"Don't you feed that dog any cookies," Gabi called. "If he eats chocolate he'll die."
She sat back down and gave me a sheepish grin. "I know it would just make him sick, as much chocolate as is in those cookies, but I've learned by now that boys don't do so well with subtle differences like that. Here, have a cookie."
I looked at my watch. "Gosh. I didn't realize it was so late. I need to get going."
"Oh, stay for dinner, Sophie Mae."
"I'd love to, but I can't." I felt a little grumpy, realizing I'd spent so much time with the Kaminskis and had learned so little. The story about the high school teacher was interesting, but likely didn't have anything to do with Ariel's murder. If I hurried back to La Conner, at least I could fit in a solitary seafood dinner before having to drive back home.
"We're grilling out," Gabi said. "Got a nice fresh salmon yesterday from a friend who fishes, these peas, and there are some baby potatoes ready in the garden to cook up with them."
Hmmm. That sounded a lot like a seafood dinner right there. And, the thought niggled at me even though I tried to ignore it, I might still learn more about Ariel.
"Please? Heck, you can even spend the night. No reason to drive all the way back tonight, is there?"
Surprised by the invitation to stay overnight, I realized this woman, who didn't seem to work outside of the house, was quite lonely. The prospect of remaining longer grew on me. Maybe I could assuage Rocky a little. I even liked the energy of the boys, now clustered on the front porch playing some quieter game.
But the meal offer clinched the deal. Fresh wild salmon and produce from the garden.
"That dinner sounds terrific," I said. "I'd love to stay, thank you. But I do need to get back to Cadyville this evening."
Gabi looked pleased. "Come out and keep me company while I get us some potatoes."
I put the bowl of fresh peas on the counter, and Gabi hefted the heavy pail of shells, heading out the door to the garden. "These'll go straight into the compost pile."
"May I use your bathroom?" I asked.
"Down the hall there." She pointed through the living room to a hallway that ran behind the stairs to the second floor. "Ignore the boys' room; it's a disaster."
I peeped into the room in question as I walked to the bathroom. Disaster, heck. It looked like a superfund site.
On my way back out to join Gabi, I stopped cold. Tucked away in the corner of the toy-strewn living room sat a spinning wheel. It wasn't one of those cutesy decorative ones either; it looked a lot like a Schacht I had considered buying. A pile of seductive rovings and rolled batts overflowed a basket next to it, and the spool still on the wheel held a tasty variegated yarn in chocolate, red, and orange. The tuft of the batt left to be spun looked shiny and soft, maybe cashmere, or even silk.
Resisting the urge to plunge my hands into the basket of fiber, I hurried out to join Gabi. I found her gently digging into hills of purple potatoes, teasing out the tiny new offerings near the surface. The skins of the potatoes were iridescent in the sunlight when I rubbed off the dirt. Unlike purple beans, purple potatoes kept their color when cooked.
"These are going to be gorgeous with the bright green of the new peas," I said.
Gabi grinned. "I know. Rocky doesn't realize it, but that's one of the reasons I grow this variety. I just love the way they look with other food on the plate." "
I saw your spinning wheel in the house. Wouldn't a combination of those colors in a two-ply yarn be amazing?"
She sat back on her heels and stared at me with delight on her face. "Sophie Mae, do you spin?"
I nodded, then shrugged. "I just started, but I can't see stopping now. Never imagined something so mundane could be so addictive."
"I've been doing it for years, but it's hard to find the time."
"Years? I bet you have quite a stash of fiber and yarn." Spinners, like knitters and quitters, were known collectors of the basic "ingredients" of their craft.
She laughed. "Rocky would die if he realized how much."
"Would you show me some of it?" I asked, kneeling beside her and digging my fingers into the dark lush soil piled up around the potato plants.
"I'd love to!"
She stood and lifted the pail, which now held the delicate baby potatoes, and we went back into the house.
Rocky came in from the shop and sat at the kitchen table sipping hot coffee as Gabi and I got things ready to steam and grill. His stoicism had returned in full measure, and I was glad to see any lingering rancor between him and Gabi had vanished. Tagteaming each other and finishing each other's sentences, husband and wife told me a bit about how the tulip farm worked. Then the boys came in, and we were treated to a recounting of the day's adventures while Gabi whipped up a pie crust. She sent the twins out to cut rhubarb and pick strawberries; by the time we had a big salad together they were back with their booty and we assembled the pie.
We ate under an apple tree out back. It wasn't until after dinner and dishes were done that I got a dose of Gabi's fiber stash.
SEVENTEEN
As I STARTED FOR the basket in the corner by the spinning wheel, Gabi called from the kitchen that we were going down to the basement. The sky was still light, but the sun would set soon. Rocky offered to get the boys into bed, and Gabi took him up on the offer.
"I'll be getting myself off to bed then, too," he said. "Long day tomorrow, and it starts early. Sophie Mae, it was nice to meet you. Thanks for bringing the paintings all the way up here. I sure appreciate it."
He still didn't say Ariel's name.
"It was no trouble. I'm glad I could help. And what a treat that dinner was!" I said.
He nodded at that. "Sure was." He gave his wife a peck on the cheek, bid us goodnight again and went to round up the twins.
Gabi led the way downstairs, bottle of merlot in hand. I followed with two glasses. The basement was unfinished, but in one corner she'd created an area devoted to crafts. A little natural light came in from two window wells on that side of the house. She augmented that with a combination of fluorescent and incandescent lights, so the space was bright and cheery even as the sunlight faded outside. A sewing machine dominated a long industriallooking table, with a set of half-finished curtains heaped beside it. Behind, shelves held an assortment of fabrics, and a folded quilting frame leaned against another wall. Apparently, when it came to crafting, Gabi was more than a one-trick pony.
With a flourish, she opened a wide, deep cabinet in the corner, revealing a rich assortment of sensuous fibers and neatly wrapped balls of yarn stacked in baskets. The colors ranged from delicate baby-blanket pastels to deep, saturated jewel tones vibrating with exuberance. They all begged to be touched, and I happily complied.
"Oh, wow," I said. "This is some stash. Did you spin all of these yarns?"
"Not all of them. Sometimes in a yarn store or a knitting shop you just can't resist picking up something new, you know?"
"Yeah. It gets awfully expensive, though, doesn't it?"
"I've gathered this stuff over years and years, and I have friends who raise sheep and alpacas. That means a lot of very cheap fiber if I'm willing to clean it, card it, and dye it myself."