Off the Beadin' Path, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 3

by Janice Peacock

  “Well...”

  Zachary sighed. It was not a happy sigh, and it was very loud.

  “What is it?”

  “We found Dez.”

  “And was he alive and well and drunk out of his mind?”

  “Alive, but pretty banged up. He’s been at the bottom of a ravine for the last day. His legs are broken, I’m pretty sure, but I think he’s going to live.”

  “If you are anywhere near Dez, I suggest you get out of there. If the sheriff shows up, things could get messy,” Zachary said.

  “An ambulance arrived, so Tessa and I have already left.”

  “Where’d you find him?”

  “He’s down in a gulch about a half mile from The Office.”

  “Whose office?”

  “It’s a bar. If you’re coming out this way and happen to go by there, can you do me a favor? Can you leave them ten bucks for a couple of drinks? We had to escape before paying for them.”

  “Escape?”

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear about it.”

  He sighed again. “I’m pretty sure you’re right.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Tessa drove us back to Old Firehouse Studio.

  We found Abby pacing her office, looking as haggard as I’d ever seen her.

  “Abby! We found Dez,” Tessa said. “And he’s alive, a little banged up, though.”

  “Thank God!” Abby collapsed into Tessa’s arms and hugged her. “Where was he? What happened?”

  “We found him in a ravine a few miles from here. It looks like he drove off the road, probably because of the rain. He wrapped his truck around a tree,” Tessa said.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s on his way to the hospital. It looks like he has a couple of broken legs and is pretty dehydrated, but he’s going to survive,” I said. “He kept asking for you.”

  “Oh, thank you so much for finding him,” Abby said, her voice catching in her throat. “You know, he may be a stubborn jerk, but he’s my stubborn jerk. I better figure out where they’re taking him.” Abby picked up the phone, ready to dial. “Thank you, both, for

  everything.”

  I stepped into the hot shop to announce to the class that Dez had been found alive. Dario was alone, working on his laptop. The students were cutting and grinding their canes with Sam in the utility yard.

  “Ciao, Jax. Nice of you to stop by. You haven’t abandoned glassblowing, have you?”

  “No, I needed to help Abby out. And guess what? We found Dez!”

  “That’s great news. Did you learn anything from him? Does he know who killed my brother? Did he confess to killing Marco?”

  “I’m afraid none of the above. He didn’t know Marco was dead. Dez was in bad shape. He was banged up after careening into a ravine and crashing his truck, so I don’t think he had much capacity to lie.”

  “I understand. So, Dez is not Marco’s killer.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “And what about you? What sleuthing have you been able to do? Has anyone been acting strange?”

  “I’m afraid I’m a rotten detective. I haven’t been able to find out much of anything. Everyone in class seems pleased, everyone except Violetta.”

  “Have you seen any of the beads Violetta is selling?”

  “Sure, of course. I even recognize some of them. They came from my nonna’s house.”

  Tessa entered the hot shop, catching the last few words of our conversation.

  “Your nonna’s house? Beads like these?” Tessa asked, pulling the beads she’d filched from Violetta from her purse and handing them to Dario.

  “Oh, ha! Yes, like these. You know, we have this funny thing we liked to say about these beads.”

  “That they came from your grandmother’s basement?” Tessa asked.

  “How’d you know?” he asked.

  “Violetta told me.”

  “My nonna’s palazzo on the Fondamenta Nuova had been sinking for years. She finally decided to install some new pillars underneath it before the whole thing fell into the Venetian lagoon. She hired some divers to put a new support system in place. While they were under her house, they found a cache of beads. No one had ever seen anything like them. Who knows how long they’d been under there? A lot of them were prototypes, tossed in the canal because at the time they were rejected. The designs were too strange, a lot of them were purple. No one wanted that funereal color back in the old days. When the divers brought them up from the depths, we joked that they were from my nonna’s basement.”

  “Violetta must not have known it was a joke. So these beads are the real thing?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. And it’s sad, because these beads are worth a lot more than Violetta is selling them for.”

  “I guess we’re not rich and famous enough to afford them,” Tessa said, without a hint of meanness in her voice.

  “Speaking of rich and famous, if you are trying to draw out the killer, you might want to try to act a little more like Marco did. Maybe a little more swagger? Whatever Marco did, that’s what set off the killer. Maybe you’re being a little too nice.”

  “Are you saying my brother wasn’t nice?”

  “No. It’s that he was, uh, was a little more, cocky, I mean, I’m sorry—”

  “I get it. He was always more confident than me, always better at being a showman. I’ll see what I can do to channel my inner Marco.”

  The students returned to the studio, each holding trays of their newly cut murrine. All except Duke, who was noticeably absent.

  Dario inspected the students’ murrine and praised their work. Everyone had done a first-rate job making canes, and I could tell Dario was proud of what the students had done with his guidance.

  “Now, Jax, you still have not made a cane. Can we try again?” Dario asked.

  “Well, I…”

  “Come on, Jax, you can do it,” Tessa said.

