A Bead in the Hand (Glass Bead Mystery Series Book 2) (4 page)

She stood there glowering, her dark eyes fixed on me, her fists pulled up in front of her face in anger. She looked like a giant praying mantis about to rip my head off.

Time to get out of here, before I lost my head.

I grabbed my handbag and headed for the door. Everything around me was a blur of noise, color, and movement. My eyes, stinging with tears, were focused on the door. All I wanted was to get out of the chaotic ballroom.

As I neared the door to the lobby, I heard a loud crackle and watched as the overhead lights gently dimmed, brightened, and then flickered off. There was a resounding groan across the ballroom as all the vendors stopped what they were doing. Then, as quickly as the lights had gone out, they were back on, followed by a collective sigh of relief.

I was nearly run over by the harried-looking electrician as he dashed past me, a giant tool belt slung low around his scrawny hips. This was the man I’d seen earlier working at Mr. Mboto’s booth. I glanced at the name tag sewn onto his untucked brown work shirt. It said
Ernie
in white cursive letters. He trotted down the aisle, past all the booths, and into the utility room. Following closely behind him was Sal, who ran the Bead Fun show. He was as sleazy as they come, propositioning any woman he saw. His pitch-black hair revealed his dependence on Clairol dye, and the paunch hanging over his too-tight belt told me he didn’t get to the gym—ever.

“Why’d ya not listen to me on this? You’re supposed ta have at least 100 amps in here,” Sal yelled.

Ernie replied, in a thin plaintive voice, “It’s not my fault. Nobody ever listens…”

I pushed hard on the panic bar—an appropriate name—on the door. What a relief to be out of the ballroom.

The lobby of The Red Rose had clearly once been elegant, but its opulence had faded years ago. Now it looked tired and worn out. Me? I was feeling the same, except for the elegant part. I don’t think I’ve ever been that.

FOUR

I HEADED UPSTAIRS
and let myself into the room. Tessa was still on her phone. She looked up briefly, waved, and continued her conversation. She had the call on speaker, and the noise erupting from her phone was deafening. Her girls were shouting at the top of their lungs, accusing each other of God-knows-what. Tessa made some false starts at trying to get them to stop, or at least to take a breath and listen. Tessa—who can be calm and cool—finally let loose her own tirade.

“Listen. Izzy. Ashley. You two are grounded and not only that, you are silenced. You may not speak to each other until tomorrow morning. You can talk to me, just not to each other. Once you both have calmed down and can act civilly, I will remove this restriction.”

“Okay,” said one quietly. “Okay,” said the other.

“Fine. Now put Joey on the phone, so I can talk with a child who is not going to give me heartburn.”

I hit the bathroom, and by the time I was out, Tessa was off the phone. Joey was a boy of few words.

“Sounds like everything is fine at home,” I said with a smile.

“The girls are fighting over a boy. Izzy says she met him first. Ashley says he called her first, so she has first dibs. Now, Izzy is accusing Ashley of stealing her boyfriend,” Tessa said, as she blew her hair out of her eyes, a sure sign of her frustration.

“You think telling them not to talk to each other for a few hours will do the trick?”

“Absolutely. I’ve just forbidden them to talk. What’s more appealing than doing the one thing your mom doesn’t want you to do? I expect their first topic will be how unfair it is of me to not allow them to speak to each other.”

“Reverse psychology—brilliant. You have this parenting thing all figured out.” And Tessa did. I wouldn’t have known what to do with the girls. She knew exactly how to handle them. I’d tried to use reverse psychology on Gumdrop, but discovered he did whatever he wanted, regardless of how I tried to manipulate him.

“I’m exhausted,” Tessa said.

“Me, too.” I sat down on my bed opposite my friend. “And hungry.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I called room service.”

“Tessa, you’re my favorite person right now—and always—seriously,” I said, giving her a big hug.

“How did your table set-up go?” she asked.

“Oh, I wish you had been there with me,” I said. “I’ve got Saundra Jameson on one side, and Wendy Wilson behind me. Between the two of them, I’m going to go crazy.”

“You’re already half-way there.”

“Very funny. Look—I’m going to need your assistance this weekend. I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with either of those two for long without someone to keep me sane.”

