1 Through a Glass, Deadly

by Sarah Atwell

  Matt was at least kind enough not to laugh in Cam’s face. “That’s very nice of you, Cam, but are you prepared to handle the kind of person who trashed Allison’s room? Or someone, or more than one someone, who’s armed? And presumably has already killed once?”

  Matt must have been reading my mind. Cam seemed to shrink, just a little.

  “Look, both of you—if having me keeping an eye on you makes you uncomfortable, I can assign a uniform. Em, I assume you’re going to be in the shop or the studio during the days, and there are lots of people around there, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I can post someone outside this building at night. Just in case. While the FBI figures out what’s going on.” He turned a basilisk eye at Agent Price.

  “And how long might that take?” I asked.

  “Give me a few days to see what I can turn up,” Price snarled.

  I did some laborious mental math. This was Friday— well, technically, the wee hours of Saturday morning. We had decided that Allison would stay with me here. Cam was already staying with me. Where was I going to put everyone? No, worry about that later. Weekends in the Warehouse District were busy, and we could easily stay visible or surrounded by lots of nice, harmless tourists. After the weekend . . . well, that was a long time away. Tomorrow is another day—right, Scarlett?

  “All right,” I said firmly. “The Tucson police will make sure we stay alive while the FBI whiz kids figure out what you missed the first time around. We will promise to stay together and in plain sight. You will sort this out quickly, I hope? Because some of us have lives, you know.” I stopped, because I wasn’t making a lot of sense. I wasn’t sure who I was madder at—Pompous Price or Matt, whom I’d managed to do without for quite some time now, thank you very much. But if somebody really wanted to harm someone I cared about—and that included me—outside help would be good. I should just shut up and retreat gracefully—and try to figure out how many clean sheets I had.

  “Excellent,” Agent Price said as he stood up, and Matt peeled himself off the wall. “We’ll be going now.”

  I trailed the men to the door. “Oh, one last thing—you will share information with us, right?”

  Agent Price looked pained but finally nodded.

  I rewarded him with the best smile I could. “Thank you. And if we find out anything, or if Allison remembers anything, you’ll be the first to know.” I resisted shoving him out the door.

  Matt lingered for a moment, watching Agent Price retreat into the darkness. Then he turned to me. “I’m sorry, Em. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, or to them.” He nodded toward Em and Cam behind me. “And I’ll try to stay out of your hair. This isn’t what . . . never mind. Good night now—and lock your door.” Then he followed in Price’s footsteps.

  I stood in the doorway for a few moments, staring out at the city-dark where the men had disappeared. I was confused, frustrated, and tired, and I wished that I understood any part of what was going on, but things just kept getting murkier. Finally I went back inside the building, shutting the door behind me. Four pairs of eyes looked at me expectantly, but when Cam opened his mouth to speak, I stopped him.

  “No. No explanations, no discussions, not now. I’ve got to be in the shop in the morning, I’ve got a class in the afternoon, and I need my sleep. We are going to go to sleep now.” And maybe when we wake up, all will miraculously be made clear. Uh-huh. “Allison, you take the guest room, and you can have first crack at the bathroom. If you need something to wear, just ask. Cam, you get the couch, and you know where the sheets are.”

  Then I looked down. “You two—come with me. One last walk, and then we’re all hitting the sack. Got it, everyone?”

  I could have sworn they all nodded in unison. At least I’d bought myself some time, and maybe the FBI and the police department would have it all neatly wrapped up by morning.

  Why didn’t I believe that?

  Chapter 11

  at-the-fire: reheating a glass item at the glory hole to allow reworking or additional blowing into a larger or new shape (Phoebe Phillips, ed., The Encyclopedia of Glass)

  I awoke to the smell of bacon and the sound of low voices, male and female. One of each. No dogs in sight— traitors. I had slept like a log, despite bodies and break-ins. I checked my clock, but it was barely past seven, so I lay still, reviewing. Cam and Allison were out there, and obviously someone had found food. I knew for a fact that I had not had any bacon in the fridge or much else—I hadn’t been planning on multiple houseguests. Cam knew me well enough to know he was on his own. But how long would this go on?