  “Okay. Fine! I’ll do it.” I grabbed a punty with both hands and marched to the furnace, determined to gather some glass. I mean, really, how hard could it be? Everyone else in the class had done it, even the Twins, who were now watching me from the sidelines. Dario opened the furnace door a crack and I slid the punty in. I stood back and tried to see into the molten inferno in front of me. I had no idea if I’d touched the glass in the crucible with my punty or not. I yanked it out of the furnace. A pencil-thin drizzle of glass came out with the punty. It was pathetic.

  Sara and Lara tried to contain their laughter.

  “Looks like you’ll have to keep using the murrine we left for you at Tessa’s studio,” one of them said.

  “Pretty funny,” the other said with a snicker.

  “What? You two are the ones who are leaving me murrine with death threats!”

  “It was only a joke,” said the first one.

  “We thought you’d be into it. You’re always so interested in murder,” said the other.

  “What am I supposed to do with this glass?” I asked Dario, choosing to ignore the Twins. I’d have to deal with them later, but for now I was relieved to know it hadn’t been a real death threat.

  “Put it in the crack-off bucket there at your feet,” Dario said.

  With a little too much gusto, I pushed the punty into the water and listened to the satisfying pish sound as the hot glass crackled into a million pieces when it hit the cold water. Looking into the crack-off bucket, I could see the tiny bits of clear glass gravel from my pathetic gather. I removed the punty, now free of glass, and set it aside. I left the hot shop, still a failure, and went in search of coffee.

  When I entered the kitchen, Tessa was saying good-bye to Violetta, who was packing her beads and getting ready to go. I expected Tessa would find a convenient way of slipping the beads she’d “borrowed” back into Violetta’s inventory. At th
is point, Violetta could officially be removed from the list of suspects now that Dario confirmed the silly truth about Marco and Dario’s grandmother. She was the only woman in Venice with a basement full of beads.

  Someone had placed an out of order sign on the Mr. Coffee in the kitchen. It was definitely time for me to head to the Robin’s Nest Café.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I received a call from my sister as I walked to the café.

  “I’ve got some news for you about the de Luca brothers’ estate,” Connie said.

  “What did you find out?”

  “It looks like the fancy property where Dario lives isn’t owned by the family, it’s leased. So, there isn’t much the brothers were going to share, and it doesn’t seem to me one of them would kill the other for both shares. Of course, there may be more property in Italy that might be worth committing fratricide for, but I don’t have access to that kind of international information.”

  It didn’t seem likely Dario was Marco’s killer. I was relieved to know we could check him off our list of suspects.

  “Thanks. That’s really helpful information. We haven’t found our killer, but at least you’ve helped me narrow it down a little bit more.”

  “Gotta run, Jax, talk with you again soon,” Connie said.

  I pushed open the door to the café. Carl was standing in his usual spot.

  “Hello there! Flying solo, I see. Want to sit at the counter?”

  “Sure. A cup of coffee, please,” I said, taking a seat. “What kind of muffins do you have today?”

  “Sorry, I’m afraid Vickie’s not here. No Vickie means no muffins. She’s visiting our daughter.”

  “Is that a picture of her by the front door?” I considered playing dumb and asking about what had happened to his daughter, but instead I cut to the chase. “She was hit by a car, right?”

  “That’s right. What, was Dez bragging about how he mowed our daughter down? Is that how you found out?”

  “No, of course not. I read about it somewhere.” I decided to skip the part about how my cyber-sleuth brother had filled me in on the details of Carl’s lawsuit against Abby and Dez. “It must have been horrible for you and your family.”

  “Must have been? You’re talking as if what happened from this accident is in the past. We’re living with this every day. Robin is still in rehab, still needs more surgery, and is all the way down in Tacoma. Vickie tries to get over to her as often as she can, but that’s hard to do.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your daughter hadn’t fully recovered.”

  “I’m not sure she, or any of us, will ever recover entirely. We’re trying to sell this café so we can move to Tacoma and be a little closer to Robin in the rehab facility, but the only offers we’ve gotten have been low-ball—a pittance.” Carl’s bright smile faded. He picked up a rag and started feverishly wiping down the counter. “And we still have Dez out there driving his car around like a maniac, drunk as usual.”

  “Are you certain it was him?”

  “Of course, it was him. It had to be him. Robin said it was a man in a light-colored pickup truck,” Carl said, chucking the rag into a bucket on the floor. “Then we tried to sue them, you know? Tried to get some money out of them so we could get out of this depressing place, away from our terrible memories. I mean, she nearly bled to death on the street outside this window. But we lost the suit. We couldn’t prove it was him, but I know it was.”

  I thought of Dez, who at this moment was at the hospital, his own legs damaged from his reckless driving.

  “Oh, Carl, I’m so very sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Do you know anyone who wants to buy a café in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I don’t. But I’d love a refill on my coffee.” I slid the cup over to him.

  “You got it.”

  Glancing out the window, I saw the tow truck pulling Dez’s vintage pickup into the garage across the street. Tony Stein, the automotive genius who got the Ladybug back in working order, had recovered Dez’s pickup. I wanted to have a talk with him. I slugged down the rest of my coffee and left five dollars on the counter for Carl, who had disappeared into the back, most likely to regroup after his emotional outburst.

