High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) (4 page)

“
My favorite colors,” he added with a smile.

“
Mine, too,” I admitted.

“
Here,” I said, trying to ensure that this would be successful demo. “Let’s also pick some basic neutral colors that will help us make good bead
s:
black, white, and clear.”

I
wasn’t looking forward to this next part. “Now, we have to protect our eyes. These are called didymium glasses, and I wear them to help me see the glass in the flame while I’m working.” I handed a pair of ugly horn-rimmed glasses to Allen, and I put on a pair too.

“
My dad had a pair like this when he was in the army,” Allen told me. “He said that all the men called them BCGs, also known as ‘birth control glasses.’”

I
’d called them that myself, and was hoping I didn’t look too terrible in them. Allen didn’t look half bad in his nerdy glasses. His dad had evidently found someone to make babies with, so his birth control glasses didn’t seem to have caused him much of a problem.

I decided to move right along, because I really didn
’t want to talk about birth control with a guy I’d met only a few minutes ago. Allen was very cute, with or without BCGs.

“
The first thing I do is to light the torch, like this,” I said, turning the red knob to start the flow of gas, and using a metal striker to make a spark. The torch had a small yellow flame at this point, like you’d see from a cigarette lighter. “I’ll add some oxygen to increase the temperature.” I now had a fierce eight-inch blue flame flowing out the front of the torch.

“
Amazing.”

“
This is a metal mandrel I wrap glass around.” I showed Allen a foot-long metal wire covered at the tip with bead release.

Now, I
’ll take this glass rod, and slowly start to put it in the flame. The glass will start to heat up and turn orange and start glowing. Then it will become soft enough that I can work with it.”

“
Jax, this is so exciting,” Allen said. All I could think was, if he thought this was exciting, then clearly he needed more excitement in his life.

“
Once I have a nice blob of molten glass, I wrap it around the mandrel. I can use this tool called a marver, which is a flat piece of graphite, to smooth out the glass by rolling the bead back and forth along it.”

“
It’s kind of like a little ironing board.” Allen was standing right behind me, bending down to see what I was doing. He felt very close—too close, really. I hoped I didn’t smell too much like burnt chocolate cake.

I continued making
the bead, rounding it out and adding some small squiggles before completing it. It was a good bead, and a type I’d made hundreds of times over the last few years. I was glad Allen hadn’t distracted me too much. It would have been embarrassing to make a terrible bead while I was trying to impress someone.

“
Bravo!” Allen said, applauding.

I smiled,
glad he was such an enthusiastic audience. “And now the bead is done, and I’ll just put it right here in the kiln.” I turned off the torch and quickly removed the BCGs. No need to leave those on a minute longer than necessary.

“
You put the bead in the kiln to dry?” asked Allen.

“
To cool down. It’s far too hot right now. If I left it out on the counter it would cool down too quickly, and would crack into pieces.”

“
Oh, like when I put cold water in my wife’s nice coffeepot while it was hot, and broke the bottom out of it?”

Allen has a wife. Dammit.
I thought maybe this guy might be some serious dating material. But I draw the line at married men. Well, maybe he’ll write a nice article about me.

“
Yes. Like that. Exactly. Your wife must have been pretty mad,” I said.

“
Oh, yes. She had all sorts of terrible things to say about me, and my stupidity.”

“
Ah, I’m sorry—”

“
Guess that’s why she’s my ex-wife now.”

“
What? Oh!” I said using all of my best words in a very articulate way. I was happy to hear he wasn’t married, but it was time to change the subject before we spent any more time discussing his marital status.

“
Would you like to have a drink while we finish the interview?”

“
Sure, that would be great. If it’s not too much of a hassle,” Allen said.

“
Well, it is not going to be much of a hassle for me, because you get to make them. You know how to make a mojito?”

“
Absolutely. I was a bartender back a few years ago before my newspaper career took off.”

“
Great. I need to program the kiln to cool down overnight. If you wouldn’t mind starting the drinks, I’ll be right there. Most everything is already out on the counter.”

“
Where’s the mint?” Allen yelled from the kitchen.

“
In the upper part of the fridge,” I yelled back.

“
Okay. Got it,” I heard him say, and then he said something else. I’m wasn’t sure what, but it didn’t matter, I was on my way.

When I came into
the living room, Allen had just finished making the drinks and was walking carefully toward me with two full glasses.

“
Wonderful,” I said, as we sat down next to each other on the sofa, another thing I’d salvaged from Aunt Rita. Was Allen sitting extra close? Or was this just the normal way people sit next to each other? I was glad I’d cleaned the cat hair off the couch before he arrived. The velvet sofa was a cat hair magnet.