“No problem, I’m good with difficult people.” And that was true. Tessa had to deal with all sorts of unique personalities, to put it mildly, at her studio.

Tessa had been wonderful ever since I’d moved to Seattle. She’d taught me to make glass beads, and she brought me into her family, since my parents and my sister Connie were in Miami. My little brother Andy lived in San Francisco and worked night and day at a cyber-security start-up.

There was a knock on the door; I opened it. In the hall, a young woman in a navy smock stood stiffly with a smile plastered on her face. She heaved a metal cart into the room, pushing hard over the thick carpet. Since she was a petite woman and was having trouble managing the bulky cart, Tessa and I grabbed the handle and helped pull it along with her.

The woman whipped the silver covers off the serving trays. It was a feast of breakfast food: eggs Benedict, pancakes, bacon, melon, and orange juice.

“I think breakfast is the best comfort food,” Tessa said, admiring the spread before us.

“I totally agree. My mom used to make breakfast for dinner, and I always loved it,” I said, grabbing a piece of bacon and taking a bite.

“Oh, and guess what’s in the minibar? Tiny bottles of alcohol. We’re going to make up a new cocktail,” Tessa said. She got on her knees and started searching through the minibar. “Ah. Tequila…and we’ll use the 7-Up I got out of the vending machine, plus some OJ.”

We each dumped a mini-bottle into a glass and added splashes of soda, orange juice, and ice.

“Cheers,” we said together, clinking glasses and taking sips.

“This is terrific. With the juice, it even tastes like it should go with breakfast,” I said.

“What should we call it?”

“The Portland Painkiller,” I said. Tessa laughed. Hopefully, we wouldn’t need too many painkillers this weekend, but so far things were not off to a good start.

“Let’s eat. We’ll get something in us so we can enjoy this cocktail and not pass out,” she said.

The food was hot and delicious, surprising for room service, which is often on the cold side when it arrives. The meal would surely cost us a small fortune, but I didn’t care. And I loved Tessa for getting this for us. I didn’t have to think, or go out and find food with only an hour to go before the Preview Night.

“I wish I could just curl up on this bed in my jammies,” I said. I felt wonderful—full of carbs and a little tipsy from the cocktail. It might have been two cocktails.

“Nope. Sorry. Not going to happen. Up! Up!” Tessa commanded. “Time to go downstairs, the show’s going to start soon.” Tessa was bossy and punctual. I am neither of those things. It’s good to have a friend who can whip me into shape from time to time when I need it.

I changed into my show clothes, which could be summarized in two words: comfy and cute. I was wearing a silky black vest with a white T-shirt underneath it, and black stretchy cropped pants. Since no one would see my feet while I stood behind the table in my booth, I wore bright green high tops, and left my lime green and pink necklace on. Grabbing my rolling case of beads, I headed down to the lobby.

The Preview Night at a bead bazaar is always the best for both the sellers and the buyers. The sellers always make the most money on that night, when there’s a frenzy of buyers, ready to spend-spend-spend. The opening-night buyers always want to get into the bazaar as early as possible to buy the best beads before anyone else can. Bead ladies can be a competitive bunch.

I squeezed my way past the crowd of shoppers lined up at the doors who were waiting to get inside the ballroom for the sale. The red-cheeked security guard I had seen earlier was at the ballroom door, letting in the vendors. As each vendor entered, he checked their badges, then smiled and nodded, ensuring that no customers sneaked in ahead of time. Yes, some of these shoppers would stop at nothing to get first dibs on all the best beads.

I sped to my booth. The only thing I hadn’t done was to set out the six trays of beads that were in my rolling bag. Once at my table, I unzipped the bag and placed the trays on the table. Perfect. I was ready.

Saundra was fussing around with some jewelry and talking with Miles, which meant I didn’t have to interact with her. The mirror we argued about earlier was no longer in front of either of our tables. Instead she had placed it between our working areas. I’d won at least one round with the bead diva, although there would probably be more arguments before the weekend was through. The mirror between us would keep her things from spilling over into my space and I hoped would minimize our interactions.

