High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) (18 page)

When I walked into the classroom, I was overwhelmed. Every seat was taken. People were standing at the back of the room. It wasn
’t a large classroom, but still, I was surprised so many people would be here to support me.

As I looked around the room
Val gave me a big air kiss when our eyes met; Tessa gave me a big thumbs-up; Marta looked like she was ready to let rip one of her signature wolf whistles. After she saw me shake my head slightly, she took her fingers out of her mouth. Dylan was there and must have sneaked in through the backyard, hoping to avoid seeing Tracy. Allen was nowhere to be found, which wasn’t surprising after he stalked out of the house last night. Sitting right front and center was Frankie Lawton. He twiddled his fat fingers at me in a cute, but weird, wave. He didn’t look like Santa anymore. Today, he looked more like a Keebler elf, with his yellow tie, red vest, and green jacket.

“
Today I’ll be showing you how to make a necklace using these lampworked beads that are called ‘white hearts,’” I said. “I’ll start by showing you how to make each of the wire links for connecting the beads together….”

When I finished
the presentation, I received an enthusiastic round of applause that made me feel great. Finishing the workshop freed up my mind. There were many more things to think about.

One of those things was Misty.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. If she wasn’t killed for drugs, then why would someone want to kill her?

Setting aside the question of
why
, the other big question was
who
. One of us? As I looked around the room, we were all there—could one of us be the murderer? Not Dylan. According to Nick there was no reason to think Dylan wanted Misty dead. Not Tessa. Not only was she my oldest and best friend, Tessa cared and supported Misty. Marta didn’t even know Misty. Val? Val had been home most of the weekend watching Luke and Leia fight Darth Vader, and was only at the party for a brief time. Frankie? I didn’t know anything much about him, and wasn’t sure if he had ever met Misty.

It came down to Rosie, who was in the hospital when Misty was strangled, and Tracy, who didn’t seem strong enough to kill much more than a fly.

I simply wasn’t going to be able to figure out who had been responsible for this weekend’s mayhem. Clearly, I didn’t have a future as a detective, amateur or otherwise. Fortunately, I thought I had a future as a glass beadmaker.

I went
over to my display to speak with the people who had just watched my demonstration. I was glad to see I had a swarm of people waiting to talk with me, and selecting beads to purchase. Several women had collected four or five pieces and were trying to figure out which ones coordinated best with other beads in my trays. It was fun to see which combinations worked best together, and I was delighted by the choices many of the class attendees had made.

My friends
came over to congratulate me on the workshop, but they didn’t stay long, wanting to make sure they weren’t in the way of paying customers. After everyone had made their purchases, Frankie approached me.

“
Your beads and necklace designs are fabulous. Fabulous!”

“
Thanks, Frankie.”

“
What do you have for me?” Frankie said, looking over and seeing my empty trays.

Oh dear.

“Oh, Frankie, I’m sorry, I didn’t set anything aside for you. I figured I’d have plenty left at the end of the weekend.” Ugh! How could I have blown this so badly?

“I
n that case, I’d like to place an order,” Frankie said, whipping out his checkbook. “You have five different color combinations, right? I’d like five of each color. Twenty-five beads. Okay?”

“W
ow, Frankie, sure. That would be great. Thank you so much. Really.” I was feeling flustered. I had just completed my biggest sale ever.

“
Here’s my card, just send them to this address.”

“Oh, and Jax, have you seen a girl who makes beads like this?” Frankie pulled a bead out of his man purse. “She seems to have disappeared.”

I knew exactly who made beads like that. I had one in my pocket, and Misty had made it. I had a lump in my throat, and swallowed hard. “She’s not around anymore,” I said, unable to say “She’s dead,” knowing what emotions came along with those tragic words.

“Oh, well, if you see her, please give her my card,” Frankie said pressing another card into my hand. “I’d like to order some more.”

“Ta-ta! Looking forward to working with you,” Frankie said, and headed out the door. I stood there leaning against my display pedestal, staring after him, dumbstruck and happy beyond words.

As I watched Frankie head out the door, I saw something else equally surprising
: Dylan and Tracy standing at the front counter. Neither of them was running away, each was watching the other intently as they headed out the back door and onto the patio together.

Tito ran by me, carrying a hank of beads in his mouth. What an obnoxious dog. “Tito! Drop those beads,” I said, wondering if he’d actually obey me. Tito dropped the beads, and growled at me. I turned to gather my things, and I felt Tito bite into the hem of my pants.

“Tito! You ungrateful mutt! I saved you from prison, and you treat me like this?” I said shaking my leg until he let go. Tito scampered off. I’d seen him grab the cuff of Frankie’s red trousers at the party. At the time I didn’t think anything of it. But now I remembered what Frankie had said.

I don’t know why Rosie doesn’t keep Tito under house arrest
.

Frankie knew Rosie.
And he knew Misty.

I was definitely going to have to talk with the detective. It was Sunday evening, and I thought I’d wait until tomorrow to tell him what I’d found out about Frankie.

For now, I needed to get out of here. I headed home, hoping for some peace and quiet. The weekend was almost over, and I’d be glad when everything got back to normal.

