To Bead or Not to Bead, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 4

by Janice Peacock

  Sweat beaded on my forehead as I ate a few more spoonfuls. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish the bowl. I grabbed the sourdough from the counter and cut a slice for each of us. “Here you go, this will be nice with the soup.” I hoped the bread would counteract the garlic.

  “Um, Val? You know with all this garlic, I’m not sure you’re going to find a single werewolf to hang out with tomorrow,” I said, teasing her.

  “Oh, but you’re wrong!” Val shook her head from side to side, as her red curls bounced right along with her.

  “I’m wrong about the werewolves? You’re actually going to hang out with some tomorrow during the full moon?”

  “Werewolves don’t care about garlic. It’s vampires who don’t like garlic! What I’ve heard is that werewolves love garlic because it makes their coat nice and shiny.”

  I decided it was time to move on. When Val got going on her strange topics, she could go on for hours.

  “You said you’re boyfriend-free right now? What happened to the massage therapist?”

  “He’s been gone for ages. He only wanted to give me massages.”

  “Sounds fantastic to me,” I replied, cutting more bread for us.

  “You know, he wasn’t my type. I need someone a little more…alive! He was on the mellow end of the spectrum. But it’s okay. I’ve got you and Gumdrop, and I’ve got Stanley, too.” Stanley was Val’s basset hound, who she adopted after his owner went to jail.

  “You most certainly do,” I said, as I continued to eat the soup, feeling like the odor of garlic was going to ooze from my pores for days to come. “Thanks for bringing over dinner. I’ve had a rough day.”

  “Why, sugarplum? What happened?”

  “Tessa and I are volunteering at the Chanticleer Theater next to Yesler Square. The owner turned up dead this morning. It was awful. Poor guy was killed by a chandelier.”

  “Well, that doesn’t make much sense,” Val said, sipping the last drop of soup from her spoon.

  “It does when the chandelier falls and squashes him—and cuts him to ribbons, I assume, because the fixture was made of glass.”

  “Ugh! If I hadn’t just eaten, that would have made me lose my appetite,” Val said, as she carried her bowl to the sink. “Well, you just let the police handle it, okay?”

  “You sound like Zachary. He told me the same thing. I promised not to meddle in the investigation.”

  “Well, darling, don’t you fret. It will all work out, I’m sure.” Val sashayed out the door, taking her soup tureen and her toxic soup with her.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, I went in search of Gumdrop. I hadn’t seen him all evening. That was odd, because usually when anyone was in the kitchen Gummie came running to see if there were any treats for him. My cat often made himself invisible when Val brought Stanley the basset hound over, but tonight he hadn’t come with her. I wondered if I’d find Val and Stanley on the front porch tomorrow night howling at the full moon. It wouldn’t surprise me if they did, and it wouldn’t really bother me, either. Heck, I might even join them.

  I found Gumdrop asleep on a big pile of beads on the worktable near the window by the back door of my studio. “Come on,” I said, picking up my fluffy, gray cat. I heard a rumble over the sound of beads rolling off the table and hitting the floor. It wasn’t a purr; it was a growl. Gummie looked up and glared at me with his big green eyes. He was unhappy and didn’t want to be moved. Carefully, I set him down on the workbench. I grabbed an old towel from a drawer and laid it out on the counter. Then I gently scooted him onto his makeshift bed, hoping he wouldn’t growl at me again.

  “All right, you big baby, now you can at least be comfortable.” I felt a slight breeze, and, realizing the window was open a smidge, reached under the blinds to close it. “There. Now you won’t get chilled,” I told my cat.

  Tessa called as I was getting ready for bed. She told me Daniel had called her to say we’d be allowed back into the Chanticleer in the morning, but that we’d have to work in the rehearsal space and not on the stage. We made a plan to meet there tomorrow, first thing.

