"Come with me," she said, pleading.
He slowly shook his head.
She turned and stomped toward the stairway, hands clenched into fists by her side, fingers white. Barr moved aside as I followed her upstairs and through the house to the front entryway. Not once did she turn around, not even as she jerked the door open and exited the house. The loud slam of the door brought Meghan out of her office.
"Sounds like someone left unhappy."
I nodded, thoughtful. "Miss Hannah wanted something, and she didn't get it."
Barr spoke from behind me. "Sophie Mae was wonderful."
"Really?" I asked.
He quoted me. "`I could no more give him away than I could give away the weather."'
I rolled my eyes. How corny.
"I think you convinced her," he said.
"What do you think she'll do now?" Meghan asked.
I shook my head. "I don't know."
"I think she'll go home," Barr said.
But I was just as concerned with what she might have already done. Despite her dramatic protestations, Hannah hadn't actually denied sabotaging my pickup.
Meghan, Barr, and I had moved into the kitchen for a late supper of spinach salad topped with chicken, tomato, avocado, and black olives in a warm vinaigrette. Erin and Zoe had made up, and Erin was spending the night over there. Ruefully, I realized I already missed the little imp, and I still lived with her. As she got into her teens, summers would only get busier.
Barr had happened upon his ex and me fighting over him like schoolgirls because he had news. Now he laid it out.
"It's official. Your Toyota was deliberately sabotaged."
Relief washed over me. "Excellent," I blurted out without thinking. After all I'd accused Gabi of earlier, wouldn't it have been ironic if my brakes failed simply because my truck was old and had fallen apart?
Barr lifted an eyebrow at my reaction and took a bite of avocado.
"That was fast," Meghan said, standing at the sink and rinsing her plate. She ate like a bird, and always finished her meals before everyone else. "What about Scott's patrol car?"
"They found some indications that the steering wasn't working properly."
I lifted my chin in an I-told-you-so gesture. "Sabotage?"
He looked uncomfortable, then nodded. "I should have known."
"You did," I said. "At the funeral, you suspected."
"But I didn't do anything about it."
Meghan closed the dishwasher door and turned. "You can't go around being suspicious of everyone and everything, Barr. That would be paranoid, especially in a sedate little town like Cadyville. Didn't you say once that was why you moved here from Seattle in the first place, because you felt like you were becoming so jaded? It looked like an accident, and so you treated it like one."
Sedate little town? Meghan obviously hadn't been paying attention.
Barr didn't say anything. I reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, then withdrew his fingers from mine. Not interested in being comforted.
Well, at least I could distract him. "Um" I bit my lip. "I kind of messed up."
Meghan came and sat down at the table. She gazed at me for a long moment. "What did you do, Sophie Mae." Her tone was flat.
I sneaked a look at Barr. He sat back in his chair, eyebrow slightly arched again.
"Er, I kind of accused Gabi Kaminski of killing Ariel."
Meghan's jaw dropped. "You didn't."
I winced. "I'm afraid I did. I also accused her of fooling with the brakes on my truck."
"Before you even knew for sure it wasn't an accident?" Incredulity from Barr. "What were you thinking?"
"It just sort of happened. She brought one of Ariel's paintings down for Zak Nelson, and I knew darn well Rocky didn't know she was selling it, and I kept thinking about how she had a handy answer for everything when we were up there, but I didn't really believe any of them, and that huge truck demolishing my little pickup was scary, damn it." I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to continue, but Barr cut me off.
"It's okay," he said. "Scary doesn't even cover it, I'm sure. You must have been terrified."
I nodded furiously, swallowing against the lump that had risen in my throat. Barr smiled at me, and I tried to smile back. Didn't dare look at Meghan, or I would have started bawling right then and there.
"Did Gabi say anything incriminating?" he asked in a quiet tone.
When I was able to speak again I answered, "Not really. And I'm afraid I pushed her really hard. Now all I can think of is to try and trick her into confessing. Maybe wave Ariel's diary around in her face and say there's evidence in it. Or I could try blackmailing her, and see if she pays up to keep me quiet."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding," Meghan said. She stood up and walked to the sink, looked out the window at the darkening yard.
"That," Barr said, "is a terrible idea."
I pointed my finger at him. "It could very well work."
He just looked at me. Of course he was right. It was a stupid idea. If I wanted to climb out of the hole I'd dug by shooting my mouth off to Gabi, that wasn't the way to do it.
Meghan turned. "Did it ever occur to you that the reason she didn't confess is because she didn't kill Ariel?" Her voice overflowed with disbelief. "I mean, if you knew for sure she was guilty, you wouldn't have to trick her into admitting it; Robin and Barr would be able to prove it."
I had a fair amount of wonder in my own voice when I said, "Are you actually implying that there aren't any murderers who get away with it? That there aren't crimes that go unpunished because the police don't have enough evidence?"
She frowned. "Are you saying there aren't people who are convicted despite being innocent?"
I thought of all the suspects in this case and slumped in my chair. Put my head down on the table. Oh, God.
"If you're wrong, you've tortured that poor woman for no good reason." She squinted. "This is a side of you I don't see very often. I'm not sure I like it."
"Yeah," I mumbled. "I don't like it either." I didn't know what to think, couldn't see the forest for the trees. There wasn't any real evidence against Gabi, only my ideas about what might have happened. But she had a viable answer for everything, and simply hadn't reacted to any of my questions in a suspicious way.
All I'd done was make a potential friend hate me for life.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE NEXT MORNING MY alarm buzzed at seven, but I shut it off and went back to sleep. An hour and a half later I woke again, still feeling exhausted. It took me another half an hour to drag my sorry carcass out of bed, clothe it, and wander down to the kitchen.
A wire basket of eggs sat on the counter, and I cracked two small brown ones into a frying pan. Then I assembled a sandwich with the fried eggs on Meghan's home-baked bread, mayonnaise, catsup, dill pickles from the pantry, and a big slice of cheddar cheese. Comfort food from my childhood. I almost moaned as I bit into it, and immediately began to feel better. Two cups of coffee to wash down the fried egg sandwich, and I was ready for work.
I went down to the basement. First I finished cutting and trimming the lye soaps, then laid them in neat rows on my storeroom shelves to cure. So soon after making them, they were still quite alkaline, but the chemical process of saponification continued internally as they sat on the shelf, ultimately resulting in a soap milder than any commercial bar. An added benefit was that cold process soaps like mine still contained naturally occurring glycerin, adding to their humectant and emollient qualities.