Next to me, Barr looked uncomfortable. "I don't know why women are like that."

"Well, we are. And I bet in the same situation, you'd be like that, too."

He shook his head. "She's probably already on her way out of town. I called Horse Acres again after you said you'd seen her, and she'd already checked out."

"Just because she's left the bed and breakfast doesn't mean she's left town." I clamped my mouth shut, ashamed of how shrill my voice had become.

Meghan, bless her heart, quickly changed the subject. "The members of CRAG should put together something for Ariel's brother. Maybe some nice flowers." "

I like it. But how about a gift basket? I could give him some toiletries, and… oh, I don't know. Maybe he wouldn't want any of that stuff."

Barr said, "He's married, you know. And has twin boys. They live on a tulip farm outside of town. They seem more rural than arty."

"Do your parents like art?" I asked. "Or do they prefer to decorate with dead animal heads?"

"I don't think you want to know the answer to that question."

"Oh"

Meghan laughed.

"But yes," Barr said. "There is some very nice art in the lodge, wedged in among the elk antlers and Indian blankets. Point made. I'm sure Rocky Kaminski and his family would appreciate anything the CRAG crew wants to give them."

I laughed.

"What?" Meghan asked.

I shook my head. How could I explain the image of one of Irene Nelson's menopausal ladies that had danced across my mental screen? No doubt Ariel's brother would just love one of those sculptures.

Better to stick to soap and the most ubiquitous comfort offering of all: food.

I was fast asleep the next morning when my cell phone began blaring "Sympathy for the Devil" on my bedside table.

"That's it," I mumbled as I groped for the offending noise. "I'm getting a mellower ring tone. Hello?"

"Get up, get out of bed. Get up, you sleepyhead," Barr sang into the phone.

I peered at the clock. Seven a.m. "Don't you know it's impolite to call before the civilized hour of nine a.m.?"

"That's why I didn't call the house phone. Besides, you're always up this early."

"Make a note: not always." I didn't mention that the evening before I'd begun reading a mystery by Jane Isenberg and couldn't go to sleep until I'd finished it.

"Okay, grumpus. You want me to call back later? Or do you want to know what I found out about the nasty phone call Ariel's roommate told you about?"

I pushed back the covers and swung my bare feet to the floor. "You've already checked phone records?"

"Hey, the cadets have to have something to do during the graveyard shift."

"What a resourceful man. So? Was it Chris?"

"No. She didn't call Ariel's cell phone, because we already checked that. And she didn't call the house, either. At least not from her cell or home."

"Hmm. Well, a negative isn't very useful."

"However, there was a call to the apartment last week which is curious."

I perked up at that.

"And this is where you come in," he continued. "The call was from Felicia Beagle's cell phone."

"Oh, wow. Ariel really got around. I suspected something was going on from the way Jake acted."

"Maybe you're not the only one who suspected something was going on. And maybe someone else at CRAG knows for sure. You're going over there today to pack up Ariel's art, right?"

"I have to call some people, but that's the plan."

"Well, my dear, I will await your report."

"You know you're getting downright scary about asking me to do your snooping, right?"

"We talked to Jake and Felicia, and got nothing. Complete stonewall. A few rumors here and there never hurt a police investigation." His voice changed then. "I want this killer, Sophie Mae. So does Robin."

I thought of Ariel, small and 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."