I parked the Ladybug behind my house. I unloaded the car, and brought everything inside. It felt good to be in my studio, and I had work to do. I needed to make twenty-five beads for Frankie. That was cause for celebration. I’d have enough money to paint the kitchen walls, and maybe Rudy could give me a quote on painting the cabinets as well, which would go a long way toward making the kitchen look like it wasn’t about to be shut down by the health department. That is, if Rudy ever got around to giving me a quote. What about Rudy? Was he really married to Rosie? How did he fit into the rest of this strange weekend and its events? I could grill him when he got here to do some painting, someday.

I hear
d a small knock at the studio door.

When I opened it, my neighbor
, Mr. Chu, was standing there, and he was holding Gumdrop!

“
Mr. Chu, you found my cat!” I hugged Mr. Chu. I hugged Gumdrop. Then I hugged Mr. Chu again for good measure. He didn’t seem to like me hugging him.

“
Didn’t you realize you had an extra cat?” I asked.

“
I wasn’t sure,” he said. “I’ve got a cat that looks like this one, and I thought it was him, until I saw them both together.”

Sheesh
.

“
And you know, he’s a really nice cat. If you ever decide you don’t want him, let me know, because I’d take him off your hands.”

“
Yes, I will certainly keep that in mind,” I said.

Not in a million years.

“Thank you. Really.”

“
You know, if you love your cat so much, he should be wearing a collar,” the old man said, scolding me. “You wouldn’t want him to get lost and end up at the pound.”

“
You’re right, Mr. Chu. You are so right. Thank you again.” I reached out to hug him again.

I was overwhelmed with joy.
Other than the sales I made today, this was the only good thing that happened all weekend.

“All right, all right.” Mr. Chu wasn’t one for a lot of emotion. He waved his weathered hand over his shoulder as he walked away, his ratty robe dragging on the ground. Through a break in his curtains, I could see several pairs of cat eyes watching him through the window as he crossed the alley back to his house.

“
Oh, Gummie, you are one lucky kitty that Mr. Chu found you!” I said, hugging him. “And, I am one lucky person that Mr. Chu found you!”

I carried
my darling cat out to the kitchen. Passing by the guest room. I noticed the door was closed, and all I could hear was a small snoring noise. I was pretty sure it was Stanley.

I set Gumdrop down on the kitchen counter.
“Let me see you, you big fur ball.” He hadn’t been gone long, but I felt like I needed to make sure he was okay. It seemed like he’d gotten plenty to eat at Mr. Chu’s.

“Come on, Gummie,” I said, looking at him and hoping for a psychic connection,
“Can you tell me who murdered Misty? How about Rosie—do you know anyone who would want to kill her?”

Gumdrop star
ed at me, and then he looked down at his empty food bowl.

Nothing. So much for my psychic cat.

I gave him some crunchy food. Unimpressed, he sauntered off.

Even if I couldn’t figure out who killed Misty, I should at least be able to figure out the mystery of the missing beads. Where was that baggy of beads I’d confiscated from Allen last night? Not on the coffee table where I thought I’d left them. Not in the catchall basket of beading magazines and half-finished jewelry projects next to the sofa, and not on the Oriental rug. I’d have to ask Marta about the beads when she returned.

I settled myself into the studio to start work on Frankie’s special order. I pulled the last batch of beads out of the kiln. They were the ones I’d made when Allen was here, in Allen’s favorite colors, and mine: purple, blue, and green. What was I going to do with these? I didn’t want them. Maybe I could sell them on eBay and get them out of my life.

I started up the kiln
, and turned on the exhaust system. Then I turned on the oxygen tank and flipped the lever that supplied the natural gas to the torch. My equipment was ready, now I needed some glass. I chose my color palette. First, I needed white for the centers. Then, I needed all the transparent colors that reminded me of gemstones: ruby, amber, amethyst, sapphire, and emerald.

I put on my
glasses and lit the torch, adjusting the oxygen and propane to the right mix so that it was perfect for melting glass. As I was making my first bead, I heard Marta come in through the front door.

“
Jax, I’m back!” Marta yelled from the entry.

“
I’m in the studio, getting ready to make some beads,” I shouted back.

Marta wandered back to my studio and watched me work at the torch for a while.

“Hey, Marta? Have you seen a baggy of beads that I left on the coffee table?” I asked.

“There are bags of beads everywhere around here. I’m not sure which beads you mean.”

“It was a special set of handmade beads—they belong to Rosie Lopez. I thought I left them in the living room, but now I’m not sure what happened to them.”

“Oh, Jax,
I’ve been wanting to give this to you,” Marta said, “it’s a little thank you gift for letting me stay here.”

I put the bead I was making in the kiln to cool, and turned off the torch. Marta handed me a small fabric pouch.

“Thank you,” I said, pulling on the bag’s drawstring. Inside was a basset hound bead. A glass Stanley.

“I hope you like it. It’s one of my favorites. Sorry it’s not a cat, but I don’t really know how to make them. Every time I try and make a cat bead, it just ends up looking like a really ugly dog.”