  Saturday. Always one of my busiest days at the shop, with lots of foot traffic. And a class of intermediate students in the afternoon, most of whom wanted to try out skills that they weren’t ready for, although they didn’t like to hear that. In some ways they took more watching than the beginners. Allison could help Nessa out in the shop, which would give me a little more freedom to concentrate on the students.

  Nessa! I needed to bring her up to speed about what had happened at Allison’s place, and warn her to be on the lookout for suspicious characters. Although I wasn’t sure what a suspicious character would look like: My concept of a Mob thug, whatever his ethnic origin, was rather vague. But at least Allison and Nessa would be together, surrounded by plenty of people. And I had a hunch that Cam wasn’t going to stray too far from wherever Allison was. Maybe I could draft him to rearrange my storage area or something.

  Poor Cam—he’d fallen hard and fast. Like me, he seemed to have a gene that predisposed him to come to the aid of helpless and needy creatures. If his landlord hadn’t laid down the law, I’m sure he would have had an entire menagerie at his own apartment—balding cats, birds with broken wings, whatever. Did Allison fall into that category? She looked the part, but she had survived twenty years of a bad marriage with a mobster, and she had managed on her own for the last two years. She must have some steel somewhere in her.

  The bacon smell was driving me crazy, so I hauled my butt out of bed, grabbed some clean clothes, and ambled to the bathroom. My toilette consisted of scrubbing my face clean and combing my hair, so it didn’t take long before I was ready to face the lovebirds.

  “Morning, gang! Whatever it is, it smells wonderful.”

  Allison gave me a shy smile. “I hope you don’t mind—I woke early and I was hungry. But I had to send Cam out to get a few things—you didn’t have much on hand.”

  Was it my imagination, or did her voice linger on the “Cam” just a bit? “Sorry. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m not much of a cook.”

  “There’s coffee, and Allison made some kind of bread thing.” Cam looked proud. I knew he was as bad a cook as I was. Sometimes I wondered how we managed to keep ourselves alive—and as far as I knew, neither of us had ever had our cholesterol levels checked, out of fear of what we might find.

  I helped myself to coffee and took a seat. I cut myself a hefty wedge of the round loaf of bread, slathered it with butter, and bit into it. And almost swooned, it was so good. I restrained myself from exclaiming only because I didn’t want to lose any crumbs. When I had finally, regretfully, swallowed, I said, “Allison, this is great! I thought the Irish didn’t know how to cook. You must have been a chef somewhere along the way.”

  Allison pinked with pleasure. “Ah, it’s only an old recipe of my mother’s. And I did a bit of short-order cooking here and there.”

  I put off any serious discussion until after I had finished my first piece of bread and my first cup of coffee. And some bacon, half of which I shared with the dogs. But time was marching forward, and we needed to get organized for the day. “Okay, gang—plans. Allison, you’ll be in the shop today with Nessa. All right?”

  “That’s fine—I still have so much to learn.”

  “I can give you some books on glass, if you want, but you’ll learn more by watching, seeing the pieces, and asking questions. Nessa probably knows as much as I do, although she�
�s never tried making glass herself. Which reminds me—we’ll have to work out when you can fit in lessons.”

  Allison dimpled. “Oh, thank you, Em. I thought you might have forgotten, with all this other business.”

  “Nope. Although you may hate it, you know. It’s hot and sticky work, and it takes a while to produce anything recognizable.”

  “Don’t worry—I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  I turned to my brother. “Cam, you have any plans for the day?”

  He looked torn. “I wanted to get together with this guy from the university to talk about what I’m working on. We were going to have lunch, but if you’d rather I stayed closer . . .” He looked hopefully at me.

  “No, you go do what you need to do. We’ll be busy enough in the shop today, and we can all have dinner together. Only, if you want to eat in, I’ll have to find some food.”

