“Well, hello, stranger,” Connie said when she answered her phone. She must’ve recognized my number. “It’s my long-lost sister.”
“Sorry. I guess I should call more often. How are you and Jeremy?” Connie’s son, Jeremy, was a talented painter. Many of his watercolors graced the walls of my house. The sun-drenched scenes helped keep the place warm and bright even on the coldest, wettest days.
“Oh, we’re fine. Jeremy’s painting up a storm. He wants to come and visit you this summer. There’s an art program he’d like to attend at the University of Washington, but it’s a little pricey. It’s hard to afford many extracurricular activities as a single parent. I’m hoping to become a partner at the firm this year. That should help.”
“I’d love to have him come. He can stay with me, as long as he doesn’t mind sharing his room with a bunch of beads,” I said, thinking about how packed with beads the Bead Lair was and wondering if an attic renovation was in my future. “I found a quilt in my attic. It’s one of Great-Aunt Rita’s, and apparently, she wanted you to have it. Your name is pinned to it.”
“Oh,” Connie said. This was a less than enthusiastic reaction to this gift from our great-aunt. “Do you want it? I’ve been clearing out all sorts of stuff from my house. Trying to live a little lighter, you know? The last thing I need is a quilt.”
“Sure. I get it. I can find a good home for it. It’s something that was supposed to be for you. I didn’t want to take it, since it was your inheritance.”
“Pshhh. I’m not jealous, but you’re the one who got the inheritance, right? You got the house.”
“Geez, sorry! It’s not like I asked for the house.”
“I didn’t want the house, I didn’t need the house. Aunt Rita clearly thought you did. I deal with contentious inheritance issues all the time. They can tear a family apart.” Connie was a real estate attorney in Florida. I was certain that in addition to dealing with gullible buyers of prime oceanfront parcels that turn out to be alligator-infested swamps, she also dealt with properties that had ended up in probate when one of her aging clients passed away. “I truly am glad you have the house. No hard feelings, I promise. Anyway, please, enjoy the quilt, and I’ll enjoy my clutter-free house.”
As I finished the phone call with my sister, I recalled that Dario told Tessa and me his parents had both died in the last couple of years, and that he and Marco were finalizing their parents’ estate and preparing to divide the assets. Could Dario have been angry about having to share the family’s assets with Marco? Could Dario be his brother’s killer? I called Connie back.
“I don’t talk with you for months, and now I get two calls in the span of ten minutes,” Connie said.
“Sorry. I promise I will call more often. How hard would it be to check the probate records in California for an Italian family?”
“Not too hard. A lot of the information is public. I can do some checking for you.” I gave Connie the details on the de Luca brothers.
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be helping a lot by letting Jeremy stay with you this summer.”
I wandered out to the kitchen after we said our good-byes and dropped some crunchies into Gumdrop’s bowl. He looked down at the bowl and then up at me. He was waiting. I knew what he wanted.
“Okay, okay. I’m trying to cut back on your catnip consumption, remember?” I told him. Gummie looked down at his bowl and back up at me again, waiting patiently, well, not that patiently. As soon as I opened the freezer, he knew I’d caved in. He stood back from his bowl, ready to make a running jump. I plopped the catnip-infused ice cube into his bowl and he dived in, sending little bits of crunchy cat food flying. I hoped he’d eat some of the kibble at some point, because cats can’t live on catnip alone. Maybe it was good he wasn’t eating much. Gummie could stand to lose a few pounds, but then again, so could I.
I was a little hungry and didn’t have much to eat in the house, so I decided to see if Val had anything she was willing to share. As I pulled open my front door, I glimpsed the back of a man’s dark overcoat slipping inside Val’s door, before it was hastily shut behind him.
That must have been Val’s mystery man. Her secrecy about the identity of her guest had piqued my curiosity. I knocked on my neighbor’s door. No answer. I pounded on her door.
“I know you’re in there, you might as well open up.” The door opened a crack. Val’s heavily mascaraed eye squinted at me.
“What do you want?” Val whispered.
“I want to know what’s going on in there.”
“Don’t be so nosy.”
“Me—nosy? You’re the queen of nosy! Come on, who’s in there?”
“It’s a secret.”
“You know all of my secrets. Right? And you always tell me everything. You tell me more than I ever want to know!”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy!”
“Val, it’s not like I’ve got anyone to tell.”
“You’ve got Tessa.”
“But she’s the most trustworthy person in the world. And so am I.”
“Fine,” Val said, opening her front door enough for me to slip inside before she shut and locked it behind me. Sitting on Val’s bright pink sofa with zebra-print pillows was rock superstar Freddie “Boom Boom” Roberts, looking a little worse for wear. He was one of the best old-school American guitarists born in the heartland of the good old U. S. of A. He’d been touring pretty much continuously since the 1970s.
I stood in the entryway, stunned.
“Now you know,” said Val, collapsing into a kitchen chair. Apparently, keeping this big secret from me had been tremendously stressful for her.
