Bead onTrouble

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  "Go ahead," I said. "In fact, I could use someone to pet-sit for the next hour or so—"

  "Really? Could I do that?"

  "Absolutely. If I leave him alone I'm afraid someone will accidentally let him out. He's so darn little, and he moves so quick."

  "And if you tie his leash to a bunk," Beth added, "he'll either hang himself or manage to take the cabin down."

  Jennifer was appalled. "How can you say that? He's so precious. I'll stay here with him. I'm going to practice for my demonstration, and he can watch me."

  I shook my head. "Not a good idea. He doesn't watch,"

  I said. "He likes to play with beads and get in the way, but he's•not a watcher. If you're going to work on something, maybe I'd better put him in his cage—"

  "No, don't do that," Jennifer said, pulling him back.

  "I need some company. Please let him stay with me." Her big blue eyes reminded me of Sinatra's.

  Beth said, "I'll hang out for a while, too. Just in case."

  In case Jennifer found herself with a kitten from Planet Destruction.

  Jennifer placed Sinatra on her bunk and while she tried to make her bed, he attacked the sheets. It was the first time I heard her laugh.

  "I haven't met you," Leesa said to Jennifer. I'd almost forgotten Leesa was there, and she made no effort to get down from her perch. "I'm Leesa. With two es."

  "I'm Jennifer." She turned around, once again holding Sinatra. "I'm May's ... I was May's assistant. You know .

  May is—"

  "I know," Leesa said. "I'm sorry"

  "Thanks?'

  "How are you doing?" she asked Jennifer. "Cordy said you talked to the sheriff Are you all right?"

  Jennifer was holding onto Sinatra like a child might snuggle a stuffed animal, only he didn't look like he was going to put up with it for long. "I'm fine. I just need to be around people and not spend too much time thinking about what happened to May . . ." Sinatra leaped to the bed and she let him go.

  "Was that terrible? Your interview with the sheriff?"

  Leesa asked.

  "Well, I guess it wasn't too bad. I don't know. There was something _ ."

  "What 'something'? What's the problem?" Leesa pushed.

  "From the questions, I'm pretty sure the sheriff thinks someone was with May . . . you know ... when, when she went over that cliff." She closed her eyes and shuddered.

  Someone was out walking with May, and they didn't report the fall?

  "Wait," Leesa said, sitting up straight. "You mean someone saw it happen, and they didn't tell anyone? Or someone pushed her? There's a big difference."

  The remains of my breakfast rumbled in my stomach.

  May's death had to be an accident that no one could have predicted or prevented.

  Jennifer looked puzzled. "I don't know."

  Beth turned white.

  Without a particle of doubt, I knew that Beth would never have physically lashed out at May, even if she'd caught her in the act with Ron. Beth's shock was sympathy for May. Or Jennifer.

  But—what if Beth thought Shaman had seen something? Shannan might have witnessed a confrontation, and then gotten drunk to wipe away the memory.

  "You're saying she was murdered?" Lynn was standing in the doorway. Apparently, she'd been eavesdropping, and now she invited herself into the conversation.

  "Murder?" The word jumped out of my mouth. "No one said anything about murder. Why would you even think that?"

  "Well, if someone else was there." Lynn looked at Jennifer. 'Well, is that possible?"

  "I don't know," Jennifer said, swallowing hard.

  Beth sat forward, "Lynn, leave her alone. She's been through enough without a third degree from us."

  "Well, we have to find out what happened," Leesa said.

  Lynn agreed. "If there's someone around who could choose any one of us for his next victim, then we need to know about it. We need to take precautions, too. It could be time to head home?'

  Jennifer flushed. "Oh, God, I, like, never thought of that."

  Neither had I, and I didn't much care for it. Particularly because the Lazy L was isolated. We chose it to keep us away from the noise of other campers, but now, even with the morning sunshine coming through the screen, I wasn't sure that was a good thing.

  I took a deep breath. "We don't have enough information to go running off half-cocked." I shot Lynn a glance.

  "Or cockeyed."

  "That's right:' Beth said.

