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

by Janice Peacock

  “As long as you don’t wreck the mic, I think it’s okay for you to dress it up so it’s undetectable,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’ll feel more comfortable this way, and besides, I think it will be fun.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s not much fun in homicide investigations,” he said. “Although, you’re my kind of fun.” He nuzzled my neck and wrapped his arms around me. Having Zachary standing so close to me was giving me a serious heat wave, and I didn’t mean the menopause kind. The sizzle stopped as soon as I heard my front door open and close gently. It had to be Val.

  “Sorry, I’m going to have to take a rain check, okay? We’re about to be interrupted,” I said.

  Zachary stepped away from me and straightened his tie. I reached over and smoothed out his hair.

  “Jax?” It was Val, announcing her arrival more quietly than usual.

  “Val! I’m back in my studio,” I shouted.

  “Shhhhh. Not. So. Loud. I’m a bit headache-y this morning,” Val said as she entered my studio, looking bleary, wearing a pink satin robe and fluffy slippers that reminded me of pink versions of Gumdrop. “Oh, Zachary, I didn’t know you were here. I hope I didn’t…you know. Maybe I should be going.”

  “No, Val. You stay. I need to take off,” Zachary said, heading for the door. We said our goodbyes, and Zachary whispered in my ear. “To be continued.” I blushed ten shades of red, but I think Val was too hung-over to notice.

  “I think I had a teensy-weensy bit too much to drink last night. That drinking game was a terrible idea. I think Rudy may have won. But I mean, what does it even mean to win that game?” Val asked.

  “I don’t know. Seems like you just call it a game because it’s fun, not because you can win or lose. So, I guess that’s the question: Did you have fun?”

  “I did!” Val said, just a little too loudly for even herself. “I mean, I did, but ugh! I’m really regretting it today.”

  “And how’s it going with the Werewolf Diet?”

  “Pfft. I’ve given up on that one, I can’t go all day with only liquids, even when there’s vodka involved. I’ve moved on to the Sleeping Beauty Diet. That’s why I just got up—that, and the hangover. And you, my little buttercup, how are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. I’ve got a lot to do to get ready for the auction and fashion show Tessa and I are working on.”

  “Oh, a fashion show! Can I help? I adore fashion shows,” Val said.

  “As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask if you’d help with the hair and makeup for the models,” I said.

  “Say no more. Of course I will. Just tell me where and when, and I’ll be there. As long as it’s not sometime in the next few hours, because I think I’m officially indisposed for the rest of the day.”

  “I wish I could be indisposed, but I need to get back to work. I need to find jewelry for the outfits the models are wearing in the fashion show on Sunday.

  “For the fashion show? Maybe you’d like some of my jewelry?” Val asked.

  “Sorry, we need some things we can sell. You don’t want to give up any of your necklaces, right?”

  “Oh! You know, I think I have one for you. I’ll find it and bring it over. It’s from Luke, that Awfulstralian—”

  “You mean awful Australian?”

  “My brain’s on the fritz today. But, yes, exactly. You remember Luke, who gave me that necklace at the bead bazaar? It gives me bad memories. Can I donate it?” Luke, an Aussie we’d met at a bead bazaar in Portland last year, had given Val a super-sparkly necklace made of dichroic glass. He was quite a ladies’ man, and wanted more than Val was willing to give, so I could see why Val might not have the fondest memories of that necklace.

  “That would be terrific. Now all I need is a new emcee to replace Frankie Lawton, who bailed out on us. Do you think your Uncle Freddie would do it?”

  “Sorry, honey bunny, he’s on tour right now. I don’t even know where we’d find him—probably in some giant stadium playing with his band.” Val’s uncle had recently moved to the town of Carthage, about a forty-five-minute drive from here. He was in the process of buying and renovating a café so he could create a rock n’ roll restaurant. I’d gotten to know him last month when he was hiding out at Val’s house while looking for a property to purchase.

