Robin narrowed her eyes, but after a long moment complied, pulling Zak to his feet. Metal scraped against metal as she removed them, sounding loud in the room. He rubbed one wrist, still staring at his mother.

We all filed upstairs behind Irene. Barr smiled his approval when I grabbed my tote bag off the coffee table on the way. We went through the white and beige kitchen to the back door, and outside. A small building stood in the far corner of the backyard. It was little more than a glorified shed. Together we crossed the yard, and Irene opened the door. A table and chair took up most of the interior. Shelves lining the walls held figurines in various stages of completion, as well as neat packages of clay waiting to be shaped into something more. A variety of shiny, clean tools lay in a row on the tabletop. Even here, where Irene made her art, there was little color and no decoration.

She took one of the chunky statuettes down from the shelf and held it out to Robin, who told her to put it on the table. Then she put the handcuffs on Irene and started the whole Miranda thing over again. Zak looked on with a mixture of sadness and repulsion on his face.

Irene met my eyes, and I saw that the fear she'd been carrying around seemed to be gone. Then she mouthed something at me, and nodded. I blinked.

Barr and I went outside. I gave him my tote bag, and he removed the tape recorder and turned it off. "What did she say to you?"

"She said…" I shook my head. "I think she said, `Thank you.' Can you believe that?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his look was tender. "Guilt is a hard thing to carry around."

I thought about things I'd done in my own life. Not murder, but still. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

As we walked toward the patrol car, Barr sighed under his breath.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"This was such a fiasco, and it could have been avoided if my partner wasn't so pigheaded. Do you have any idea how much paperwork we're going to have to fill out now?"

"Well, at least you got your killer," I said.

"At least one of them."

"Meaning… you think Ariel killed Scott?"

He nodded. "It sounds like a possibility. I'll talk to Zak and to the other mechanics at the shop and see if I can find out anything more. It won't make him any less dead, but Chris might like to know what really happened. Might make a difference with his life insurance payout, too."

"Except Chris might be looking at some jail time, too. Don't you think?"

A rueful expression settled on his face. "What the hell was she thinking, covering for Irene like that?"

"My bet? She was thinking that in the same situation, she might have done exactly the same thing. Ariel had a real talent for inciting love and hate. Which one depended on your gender."

THIRTY-THREE

BARR SPENT THE REST of the afternoon at the police station with Irene, processing and doing paperwork and whatever else you have to do when someone confesses to murder. We'd agreed to meet at his house that evening, and as I made the short drive in Meghan's Volvo, I kept replaying the events in Irene's basement in my mind. What kept coming back to me over and over was the look in Zak's eyes as he'd watched his mother confess to murder. As with so many others involved with the case, his life was now changed forever.

I guess I should have been surprised to find Hannah's rental car parked in front of Barr's house, but I wasn't. I was beginning to wonder if she'd ever leave us alone. What had Irene said about Ariel? That it seemed like she would never go away.

And look what had happened to her.

The door was open, and I walked right in without knocking. Hannah stood in front of the sofa. She turned her head, and fury filled her eyes the instant she saw me. She'd cut off her long braid and now sported a short, tousled mop that mimicked my own. A wave of distaste washed through me when I saw it. Words of protest on my tongue, I turned toward Barr, who stood across the living room from her. They died when I saw the expression on his face, at once surprised, fearful, and pleading. The skin on the back of my neck tingled. Tension crackled in the space between them, and I could feel it extending toward me.

What was his ex up to this time?

"Did I interrupt something?" I asked. Couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but I didn't really try, either.

"Sophie Mae," Barr said. "Please don't take this wrong, but I need you to leave. Go home. I'll call you as soon as I can." The pleading in his eyes increased.

I was stunned. "What's going on here?"

"Please," he said.

Hannah shifted, snagging my attention.

And I saw the gun.

She held it easily in her hand. I don't know anything about guns, but it seemed big enough to do some real damage.

I looked at the gun. I looked at Hannah. She smiled. Then she pointed it at Barr.

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "Make him go back to Wyoming or shoot him?"

She made a noise of exasperation in the back of her throat, and pointed the barrel at me. "Shut up. This isn't about you."

"The hell it isn't."

Barr took a step toward her. She swung the weapon toward him again, and he stopped.

Oh brother.

"Let me handle this," he said, voice low and calm. I had a sudden notion of him dealing with a horse or a cow-or a grizzly bear-using the same tone. "Hannah will let you go. Won't you, Hannah?"

She started to nod, then shook her head once. Her eyes darted left and right, and her shoulders hunched defensively. It was one thing to start waving a gun around at Barr, but another to add a third party, and her rival at that. My presence had backed her into a corner. My neck tingled again at the thought.

Barr was right. I should leave while I still could and let him handle his loony ex.

On the other hand, I had an idea.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," I said, and walked between them and into the kitchen.

Hannah looked confused as I passed. So did Barr.

I opened the cupboard and took out a glass. Ice clattered out of the refrigerator door into the glass, and then I ran tap water into it. Took a long drink.

"Anyone want anything?" I called.

Silence.

"Water?" I opened the fridge again. "There's some root beer in here."

"No thanks," Barr said from the other room.

"Hannah?"

"Uh, no," came the hesitant reply.

"Okay, then," I said, returning to the living room. I walked straight up to Hannah and snatched the gun out of her hand. She was so surprised she didn't resist.

"This time you've gone too far," I said. The edge in my voice could have cut glass.

Barr was at my side in an instant. I gave him the gun and turned back to his ex-wife. Utter defeat slumped her shoulders, and she stared down at the floor.

She nodded. "I just-"

"You cut your hair."

Silence.

"You can't force someone to love you."

"I know."

"But you can do a pretty good job of making them dislike you. A lot."

Her head snapped up, eyes searching for Barr's. "Do you hate me now?"

A pause, and then he said, "You've got to stop this nonsense. Go back to the ranch. It's where you belong."

"Yeah." She grimaced, and looked between us.

"So go home," I said, "and leave us alone."

She blinked. "I'm sorry."

"Good," I said. "'Bye"

So I wasn't as easygoing as Barr. Sue me.

And she left this time. Really and truly left.

"What were you thinking?" I couldn't keep the frustration out of my voice as I asked Ruth the question. My spinning wheel whirred, the spokes a blur, and the natural wool roving I was spinning accumulated on the spool at a rapid rate.