Behind me, though, it was a different story. Wendy had me squeezed in tight between her motorized scooter and her chair, which she’d pushed so far back from her table that I barely had room to move, or breathe for that matter.

At five o’clock, the security guard opened the ballroom doors, and the customers rushed in. The shoppers each had their own strategies for making the most of their shopping experience: Start at the back and move forward, clockwise, counter-clockwise; a quick jaunt through to get the lay of the land, followed by a serious shopping spree; or slowly and steadily, moving from booth to booth.

Many of the vendors would make more money on Preview Night than on the days that followed. The people who came on this first evening tended to place the largest orders and were the most knowledgeable about what they were buying. Many of them were wholesale buyers who were at the show not just to buy handmade glass beads, but also every other kind of bead from around the world.

Within minutes, the ballroom floor was packed with buyers. At some booths, shoppers were two and three deep, pressed against the front edges of the tables. It was thrilling to have people shopping at my booth. Since I wasn’t a well-known beadmaker, I wasn’t sure how many people would be interested in what I was selling. At Saundra’s table, there was a crush of people, many of them clutching her latest book. Miles was writing up orders as fast as he could, while Saundra schmoozed with all the buyers, laughing and enjoying the attention.

Tessa stopped by my booth.

“Looks like your sales are off to a good start,” she said, looking at the group of shoppers gathered around my trays.

“So far, so good,” I agreed.

“I’m going to shop. That’s what I’m here for, after all. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Have fun, and let me know if you find anything you think I’d like.” I loved shopping for beads, but today was not about buying, it was about selling. If I made some money this weekend, then perhaps I could splurge on something small on Sunday, and save the rest toward my next home project: a bathroom upgrade, including a glass mosaic on one wall.

I’d just finished a small update to my house, with the help of Val’s sci-fi friend, Rudy, who is a house painter. Rudy did a perfect job painting my kitchen walls a beautiful shade of coral that complemented the butter-yellow color of my ancient AGA stove. He did some work on my kitchen cabinets, too, screwing the doors on properly (I had used duct tape to hold them together), and painting them in a clean, crisp white enamel. I was looking for some vintage glass drawer pulls for the cabinets to complete my kitchen, but hadn’t yet found the perfect ones.

Tessa rushed off, not wanting to miss any of the wonderful jewelry that was for sale in the vast ballroom filled with aisles and aisles of treasures.

As I was starting to write up an order, the lights in the ballroom dimmed. We all paused briefly, hoping the lights weren’t going to go out. Once the lights returned to a normal brightness, so did the chatter of people buying and selling. Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness, followed by absolute silence, as we all stood still waiting for the lights to return. Dozens of cell phones blinked to life, giving some illumination to the room. The lights glowed dimly overhead for a few seconds, before the room sank back into a blackout.

Over the announcement system a thin, reedy voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience.” It had to be Ernie, judging from his nearly asthmatic tone. “Please calmly head to the exits at the front of the ballroom.”

At this point, everyone started moving, and chaos erupted. Vendors started scrambling to cover up their tables to protect them from anyone deciding to help themselves to some merchandise in the darkness. Arguments started between vendors and customers about whether money had changed hands during their interrupted transaction. Buyers and sellers were pushing others aside, as they tried to get to the front door ahead of everyone else. So much for Ernie’s plea. People were not behaving themselves.

There was more pushing and even some screaming. Trays of beads crashed to the floor, and displays toppled. People cried in pain and surprise as they collided. There were confused conversations as buyers and sellers alike tried to find their friends in the pitch dark. I hoped everyone was going to make it out alive. I stacked my six bead trays and fumbled to find the rolling bag, but couldn’t locate it. I grabbed my purse and headed toward the doors with the rest of crowd.

“Coming through, coming through,” Wendy chirped, pushing her way through the crowd on her scooter. Its handlebar whacked me in the left kidney as she sped by.

The lobby was full of buyers and sellers milling around. Fortunately, whatever electrical problem was occurring inside the ballroom was isolated, and the lobby had full power. We watched expectantly through the open doors of the ballroom as the lights blinked on briefly, then flickered and went out again. The last few reluctant shoppers straggled out the door. There was no way we were getting back into the ballroom tonight.