  “Dammit! He was my only hope for an emcee.” It certainly wasn’t going to be me. While I was okay talking in front of small groups of people, I didn’t think I could handle standing up on the stage at the Chanticleer Theater running the show, let alone trying to be an auctioneer.

  “If I think of someone, I’ll let you know. I’m going to go and make some coffee, take a couple of aspirin, and try to recover. Remind me never, ever, ever to play that silly game again. I’ll bring the necklace over later, okay? I think I need to go lie down,” Val said as she shambled out the door. She clearly wasn’t feeling well enough to sashay.

  I sat at the worktable in my studio, selecting beads and using wire to wrap the mic and make it into a festive floral boutonnière. I was amazed Bev and Zachary even considered giving me a mic and were willing to let me work on the case. I’d gone from being a source of derision for Zachary to actually helping on an investigation, and that felt good. He and Bev had warned me about how dangerous this could be, but, really, how bad could it be, if they were always listening? The police could send someone in to rescue me if things got too crazy. I hoped that was true.

  After I finished decorating the microphone with a cute cluster of glass flowers, I glued a pin-back onto it. Then I moved on to my next project: organizing the jewelry I’d gathered so far for the event. I laid out the two necklaces I was donating, and next to them I placed the Thai silver necklace Mrs. Greer had given me. Then I found the faux amber necklace Mr. Chu had given me, and placed it next to the others. Once I added Val’s piece, I would be half-way finished with my necklace treasure hunt. I had more hunting to do and knew where I needed to go next.

  By the time I was ready to go, the glue on my newly camouflaged microphone was dry. I brought my favorite denim jacket into the studio and pinned the brooch to its front pocket. Then I pressed the button on the microphone to turn it on, slid the batteries into the pocket, and pulled on my the jacket. I grabbed my handbag and headed out the door.

  “Testing, one, two, three,” I said to the flowers pinned to my jacket. Seconds later my phone rang.

  “Yeah, we hear ya, hon. Loud and clear,” Bev said.

  “Do I really have to have this on all the time?” I asked.

  “Let’s just consider this a test run. You just go about your business, and we’ll see how it goes. My boy Zee called me and told me about your clever camouflage job. Hope that works for ya.”

  “Bev? Why do you call Zachary ‘my boy Zee?’”

  “Ah, it’s just a joke, really. Seems like I’ve known him since he first started on the force, before I moved to my new role with Washington State.”

  “And why doesn’t he like it?”

  “Because he’s too damn serious. Haven’t ya noticed that, hon?” Bev cackled and hung up.

  My first stop was Tessa’s studio. I wanted to ask Tessa’s assistant, Dylan, if he would be willing to donate a necklace to the fashion show. He was working at a torch making a bead in the back of the shop when I arrived.

  “Hey, Jax. I’ll be done in a minute,” Dylan said when he spotted me coming in the door.

  “Take your time,” I said, settling in to watch him work. He was already a terrific beadmaker at the tender age of twenty-three. I wondered what his work would be like by the time he was my age. He’d probably be phenomenal given how talented he was already. Dylan worked in a different kind of glass than Tessa and I did. While we worked in Italian glass, which was excellent for making beads, Dylan worked with borosilicate glass that was popular for making hollow blown forms. Borosilicate glass was
favored by some of the younger men we knew, who we called boro boys. And Dylan, who reminded me of a surfer dude with his shaggy blond hair, jeans, and flip-flops, was one of them, although he tended to make hollow beads rather than pipes. And it wasn’t just the boro boys who had a special moniker. We were called bead ladies.

  “You’re not looking for Tessa, are you?” Dylan asked.

  “No, actually, I’m looking for you. I’m wondering if you might be interested in donating a necklace to the charity auction she and I are working on. I can pay you half of whatever it sells for.”

  “That would be cool. Look in that bag over there on the counter. There are a few necklaces in there you can choose from,” Dylan said, sliding his completed bead into the kiln on the workbench. “I just got them back from a boutique over near Yesler Square.”

  I pulled a box out of the bag and opened it. Then I opened another, and another. Each necklace was more exquisite than the last.

