1 Through a Glass, Deadly

by Sarah Atwell

  And was awakened by a shaft of sunlight hitting me in the eye. I peeled my head off the table and checked the time. Shoot—after eight. Nessa should be arriving shortly, and I had to brief her before we opened for the day. I struggled out of my chair and headed for the shower.

  I made it downstairs in time to find Nessa unlocking the front door. She took one look at me and said, “You look like something the cat dragged in. What’s up?”

  I groaned. “You don’t want to know—but you have to.” I outlined what had happened the night before, as succinctly as I could.

  Nessa’s reaction was heartwarming. “Of course that poor girl couldn’t have done any such thing. The idea!” She cast a quick glance around the shop. “So nothing was taken, nothing broken?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think this was anything like a robbery, although I’m damned if I know what to call it. But I’m afraid that Allison has to be involved somehow, even if she doesn’t know why. Anyway, that’s what she says. At least Matt should be looking out for her.”

  Nessa’s expression changed. “You saw Matt?”

  “Yes, I did. And don’t look at me like that. This is a murder, and the FBI is interested in the dead guy for some reason. Of course Matt’s involved—he’s the police chief, isn’t he?” I didn’t know why I felt defensive—I hadn’t done anything to bring about the meeting. But Nessa had been around when he and I had been . . . what? Together? No, that was overstating it. Thinking about being together? Maybe. But she had never approved of his presence in my life—and she had been the one to hold me together with tea and sympathy when I’d sent him packing. “No, I didn’t call him. I just went to the police station to see what had happened to Allison, and there he was.”

  Nessa made a sound that was as close to a “humph” as I had ever heard anyone say. I ignored her. “Look, odds are we’ll see the press snooping around today. I’d really appreciate it if you could deal with them, but I’m sure some of them will insist on talking to me.”

  “And where do you plan to be?” she said primly.

  “I’ve got to clean up the studio, but then I promised I’d collect Allison from the police station, assuming they haven’t clapped her in irons or something.” I didn’t add that I wanted to spend a little time finding out as much as I could about the mysterious Jack Flannery. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to, since I had plenty of things to keep me busy—things that paid my mortgage and put food on my table—but I had to satisfy my own curiosity. If somebody died on my property, I felt I had every right to know why.

  “Do you still want Allison to work here?” Nessa asked.

  “Of course.” The vehemence of my response startled me. But Allison needed a friend, and probably needed the money, and I’d already made the offer. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Good,” Nessa said mildly, and went back to sorting bills in the register. “Let me know when you want me to show her around.”

  Almost nine now, and I still had to sort out my work space. “I’ll be in the studio for a bit, and then I’ll head over to the station. Will you be all right here?”

  “Don’t you worry,” she said serenely.

  I wasn’t worried. Nessa may look like a sweet grand-mother, but she’s one tough cookie when she has to be. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door to the studio.

  I paused on the threshold, surveying my domain. The furnace was dark and cold (relatively), but at least the body was gone—leaving behind only a chalk outline. Did I have to leave it there? Otherwise things were in pretty good shape—only a few tools out of place, some of the glass pieces jumbled, and a few blotches of fingerprint powder. It didn’t take me long to straighten things out. I hesitated for a long moment in front of the fatal furnace: I still couldn’t bring myself to relight it. I decided I should check with the police, just to make sure they didn’t want to run any more tests. And I knew that was the coward’s way out. Instead I filled a crucible and fired up my second furnace to start the glass heating.

  At least I felt better: I had already checked two items off my mental list. Time to go retrieve Allison. I went back to the shop to tell Nessa to call a locksmith for the back door, then headed out back to get the car. The drive to the police station took longer than it had the night before, because the streets had filled with people. I saw a news van pass, and wondered whether Nessa was ready to handle the press if they showed up. Probably better than I was, at the moment—my brain was still working in fits and starts.

  At the station I recognized the desk sergeant this morning. “Hi, Mariana. Long time, no see.”

  Mariana, a thirtysomething bottle blonde who I knew for a fact could wrestle a drunk to the floor in under thirty seconds, smiled in welcome. “Em! How long has it been? I guess you’ve been keeping out of trouble, eh? What brings you here this morning?”

  “Allison McBride.”

  I would have been amused at the array of expressions that raced across Mariana’s face—except that they didn’t bode well for Allison.

  “Oh, jeez—I didn’t make the connection. That was your place? Of course it was! Dead guy cooked in a furnace. Small world, eh?”

  Was she stalling? “Is Allison here?”

  Mariana carefully erased any facial expression. “You’ll have to talk to Chief Lundgren about that.”

  “What’re you saying?” I was having trouble keeping up.

  “I can’t release any information about that subject. Let me call the chief.” She turned quickly and picked up the phone. I stared at her, trying to figure out what the heck was going on. I hadn’t made any progress when Matt appeared.

  He came up beside me and took my arm. “Outside.”

  He said nothing more until we were standing on the front steps—out of earshot of anyone else. I was beginning to get mad. “Okay, pal, what’s happening? Is Allison here? Or did the almighty Agent Price drag her off to some undisclosed location so he can beat her up with rubber hoses?”