  "Jennifer, there's no need to get upset," I said. "I'll talk to Cordy and the sheriff, and find out if they think we should protect ourselves. If they do, then we'll decide what's next. I'm sure it's perfectly safe in daylight and when we're together. More than likely, it's perfectly safe all the time."

  "Fine, but you also need to find out if she was sexually assaulted," Lynn added.

  "Sexually—?" Jennifer looked ready to pass out.

  "That's not, like, oh, God—"

  "I think we should change the subject," Beth said with a glare in Lynn's direction.

  "I agree," I said, taking a gulp of air. "Maybe everyone ought to come with me for the demonstration, and then afterward—"

  "I wasn't concerned about now," Lynn said. "I don't think we have anything to worry about in broad daylight.

  It's later that concerns me. Tonight, when it's dark."

  I said, "I'm sure Cordy and the sheriff are very aware of the safety issues. If there are any safety issues. They're not going to let anything happen to us."

  Everyone considered that, and Lynn eventually shrugged,

  "Who can guarantee anything in today's world?"

  Jennifer was as white as the pillowcase on her bunk, and Beth looked furious.

  "I need to go to my demonstration," I said. "Jennifer, would you like to come along?"

  Jennifer shook her head; she seemed a bit wobbly but under control. "Oh, I'm okay. I'd just rather not talk about it." And, as if on cue, Sinatra reached up and batted one of her blonde curls with his paw. She swung around and buried her face against him. "You wonderful little fuzz-ball."

  Lynn said, "It's not like we're going to find a hook on the Lazy L door."

  If I'd had something to throw at her, I would have. She was referring to the spooky camp story about a homicidal maniac who had a hook for a hand—and the hook ends up hanging off a door handle. Luckily, it seemed Jennifer had never heard that old tale, but we didn't need any more scary stories.

  I shouldered my briefcase. "I'm on my way. Lynn, why don't you walk with me?"

  She didn't take the hint. "No thanks. I'm going to find something alcoholic. Preferably a Bloody Mary; that way I get my vitamins, and I still feel pretty good. Didn't anyone bring any Bloody Mary mix?"

  I hadn't brought any, and if I had, I wouldn't share with her. "Sony."

  "Kitzi, give me a second," Leesa said, climbing down from her bunk. "I'll walk with you."

  I glanced at Beth who gave me the slightest of nods, meaning she'd keep an eye on Jennifer until I got back. I waved a final good-bye and held the door for Leesa.

  Once outside and away from the cabin I said, "That girl is scared to death—"

  "I know, I know. It's that Lynn. What a mouth. We should think of a way to silence her."

  "Murder isn't something to take lightly, and Jennifer is more than a little involved."

  "It's not my fault Lynn is a bitch."

  "No. But don't encourage her," I said, looking around.

  The Lazy L seemed farther off from the main camp than ever, and while the cabin did have doors, I didn't think there was a lock anywhere in camp except on the public buildings.

  "She did bring up one important issue," Leesa said. "If May was sexually assaulted, then we know that it was someone from outside the camp, since there are only women here. It lets us all off the hook, and we know who not to be afraid of."

  "That's not a hundred-percent accurate. Tony Campanelli is here."

  "Who? Oh, the guy who does bu
siness as TonyCraft.

  He doesn't strike me as the violent type. I mean, he's good-looking, but in a soft kind of way. And since all the women seem to like him, why would he have to resort to violence for sex? Not that good looks and charm are a guarantee that a man is a good person. Wasn't Ted Bundy—"

  "Is there anything else you could talk about?"

  "Oh. Sure. Sorry. So, what are you demonstrating?" We cut down a steep trail toward the Saloon.

  Nice conversational shift, but something she'd said about Tony was wrong.

  "I'm showing how to make paper beads," I said. "Only I've added my own twist!'

  "What do they look like?"

  I was still trying to catch the runaway thought. "Here you go." I pulled a small bag out of my briefcase. It contained a necklace of several paper beads interspersed with crystals and cloisonn6. At the center was a large drop with oriental characters. "The drop is the main piece I'm showing how to make."

