A Bead in the Hand (Glass Bead Mystery Series Book 2) (11 page)

“Uh, look, this isn’t your room, okay? It’s Saundra’s. I didn’t want to go back to my house where my roommates party all night. I thought I could sleep here instead, since she wasn’t using it anymore, why—why—let it go to waste?”

“Saundra’s room.” It was more a question than a statement. Where was I? I looked at the door number next to Miles’s head: 511. I had a sudden realization: My room was 611. I had gotten off on the wrong floor and was now interrupting whatever it was that Miles was doing. What was Miles doing? I peered over his shoulder and saw a mortified-looking Minnie sitting up in bed with only a sheet covering her, staring back at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Well, I, uh, guess I’ll be going. I’m sorry to have interrupted, I mean, sorry to have startled you. Really sorry—it was an honest mistake, all these hallways look alike.”

“Crap, Miles, haven’t you ever heard of a peephole? I swear—” Minnie hissed. I didn’t get to hear the rest of her rant, as the door clicked shut. I slunk away. Three minutes later I was at room 611, banging on the door and yelling at Tessa to let me in.

When she finally opened the door, I nearly knocked her in the forehead.

“You are never going to guess what’s happening exactly one floor below us.”

FIFTEEN

“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?”
I said, as I broke my scone in half and passed it to Tessa.

“It means you should really keep track of what floor you’re on before you start pounding on doors?”

“Yes, that, but it also means we know which room is Saundra’s. And her room may hold a clue to who wanted her dead, because it certainly wasn’t me. It means I’m going to have to get back into Saundra’s room later and investigate,” I said.

“I don’t want you to do that,” Tessa cautioned. “If you get caught, you’ll be moved to the top of the list of suspects. You’ll look like you’re trying to cover your tracks.”

“According to Ryan, I’m already at the top of the suspect list,” I said. “As long as I don’t get caught, any clues I find can help us figure out who the killer really is.”

“Jax, think about it. I’m certain the police would have swept everything up and out of Saundra’s room by now. You’re not going to find anything there.”

“But Miles had a fancy scarf wrapped around his waist when he answered the door. It looked like one of Saundra’s.”

“The police didn’t clear out her room?”

“It didn’t look like it.”

“Sounds like shoddy police work to me,” Tessa said, heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day. “But, not our problem, right?”

It may have not been Tessa’s problem, but it certainly was mine.

• • •

My first customer of the day was a woman with short brown hair, artfully spiked on top.

“Let me know if I can answer any questions,” I said to her. She was wearing a choker of seed beads woven together to create an intricate pattern. Seed beads are tiny, some nearly as small as a grain of sand. Bead designers stitch and weave those tiny beads together, mixing tones and shades to create elaborate works of wearable art. At the center of her necklace was a beautiful emerald-colored scarab cabochon, a flat oval with a beetle design. Small seed beads in all shades of green delicately encircled the cabochon. The piece was stunning.

“Nice beads. I love the ladybugs,” the woman said, picking up a handful to examine them. “These are adorable. I’ll take them.” She pulled every single one out of the tray. “I’ve been making necklaces like the one I’m wearing for friends. But I’ve had many requests for necklaces for little girls. I’m thinking a smaller version of the necklace with a little ladybug in the middle would be cute.”

“What a terrific idea. Let me get these wrapped up for you,” I said, taking the beads from her. I found some tissue and baggies among the supplies that Miles had given me.

“Once you make the necklaces, please send me a picture. I’d love to see them,” I said as we completed her purchase. “And I can do wholesale pricing if you decide you’d like to purchase a larger quantity.”

“Good job, Jax,” Tessa said when the spiky-haired customer had left. “You’ve not only broken even, I think you’re making a profit at this bazaar.”

At least something was going well this weekend.

• • •

“Hi, Ms. O’Connell. Let’s chat now,” said Detective Houston as she approached my table. She looked startlingly different than when I had seen her last night. Today she had on a crisp white button-down blouse, only a conservative number of buttons undone, and a serious navy skirt. She looked respectable.

“Tessa, can you stay and watch my booth while I talk with the detective?”

Tessa sighed and blew her hair out of her eyes. “Don’t take too long, I’m missing valuable shopping time.”

“I’ll hurry back, I promise.”