  “I don’t think they use those anymore,” Matt replied with a hint of amusement. “Calm down—I sent Allison home a couple of hours ago.”

  I felt a surge of relief. “Great! But why couldn’t Mariana just tell me that?”

  “Because Agent Price told us in no uncertain terms that none of us should say word one about Jack Flannery or Allison McBride or anything else remotely related to this whole event.”

  “You might have told me or Nessa, since she’s no doubt regaling the press with the story as we speak— although she doesn’t know very much. And neither do I. What’s going on?”

  Matt didn’t answer immediately. “Em . . . I’m afraid I’m going to have to go along with Agent Price on this one.”

  “What?” Apparently my lack of sleep was affecting my emotional control as well as my critical faculties. “Come on, pal—the man died under my roof, and I can’t ask questions?”

  “It’s for your own safety, Em. The less you know about this, the better.”

  “What about Allison?”

  “What about her?”

  “Is she free to go? Is she in any danger? Am I in any danger?” I think I was about to become hysterical, and made a superhuman effort to rein in my emotions.

  Matt just looked frustrated. “Em, I hope you know that if I thought you were in danger, I’d do something about it. And Agent Price has made it very clear that Allison McBride is his responsibility, period. There’s not a lot I can do.”

  “If you want to keep your job,” I muttered. Either he didn’t hear me or he ignored the comment. Then my thinking caught up with what he had said, and I felt warmed that he had given a thought to my safety. I quickly squashed the feeling. “I offered her a part-time job. Are you or the high-and-mighty Agent Price going to say I can’t do that?”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, under the circumstances.”

  “Look, but—you’ve seen her. Allison has no friends around here, and she needs to work for a living. I made the offer and
I’m sticking to it. And I’m going over to her place now to tell her just that. Stick that in your hat and smoke it.” I realized I was making less and less sense, and I thought it was time to beat a retreat before I became completely incoherent.

  But I couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Give my regards to Lorena,” I tossed over my shoulder as I went down the stairs.

  “The divorce was final last January,” he said quietly.

  At least, that’s what I think he said. I debated turning around and asking him to explain, but my feet had other ideas and kept walking. Nessa’s disapproval was still ringing in my ears. And I wanted time to think about what it might mean if Lorena was really no longer in Matt’s life. So, like an idiot, I just kept walking to my car, got in, started the engine, and headed for Allison’s apartment.

  Chapter 7

  chill marks: visible indentations or cracks on blown/ solid glass, left by cold tools or gloves (Edward T. Schmid, Beginning Glassblowing)

  I willed myself to think about nothing as I drove from the police station to Allison’s apartment near the university. It didn’t take much effort. Every time I started on a thread, it petered out into a tangle of knots. Or a dead end. Even my metaphors weren’t making sense. But I knew I had to talk with Allison.

  During the day, most of the student population was somewhere else, so her apartment complex was quiet and parking was easy. I got out of the car and headed toward Allison’s end apartment, but before I got there I caught sight of her red gold curls. She was huddled in a chair by the pool in the center of the complex, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. The thought drifted through my mind that if she had really wanted to avoid detection, she should have changed her hair color first. But with that glorious mane, who could blame her for keeping it? As I approached I was drawn toward the ratty recliner, but given my current sleep deficit, I decided that a chair was a better bet if I wanted to stay awake for this conversation. I grabbed one and pulled it closer to Allison’s.

  “They let you go,” I said. Nothing like stating the obvious.

  She nodded. “They did, but they said I couldn’t leave Tucson. Not that I have anywhere else to go.” She sniffed, obviously fighting back tears. I wanted to hug her hard and tell her everything was going to be just fine, but I didn’t actually believe it myself. I realized she was still talking. “And I lost my job, at least one of them, because I didn’t get there in time for my shift. What’m I going to do, Em?”

  “You’re going to work for me, that’s what. That’s why I came over.” That and an obstinate curiosity about what the heck was going on, which had led to a dead man in my furnace. “Thanks to all the publicity this little brouhaha is going to generate, I’m going to need extra help in the shop.”

  I had meant to hit a light note, but Allison stared at me in dismay. “Oh, Em—I never meant . . .”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said firmly. “It’s not your fault. Keep repeating that to yourself, will you? Not . . . your . . . fault.”

  “But it has to be, doesn’t it? If I hadn’t been such a foolish child and married Jack, none of this would have happened.”

  “Allison, it was a long time ago, and there was no way you could have known. Water under the bridge. We’ve got to deal with the ‘now’ and see what we can salvage. Did you learn anything from the FBI?”

  “Me?” She looked startled. “Why would they tell me anything? But they think I know things that I don’t. They can’t believe that I never knew what Jack was doing, all those years.”

  I turned that statement over in my mind. Allison had grown up in a traditional Catholic community in Ireland, and even red, white, and blue American Agent Price probably had no concept of what it was like to be an old-fashioned obedient wife. Still, now was not the time to argue female emancipation and women’s rights. “Just keep telling them the truth—that’s all you can do. And you might find you know more than you think.”