“It’s fantastic, Marta. Thanks.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Marta said, beaming.

Gumdrop cruised into the studio.

“Your cat! He’s back! Oh, Jax, I am so glad he’s okay,” Marta said.

“My neighbor found him and brought him over a little while ago. I’m so happy to have him back,” I said.

“Well, I better go take Stanley out for a little run before he has any more accidents.
I’ll be back in a little while.”

Marta walked down the hall and opened the guest room door.
Stanley burst through the door and was excited to be going out. His toenails skittered around on the hardwood floor and the tags on his collar jingled. Marta clipped Stanley’s leash onto his collar and they headed out the door.

I wanted to
check on Gumdrop and make sure he hadn’t flown the coop again, now that he had seen, or heard, Stanley.

“
Gumdrop! Here kitty-kitty!” I called. As I walked by the guest room door, I remembered something. When I was searching for Gumdrop, I’d looked under the bed and had seen a dog collar with tags on it. If Stanley was always wearing his collar with tags, then what was that collar doing under there? I had to check. It felt weird going into Marta’s room—well, it was
my
room, in
my
house, so I thought it was okay to go in there, although it felt like I was violating Marta’s privacy. I got down on my hands and knees and felt around under the bed. I found what I was looking for, and pulled it out.

It was a
small collar with a tag on it. “TITO” it said on one side. “If found, please call Rosie Lopez.”

Tito’s collar.

Marta. What had Marta done? Taken Tito’s collar? I’d found Tito at the pound with no collar on. How did this fit with what had happened this weekend? I hadn’t a clue.

Marta came back into the house.
“I forgot to bring the poop bags.”

I was standing in the hallway when Marta found me with the collar in my hand.

“Marta, why do you have Tito’s collar?”

“
Oh, I’m doing a special order for Rosie. She’s excited that her sweet little doggie is getting a pretty necklace.”

Marta slipped by me into the guest room to find the poop bags, and I went back to my studio
—trying again to think about work, and to enjoy melting glass, to return to normal where people didn’t get murdered, and where there were no obnoxious dogs, or obnoxious owners. I heard Marta moving things around, trying to find the poop bags. Her room was a mess, so it didn’t surprise me that it was taking some time for her to find anything.

“
Okay, see you later,” Marta said, as I heard her shut the front door.

I worked
at the torch for a while. Melting glass was a good thing to do when I needed to meditate. The dancing flame and the gentle movement of the molten glass calmed me, and allowed me to think.

I thought about how I’d come so far in these last few years. I’d made many new friends and built a home for myself here in Seattle. I’d come a long way, and not just in the number of miles I’d travelled to get here. I thought about my trip here, with my travel buddy Gumdrop asleep beside me, on our cross-country adventure. I remembered the giddiness I felt as I whipped through Post Falls, Idaho, and finally crossed the state line into Spokane, Washington.

Rosie and her family had been living in Spokane these last few years. It was just another small detail that really didn’t matter, at least as far as I could tell. I wished I were able to take the smallest details and turn them into solutions, just as Sherlock Holmes could do.

Post Falls…Sherloc
k. Where had I heard that before?

Ellison
’s Post Falls Sherlock Stanton. Also known as Stanley.

Marta was from Post Falls, Idaho
, just a few minutes from Spokane. I was sure that meant that Rosie and Marta knew each other.

Marta was involved in this weekend’s mayhem
. There was no doubt about it. I turned off the torch, and decided to call Detective Grant. He needed to know there was something strange going on. I was certain Marta had taken Rosie’s dog, and that Marta and Rosie most likely knew each other.

What horrible things was Marta capable of doing?

I found my phone and pressed Detective Grant’s number on the recent calls list. The number rang and rang, and then flipped over to voicemail. He probably saw I was calling and decided not to answer, not wanting to hear my latest wacky theory.

I left a simple message. “It’s Jax. Please call me. It’s urgent.”

“Hellloooo!” Val called, letting herself in, which she had recently started doing without any encouragement.

“
Val? I’ve got talk with you. I need help figuring something out,” I said, heading down the hall. “I just couldn’t get away from the idea that Tito’s collar somehow fit into the strangulations.

“
Oh Jax, darling, it smells funky in your kitchen. Have you been trying to cook again? Well, not to worry because I brought us a snack. Biscotti and Sauvignon Blanc.”

When I got to the kitchen I realized what Val was talking about. It smelled terrible.
But not like food, like skunk. And not like skunk, but like natural gas. I smelled gas—the front of the house was filled with it.

“
Val! Val! We’ve got to GO!”

“
But, we need to—”

“
No no no! Time to get out of here!”

“
Really, because—”

“Dammit Val, out the door
right now
!” I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. Her high heels were striking the floor as we ran, and I hoped they wouldn’t make a spark. If they did, we’d be blown to bits.

We ran out the door, Val still holding the plate of biscotti and
her bottle of wine. We left the door open with the hope that some of the gas would dissipate. Gumdrop immediately ran out the door, and headed for Mr. Chu’s. At least I knew where I’d find him later.

We stood across the street
, trying to figure out what to do.

“
Call 911,” I said.