  I climbed into bed, pulling one of my Great-Aunt Rita’s beautiful handmade quilts around me. I was glad to be here—in this bed, in this cozy house. As I fell asleep, I couldn’t help thinking about Mr. Greer—his death wasn’t an accident. I wondered if it was safe for us to be in the theater. Who could have killed Austin Greer and what motive would they have had? And while I agreed with Daniel that the show must go on, I wondered if it was worth the risk of being there. After all, a murderer had been in the Chanticleer Theater, and might still be there, ready to strike again.

  FIVE

  The following morning I went to the Chanticleer Theater to meet Tessa, as we’d agreed. Unsure whether the police would allow us in through the backstage door today, I decided to park on the street near the front entrance. As I walked to the theater, I passed a high-end clothing shop on the corner of Yesler Square. The proprietor of the boutique stood on the sidewalk, supervising a worker who was installing collapsible security gates across the front of the full-length windows outside.

  I stopped and looked in the windows. This was the kind of shop I loved, full of interesting clothing in unusual colors. The fabrics looked soft and the styles unfussy and unstructured—in other words, they looked comfy, yet elegant. What really stood out to me was that the store didn’t seem to have any jewelry for sale. As I stared at the store’s displays, I tried to figure out what kind of jewelry I would coordinate with these clothes. The owner, an impeccably-dressed woman about my age with an interesting asymmetrical haircut, made eye contact with me and smiled.

  “Excuse the chaos out here. Please come in,” the woman said, pushing the door open and inviting me into her store.

  “Sorry if I seemed to have been a bit spaced out. I was thinking about what kind of jewelry I’d wear with some of these outfits. Plus, I think I’m in desperate need of another cup of coffee,” I said, admiring a pair of cropped black pants and a fiery red tunic with a lovely drape to it.

  “Yes, it’s unusual that I don’t have any jewelry right now. Unfortunately, I’m between designers—the last one didn’t work out.”

  “Do you have someone else lined up? If not, we both may be in luck. I make my own glass beads and jewelry. Like this.” I removed the necklace I had on. It was one of my favorites, featuring a set of blue and white swirled glass orbs, strung together on silk cord.

  “Oh, I love this! It would work well with several outfits I have right now.” The woman held the necklace up to the denim shirtdress she was wearing. Looking in the mirror, she nodded her approval before handing it back to me.

  “I’d be happy to bring some samples by,” I said as I rummaged through my handbag looking for a business card. Finally, I found my card and handed it to her. “I’m Jax O’Connell. Here’s my contact information. I’ve got a website, too, so you can see images of my work.”

  “Thanks, and I’m Cassie Morton. I’ll check out your work online, and I look forward to seeing your work in person. And please, feel free to shop today.” She pressed her business card into my hand, and I tucked it into my purse.

  “I’d love to shop, but I need to stop by another day,” I said, heading for the door. “I’ve got to get over to the theater.”

  “The theater? Is there something going on over there?”

  “Oh, we’ve been rehearsing for an upcoming fashion show and benefit auction.”

  “No, I saw a lot of cop cars over there yesterday.”

  “The owner of the theater passed away.”

  “What timing,” Cassie muttered.

  “Excuse me? Did you know Mr. Greer well?”

  “Oh, nothing. I wish I could say I’ll miss Austin, but he was a bit of a thorn in my side.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t really know him.” I decided not to add that se
veral other people felt the same way or that it appeared Mr. Greer had died under suspicious circumstances.

  “I promise I’ll come back and shop again soon,” I said, as I left the boutique.

  • • •

  I passed through the theater lobby and into the house. It was quiet and dark onstage. This was where Austin Greer had died less than two days before. Shivers ran down my spine as I looked up to the spot on the ceiling where Vega’s glass chandelier had once hung. I swallowed hard and wished we’d never committed to continuing with the gala in light of what had happened here. Apparently, Daniel hadn’t started using his new ghost light yet, so I could only faintly make out the dim outline of the castle set pieces. As I walked by the rows of seats, I spotted Tessa standing near a side door at the bottom of the steps that led from the stage to the seats.

  “This way—the police won’t let us use the stage today, so we have to use the rehearsal space downstairs,” Tessa said.

