"Somebody's lying," I said.

"Somebody always is.,,

"Well, this somebody's starving. Any chance you're going to feed me anytime soon?"

He stood up and offered me his hand. "Come on, woman. Let's get some victuals in you."

The tiny table in the kitchen was actually set with candles and dishes that matched. It was still light outside, but Barr lit the tapers anyway. Then he served shrimp scampi over rice with a simple salad. It was delicious. He had the good sense to buy a ready-made dessert, and the further good sense to make it cheesecake-only my favorite sweet indulgence in the whole wide world. He garnished it with fresh raspberries. As night fell, we snuggled on the sofa and watched an old black-and-white movie on TV.

I was giddy as a school girl on Valentine's Day by the end of the movie and the wine. And I may have even giggled a bit during the activities that followed. Afterward, relaxed in the crook of Barr's arm with a light breeze curling in the open window, I listened to his deep breathing and thought about how happy I was when I was with him. Maybe this living together thing would work after all.

At three a.m. I was wide awake again, thoughts running around in my head like rats in a cage. I found myself reflecting on what Barr had said earlier, before we drifted off to sleep. Ever since he'd told me about the money his uncle had left him, questions had been collecting in the back of my mind. As we cuddled in the dark it seemed easier to talk about, so I'd brought up a biggie.

"Are you going to quit your job now that you have a ton of money?"

"What? Why would I do that?"

"People win the lottery, they quit their jobs. Follow their dreams. I just, you know, wondered."

He'd laughed. "I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but most of it will be invested for when I do quit my job. But I like being a cop, and I like being a cop in Cadyville."

"No changes?"

"Oh, I imagine there'll be a few. Maybe I'll get a new car or something. But if you're worried that I'm going to change my whole life just because I have some dollars to play with, you can stop. It's just money. I'm just me."

I'd also read that a lot of people who won the lottery were miserable and ended up going through their winnings within a few years. Barr was practical and viewed his inheritance as security, though. The guy was solid as a rock.

Sighing with contentment, I pulled the sheet higher. The breeze wafting in the open window held the fragrance of roses as well as a chill. As I began to doze, my mind drifted to the list of suspects we'd discussed earlier. Which one had Ariel angered to the point of murder?

She'd looked so small there on the floor of Ruth's studio space. Hmm. That was kind of strange. Why hadn't she been in her own studio space? She didn't spin. She didn't do anything involved with fiber or yarn, and had never showed any interest in learning. But she'd had that tuft of fiber clenched in her hand; I'd seen it myself. I could see it in my mind's eye now.

It had been green. With a little blue and pink. Like the northern lights. The colors of nature obviously inspired Thea Hawke's choices of color combinations in her hand-painted batts.

Green and blue and pink. Like the stuff Gabi had buried in her spinning basket. Said she'd bought it online.

My eyes opened.

I watched the sky brighten slowly on the other side of the window, from a lighter shade of night to early dawn. The air gradually filled with the songs of early birds looking for their proverbial worms. From beside me came the sound of light snoring. Finally, I slid out of bed and padded out to the kitchen. Barr's laptop sat on the counter.

Thea Hawke Designs had a very nice website, but she referred anyone who was interested in her unique creations to the Cadyville Regional Artists' Co-op. She didn't sell online.

I made coffee and stared out the kitchen window at the backyard. The crows that lurked in the copse of trees across the road joined their raucous calls to the other birdsong. The cacophony made my teeth hurt.

I liked Gabi Kaminski, but she'd lied about where she'd obtained the fiber tucked deep into the basket by her spinning wheel. There was no reason to lie about that, not unless she was hiding something else.

How much bamboo in that color combo had been at CRAG? Ruth would know. And Gabi could have come into the co-op when neither Ruth nor I were there and bought the batt. But that didn't account for the tuft of it in Ariel's clenched fist or why she'd been strangled with my yarn beside a spinning wheel.

Besides, Gabi had come right out and said she'd bought it online. And now that I thought about it, she'd snapped at me when she found me looking at the fiber in that basket. I'd put her lessthan-gracious response down to the morning-after grouchies, but perhaps her bad mood had to do with something else-like guilt.

Ariel had borrowed money over and over again from her brother, and it didn't look like that would have stopped anytime soon. Gabi was sick and tired of it. She believed Ariel was a slut, that she had seduced her teacher and made him lose his job.

She also believed Ariel had been responsible for the car wreck that had killed the Kaminski siblings' parents.

In fact, when it came right down to it, Gabi not only didn't like her sister-in-law, she believed she was evil.

TWENTY-THREE

AT SIX-THIRTY BARR CAME into the kitchen, sniffing the air like a hound dog.

"Mmmm. Bacon."

I surveyed him, taking in the bare, lean chest and long legs housed in pajama bottoms. "And hash browns coming up, along with your favorite cheesy eggs."

"A real heart attack on a plate." He sat down at the table. "You must have been up for a while. Why so early?"

I brought him a cup of coffee and gave him a long kiss. "I had some trouble sleeping last night."

"Really? I would've thought you'd sleep like a log." His grin was wicked.

I laughed and turned back to the potatoes browning in a frying pan. "I should have. Woke up, though, got to thinking about things. Do you remember the fiber Ariel had in her hand?"

Behind me, Barr said, "I remember. There was a lot of that stuff around where you found her. I'm sure the lab folks have it neatly zipped up and cataloged."

I turned down the burner and sat in the chair across from him. Resting both elbows on the table, I held my mug of coffee in front of my face and looked at him through the rising steam.

"Gabi had some of the same fiber. At least I think so. There must be a way to see if they match."

"Really. Is it common?"

"Huh uh. Pretty hard to come by. What you might call limitededition bamboo roving. Hand painted. Small batches. And," I paused for effect, "only available through CRAG"

"Maybe Mrs. Kaminski got it there."

"She said she ordered it online."

He leaned back in his chair, a speculative expression on his face. "You asked her about it?"

"Well, yeah. But we talked about a lot. Yarn, spinning wheels, drum carders, spindles-tons of stuff. But I didn't see the fiber I'm talking about until the next morning, right before I left." I made a face. "I told her I knew who made it, though."

His jaw set. "That's not good."

I lifted my palms and let them drop. "I didn't make the connection until this morning." I stood and moved to the stove again.

He grew quiet, staring out the window and slowly sipping his coffee. I poured another cup for myself and leaned against the counter, curious as to what he was thinking but willing to wait.