Spin a Wicked Web by Cricket McRae Page B
Authors: Cricket McRae
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Murder, Investigation, Murder - Investigation, Women Artisans, Spinning
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fraction.
"Barr already told you?" Ruth said. "Well, of course he did. Will
you talk to Chris before jumping to any conclusions, and make up
your own mind? That's all I ask. Because you know how hard it is
to lose a husband. Can you imagine how hard it would have been
if, in addition to losing your husband, you'd been accused of murdering his lover on the day of his funeral?"
I blanched. Turned out I couldn't imagine it.
Barr had asked me to foster gossip amongst the CRAC crowd,
and I had already offered a listening ear should Chris be interested.
Complying with Ruth's request was a no brainer.
"Of course I'll talk to her," I said. "Though I'm not sure what
good it will do."
She shrugged and reached for a dishtowel. "To be honest, I
don't know, either. But do it anyway."
Kind of pushy, I thought. "Or you'll take away the spinning
wheel?" I joked.
Ruth smiled gently.
I stared at her placid face. "You're blackmailing me?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I'm bribing you."
EIGHT
AFTER RUTH LEFT, I took a long shower, dressed in a soft, oversized T-shirt and crawled into bed with one of Gladys Taber's
Stillmeadow books. Her descriptions of bucolic life in the lateseventeenth-century farmhouse she and her friend Jill had rehabbed in 1920s and '30s Connecticut seemed the perfect continuation of my determined affection for the home life I had with
Meghan and Erin.
Meghan came and stood in my bedroom doorway. I put my
book down.
"Think tomorrow will be as exciting as today?" she asked with
a rueful look.
"I hope not."
"What did Ruth want?"
I pasted innocence on my face.
"Come on. I know she came over specifically to talk to you, and
it wasn't just about twisting fiber into yarn."
"She wants me to talk to Chris."
"Oh. Well, that makes sense, since you're a, you know... widow."
"Yeah, that and the police think Chris had something to do
with Ariel's death."
"What!"
"Ariel and Scott were having an affair. Barr wants me to talk to
Chris, too. Well," I amended, "not just Chris. He wants me to talk to
other people at CRAC, too. More like get them talking." I'd sort of
left that out when I'd recounted my conversation with him earlier.
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
"Barr already told you?" Ruth said. "Well, of course he did. Will
you talk to Chris before jumping to any conclusions, and make up
your own mind? That's all I ask. Because you know how hard it is
to lose a husband. Can you imagine how hard it would have been
if, in addition to losing your husband, you'd been accused of murdering his lover on the day of his funeral?"
I blanched. Turned out I couldn't imagine it.
Barr had asked me to foster gossip amongst the CRAC crowd,
and I had already offered a listening ear should Chris be interested.
Complying with Ruth's request was a no brainer.
"Of course I'll talk to her," I said. "Though I'm not sure what
good it will do."
She shrugged and reached for a dishtowel. "To be honest, I
don't know, either. But do it anyway."
Kind of pushy, I thought. "Or you'll take away the spinning
wheel?" I joked.
Ruth smiled gently.
I stared at her placid face. "You're blackmailing me?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I'm bribing you."
EIGHT
AFTER RUTH LEFT, I took a long shower, dressed in a soft, oversized T-shirt and crawled into bed with one of Gladys Taber's
Stillmeadow books. Her descriptions of bucolic life in the lateseventeenth-century farmhouse she and her friend Jill had rehabbed in 1920s and '30s Connecticut seemed the perfect continuation of my determined affection for the home life I had with
Meghan and Erin.
Meghan came and stood in my bedroom doorway. I put my
book down.
"Think tomorrow will be as exciting as today?" she asked with
a rueful look.
"I hope not."
"What did Ruth want?"
I pasted innocence on my face.
"Come on. I know she came over specifically to talk to you, and
it wasn't just about twisting fiber into yarn."
"She wants me to talk to Chris."
"Oh. Well, that makes sense, since you're a, you know... widow."
"Yeah, that and the police think Chris had something to do
with Ariel's death."
"What!"
"Ariel and Scott were having an affair. Barr wants me to talk to
Chris, too. Well," I amended, "not just Chris. He wants me to talk to
other people at CRAC, too. More like get them talking." I'd sort of
left that out when I'd recounted my conversation with him earlier.
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
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