  Inside the door were more steps leading down. I followed her down the staircase. While it had been eerily calm upstairs, it was a completely different story in the basement. Daniel was standing in the middle of the room trying—and failing—to get everyone’s attention. Tessa spotted the red bullhorn Frankie had been using the day before yesterday and grabbed it. Daniel, relieved of the challenge of bringing order to a group of teenage girls, slipped out the door at his first opportunity. I’m sure he had better things to do, and come to think of it, so did I, but Tessa would never forgive me if I bailed out on her now.

  “Everyone! Listen to me!” Tessa was bossy enough that everyone immediately stopped what they were doing as a hush fell over the room. “I’d like everyone to gather here with me in a circle. Now, first off, you’ve all heard of the terrible accident with Austin here at the theater. Now, without him, we’re all going to have to work extra hard to pull off this event,” Tessa told the gathered crowd. “I want everyone to please be careful. The theater is a dangerous place, and accidents can happen.”

  I didn’t correct her. I knew Austin’s death wasn’t an accident, but I didn’t want her or anyone else to panic.

  Frankie stood at the edge of the group, looking sullen and fretful. While Tessa continued her pep talk, I approached him.

  “This is the worst,” Frankie said with a grimace.

  “I know, it’s horrible, but I think we have to carry on,” I replied.

  “Tessa didn’t tell me I was going to be working with Austin Greer in the first place. Now he turns up dead. I can’t believe I ever said yes to doing this. I thought it might help me get some exposure and increase sales at my gallery.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” I said, trying to soothe Frankie. He was turning out to be quite a diva. He belonged in the theater.

  “Look—I don’t feel safe here. This whole thing is a disaster,” he said. “I should never have agreed to do this.”

  “But we are so glad you did. We really need you,” I said, patting Frankie’s shoulder encouragingly. I knew how he felt. Being in this theater, where Mr. Greer had died so violently, had given me the jitters, as well. But I had to wonder, was it theaters in general that worried Frankie, or was he concerned, perhaps, that the falling chandelier was meant for him, or was it something else entirely that was bothering him?

  “I don’t want to be the next one they’re taking to the morgue. Besides, I don’t think this is going to be the best thing for my brand at this point,” Frankie said, brushing my hand away.

  “You’re not quitting, are you?” I stood up as tall as possible to try and look fierce. I didn’t think it was working.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to try and continue. You two can’t run this thing. And I’m certainly not going to take it over—I’ve got far too much to do. I suggest you take my lead and shut this whole thing down.

  “We can’t do that. Think of all the people the money from this event will help. Think of the volunteers—”

  “I’ll make a donation. You should do the same, then you can go back to your studio and make some beads—you’re better at that anyway.”

  “Frankie, you can’t go. We need you.” My voice was getting a little loud for this confined space, but I was just about to lose my temper.

  “I’m leaving.” He was done, and there appeared to be no way to stop him.

  “Fine! You want to leave? Just go.” I’d lost my patience with this man. If he wanted to go, then good riddance.

  Frankie arched both of his well-groomed eyebrows in astonishment, turned, and headed up the stairs. Tessa saw him leave and broke away from her pep talk with the girls to ask me what was going on. I filled her in.

  “I’m sorry. I lost my cool,” I said.

  Tessa took off up the stairs in search of Frankie.

  “Wait! Frankie. Don’t go. We need you!” Tessa shouted, in hot pursuit. I followed along behind her, making apologetic sounds as we huffed up the stairs.

  Frankie stopped and turned around at the top of the steps, panting. “Your friend Jax doesn’t seem to agree. I refuse to stay where I’m not appreciated.” Frankie took a left at the top of the stairs and went into the dressing room. Tessa and I were hot on his heels. He grabbed his necklaces from the trays in the storage bins, jammed them into his leather satchel, and barged past us on his way to the lobby.

  “Wait! Frankie! You can’t take your jewelry! We need it for the event,” I shouted after him. But it was too late. He was gone, chugging out the door on feet that were too small for his broad frame.