  She took the necklace from the bag and studied it, like it was important. "This is very nice."

  "Thank you." And then I remembered what she'd said that was wrong. "There are other males here in camp.

  Men." Why I hedged over Jeb's name, I'm not sure, but I did. "The men in your family are here."

  "Man. Just one so far."

  So, I spit it out. "Jeb."

  "No, he's not here."

  I stopped to look at her. "I saw him Arguing with May Feather just yesterday."

  "You can't have. That was him on the cell phone last night. Calling from New York. He isn't even in the area yet."

  "I'm pretty sure—"

  "I'll bet he didn't even know May. He never comes to Texas to see family, so why would he come to see her?"

  Then she gave me an understanding look. "You knew my Uncle Jeb, didn't you?" she asked.

  I found myself lifting my chin as if to prove something to Leesa, or maybe to myself. "Yes, I knew him for a short time. I coached him on his public speaking."

  "Didn't you two date?"

  Her expression was as bland as my younger brother's when he's planning to snow me. "Yes. For a very short time."

  She nodded. "He's an asshole, although I'm sure I don't have to tell you that:' She frowned. "But he wasn't here yesterday."

  Another Jeb sighting? I couldn't believe it; I really thought I'd gone beyond that.

  Then Leesa said, "Wait, I know who you saw . . ."

  "Kitzi! Leesa!" Cordy was walking up from the saloon.

  When she reached us, she said, "Kitzi, the computer is all set up. Everything seems to be working just fine and it's already on the Internet:'

  "Thanks."

  Leesa said, "Aunt Cordy, we need to talk. Jennifer just moved in with us, and she's scared."

  Cordy rubbed her forehead and shook her head. "Damn.

  She's had a rough time."

  "Yes, but does she have a reason to be scared? Was May Feather murdered? And by whom? And was she sexually molested?"

  Cordy gasped. "I have no idea. The sheriff hasn't said anything like that."

  "What did he say?"

  "Not much. He found a place where the branches were broken—like there might have been a scuffle. He said that could point to homicide. I didn't think to ask any other questions. I was too stunned. But, sexual assault—God, Leesa!"

  "I'm sorry, but that's the world we live in," she said.

  I thought of Ron and his tryst with May the night before. What if they'd had sex before she was killed? The police would find out she'd been with someone, but could they tell if it was consensual? Maybe Ron had used a condom. He'd had a vasectomy, but a condom would be protection against disease, if that concerned him But if he hadn't . . . and if the police did a DNA sample . . . and if . . . and if. I knew way too much and not nearly enough.

  "You'll get your chance to ask all the questions you want," Cordy said. "The sheriff's going to be talking to everyone in camp. In fact, at lunch, he's going to make an announcement, then interview all of us."

  "Good," Leesa said. "And what about the doors? Can we lock the cabin doors?"

  "I have to go," I said, gesturing toward the Saloon. My head was whirling, and my world was sinking. I was hiding a fair amount of information from the sheriff, and it looked like he needed to know it. He'd have questions, and I'd better have answers.

  Before I turned to leave I said, "Oh, and Cordy, thanks."

  "You're welcome," she said. As soon as I was on my way, she lowered her voice and said to Leesa, "You need to make an airport run. Jeb's plane lands in less than twenty minutes. Did you hang up on him yesterday? He was none too happy—"

  "I had to; they were singing some stupid song about cell phones! And I have the Miata, so there's not room—"

  "Then take the camp van," said Cordy, "but you need to get moving."

  Ten

  "And you pulled all those Chinese characters off this website?" "I did," I said.

  Most of the twenty or so women who'd come to my demonstration were still crowded around the computer and me. More women were coming in all the time, which is pretty normal for Fridays at the retreat. They'd stop by next door to sign in, then dash into the Saloon before they even went to their cabins.

  "So, you just cut the text and pasted it in PowerPoint?"

  Sande, the auburn-haired woman beside me asked. "Is that right?" Sande had gotten in for just the last half of my demonstration, but she's quick and was catching up fast.