  Cam and Allison exchanged glances, and Allison answered, “I’ll be happy to cook if you like. It seems only right, since you’re putting me up and all.”

  Cam looked as though he had been handed a gift. “And it’ll be easier to talk at home, without other people around.”

  “Assuming we have anything to talk about.” I shook myself. “Well, let’s hope the cops or the Feds come up with some news. All right. Allison, we can sort out who gets the groceries later. Cam, you’re going to lunch with your friend. And I warn you—if you hang around, I’ll put you to work.”

  “Not a problem.” He stood up and stretched. “Mind if I grab a shower?”

  “Go for it.” I waited until he had shut the bathroom door behind him before turning to Allison. “Listen, about Cam—”

  She immediately looked stricken, as if I’d snatched her toy away. “I’m sorry—if you don’t want . . .”

  “No, Allison. Relax. Cam’s a big boy and he’s unattached. If you two are . . .” I fumbled for a word, then gave up. “Whatever the two of you do is fine. But we’ve got to keep focused on what happened to Jack, and what the heck he was doing here. You told the police you had seen him at Elena’s, right?”

  Allison nodded. “I did. They’ll have looked there for . . . whatever?”

  “I assume. Shoot, I should talk to Elena and make sure she’s not pissed about having her place searched by the cops. But anyway—keep thinking, if Nessa gives you any time. There’s got to be some reason why Jack turned up in your life right now.”

  Allison stood up and started gathering plates. “It seems so strange, you know. I mean, I’ve been running from him for so long now, always looking over my shoulder. And when I did finally see him, at Elena’s, I couldn’t believe it. And then suddenly he’s dead, just like that. It’s hard getting used to it all.” She carried the dishes over to the sink.

  “Allison, I can’t begin to imagine what your life’s been like these last few years, but it will be different now.” With or without Cam, I added to myself. “You get to decide where you want to live, what you want to do. Go to school, if you like. Get a permanent job—one of those real ones, with benefits and pension plans and stuff.” Good advice, Em—which you’ve ignored for years. And what are you doing, planning out her whole life for her? “You’ve got plenty of options, but you don’t have to decide right away. If you want to stay in Tucson for the moment, I can help you get settled. Or”—a sudden thought struck me—“you wouldn’t want to go back to Ireland, would you?” If she did, better that Cam knew sooner rather than later.

  When Allison shook her head, I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or disappointed. “No, there’s nothing for me there, now that my mother’s gone. But thanks for the thoughts, Em—I’m lucky to have found a friend like you. And I’m sorry if I’ve brought any grief to you.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it. Things were getting too peaceful anyway.” I stood up and looked down at my feet, where two dogs peered up at me expectantly. “Okay, guys, time for your walk.” At the key word “walk” they started bouncing; then in tandem they headed for the door, where the leashes hung over the knob. “We’ll be back in ten, Allison, and then we can go down and open up.”

  “Grand.” She bent over the sink, washing the dishes. I could get to like this—having someone clean up after me. I hate doing dishes.

  When Allison and I finally wandered down to the shop, Nessa was already there, running a duster over the glass shelves and the glass objects on the shelves.

  “Nessa, let Allison do that. I need to talk to you.”

  Nessa gave me an odd look, then handed the duster to Allison and followed me into the studio. She waited patiently while I fired up the glory hole. “Something wrong, Em?”

  I sighed. “I think so. I don’t want to alarm you, but Allison’s apartment was broken into yesterday. I called the cops, and they dragged along the FBI, and the joint opinion was that we should all watch our backs. So I asked Allison to stay with me until this is cleared up. And Cam’s here for the weekend. I want you to keep an eye out for anybody who looks out of place, and let me know. And don’t hesitate to call the police if you’re really worried. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  Nessa looked concerned but otherwise unruffled. “This is related to the murder? And someone is looking for something?”

