered down the dash and bounced to the floor, and the block of beeswax on the seat beside me slammed into the passenger door. For a moment the truck felt suspended, the wheels on the left nearly leaving the ground. I leaned against my door, as if that would keep it from overturning.
Don't roll over, don't roll over, don't roll over. I muttered out loud to the Toyota, to myself, to the Universe and anyone else who happened to be listening. Panic praying.