“Uncle Freddie, this is my neighbor, landlord, and number-one gal pal, Jax O’Connell,” she said, grabbing one of my hands and pulling me toward her uncle, as Freddie stood up and extended his hand. “And Jax, this is my Uncle Freddie. My dad’s brother.”
I was immediately hit by one thing: Freddie, though he always seemed like a rock-n-roll giant when I saw him in music videos, was, in fact, not much taller than me. It was hard to believe he was from the same gene pool as Val, who towered above us both, even when she wasn’t wearing high heels. One thing Freddie and Val did have in common was a love of tall hair, although it was entirely likely that Freddie’s was enhanced by hair plugs.
“Wow, it’s super to meet you,” I said shaking his hand. The shaking part was easy, since I was already trembling all over. This was all a little hard to wrap my head around. What was Freddie Roberts doing here? This was going to be my only opportunity to ask, so I decided to plunge in. I took a seat on an overstuffed zebra-striped ottoman near Freddie. “What brings you to Seattle?”
“I’m in town trying to find a new place to live. My old lady, that is, ex-old-lady, she got the mansion in the Hamptons. I can’t live in Aspen all year long. I need to find some place where people will leave me alone, but you know, is close to a cool place like Seattle. And I’m looking for some new business opportunities. I can’t keep doing this rock thing until I’m eighty. My agent’s already booking me into some of the smaller clubs and the county fairs. It’s time to hang it up real soon.”
“And why are you staying here with Val?” I asked.
“I’m trying to stay out of the public eye right now. Going in and out of a hotel every day, it ends up drawing attention to me. I’m trying to lie low.”
“It’s amazing to meet you. I’m sorry to have forced my way in. Your secret is safe with me,” I said.
“Hope to see you again. Any friend of my little Valerie is a friend of mine.”
I didn’t know which of these facts was more shocking: I was now a friend of rock-n-roll great Freddie Roberts, or that he called Val “his little Valerie.”
Val ushered me to the door. “You should come back over tomorrow. Keep it quiet. Don’t tell any
one Uncle Freddie is here. We don’t want the house to get mobbed.”
“Not even Tessa?”
“Not even Tessa!”
I slipped out the door and realized I’d left without any snacks. I turned to knock again, but before I could, Val opened the door and shoved a plate of cupcakes at me.
“Thank you!” I said.
“I’m buying your silence with these, got it?”
“Got it.” Some people get hush money. I get hush desserts.
TWENTY-ONE
My phone rang, and I answered.
“Jax, it’s Zachary. I’m in the neighborhood, and I have too much pizza.”
“You realized that after you ordered it?”
“They messed up my order, so they gave me a free one. Not that I need to explain—”
“Are you inviting yourself over?”
“I don’t have to stay. I can drop off the pizza, if you’re busy—”
“I’m only giving you a hard time. You know, like sometimes you give me. Come on over, and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned. Plus, I’ve got dessert,” I said, setting the plate of chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting on my kitchen counter.
I was glad Zachary was coming to visit. I could fill him in on what I’d discovered about Violetta and the beads, and perhaps even explain why he’d found me getting out of Ryan Shaw’s police car in Carthage. I wasn’t looking forward to that part of the conversation.
• • •
“The beads are fakes. They’re not old or valuable,” I said, as I stuffed the cardboard pizza box into the recycle bin. I explained to Zachary how Mr. Chu had verified that the beads Violetta had been trying to sell were new and how Tessa had caught Violetta in a lie about where the beads came from. “If Violetta was lying about the age and source of the beads, she’s committing fraud—selling new beads as antiques. Maybe that’s a motive for murder?”
“In all my years on the force, no one has ever been killed over a simple strand of beads,” Zachary said.
“You don’t understand, antique beads are worth hundreds of dollars. A large collection can be worth thousands. With anything of value, if someone thinks they’ve been ripped off, they could want to settle the score.”
“You think she could have discovered that the beads were fake and turned on Marco?”
“Maybe, or that Marco was going to expose her as a fraud, and Violetta killed him to keep him quiet.”
“She is certainly someone we can bring in for questioning, although the sheriff should be the one who does the initial interrogation.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem for Sheriff Poole. He seems to get a great deal of pleasure from dragging people off to jail,” I said. “You know I didn’t have anything to do with this murder, right?”
“I’m sure you didn’t murder anyone, but you managed to get mixed up in it, again. Tell me this: Why would Sheriff Poole think you murdered Marco de Luca?”
“He found a knife I accidentally dropped outside the studio. He said it had my fingerprints on it,” I said.
“That makes sense, it was your knife.”
“Exactly! That’s what I told him. He also said it had Marco’s DNA on it.”
“That doesn’t make sense. The only DNA testing facility in the area is right here in Seattle, and I can guarantee we haven’t run any DNA samples on this case.”
“The sheriff is lying?”
“He most certainly is.”
“Why is he after me? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“I think he was hoping to get you to confess by bluffing you with his DNA lie,” Zachary said.