Gumdrop came cruising into the room. He doesn
’t like strangers, and usually makes himself invisible when someone visits. I was surprised when my cat started rubbing against our shins as we clinked glasses and took our first sips.

“
Delicious,” I said. It was the first moment all day when I felt like I could relax. I took a deep breath and released. Ahh.

“
Hard day?” asked Allen.

“
Eventful,” I said, sounding mysterious. I decided Allen didn’t need to hear about the exploding chocolate cake or the drama at Aztec Beads.

Allen seemed like a great guy. He
’d enjoyed seeing the studio and my work. And, he made a great mojito. I’m sure Val would approve of him. Gumdrop jumped up on the back of the sofa and was rubbing his head against my shoulder.

“
Gumdrop. You weirdo! Go away,” I said. “He’s never like this,” I added apologetically.

The disaster happened so quickly I didn
’t have time to prevent it.

Gumdrop launched himself into Allen
’s drink!

He was like a cartoon clown leap
ing from a diving board into a Dixie cup of water. Allen dropped his glass into his lap, or more likely, Gumdrop knocked it out of his hand. It was hard to tell what was happening—all a frantic blur of gray cat and minty cocktail splashing everywhere.

Gumdrop was writhing in Allen
’s lap.

“
I am so sorry. Very sorry. Really, really sorry.” I sprinted to the kitchen for a towel. Allen was a sticky wet mess. Gumdrop was covered in liquid and continued to writhe around.

“
I just don’t know what has happened to my cat. It’s like he’s on drugs, or something.” On drugs. Oh dear.

“
Allen? The mint you used for the mojitos. Where did that come from?”

“
Oh, just like you said, in the top of the fridge. I didn’t see any in the fridge, but your freezer is up there too, so I thought maybe I misunderstood what you meant. And sure enough, you are so clever to make those little mint ice cubes so you always have fresh mint available. We used to do that at the bar—”

“
You used the mint in the freezer?”

“
Yes.”

“
In the pink ice cube tray?”

“
That’s right.”

“
Okay, well, that explains it. You see, Gummie here,” I said, removing the sticky cat from Allen’s wet lap, “he likes catnip. A lot.”

Allen, his mouth half-open,
stared at me in shock and tried to focus. I was holding a soggy feline who was wriggling and now trying to get to the other glass of catnip-laced mojito.

“
I’ll be right back,” I said as I ran with Gumdrop, holding him out from my body as far as possible, to the bathroom. I tossed him in gently, closed the door, and trotted back into the living room. Allen was standing now and staring down at his nice brown corduroys, which were soaked, with little bits of catnip and gray cat fur smashed into the fabric here and there.

Allen looked in horror from his pants to me. He still hadn
’t put it all together.

“
I keep a special supply of catnip in the freezer for Gumdrop, in those little ice cube trays.”

Allen continued to stand there, dripping, holding his arms away from himself in an awkward position so he didn
’t have to touch his sticky hands to his shirt.

“
You just didn’t see the real mint in the messy fridge. And that is totally understandable,” I said trying to make sure he understood this wasn’t his fault. Even though, really, it
was
his fault because he didn’t follow my instructions. Of course, it was also my fault, because I’d let him loose in the kitchen to make us drinks unattended.

“
Well, Allen. Let’s get you out of these sticky pants,” I said, reaching across the coffee table for his buckle.

Allen jumped backward away from me. It was probably not a wise move
—making me seem like all I wanted to do was take advantage of the situation by helping him remove his clothes.

“I think I’ll be leaving my clothes on for now, thanks. What I’d really like to do is go and wash up, and I’ll be on my way.”

Allen started to walk toward
the bathroom.

“
Allen?” I said, cringing. “You don’t want to go in the bathroom. Gumdrop is locked in there right now.”

As if on cue, Gumdrop let out a
loud psycho-kitty howl from behind the bathroom door. Allen adjusted his course so he was now headed for the front door, his feet shuffling across the floor, legs apart so he looked like a gunslinger at high noon—a wide stance, arms held out from his body, ready to draw his gun.

“
You know, Jax, it has been a lovely evening,” Allen said, now trying to act like this sort of thing happened all of the time. He was pretty unconvincing, because he was saying it through gritted teeth. And then he was gone.