  I nodded, impressed at how quickly she’d made the connection. “It looks that way. It’s possible whoever it was found whatever they were looking for and went home, wherever home is. And, no, I don’t know what it is. But if they didn’t find it, apparently they think Allison has it, or knows where it is, so she’s the one I’m worried about. Just be alert, okay? It may be nothing.” I certainly hoped so.

  “I’ll be careful, dear. So . . . Cam’s staying with you.” Her mouth twitched.

  “Nessa! Don’t you start now. Yes, Cam’s here, and he knows what’s going on. And, yes, he took one look at Allison and now he’s following her around like a puppy. I’m trying hard not to think about it, because I don’t know what I think about it.”

  Her smile erupted. “They’re both adults, you know, even if they seem like the last innocents. That poor girl— sounds as though her husband was a thorough rat.”

  “No argument there. Well, we’d better get ready to open. You and Allison can handle the shop? I want to get some work in, and then there’s that class this afternoon. Oh, and I’ve got some errands to run at lunch. As Cam and Allison both pointed out, there’s not a whole lot to eat upstairs, and I need some groceries. And Allison can cook!”

  “That must be a real treat,” Nessa said drily. “You go on about your business—Allison and I will be fine. She’s a nice girl, I think, no matter what her life’s been like. Untouched, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, Ness. And I think I agree with you. So you don’t mind that I’ve taken her under my wing?”

  “Not at all.” Nessa went back to the shop, and I turned to my work space, plotting my day. Lots of tourists on the street, so maybe I’d try some showier pieces with lots of color—frits, maybe even some cane. . . . I lost myself in my work.

  Time flew by. Once, I looked up when Cam opened the door and said something about errands, then left. I could see plenty of traffic in the shop, and some faces pressed against the front windows of the studio. Sometimes I felt like an actor on a stage, and now and then even exaggerated my movements, added a few flourishes, playing to the audience. But the glasswork was unforgiving and didn’t allow for a lot of frills. Move quickly, or the glass would cool too rapidly. Move too quickly, and it wouldn’t hold its shape, sagging like an unruly sea anemone. Somewhere in between was just right, and I’d spent years learning to identify that pace. And I still loved it.

  By noon the smaller annealer was full of pieces. I had to leave the other annealer empty for the class’s output. I cleaned up my tools, then set out what was needed on the benches. I took a long drink of water and went into the shop. “Everything good?”

  “Just fine. Allison was just going to run out and pick up some sandwiches for us. Do you want anything?”


  “No—I’ll get something at the store. I should be back by one. Later!” I went out the front, then up the stairs to collect my purse. The dogs looked up eagerly when I came in, but I told them, “When I come back with the groceries, guys—then you can go out.” They drooped again.

  I stood on the upstairs landing for a moment, contemplating my options. I could walk to the local market, but it was small and didn’t have a lot of selection. Not that I had any idea what Allison would want to cook. But I knew I was out of a lot of things, so maybe this was a good time to take the car and really stock up at the big supermarket near the university.

  I had made it as far as the car when I realized that I’d be going past Allison’s apartment. Would the police have finished with it? I certainly hoped so: How long could it take to search one room with about three pieces of furniture? Em, what are you thinking? I opened my car doors to let the hot car air out, and removed the sunshade from the front. I realized that I wanted to take another look at the place. Why, Em? Because something about the search just didn’t sit right.

  I climbed into my car, turned on the AC immediately, and drove with deliberate care toward the supermarket— by way of Allison’s apartment.

  Chapter 12

  pacioffi: A wooden-tipped jack used to open pieces without leaving jack marks on the glass (Mike Firth, Glossary of Tools & Equipment for Glassblowing)

  I found a parking space on the street close to Allison’s apartment complex, turned off the engine, and sat without moving. There was no police tape at the apartment, and the door appeared to be latched shut rather than swinging in the breeze. I checked out the rest of the scene: As I had suspected, there was a gaggle of hard-bodied youngsters clustered around the pool. Even in October, youth will have its sun, skin cancer be damned. And I knew from experience that as a fortysomething woman I would be invisible to them.