“Ha! Well, I’m glad he didn’t trick me—”
“But now he’s on the warpath. He found out what your boyfriend Officer Shaw...”
“Not my boyfriend.”
“He tricked the sheriff and spirited you away.”
“And how would the sheriff have found that out? The only other person I know who might have told him was you,” I said.
“I can assure you—”
“Did you tell Sheriff Poole about Ryan’s stunt?” I asked.
“No, but uh…ahem,” Zachary paused and cleared his throat. “I did mention in a report that you were still under investigation, due to a procedural error involving a certain newbie officer. Those reports are available to any senior staff member at the Seattle P.D.”
“I didn’t enlist Ryan to come out and help me,” I said.
“Your friend has gotten himself into quite a lot of trouble, actually.”
“What?”
“Oh yes, it looks like he had no business being there in Carthage. He threw some bogus forms around. He was already a provisional hire, and with this incident, he may be suspended.”
“That’s terrible! Can you help him?” I asked.
“Now, why would I want to do that?”
“Because he was helping me. Because he’s a nice guy, even if he is a little over-zealous some—well, most—of the time.”
“There’s not much I can do, but I promise if I can figure out a way to help him, I will.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Hm. Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but, you know, I’m not always that able, that uh…ahem…eloquent.” Zachary cleared his throat again. “I should go, it’s getting late.” Zachary headed for the door.
“It was great to see you,” I said, opening the door for him.
Val trotted out her front door, nearly knocking Zachary over. She had on her brightest pink sweat suit ensemble and glittering white tennis shoes. Behind her, Stanley was anxiously trying to get out the door.
“Well, hello! I’m Val Roberts,” she said thrusting her hand at Zachary, while Stanley ran in circles around her, tangling her in his leash.
He grasped her hand and gave it a gentlemanly shake. “How do you do, Val. I’m Zachary.”
Val was speechless. I was ready to call the media, because this was big news: Val had run out of words. But Stanley had not run out of things to say and let loose a loud “ah-roo!” Val snapped out her daze long enough to say, “Bye!” as Stanley dragged her down the front steps for his evening stroll-n-poop.
“You have the most unusual life,” Zachary said. “What you do for a living, your neighbor, your cat.”
“I’m sort of a package deal. Along with me, you get all the rest of the crazies.”
“I like this crazy in particular,” he said, touching my cheek. “You’ve got some tomato sauce right here.”
What a sweet moment that was, spoiled by a pizza topping.
He pulled out a cloth handkerchief from this pocket and handed it to me. As delicately as possible, I wiped the sauce away. “How’s that?”
“Good. Very good.” He pulled me close and kissed me. “How’s that?”
“Good, I mean, great,” I said. “I could stand here on the porch all night.”
“Ah, well, I can’t. I’ve got work in the morning,” Zachary said.
“I’m headed back out to Carthage for another day of class tomorrow morning,” I said. “Unless another dead body shows up.”
“In which case, you’ll stay far, far away, right? Don’t make me call Tessa so she can rein you in.”
“No reining needed. Thanks for the pizza.”
“You are most welcome.” He kissed me again and whispered in my ear. “Good night.” My heart skipped a beat, maybe two.
Back inside, I heard someone tapping on my back door. I hurried to the door, and found Tessa waiting there for me.
“Why are you so flushed?” she asked.
“I rushed to let you in.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Tessa said, setting her handbag down on the counter and giving me an inquisitive look with a raised eyebrow. “Spill it.”
“You’re never going to believ
e what just happened on my doorstep.”
“Were you kissing the stern detective?”
“Yes, but—”
“What’s in your hand? Did he give you his hankie?”
“He didn’t actually give it to me. I think it was more of a loan,” I said, placing it on the counter. “What did you learn from Violetta?”
“She said as soon as she told Rosie that the beads came from Marco’s nonna’s basement, she realized it could not have been true. There would never be a basement in Venice. She said she’d always trusted Marco, and she believed that the beads were old. Now she doesn’t know what to believe and has no way of knowing whether she should even be trying to sell them.”
“I take it she didn’t confess to murdering Marco? Or having been involved in a plot to scam innocent people by selling them bogus beads?”
“Nope. But she said she wanted to get out of here. She’s leaving for Italy tomorrow,” Tessa said.
“We’ve got to stop her. She can’t leave. She’s a suspect!”
“Is she?”
“Of course! She was in Carthage the night Marco died. She had a motive. Marco obviously lied to her about the source of her so-called vintage beads. If she had discovered the lie, that could have made her angry enough to seek revenge. There may be more we don’t understand about their shady business dealings,” I said.
“I don’t know, Jax, but it seems to me there are many other suspects who are more likely than Violetta. For one thing, I don’t know how she could have been strong enough to overpower and stab Marco, let alone carry him down to the river and toss him in.”
“True. There are other suspects, and I’m sure Sheriff Poole would love to talk to every single one of them. Speaking of which, Ryan Shaw is in deep doo-doo for saving me from the clutches of that disgusting sheriff.”
Off the Beadin' Path, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 3 Page 15