It was a lost cause. Things had been going so well
, and
boom
, in a moment Gummie had ruined everything. I mopped up as well as I could. Fortunately for the sofa, most of the drink had landed on Allen. Unfortunately for me, I’d lost the great article Allen was going to write, and a possible boyfriend, too.

As I padded down the hall to my bedroom, I remembered poor Gumdrop locked in
the bathroom. I opened the door and he came out slowly, looking around to see if he was in trouble. I thought he’d be a sticky mess like Allen, but it looked like Gummie had spent his time in exile cleaning himself and gleaning every bit of catnip from his fur.

I picked up
the big gray fluff-ball and hugged him tightly to my chest. He had the faint smell of rum. “I’m going to change your name from Gummie to Rummie,” I said to him, as we headed down the hall to bed.

I woke up to the sound of
dingdongdingdongdingdong
.

I was going to murder who
mever was ringing the doorbell so early in the morning. I caught a glimpse of the kitchen clock as I headed for the door. Seven in the morning! Who would
dare
ring the doorbell so early in the morning? I figured it was Val, because most of the time it
was
Val. Maybe Val had come and brought me something lovely she’d made for breakfast—although with her constant tinkering with recipes, I wasn’t sure anything she cooked would actually be edible.

I yanked open the front door. It
wasn’t Val.

“
Oh, Marta! Wow. You...are...HERE.” Dammit. I forgot Marta was spending the weekend with me.

“
Hi, Jax!” said Marta, as she stepped inside. “Sorry I rang the doorbell so many times—I wasn’t sure if you had heard me,” she said sheepishly.

“
That’s okay, I needed to wake up anyway,” I lied, subtly scratching my backside.

I
’d only met Marta a couple of times before, at the glass beadmakers’ annual conferences. She was coming in from Idaho for the weekend’s events and had asked if she could stay with me. Other than being about my age, she wasn’t much like me—all squeaky clean and sporty, and wearing her coordinated sweat suits, ready to go for a jog or play a game of rugby at a moment’s notice. Even though I really didn’t know her well, I felt like I knew her well enough that she wouldn’t murder me in my sleep.

“
How was your trip?” I asked, trying to be welcoming. I seriously couldn’t remember why I had said yes to having her as a houseguest. I live alone for a reason, and frankly, I had not had a good night.

“
It was hard getting all packed up to come,” she said. “And, it look a long time to get here because I had to make a bunch of stops for Stanley.”

“
Stanley?” I wasn’t looking forward to the answer.

“
Oh yes, Stanley. He comes everywhere with me.”

“
And he is…” I continued hoping she would complete the sentence.

“
Oh, he is my animal companion,” she said with a broad smile.

“
Pet?”

“
Yes, well, we try not to use that demeaning term anymore.”

“Dog?”

“Of course.”

“
And where is your animal companion staying this weekend?” I asked, because he wouldn’t be staying at my house.

“
Oh, I thought you knew about Stanley. I planned on him staying here with me. He is the sweetest dog you ever will meet. He won’t be a bother, I promise.”

I looked at her blankly. My own animal companion, Gumdrop, was going to have a kitten (
though anatomically impossible for a variety of reasons) if another animal of any kind entered his house. I am sure Gummie considered this his house and that he let me live here simply out of convenience for him, because I know how to open cat food cans.

“
Well, you see, Marta, my cat Gumdrop, he doesn’t really like dogs.”

“
Oh, you’ll see, they’ll be fine. Stanley loves everyone.”

But it
wasn’t that side of the equation I was worried about.

“
Well, I’m sure we’ll get it figured out,” I said wearily.

Marta popped out the front door to get her dog and bags.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, hoping to clear my head and focus.

When I opened my eyes
, Val was standing in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. I jumped when I saw her—how could she be so quiet? She handed me a cup.

We watched Marta as she struggled with her luggage.
“She brought her dog,” I said.

“
She. Did. Not! How could she not have mentioned something as important as that?”

“
No idea why she didn’t think to tell me. It’s going to be World War III at my house between Stanley and Gumdrop.”

“
Stanley. That’s a cute name for a pet.”

“
Not a pet, Val. ‘An animal companion.’”

“
I don’t get it.” Val gave me a squinty, puzzled look. “Well, you know, Gumdrop always has a place to stay at my house, honey. Ever since Ken moved out, it’s been lonely over here.”

“
We may need to relocate Gumdrop for a couple of days,” I agreed. “I’m not sure if it will work any other way. Sort of uncool she didn’t tell me ahead of time.” I was feeling grumpier by the minute. “I’ll bring him over if it looks like we’re headed for disaster.”

