Spider Web Read Online Free Page B

deserving soul.
    The first two messages were requests for booth applications. A bit late in the game, but I’d check with the person in charge of booth rentals to see if there were any cancellations or spaces left. Maybe somebody would agree to share a booth to save a little money. The third was from Elvia asking if Gabe and I would like to come to dinner tonight. Emory had bought a new, gizmo-rich gas barbecue he was dying to try. The fourth was Constance Sinclair wondering if I’d finished the last two applications for grants that she’d sent me (no, I hadn’t, but they were on my list) and the last message was from my father.
    “I’m calling from the barn phone,” he said, his voice a dramatic whisper. “They’re inside the house with a lady they done picked up at the supermarket. Near the frozen foods. She’s Lyle Shelton’s sister-in-law from Boise. She makes baskets.” He paused a moment, then said, “They’re coming for me. I can hear them. Save me, pumpkin.” Click. The message had been left an hour ago, so I didn’t call back. He’d likely been captured by the Boise basket weaver and was now beyond my help.
    I passed the booth requests on to the person in charge of them, ignored Constance’s message and sent up a quick prayer for Daddy that Lyle’s sister-in-law wouldn’t scare him too much and that he might actually enjoy talking to her. After giving the rest of my in-box a promise to reconvene tomorrow, I decided to cruise through the co-op building to see if the artists needed anything. It was part of my normal Monday afternoon routine. That way if a machine needed repair or supplies needed ordering, I had all week to take care of it.
    I was on my way down the stone pathway between the museum and the stable behind the hacienda that now housed the artists’ co-op when I met Amanda Landry, one of San Celina’s deputy district attorneys and our museum’s pro bono legal guru. She was also a co-op member and a wonderful quilt artist.
    “Hey, girl,” she called out to me in her molasses-tinged Alabama accent. “Just the woman I was lookin’ for.” She had someone with her, a woman I didn’t recognize. “Sweetie, I desperately need a favor.”
    “Whatever it is you want me to do, the answer is no. At least until next Monday. I’m swamped.”
    She turned to the tall silver-haired woman behind her who wore a nubby Irish fisherman’s sweater and jeans. “Ignore her. She always gets pissy-pants on Mondays. I’m tellin’ you, this little gal owes me. I have saved her butt just too many times to count.”
    “As my proper aunt Garnet would say, bull grits,” I said, laughing. “But if you bake me a maple walnut pie, I will reconsider.” Amanda’s maple walnut pies would make a fortune if she were ever so inclined to market them.
    “Done. My new friend here needs some time on one of your pottery wheels. Do you think she could buy some time?”
    I glanced up at the woman and smiled. “Sure, why not?”
    She smiled back and tugged at one sleeve of her sweater. Silvery blonde curls hugged a perfectly shaped head. She appeared slightly older than Amanda, maybe early fifties, and matched Amanda shoulder-to-shoulder, which meant she had to be close to six feet tall. Her rosy cheekbones were natural and her eyes were almost a teal blue.
    “I’m Linda Snider,” she said, holding out a hand. Her handshake was firm but not overwhelming. Two thin gold bracelets sounded a delicate jingle. “I go by Lin.”
    “Benni Ortiz. You’re a potter?”
    She nodded. “Not a very good one. I’m new at it, but I’ll be here in San Celina a month or so. I want to keep my hand in.”
    “Are you visiting family?”
    “She’s looking for a home,” Amanda said. “Just traveling around the country trying to decide where she wants to retire. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
    I looked back at Lin Snider. “Really? Where are you from?”
    Her smile became wistful. “Nowhere and everywhere. Army brat.