As we crossed the lobby, the detective’s cell phone rang. “Sorry, I need to take this call,” she said, taking a few quick steps to get ahead of me so I wouldn’t hear her conversation. I kept pace, hoping to eavesdrop and learn what, if any, progress had been made in the murder investigation.

“The victim’s room wasn’t sealed? Get up there and do it. Now,” the detective said, keeping her voice low. Without saying good-bye, she hung up. Then she brought me into a conference room, closed the door, and sat down across from me.

“Ms. O’Connell, so nice to see you again,” she said, reaching across the table to shake my hand.

“Yes, nice to see you, too, Detective Houston.” But the truth was she was the last person I wanted to see.

“Please call me Tiffany. Oh, and I’m sorry you had to see me looking like that last night,” she said. “Ms. O’Connell—”

“And you can call me Jax.”

“Did your parents really name you that?”

“My real name is Jacqueline.”

I watched as she typed my name into her iPad. She looked up and smiled. She was different from the other detective I’d met earlier this year. Detective Zachary Grant had been more than a little testy during a murder investigation at Aztec Beads. But after that case had wrapped up, he definitely seemed like a much kinder guy. And cute, in that Clark Kent sort of way.

“Let’s see. My first question. Did you kill Saundra Jameson?” Tiffany looked at me, her head cocked, waiting for my answer.

What? This is not how these interviews are supposed to go, are they?

“No.”

“Hmmm. Do you know who did?”

“No.” Seriously, where did this woman learn her interrogation skills?

“Can you tell me who might have wanted to kill Ms. Jameson? I need to make a list of individuals to chat with.”

Chat? Is that what this is? A chat?

“Miles, who was Saundra’s assistant. You might want to check him out,” I said.

“Why do you think he would kill Ms. Jameson?”

“She didn’t treat him well. But Miles killing Saundra doesn’t make a lot of sense because he worked for her. Without Saundra, Miles is unemployed.”

Tiffany was furiously taking notes on her iPad. Since when did police departments have enough money to supply their staff with state-of-the-art computer hardware?

Tiffany saw me eyeing her iPad. “We got them in a drug seizure. After the case was closed, no one claimed them, so the department found a use for them,” she said defensively and got back to business.

“There were hundreds of people at the sale the night Ms. Jameson died. Might one of them have had some issues with her?” Tiffany asked.

“Most of us who were selling at the bead bazaar knew Saundra, and most of us didn’t like her. But seriously, bead people aren’t known for their violence,” I said.

“Jax, unfortunately, you’re one of the suspects, and at the top of my list.”

“And why is that?” I asked defiantly.

“You were seen arguing with the deceased. That’s a motive. Your booth was located next to Ms. Jameson’s, and there was a blackout—giving you the opportunity to kill her. And the means to kill her—well, I’m not at liberty to discuss how she died. We’ll be looking into her assistant’s background and motives as well,” she said, looking up at me, more serious now. “I want you to help me. Got it? You’re going to be my eyes and ears here at the bazaar.”

“Uh—” I said, being particularly eloquent at that moment.

“And you know why you’re going to help me?” she continued without waiting for an answer. “Because if you don’t cooperate, I’ll be taking you down to the station and booking you on suspicion of murder.”

“Me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“You. My helper. Isn’t it terrific to be on a team?”

I thought it was great to be on a team when it was voluntary. I didn’t really like the idea of being forced to help Tiffany.

“I don’t think—” I started.

“You don’t want your friends to see you cuffed and escorted by me and two uniformed police officers through the bead swap meet.”

“Bead bazaar.”

“I’m glad you agree that you don’t want that to happen,” Tiffany said without waiting for me to capitulate. “Now, who would have a list of all the vendors and buyers who are participating in this event?”

I was officially on Team Tiffany. Ugh.

“Sal, the sale’s producer, he’d know all of the vendors, and any registered wholesale buyers. But he wouldn’t have the names of the retail buyers and hobbyists who showed up for the sale without registering.”

“I’d like to chat with him. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Sure, I can introduce you to Sal.”

We exited through the back door of the hotel into a large parking lot. Sal’s small dingy RV sat on the far side of the lot.

Note to self: Do not become a bead bazaar promoter because you will have to live like this.

