High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series)

by Janice Peacock

  Yet another woman, this one wearing so many bracelets it was a wonder she could move her arms at all, squeezed in close. “Do you think you could make me a matching set like this, but in purple?”

  Dylan was experiencing his first bead-buyers’ feeding frenzy. A half-dozen women were attempting to nab the best beads before their friends could, all of them trying to get his attention. Dylan, standing a full head taller than the rest of the crowd, was having trouble figuring out which woman he should help first.

  “Uh, yes, it’s hollow. And, uh, I have one more like that one with the swirls around here somewhere. And, yes, I could make some more like that in purple.”

  This led to another frenzy of activity in which the bead ladies, all realizing he could do custom orders, started shouting out what they’d like him to make for them. He recommended which beads would be good for various projects, and was quite a salesman. Finally the frenzy died down. In the course of an hour, he sold out of his entire stock of beads, and took orders for more. He seemed delighted with his success.

  As Dylan was getting ready to go, Tracy came downstairs and into the gallery. She saw Dylan and stopped in her tracks. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Tracy turned and ran back up the stairs. Dylan returned to his work and said nothing, his head bowed, and a grim look on his face. This time I knew I was seeing more than just an awkward moment, as I’d seen with Dylan and Rosie. This was full-fledged recognition, in which both parties seemed distressed. I was certain of that.

  “Dylan, what just happened there?” I asked.

  “I tried to tell you at the party, Jax, but I just never had the right moment. And then Rosie got hurt, and I didn’t see you again until now.”

  I stood there, hands on my hips, looking at him silently. Waiting to hear what he had to say.

  “Tracy was my girlfriend. I loved her very much. She moved away, and I never heard from her again. The end.” Dylan tried to shrug it off, but he was doing a terrible job of convincing me he didn’t care.

  “Geez! Dylan,” I said, ready to scream at him. Actually, I may have been screaming at him. “When was this?”

  “About five years ago, when we graduated from high school. We’d been together for a couple of years. She was the love of my life, ya know? Then Rosie dragged her away to Spokane so Tracy could go to college. I’d email her and call her, but she’d never respond. I figured she’d found some new college guy, and didn’t want me anymore.”

  “And Rosie, what did she think of seeing you in her shop?”

  “When I saw her at the party, I don’t think she recognized me. I thought she looked familiar, and then when you said her name, I figured it out. When Tracy and I were together, I really didn’t go over to their house. I was never sure if that was because Tracy was scared of her mother and didn’t want to upset her by bringing me home, or if she didn’t want her mom to scare me away.”

  “But you must have known they had moved back. How could you have not known?”

  “Look, I lost track of them. Tracy didn’t want to be in touch. I had given up and moved on. I’d seen the new bead store, but the application for the show went to that JOWL lady, so I never really needed to come in here, you know? The first time I was here was at the party,” said Dylan.

  I was taking this all in. “Wow, Dylan.” All I could say was, “Wow.” I certainly didn’t see this coming. So far this weekend had been filled with one shock after another.

  “Just now, that was the first time I’ve seen Tracy since we graduated from high school.” He reached up and scratched the edge of one of his green eyes. It might have been a tear.

  “It didn’t seem like she was happy to see you.”

  “No, not at all,” he said, sounding heartbroken.

  “Oh, Dylan, I’m sorry. You must have been devastated. What happened after she left?”

  “I spent a lot time trying to forget her, trying to feel no pain. In not good ways, you know? It got so bad my parents threw me out. I thought I had gotten over her back then, but I guess not.”

  And with that, Dylan finished filling his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and slid out the door.

  I found Tessa sitting on the back patio, talking with The Twins.

  “Excuse me, Tessa, we need to go and take care of that thing.” I was trying to be discreet, to get her away from Sara and Lara without spilling the shocking news I’d just received from Dylan.

  “Thing? What thing?”

  Gah! Tessa, work with me here.

  “You know, that important thing we talked about earlier,” I said, reaching over and subtly pinching her on the back of the neck.