  “Ugh! What are we going to do now?” I asked Tessa.

  She dropped onto a shabby loveseat in the dressing room.

  I sat down next to her. “We can’t quit, can we?”

  “No, of course not. We already told Jaya we’d raise the money for HAT. Think of all the homeless teens HAT can help, plus the girls will be so disappointed if we cancel.”

  “Looks like we’re going to need to find another emcee—preferably someone famous,” I said, knowing Tessa, as usual, was right. Quitting was for losers. We might not have known what in the heck we were doing, but we were definitely not losers. “Maybe I can ask Val if her Uncle Freddie is available.” Val’s uncle, Freddie “Boom Boom” Roberts, was an aging rock superstar who had recently moved to the area. Since he seemed to like me, I might be able to convince him to do a favor for me and host the event.

  “That would be terrific, Jax. You’ll ask him?”

  “I will, but I can’t promise he’ll say yes,” I replied. “Oh, and Tessa? You should know that Zachary says Austin was murdered. It was no accident.”

  “Che casino!” Tessa said, switching into her native Italian, which she often did in times of stress or when she was drunk. “I figured as much. But, I’m not going to tell the girls that. They’re already bonkers without knowing that—”

  “Um, Tessa? Do you realize we left five unsupervised teen girls in the basement?” We jumped to our feet and bolted back down the stairs to the rehearsal room, but the girls were nowhere in sight. There was a door at the far end of the room, and it was ajar. We opened the door and peered down a long, dark hallway crowded with boxes and props. Stepping cautiously into the hall, we listened for any signs that the girls had headed this way.

  Suddenly there was a squeak, followed by the girls’ screams, and then the sound of teens sprinting toward us. Realizing they might not see us in the dark, and fearing we were about to be trampled by a herd of panicked girls, I turned and bolted back toward the brightly-lit rehearsal room. After reaching the room, I realized Tessa wasn’t with me. She had continued into the tunnel to find the girls. Seconds later, they came running toward me, still squealing with fright, as Tessa herded them from behind. They piled through the door and slammed it shut. Tessa was breathing heavily as she leaned against the door.

  “Ew! Mom! It was a rat,” Izzy said, in a voice almost as high-pitc
hed as the rat’s squeal we’d heard moments before.

  Tessa stood there, silently staring at the girls squeezed together in a tight cluster.

  “Sorry, Mom. We’ve never been in the Underground before,” Ashley said, realizing they had more to be worried about than a rodent, like their mother’s wrath.

  “The Underground? We’re in the Underground?” I asked. I’d heard there was a series of passageways beneath the city of Seattle. There were even tours that would take people into these places. I’d never been on one of the tours because, frankly, I wasn’t keen on small, dark places. What I knew about the Underground was that after the great Seattle fire of 1889, which destroyed 31 city blocks, the merchants started rebuilding immediately. Seattle was originally built too close to sea level, so in the years immediately following the fire, Seattle re-graded the entire city, raising up the downtown area by several feet, and bringing the surrounding hills down several feet. After the re-grading was complete, the merchants simply closed their shops on the lower levels and opened their new front doors on the upper levels. Those lower levels are now known as the Seattle Underground.

  “Maybe I’ll take you on a tour someday. That would be much safer,” Tessa said, blowing her bangs from her forehead, a sure sign of her impatience. “Now, we only have a few more days to get ready for the gala. I thought maybe we would work on the bidding cards and organizing the auction items.”

  “What are we going to do about the jewelry? Frankie took it all,” I reminded Tessa.

  “We’re going to have to find some new jewelry then. It shouldn’t be too hard—we make jewelry for a living. Frankie hasn’t cornered the market on handmade necklaces,” Tessa said.

  “You can put me in charge of the jewelry. I’ll get enough pieces for everyone,” I replied.

  “And Mom? Mr. Greer said he was going to do our makeup. Not that we, like, wanted him to, but now, who’s going to do it?” Izzy asked.