  Allison looked away, staring at the still water in the pool. “Em . . . that agent told me I shouldn’t talk to anyone about this, and I think he meant you. There’s nobody else I could talk to anyway. He was pretty clear about it.”

  “Yeah, and Matt told me the same thing—keep my nose out of it. Which he should know would just make me dig harder.”

  “And why would he know that?” Allison’s voice held a sly hint of teasing. Well, at least that was better than self-pity. I wondered how I should answer her question, and decided I was too tired to fudge the story.

  “We were seeing each other, back a few years.” Three, Em.

  “And did things not work out?”

  “You might say that. He had a wife.” At Allison’s stricken expression, I hurried to explain. “They were separated at the time, and he said they were getting a divorce. I believed him. I know, old story, yadda yadda. And then the wife popped up again from wherever she’d been and announced that she wanted to try again to make it work. And he agreed. And I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Em, who’m I to judge you? And I know things here aren’t what they were like when I was a girl.” A short pause. “Is it hard now, seeing him again?”

  “It was a surprise, I’ll tell you that. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might be handling this case—I just went down there to make sure they were treating you right. But it’s not all bad news. I can tell you he’s an honest cop and a good man, and he’ll do right by you. And I think he’s not too happy to have the FBI tramping through his territory, which makes him a little more willing to help you. Us.” I wasn’t quite sure now what his motivation was, but I figured it had to work in our favor. “Although he gave me the same line this morning: Butt out.”

  “It might be for the best, you know.”

  I turned the chair to face her squarely. “Allison, let me get this straight right now. I’ve worked hard to establish myself in my business, and here in Tucson. I take it very personally when somebody decides to dump a body in my workshop. So I’m not going to sit back and let the big guys handle it. I don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong, but just because it was your husband, you’re already in it. I’m going to do whatever I can to get this whole thing cleared up so we can both go on with our lives.”

  Allison finally found a smile. “Bless you. Do you think you can help?”

  I almost giggled, which proved just how tired I was. “Darned if I know, but it beats doing nothing. But don’t expect too much—I am but a humble artisan plying my trade. Maybe the best I can do is poke Matt now and then if it looks like he’s dropping the ball. Although I’m sure he’ll be glad to get Agent Price out of his hair as fast as possible.”

  We sat for a moment, basking in our self-satisfaction, not to mention the warm sun—until I realized that Allison would probably burn to a crisp in short order, and I still had a business to run. I stood up before I could doze off.

  “So, you have a plan for the day?”

  Allison shaded her eyes and looked up at me. “I thought I’d get some sleep—I only came out here because my phone kept ringing, but it seems to have stopped.”

  “Unplug it. It’s probably reporters.”

  “And I’ve still got a shift at my other job tonight, so I should go there.”

  “Good. You need to keep busy, instead of just hiding in your apartment. And you can come by the shop tomorrow morning, and Nessa will get you started. All right?”

  As if energized by my words, Allison stood up as well, and then impulsively hugged me. “That’s grand. I’ll be there, Em. And thank you—for everything.”

  “I’m just trying to help. See you tomorrow.”

  I turned and marched to my car. As I opened the door, I waved at Allison as she disappeared into her apartment. In the driver’s seat, I congratulated myself on having accomplished at least one important thing today: cheering Allison up. It was a start.

  I drove back to the studio and parked. Even in my dazed state I could see that the lock had been repaired— thank heavens for efficie
nt Nessa. I made my way around to the front of the building, keeping a wary eye out for the press. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed when I found the coast was clear. Nessa looked up and smiled when I slipped through the door.

  “Hello, Em,” she said placidly.

  There were only two browsers in the store, tourists from the look of them, but they could overhear anything we said. “How are things going, Nessa?”

  “Oh, just fine. We’ve had a few inquiries by phone, but no guests.”

  I interpreted that to mean that the press had not yet made the connection, although I had no doubt they would appear at some point. “That’s good. I’ve invited our friend to come by in the morning so you can show her around.”

  “Ah. So she’s not staying with . . . those other friends?”

  This cryptic talk was giving me a headache. “No, they didn’t ask her to stay. Listen, do you mind if I go upstairs and crash for a while? I have a feeling that if I tried to do anything right now, I’d just make a mess of it.”

  “Not a problem, dear. I think I can handle things.” Nessa smiled at the tourists, who didn’t look terribly interested in buying anything.

  “Thank you. I’ll be down before closing. Let me know if there’s anything urgent.” Like another body. Ha. I went back out and then up the stairs to my home.

  When I let myself in, Fred and Gloria went so far as to pick up their heads to make sure it was me, then flopped down again. The excitement of the night before must really have exhausted them. I know it had exhausted me. I made a beeline for my bed, and I think I was asleep before I was horizontal.

  I awoke about six hours later, starving. While I slept, the pups had made their way to my bedroom, but had respected my unconscious state, for which I thanked them. I lifted each one onto the bed and we had a very satisfying cuddle while I ran over in my mind what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Fact: John Flannery was dead. Very dead. Fact: Allison had been married to him, but said she had not seen him for two years. Fact: The FBI was very interested in the late John Flannery. Why? Fact: The FBI was not going to tell me why.