  “Ow! Oh, right, I almost forgot,” said Tessa, unconvincingly.

  We headed out the gate and down the alley, now cleared of the crime-scene tape. A brand new dumpster had replaced the one where I had found Misty. All traces of her murder had been erased, except from my memory. We walked to Starbucks and as we did, we filled each other in on what we’d found out.

  Tessa went first. “I had a long talk with Sara and Lara. Those two told me how much they hated Rosie.”

  “Did they say why?” I asked.

  “Something about her not respecting their work.”

  “Yes, that sounds like something they’d say,” I said.

  “But really, they don’t like anyone, so I don’t think they singled out Rosie,” concluded Tessa.

  “But Tessa, listen to this.” I told her what I had just witnessed with Dylan and Tracy.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” We stopped in the alley. Tessa was stunned, and it didn’t seem like she could walk and think at the same time. I pulled her along. I was on a mission: coffee.

  “Tessa, can you go back and talk with Tracy about the Dylan situation?”

  “Me? What about you?”

  “Well, Tracy is unhappy with me right now. She kind of caught me on her balcony, snooping around.”

  “What?”

  “You see, I was out in the backyard and I saw this piece of beading wire on the underside of the balcony, and I went up to check it out. You know, looking for clues to help my best friend not get arrested for murder.”

  “Good!”

  “But while I was there, Tracy came home and caught me. She thought I was returning to the scene of the crime.”

  “Bad!”

  “So that’s when I went to the hospital to see Rosie.”

  “Good!”

  “Except Rosie thinks I strangled her. I know. You don’t have to say it. ‘Bad!’”

  “Doesn’t Tracy think I tried to kill her mom?” Tessa asked. “It seems like that’s what she told Detective Grant.”

  “I’m not sure what Tracy is thinking now, especially having just seen Dylan. Can you please talk with her?” I gave Tessa my most pathetic, pleading grimace.

  “Okay, but you owe me one.”

  By now, we’d gotten to the coffee shop, and I’d ordered a grande latte for me, and a shot of espresso for Tessa. How that woman could survive on so little caffeine amazed me.

  “Notice I am buying your drink, Tessa.”

  “That’s not enough. When this whole thing is over, I want you to buy me several proper drinks. You know, the kind with alcohol in them.”

  “Absolutely, Tessa. I’ll have a few, too.”

  We walked back to Aztec Beads in silence. Tessa and I needed to put each of the facts together one by one, like beads on a strand. And we needed to find the bits that were missing so we could finish our project—a project we didn’t choose, but needed to complete.

  Tessa headed up the outside staircase, giving me a long backward glance as she went.

  I closed the gate to the patio and was struck with the vision of Dylan walking in through this gate last night at the party. Dylan had been in the alley around the time Misty was murdered. I had no idea what it meant, if anything, but it certainly didn’t look good for Dylan, because there was absolutely no reason for him to have been in the alley, other than what was l
ikely the truth: He simply wanted to sneak in and avoid the crush of people.

  I wandered into the classroom to see what was happening. My poor brain was on overload, and I thought it might be fun to see part of a class, since I’d not seen much so far.

  “And now we have Marta and her dog collars,” Judy announced from the front of the room. She applauded, and Marta began her presentation.

  I stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall.

  “Hello there, Jax, great to see you survived last night,” Allen said as he sidled up close to me, and gave me a warm smile. I was glad he was being so friendly, and that my heroics from last night hadn’t scared him away. Maybe that quick view of my Spanx was enough to make him want to see more, although I seriously doubted it. I turned and smiled at him. He was a bit of sunshine in my otherwise cruddy day. I really wanted to talk with him, but Marta was getting started, so we had to keep quiet.

  “First of all, for our very, very special friends, we do not call them dog collars,” Marta said, giving Judy a cold glance. “That is just so insulting. I call them ‘dog jewelry.’”

  Allen and I looked at each other skeptically.

