Spin a Wicked Web by Cricket McRae

broken and lifeless. I didn't even
like her, and it turned out a lot of other people didn't either. But I
had to agree with Barr; I wanted her killer brought to justice, too.
No one deserved what had happened to her.
    "I'll call if I find out anything."

    I used to dream of traveling. I used to, at the very least, go hiking
in the Cascades a couple of days a month in the summer. Now, with my own business to run, there wasn't time. At some point
work had simply taken over my life.
     
    And, of course, I fell in love with a man who worked even more
than I did. Was it possible that Barr and I hadn't spent enough time
together in the last eight months to really get to know each other? In
my basement workroom, I shook my head, resisting the notion. I
did know him, despite the mix-up about his having an ex-wife.
    Enough. I had things to do.
    I called my teenaged helper, Cyan Waters, and told her to take
the next day off. She didn't mind a bit. Then I googled Rocky Kaminski and found the website for the tulip farm he and his wife,
Gabrielle, owned near La Conner, Washington. I printed out the
directions on how to get there. The phone number was on the
website, so I copied that down, too.
    Gabrielle Kaminski answered the phone when I called. I explained who I was and that I'd be in La Conner the next day. Would
she and her husband like for me to bring Ariel's art up with me?
    "That'd be awful nice of you, if it's not too much trouble." The
shouts of children in the background then, and she said, "Hang on
a sec." Muffled voices and the distortion of a palm over the receiver. "You boys take your lunch outside and eat on the porch.
And no throwing food, you hear?" A pause, and then to me, "Okay,
I'm back. When do you think you'll be here?"
    "In the early afternoon, I should think. Is that convenient?"
    "That'll be just fine. We'll see you then."
    Then I called Ruth, Irene, and Jake. Ruth assured me that the
police had given her permission to go back inside, and the co-op
would reopen the next day. Apparently Chris had influence with
someone who pulled a few strings with the police, hurrying things along. Not surprising; after all, her husband had been a cop and
she had an alibi for Ariel's murder. When I told everyone what I
wanted to do they agreed to meet me that afternoon at CRAC-
even Irene said she'd come. We'd all sign a card for the Kaminski
family, and they'd help me load Ariel's paintings into the covered
bed of my small pickup.
     
    Before heading over to the co-op, I filled a gift basket with soaps
that looked like quartz crystals and smooth river rocks, a few lip
balms and lotion bars, an eye pillow filled with flax seeds, two jars
of homemade raspberry jam and a jar of pickled asparagus. It was a
bit much, but I wanted to do something nice.
    The gift basket took longer than I'd anticipated, so I got there
late. I rushed in to find Ruth and Irene, hands on hips, silently
looking at the big stark canvases that leaned against the front
counter. Empty spaces gaped on the wall where they'd hung.
    Ruth greeted me, smiling with her eyes. She held out a sympathy card. "We've all signed it. Did you bring the blankets?"
    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