Since I didn't have a vehicle at the moment, I had to walk to CRAG. I'd promised to watch the retail shop for the four-to-eight evening shift now that we were open again. I wasn't going to let the co-op down just because a semi destroyed my only means of transportation. Not that I wouldn't have changed my mind in a second if Barr had actually taken the day off.
Oh, my poor little Toyota. It had been such a steady and reliable companion for so long. I missed it already. What could I possibly get for the insurance money? It was an old pickup by their standards, and they probably wouldn't give me much for it. Getting a new vehicle, even a used one, would be expensive.
Vehicle failure seemed to be quite the theme surrounding Ariel's murder, but in truth it had nothing to do with how she was killed. Ariel had been hit on the head and then strangled. And she sure as heck hadn't been the one to cut my brake line.
But had she cut Scott Popper's? Barr would find out, whether he was the lead detective on the case or not.
Irene was seated behind the register at CRAG, looking bored. She glanced up when I walked in, then went back to the occasional desultory swipe of her pencil across the drawing pad open in front of her.
'Hi.' I slung my tote bag under the counter with a dull thump. 'Has it been busy?'
She sniffed. 'No. You were wrong. No one's come in.'
'Well, perhaps no one knows we're open again. It happened kind of fast.'
'Maybe'
What an Eeyore. 'Are you going to stay awhile, or do you need to get going?'
'I'm waiting for Zak to come get me,' she said, filling in the shading on a meaty arm. I glimpsed enough of the rest of the drawing to see she was designing yet another of her female power figurines. 'He's late. Again. But then, so are you.'
I looked at the clock on the wall. 'I was here on time.'
She sniffed again.
Oh, brother. What did she have against me, for Pete's sake? I'd never so much as said boo to her before joining CRAG, and my interactions with her since had been infrequent and low key.
'As long as you're here, I'm going to go upstairs and check out some of the fiber for sale.'
She shrugged without looking up. Her pencil scratched across the rough Bristol board.
I went up to the shelves and baskets filled with fiber ready to spin. Gabi's stash hadn't been much smaller than this. The raw, uncarded alpaca wool caught my eye, and I thought of Lindsey Drucker, raising animals, spinning, weaving, and living with another artist. It couldn't possibly be as ideal of a lifestyle as it sounded. I mean, could anything live up to being that perfect?
Lindsey was a woman with demons, after all. Demons Ariel had shared, and that she'd tried to save her from.
'Sophie Mae,' Irene called from the bottom of the stairs. 'Sophie Mae! Zak's here, and I'm leaving. Now.'
Sheesh. Give a woman a little time to shop, won't you? 'Okay, I'm coming.'
I hit the ground floor, and Irene was out the door. Her son turned to follow.
'Zak,' I said.
He looked at me over his shoulder. 'Yeah?'
'I told Rocky Kaminski about the painting you wanted, but-'
'I know.' His gaze jerked to his mother, already halfway across the parking lot, then back to me. 'His wife called me. Can I leave the painting here for a day or two after I get it?'
'Rocky's going to sell it to you after all?'
He nodded.
'Okay.' I noted the black grease under his fingernails. Was he as handy at unfixing cars as he was at fixing them? And how would that translate to strangulation? 'You must have really loved Ariel,' I suddenly blurted out. The words hung awkwardly in the air between us.
He looked surprised, then ducked his head as pink embarrassment crept up past the rivets in his ears.
I kept my tone mild. 'It's nice that you want her picture, is all.' I busied myself behind the counter, deliberately not looking him in the eye. Like facing a strange dog, I wasn't sure what I was dealing with here. Best not to appear threatening in any way.
'We were seeing each other,' he said.
I risked a glance at him.
'But she broke up with me.'
'Really? I'm sorry. That must have hurt'
'Not really,' he said.
I stopped arranging and rearranging a pile of Post-its and looked directly at him.
'It was kind of a relief when she did it. Ariel was kind of scary, you know? We had some fun, but she could get really weird and moody and mean. Besides, I kind of like someone else.'
I pasted encouragement on my face. 'Anyone I know?'
'Her name's Daphne. She was Ariel's roommate. She's, like, the nicest person I've ever met.'
Daphne had some additional attributes which might appeal to a young man, as I recalled. But it was refreshing to hear a boy talk about a girl being nice, and his voice became softer when he said her name.
'The horticulture student? I met her once,' I said.
'I guess you must think it's kind of weird for me to want one of Ariel's paintings if she broke up with me, but I did like her, you know. I think we would've still been friends.'
'Zak!' Irene's voice floated back to us.
'Anyway, thanks. I'll see you soon.' And Zak was out the door.
He'd see me soon? What was that supposed to mean?
TWENTY-SIX
Two HOURS LATER, I found out. As soon as Irene left, I added the essential oil blend I'd customized for the co-op to the diffuser on the counter and took a deep breath as the gentle fragrance overrode the stale air. After a while, customers started trickling in the door. I wasn't busy the whole time, but enough people kept coming in that it felt worthwhile to be there. An older couple was in the rear of the co-op looking at some of Jake Beagle's photography when Zak returned.
The front door was propped open to allow the slight breeze in. Zak was a skinny kid and barely filled half the frame. Behind him, I saw an older model blue Suburban turn into the parking lot. I recognized it right away. Zak hurried out as the Chevy pulled into a space.
Gabi Kaminski swung down from the driver's seat. A sleeveless white blouse showed off her tan, as did her denim shorts and leather sandals. She'd plaited her smooth, caramel-colored hair into a neat braid. She and Zak talked for a few minutes. I craned my neck to watch them. He seemed to be doing most of the talking. She gestured widely with one arm and laughed.
'Excuse me. We'd like to buy these.' The gray-haired gentleman laid two of Jake's photos from the black-and-white Riparian series on the counter and reached into his pocket for his wallet.
'These are lovely, aren't they?' I asked while darting looks over his shoulder. Zak was unloading something from the back of the Suburban.
'They are indeed.'
His wife said, 'He's a fly fisherman, and these will keep him company in the den when he can't get out to the river.'
I smiled. 'Mmm hmm.'
Yep: it was the painting Zak had put the note on. I wondered whether Rocky knew Gabi was selling it.
After I took their money, thanked them, and wished them a nice evening, the couple finally wandered out. I followed them to the door, then stepped back almost immediately so Zak could fit the big canvas through the opening. Gabi followed closely behind him. When she raised her head and saw me standing in the doorway, she stopped like she'd run into a brick wall. Surprise flitted across her face, rapidly replaced with a mask of careful indifference.
'You,' she said.
Indeed. 'Gabi'
Had this woman tried to kill me? I remembered the sound of crunching metal, the screech of it sparking across the asphalt as the eighteen-wheeler crushed my little truck into the ground. The salt-sting of baking soda lingering in the air. My own fear during the whole ordeal, still on my skin. I tasted it now, in the back of my throat, along with a rapidly growing anger.
And here she was, in Cadyville, right in front of me. I wondered where Rocky thought she was, what he'd swear to this time. Because I was fairly sure he had no idea she'd sold his dead sister's painting to Zak.
I felt my nostrils flare.
Zak's gaze shuttled between us, his eyes narrowing as he tried to discern the flavor of our hostility. He handed her a fistful of bills. 'It's all there, Ms. Kaminski. Thanks for bringing it to me. I really 'preciate it.'