  “Dylan, these are magnificent,” I said, laying three necklaces out on the counter. “How can I possibly choose?” Each was made of five glass disk-shaped beads, with each disk a swirl of two colors. All the discs were slightly different, but all coordinated. The first was olive and burgundy, the second was lime and cobalt, and the third was black and white. The label on the outside of the shopping bag I’d pulled the necklaces from read: Styles by Cassie.

  “Was your work at a little store near the Chanticleer Theater?” I asked Dylan.

  “Yeah, the owner was nice, but she told me she was closing her shop and wanted me to take my inventory home. Too bad, too, because she had sold a lot of nice pieces for me.” That was strange. Dylan must have been the jewelry designer Cassie said hadn’t worked out. I wondered why she’d told Dylan she was closing and told me something else. There were no signs in the window saying she was going out of business, and she hadn’t mentioned it when I was speaking with her. Come to think of it, she’d been supervising someone installing security gates on the shop’s windows when I passed by. I wouldn’t think she’d be adding new equipment to a property she was just about to leave. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but in light of the MO clue, I had to wonder even more what motive Cassie Morton might have for the murder of Austin Greer. I was going to need to tell Zachary or look into this myself.

  I refocused my attention on Dylan’s fabulous necklaces and thought about the outfits I still needed necklaces for. “Oh, it’s so hard to choose! I think I want the black and white set.” I wasn’t certain which outfit I’d put this necklace with, but since it was neutral, it could coordinate with just about anything, and it was stunning.

  “Yeah, no problem. That’s a pretty one. What’s it for?”

  “A fundraiser for the Homeless Advocacy Team. They help teens and young adults find housing and jobs.”

  “That’s cool. I know lots of people who need support to get their lives back together. I could’ve used help like that a few years back,” Dylan said.

  “Speaking of help, do you have any extra time tomorrow when you could help me move some stuff out of my attic? I’m getting ready to renovate it.”

  “Sure. I’ll come over around nine, okay?” Dylan placed the necklace in a box, tied a ribbon around it, and passed it to me. I had one more necklace to add to my collection for the auction.

  “Nine sounds great. I’ll pay you and feed you.”

  “That’s cool, Jax, you’ve helped me plenty. I’m happy to do it.”

  “I’m still going to pay you.” I wanted to help Dylan. He was a good guy and was trying his best to become a responsible member of society. He and his girlfriend, Tracy, and their little boy, Benny, had become a family, and that was wonderful to see. Even though they were still young, they seemed to be trying hard to work on creating a positive and supportive environment in which to raise their son.

  I noticed a box on the counter addressed to Vega.

  “Sorry to be nosy, but are you shipping this box out to Vega?”

  “Yeah, she ordered some glass. I’ve got to get it to the post office, either that or borrow Tracy’s car and deliver it to Vega’s studio. Seems sort of silly to mail it, since her studio is just a few miles from here,” Dylan said.

  “You know, I need to go see Vega anyway. Would you like me to take it to her?” I asked.

  “I don’t think Tessa would mind. It would save money on postage, and save me a trip to deliver it.”

  “No problem,” I said, grabbing the box for Vega, as well as the box with Dylan’s donated necklace in it.

  Vega’s workshop was near another studio I had visited recently, that of Duke Kaminski, a student in the glassblowing class I’d taken a few weeks ago out in Carthage. My experiences during that workshop had convinced me I should stick with making glass beads and not attempt to work on large-scale glassblowing projects.

  The entrance to Vega’s studio was a sliding door made of rusty, banged up corrugated metal mounted on two crooked rails. It was padlocked with a sign in the middle of the door that had the word PRIVATE neatly lettered in felt-tip pen. I put my ear to the door. Inside I could hear loud rock music, along with the roar of the glassblowing equipment and the occasional clank of metal on metal. Vega—or someone—was working in the studio. Since the lock was on the outside of the door, whoever was in there couldn’t have locked themselves in. I knew there must be another entrance, so I walked along the side the building, turned the corner, and slid into a passageway that was a mere three feet wide. When I got to the corner I took another left, which opened up into a quad that led to the open doors of Vega’s studio.