  “Our most popular items are dog necklaces. Some doggies will wear bracelets. But we find they just want to chew them off.”

  “I would,” Allen whispered.

  I tried not to laugh as Marta continued.

  “We are also looking into a line of microchip piercings for an edgier look.”

  Allen raised his hand. “Can you explain what that means?” I couldn’t tell if he was having fun, or really wanted to know what she was talking about.

  “You know how you can get a little microchip put under a dog’s skin so the owner can be located if the dog gets lost? I am working with a vet so we can make a fashion statement out of those microchips. The little piece of silicon can be embedded into a pierced earring with a big rhinestone on it.”

  “Or, maybe a metal stud for the butch dogs, like a Doberman,” Allen suggested, playing along.

  “Exactly,” Marta said enthusiastically. I had to turn away and pretend to cough so I didn’t break out laughing.

  “We are also developing a line of tail decorations.”

  Ew.

  “Doesn’t that get too close, you know, to the bodily functions?” I asked, as appropriately as possible.

  “Yes, well, that has been a challenge, and we are still working on it. That’s why, for now, I’m focused on the necklaces. For today’s demonstration, I’ll be showing you how to make a cute little charm for your dog to wear around his or her neck.”

  Marta proceeded to show us how to use wire to make a charm by stacking a series of beads together and then making a loop at the top.

  “And you’re done! Easy, right?” Marta said, and everyone in the audience gave a respectful few claps.

  As others had done, Marta spent some time after her workshop talking with potential customers at the front of the classroom. “My basic necklace design has a series of four glass beads, two on each side of the identification tag. I have several different designs to choose from: paw prints, flowers, bones, and hearts. Each of these is sewn to a high-quality fabric ribbon. Then, I add other adornments to the necklace, like pressed beads from the Czech Republic, Japanese seed beads, and semi-precious stones.”

  “How much does one of these ‘necklaces’ cost?” Allen asked.

  “The custom orders cost $275. And the ‘off the shelf’ version that contains one of each of the handmade bead designs is a bargain at $175,” Marta said earnestly.

  “A bargain,” I whispered into Allen’s ear.

  “Do you have any idea how many minutes that collar would last on my black lab?” Allen asked me quietly.

  “Ten minutes?”

  “Max.”

  “In addition to the dog jewelry,” Marta continued, “I make individual beads of many of the most popular dog breeds. I’ve got a sample of some of them on my display pedestal. They’re only $100, and for an additional fee, I can customize the bead to look like your own animal companion,” said Marta, with a broad smile.

  We wandered over to look at the glass dog beads. They didn’t look good. All of them were too melted and droopy, like they had been in a hot torch for too long.

  “I think she should stick to the dogs with lots of wrinkles, you know, all the hounds, shar-peis, maybe some bulldogs,” I whispered, examining what was supposed to be a chocolate lab, but looked more like a Hershey’s Kiss.

  “Maybe she just needs some lessons from you,” Allen said, as he looked over my shoulder at the beads.

  “Oh, flattery will not get you anywhere.” Although what I was really thinking was that flattery could actually get him almost anywhere with me.

  “Damn, I thought that might work,” Allen said, giving my shoulders a soft squeeze.

  Marta came hustling over to me. “Oh, Jax, some doggie-lovers want to take me out to dinner, so I won’t be home for a while.”

  “What about Stanley?”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine. Just take him out once or twice to do his you-know-what. Okay?”

  “I don’t really—”

  “Oh, Jax, really, thanks.”

  I watched through the front window of the shop as Marta toddled off toward her SUV with a couple of bead ladies.

  “How are you feeling after last night? How is Rosie?” Allen asked.

  “Rosie is still in the hospital and recovering, but I’m a wreck. Did you hear about the young beadmaker, Misty?”

  “I want to hear all the updates. Seems like great deal has happened since I saw you speed away in the ambulance last night.” That was an understatement.

  “How about I invite myself over and cook you dinner?” Allen asked.