  I crossed Main Street, a chill running down my spine as I thought about Robin Nest being struck in the road, her crumpled body left behind while the driver of a pickup truck, Dez’s or someone else’s, didn’t bother to stop after hitting the poor girl.

  “Knock, knock! Hey, Tony, I brought the bead you wanted for your sister,” I said, coming into the garage and leaving the bead on the counter by the cash register.

  Tony was busy looking under the front end of Dez’s pickup.

  “Oh, hey, Jax,” Tony said, lost in thought.

  “What’s up? Is there something wrong with Dez’s car, other than the obvious?” I asked, noting that the entire bumper and half the hood had been caved in by the tree Dez hit in the ravine.

  “As a matter of fact, there is. Check this out,” Tony said, pulling on a cable that was hanging loose under the truck. You know what these are?”

  “No.”

  “Brake lines. And see these slices in the sheathing right here? Somebody cut the brake lines on Dez’s pickup.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Could the brake lines have been like this for a while?” I asked Tony.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. This was no accident. It’s not wear and tear on the brake lines. Someone caused this damage on purpose.”

  “Have you ever done any repair on Dez’s truck before?”

  “No, I don’t recall ever fixing it.”

  “How about someone else’s pickup, say, around six to nine months ago. Maybe you repaired a bumper?” I wondered if whoever had hit Robin Nest last summer would have damaged their car. If they hit her hard enough to injure her severely, I would have thought so. I’d expect the culprit would want to repair their car quickly and quietly to avoid having to answer any questions about how their vehicle had been damaged.

  “You know nearly everyone in this area has a pickup truck, right?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess you’re saying there are a lot of truck bumpers out there that you’ve replaced in the last several months.”

  “Yeah, I guess I need to sell them to the scrap dealer soon,” Tony said, nodding to the junk yard behind his garage.

  “Can I take a look at them?” I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but wondered if one of these bumpers might hold a clue to help find the person who hit Robin Nest. Tony took me out back.

  “Most of these have been around less than a year. This one’s from a pick-up, and so are these two.” He pulled out the bumpers from the pile and laid them on the ground.

  “None of these is from a vintage pickup truck like Dez had, right?”

  “No, I don’t get too many of those. This one is from a Toyota.Looks like whoever it was hit a tree, judging from the scrape marks.Yeah. I remember this guy.”

  “What about this one?” I asked, setting the first bumper aside and pointing at another one.

  “Oh, this one, he rear ended a red sports car. See the red paint?”

  “And what about this one?”

  “Yeah, he hit a deer. You can still a little dried blood on it.”

  “Do you remember whose truck this was?”

  “I’d have to look back in my records. You want me to do that?”

  “Yes, please. And don’t get rid of that bumper. Somehow, I think it might help Dez.”

  “Poor guy, you know he was accused of hurting that girl across the street at the café?”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Not much. But he’s been doing some snooping around, trying to figure out who ran over her. He’s been looking at some of my security camera footage from
that day.”

  “Dez was trying to find out who hit Robin?”

  “Yeah, I think so, but I’m worried he may have done something rash, pissed off someone enough that they wanted him dead. Why else would his brake lines have been cut?”

  • • •

  I walked back to the studio to pick up Tessa. The other students had left for the day, and Tessa was chatting with Dario in Italian. They switched to English as I approached.

  “Have fun blowing glass tonight,” Tessa said. “Ciao.”

  “Ciao, ciao,” Dario replied.

  As we drove back toward Seattle for the umpteenth time that week, I told Tessa what I’d learned from Carl and Tony.

  “Who would want to cut Dez’s brake lines?” Tessa asked.

  “That’s an easy answer. Carl! He was crystal clear about how much he blames Dez for nearly killing his daughter. He even sued him. When that failed, it looks like he took matters into his own hands.”

  “But if Dez was trying to find the person who hit Robin, if we assume it wasn’t him, then perhaps Dez spooked the real culprit. Now that person is trying to silence him,” Tessa said.

  “That’s a pretty good motive, but who would that be?”

  “I don’t know. It’s probably not Abby. She seemed genuinely troubled by Dez’s disappearance.”

  “Other people might have a reason to kill Marco, right?”

  “Right. I mean, really it could be any one of us.”

  “But not either one of us.”

  “But anyone at Old Firehouse Studio.”

  “Sure, but you know, almost anyone who was sufficiently motivated could have come to the studio that night, if they’d known Marco was there.”

  “And had a reason to want him dead.”

  • • •

  I dropped Tessa off at my house so she could get her car and drive to Fremont Fire to take care of a few business matters. Now I could do some sleuthing on my own.

  Duke’s glassblowing studio was tucked in the center of an industrial pocket of streets south of Seattle’s downtown. I found the entrance and dashed through the rain, nearly running into a young man carrying a tub filled with water and glass shards. Inside the studio, Duke was shouting at him.