  Vega was busy at the glory hole, a bucket of fire on its side, reheating a glowing glass sphere. She was the woman with the shaved head whom I’d noticed sitting in the theater a few days ago.

  I stood well back from her and made some throat-clearing noises so I wouldn’t startle her. The rock music was so loud, I was pretty sure she couldn’t hear me. She pulled the orb from the glory hole and took a seat at the glassblower’s bench, then shaped the hot glass into a cylinder with a piece of wet newspaper, which was the only thing protecting her bare hand from the molten mass. Steam rose from the piece as she worked. She didn’t look up, but at this point, she must have seen me.

  “What can I do you for?” Vega asked, finally looking my way. “I don’t get too many visitors here—that’s why there’s a padlock on the front door. It discourages people like you.”

  “I brought you a package from Fremont Fire. I was over there, and I saw it on the counter, so I decided to bring it by. I also wanted to talk to you about possibly making something for me.”

  “Well, just hang on a minute, until I get this piece done.” She used the jacks, a set of long, heavy-duty tweezers, to mark the location where she wanted to remove the piece from the punty, or handle, that she was working on. Then she squeezed a little water into the crease she made in the glass with the jacks.

  Vega took the punty, with the vase still on the end of it, over to a tray covered in a heat-resistant blanket, and gently tapped on the punty with her tweezers. The piece dropped silently onto the fireproof fibers, unharmed. She slipped on some enormous heat-resistant mittens, picked up the vase and hustled to the kiln. Using a foot pedal and a series of pulleys, she opened its door and gingerly placed the vase inside. Then, tapping the foot pedal again, she swung the kiln doors shut. As I looked around her studio, I realized she had reworked the entire space to make it possible for her to blow glass by herself. She’d installed cables, pulleys, and clamps that allowed her to do solo the things that typically required two people working in tandem.

  Vega picked up a water bottle from the table next to where I was standing and took a long swig.

  “Thanks for dropping off the box. Anything else you need? Otherwise, I’ve got to get back to work.” Vega was clearly not someone who believed in idle chit-chat.

  “I’m interested in buy
ing one of your light fixtures for an attic renovation. Do you have anything small that might work on the ceiling of a converted attic?”

  “I’ve got a lot of small domes that might work for you. I can easily make them into fixtures. Let’s take a look.” Vega took me into her storage room and showed me the shelves full of glass domes in every color imaginable. There were combinations of three or more colors in each piece. One had a mix of red, green, and orange, another was purple, magenta, and blue. Each one seemed more beautiful than the last, and there were just too many to choose from. I couldn’t figure out which one to choose—I wanted them all, but I knew that wasn’t an option. When I got to the end of the shelf, I went back to the beginning of the row and picked up the second glass dome I had seen and forced myself to make a decision.

  “I’d like this one, please,” I said, handing Vega a dome with purple, magenta, and blue glass. I thought it might go well with the pale lavender I was planning for the wall color in my renovated attic. “It has all my favorite glass colors in it.”

  “Are you a glass artist?”

  “Yeah, a beadmaker,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I couldn’t make anything as large and fabulous as she did. I was just getting ready to say as much when she broke into my thoughts.

  “Ah, Lord, I wish I could make beads. Everything is too tiny. How do you make all those miniature things?”

  “I don’t know, practice, I guess. Beadmaking is just like what you do, really. We have all the same moves, just on different scales. You roll your work across a three-foot marver,” I said, referring to the steel table where glass artists shape their pieces. “I marver on something three inches long instead.” I was glad she didn’t think that just because I created small things that my work was unimportant or didn’t stack up to the impressive sculptures and vessels glassblowers can make.

  “Are you going to the fashion show at the Chanticleer Theater? It looked like some of Frankie Lawton’s jewelry was going to be auctioned off at some event this weekend.”