  “That would be great,” I said. I’d never had a guy make food for me. Jerry ordering pizza, slicing it, and putting it on a paper plate didn’t qualify as cooking, in my mind.

  “You go home and relax, and I’ll come by later with some groceries. Do you need a lift?”

  “No, I’ve got my car. See you around 7:00?”

  It felt great to have a man want to hear about my day and to feed me. I could get used to that.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Once I got home, I stripped off my clothes, and was tempted to throw them away like I had the night before. Instead, I aimed them at the hamper. If I kept throwing my clothing away after every traumatic event, I’d soon have nothing left to wear.

  I showered, gave my hair the world’s fastest blow-dry, and once again was faced with the dilemma of what to wear. Do I wear something fancy? That was probably not the best thing, since Allen was just coming over to make dinner. If I wore what I usually did when I was hanging around at home, he’d be pretty unimpressed with my oldest jeans and a big floppy t-shirt. I put on some cute black stretchy pants. Some people would call these yoga pants. However, since I’ve never done yoga in them, and had no plans to do yoga in them, I think it is rather misleading to call them “yoga pants.” I added a silky purple top—long enough to cover my backside without looking frumpy—and, of course, a fabulous necklace. I chose a long silver chain with a pendant. It was deep purple and covered with dots, each one looking like a small bull’s-eye.

  A few minutes before seven, I headed down the hall, passing the guest room. I could hear Stanley snoring inside. I lay down on the sofa to rest my eyes. It had been a long couple of days, with not enough sleep.

  When the doorbell rang, I jumped up, startled. This had been a weekend of being wrenched from sleep by the doorbell. I tried to smooth myself out before I answered it.

  “Pike Place Market! I never get tired of going there.” Allen dropped his leather messenger bag on the floor by one of my kitchen table’s big claw-footed legs, then plopped two bags on the counter containing the ingredients for our dinner. “I love all of the beautiful displays of fruits and vegetables. The fish-sellers throwing salmon around! Oh, and the flowers,” Allen said enthusiastically, as he whipp
ed out a beautiful bouquet of vibrant spring flowers from of one of the bags. “I thought you could use something to cheer you up after a difficult couple of days.”

  “Oh thank you, Allen,” I said giving him half of a hug. Oh, he smelled good, like spearmint. In a good way. Not in the “crazy woman’s cat dumped catnip-laced mojito on me” way. I retreated to the china hutch to see if I could find a vase for the flowers. I was glad I’d turned away from Allen because I was feeling flushed at that moment.

  Just relax and have fun.

  That’s what Val would say. She’d say more than that, but I told that little voice inside my head to behave itself. I wished my kitchen was nicer than it was, with its funky old cabinets looking like they’d be more suited for a garage than someone’s home. I’d tried to jazz up the kitchen with a glass mosaic backsplash, but glass will only go so far in turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse. The image of a pig wearing big earrings made of sparkling beads made me smile, and then, finally, I was able to relax and turn back to Allen, with the flowers now in a pretty art glass vase.

  He pulled out a nice bottle of zinfandel from one of the bags. “Finally, we get to have our bottle of wine.” He opened the drawer next to my fridge and pulled out the opener. I looked at him quizzically, hard to believe he was feeling so at home in my kitchen, and that he, like Gumdrop, had psychic powers.

  “I made drinks in this kitchen a couple of nights ago, remember? I found the wine opener right next to the muddler.”

  “The muddler you used to mash the catnip?” I asked, trying to smile after such a catastrophe. He must have recovered because he was here at my house once again. I was glad we could joke about it.

  “And your cat, is he going to come and attack me for some random reason tonight?”

  “Gumdrop disappeared! He ran away, or is really good at hiding. I’m not sure which.”

  “I hope he wasn’t traumatized after his frenzy with me, or maybe that should be on me.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was because a dog moved in for the weekend, and well, Gumdrop doesn’t like dogs.”

  I found two wineglasses that actually matched and had no chips in them, and poured the wine.