  Not surprising since she's also a librarian from L.A. And the noir beader, Lynn, is her wicked cousin, not that I thought Sande would call her that.

  "That's all I did," I said. "Sometimes I have trouble getting it to paste, but theoretically, it will go into any Word document, or any of those listed on the handout." I had one eye on the window in front of the Saloon, just to see if Leesa was back. There hadn't been time, and they probably wouldn't come that way, but I was still watching.

  "Does it matter which program?" Sande went on.

  "Not a bit. As long as you can move things around to your liking, then it will work." I sounded like an expert, which, unfortunately, I'm not. I can maneuver around a computer about the way I can around the freeways in Houston—Point A to Point B, but don't confuse me while I'm doing it. "For these big necklace drops, I changed the size and the color to get what I wanted," I added, holding up a green-tinted bead.

  "I can't believe how simple it is!" one woman said.

  "And we can save a fortune on beads."

  "And we can print on different-colored paper or use paint mixed in with the lacquer," Sande said, holding a bead up for a closer look. "Isn't that what you did here?"

  "I just aged it a bit with a wash of brown."

  I knew they'd like the idea of taking the print from the Internet to make paper beads.

  "Did you put that Russian web address and the Egyptian one in the handout?" Sande asked, pushing her long hair over her ears.

  "Both," I said. Several women were holding pages that we'd printed. One had Arabic writing and others held characters from the Cyrillic alphabet.

  "You know what else we could do with this?" Sande said.

  "Decoupage and card making. Kitzi, you are brilliant?'

  "Glad you finally realize that."

  I looked around the room for more questions and saw Tony Campanelli waiting to set up his demonstration. Unfortunately, I was running a little late because the camp connection to the Internet was slow, and the women wanted to actually see the websites where I'd gotten my foreign characters.

  Sande leaned over to touch my shoulder. "Can we go back to the Egyptian site? I'd like to get a sheet of that Arabic—"

  "Sony, ladies," Tony said, walking through the group to join me at the front. "But I have a surprise for everyone during my demonstration, and I need complete privacy to set up:' He was smiling in his charming way, but something about the set of his jaw told me he was annoyed.

  A plump woman in her mid-forties, not someone I knew, giggled. "Oh, To
ny, you just want us all to yourself?'

  He winked at her, "You know me too well. Now, you'd all better dash off to the dining hall for something to drink, but hurry back so you won't be late:' Most of the women were picking up their handouts and moving to the exit. To me, Tony said, "How much longer?"

  "Let me just pack all this up:'

  "I'll help."

  Without apology or bothering to turn off the computer, he reached down and unplugged it. A squawk stuck in my throat. I couldn't get it out before he started rolling up the power cord. I was stunned. I'd never known Tony to be rude before.

  He kept on smiling as he called out to the backs of the women, "Oh, and Barb is in the office selling TonyCraft kits of the project we're going to make. To get the best ones, you'd better grab yours now."

  Sande's eyes were wide with astonishment at what he was doing, but Tony seemed completely oblivious to how offensive his behavior was. He just kept on unplugging things as if this had been his demonstration.

  "I'll help Kitzi," Sande said, snatching a printer cord from his hands. "So you can do whatever—"

  "No need," he said. "I've already got it." He closed the computer and placed it on top of the printer.

  The few remaining women were fingering the samples one more time, not paying a lot of attention to us.

  "I'll leave the samples on the bar so you can study them later," I said, doing my best to act as if I weren't really pissed off at Tony's interference. "And thank you all for coming."

  "Don't forget, snacks in the dining hall," Tony said.

  "And you need to hurry because I'll be ready for you in ten minutes."

  He picked up the printer and laptop, and practically shoved them at me. "Here you go. All done." He set the few remaining papers on top.

  "Excuse me," I said. "Who gave you the right—"

  "Better smile."

  A few stragglers were still going out the door, so I lowered my voice. "You little jerk! That was just about as rude as anyone can get, and I don't appreciate—"

  "You don't seem to understand," he snapped. "Some of us make our living selling things, and I can't sell kits if you're going to hog the demonstration time."