Off to the side of the lot was Indigo’s Ford minivan. A small cooler and a folding chair were sitting next to the front wheel, which likely meant she was camping this weekend.

“Hello?” I called tentatively through the crack in Sal’s open door. I slowly pushed the door open. “Sal?”

He was facing away from me, sitting at the table in his tiny kitchen. He jumped up and looked at me, startled. His eyes looked more bloodshot than ever.

“Hi, Sal.”

“Do you need to lie down?” he asked, nodding his head encouragingly, ushering me in.

“Sal, this is Detective Tiffany Houston. She’s investigating Saundra Jameson’s murder,” I said as she squeezed herself into the room behind me. There was definitely not room for three people in here. “She needs to talk with you.”

“I’m not talking to nobody without my lawyer,” Sal said. How did this guy own and run a successful company with grammar like that?

“Why don’t you call your lawyer?” Tiffany asked.

“I don’t got one.” He crossed his arms and squinted at us.

“Thank you, Jax. I’ll take it from here,” Tiffany said.

“You’re welcome. No problem,” I said. She had dismissed me. Closing the door behind me, I dropped down the RV’s three steps to the parking lot pavement. I’d left Sal trapped inside with the detective. Or, was it that the detective was trapped inside with Sal? Now that I’d shut the door, I knew there was no way I could eavesdrop, so I started back to the hotel.

I heard the door to the RV swing open. I stopped in my tracks.

“Yo! Jax! Can you come back in here for a little minute?” Sal asked. “The detective here, she wants to ask me some questions, and you know, last time I was alone with a cop, it didn’t go so well. Like I got accused of some things that maybe I did, maybe I didn’t do.”

Detective Houston stood behind Sal in the doorway of the RV. Gritting her teeth, the detective said, “Yes, Jax, if you wouldn’t mind joining us, that would be nice.” The long hiss at the end of the word
nice
told me otherwise. She was unhappy that I was joining them in the RV, just about as unhappy as I was. I had not escaped.

I reluctantly mounted the steps of the RV and squeezed myself into a banquet seat across from Sal. The detective did the same.

“Listen, Mr…” Tiffany said, prompting him for a last name.

“Salvatore.”

“Okay. Sal Salvatore.” She said the words out loud as she typed them into her iPad.

“No, really, my first name is Bernard. I hated that name, it wasn’t a good tough name. Plus, the initials were B.S. So I made all the guys call me Sal back when I was growing up.”

“Look, Mr. Salvatore.” Tiffany’s voice was taut with impatience. “All I need to do is ask a few simple questions. It won’t take long, and it will help with my investigation.”

“Okay, shoot. Well, well, well, not really, of course,” Sal stammered.

“I’m a detective. We tend to just talk to people, not shoot them,” she said, trying to reassure Sal that she wasn’t the shooting type. “What is your relationship to Saundra Jameson?” She was speaking more quickly now, trying to get on with the interview and out of the room. It was muggy and with Sal’s less than perfect personal hygiene, the smell was approaching vile.

“She was one of the vendors at my Bead Fun bazaars,” Sal said, trying to act casual, but not doing a good job of it. “She’d rent a booth a couple times a year and teach some classes.”

“Anything else you’d like to add?” asked Tiffany, leaning closer to Sal, and then, thinking better of it, leaning back again in her seat. We sat there quietly for a few minutes, Tiffany idly tapping a fingernail on the table. Sal had more to say, but needed some encouragement. He was trying to be a tough guy, but clearly something was bothering him.

“Hey, Sal, listen. If you know something that will help us…” I said.

“Look, I might as well say it, because if you do some snooping around, one of those nosey bead ladies is gonna tell ya,” Sal said, rubbing yesterday’s five-o’clock stubble. “She pissed off some students, always lookin’ down her nose at everyone, telling them their work is a piece of crap. One time in Los Angeles, she just didn’t bother to show up to teach a class. Just sayin’—”

“She had a way of pissing off a lot of people,” I said, but decided it wouldn’t be prudent to add that I’d been one of the people she had angered recently.

“Can you get me a list of Saundra’s students? Are any of those students here this weekend?” asked Tiffany.

“Yeah, there’s one guy who’s here who was really angry. He came all the way from Sydney for the class in L.A. This guy, Luke, he was plenty pissed off from losing all that money flying out.”