“
Okay, my little human companion,” said Val, taking a sip of coffee and patting me on the head. “I do not want to be around for Stanley and Gumdrop’s meet-and-greet. See you around seven so we can go to the wild party!”

“
Val, we are going to the opening reception of an exhibition at a bead shop. The owner said anyone who wanted could stay late and have a party afterward. But, I don’t think it will be ‘wild’—more like ‘mild.’”

“
There will be guys there, right?” Val asked
.
Val acted more like she was nineteen, rather than thirty-nin
e,
her real age, though she’d never admit it. The only reason I was sure how old she was, was that I peeked at her driver’s license. I wanted to prove to myself she wasn’t “in her early thirties,” which is what she told almost everyone she’d ever met, at least for the couple of years I’d known her.

“Val, what about ‘bead show’ and ‘bead shop’ do you not understand? Mostly it’s going to be women—bead ladies like me. Over-forty—like you.”

“I’m not forty yet,
” she huffed, as if I had insulted her greatly.

“
You might find that there are a couple of guys there, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

Poor Val had been through
dozens of boyfriends, the last one—Ken, as cute as Barbie’s plastic boyfriend—having moved out just weeks ago. Val had discovered the pockets of his jeans filled with cocktail napkins with phone numbers and lipstick smudges on them. When she confronted him with the wad of paper evidence, he shrugged, got his duffle bag, and was out the front door in less than thirty minutes. Ken hadn’t been there long, so he didn’t have much to take with him when he left.

Too bad
Val couldn’t look at what was on the inside of someone, and not just the packaging. She might actually find someone great if she did. I tried to tell her this over and over, but she never seemed to hear me.

Marta came bustling up the walkway toward me
—being dragged by a basset hound, would be more accurate. Stanley’s low-slung white-and-brown body burst past me. His paws skittered across the entryway tile as Marta dropped her bags in the hall and tried to control her dog.

“
Oh my gosh! Oh my! Stanley! Off! Off!” shouted Marta. “Sit! Stay!”

Amazingly, Stanley
obeyed. It was hard to imagine having a pet that actually did what you told him to do. Gumdrop didn’t have this skill. In fact, his skill was to do the exact opposite of what I wanted him to do. And, unfortunately, reverse psychology didn’t seem to work on him.

“
Let me show you where your room is,” I said, trying to be as hospitable as possible, but feeling like telling her I’d contracted a terrible contagious disease and that she simply couldn’t stay here. But, it seemed too late to be making excuses.

I tried to muster as much enthusiasm as possible.
“Here’s the guest room. The bathroom is down the hall right before you get to the studio at the back.” I was glad the office-cum-guest room was in good shape, and not too messy. Since I’d had my laptop set up in there, I’d been trying to keep the space from getting too chaotic. I’d squeezed a nice wrought-iron daybed along one wall. It was a big splurge because I’d actually paid for this piece of furniture, along with a desk, at a local garage sale.

Stanley went wild
, smelling everything in sight. He snuffled at the Oriental rug, and the tags on his collar jingled loudly as he moved around the room, his nose sweeping every inch of the floor. His tail wagged wildly, knocking the small lamp off the nightstand. I caught it before it hit the floor. I was sure the dog had sensed Gumdrop and was determined to find him.

I grabbed my laptop, since I
’d need it at some point this weekend and didn’t want to leave it in the room. “I’ll go get your bag.” I eased my way out of the room and shut the door, in hopes I could contain Stanley in the guest room. I grabbed Marta’s bag and noticed the front door was open.

“
Gummie?” I said, as calmly as possible. I peeked out the door. “Gummie?” I called more loudly. “Oh, Gumdrop, today is not a good day for you to decide to be brave and explore the outside world.”

Should I shut the door and hope he
was still inside? Or did I leave it open in case he decided to come back in? Oh dear. I peered outside, hoping I could spot him, but he wasn’t there. I gently closed the door with a wish that he was still inside, hiding in a closet.

Marta came out of the bedroom, holding Stanley by the collar.
The dog was panting heavily, drool dripping from the corners of his droopy mouth.

“
So, Stanley—that’s a cute name for a dog,” I said, trying to make idle chitchat and touring her around the house.

“
Well, it’s not his real name, just his nickname. He is a purebred basset hound. I’ve been breeding them for years. Jax, I’d like you to meet Ellison’s Post Falls Sherlock Stanton.”

“
Sherlock?”

“
Oh, yes, I’m a big mystery fan,” Marta said. “I especially like the ones with dogs in them.” This was no surprise to me.

“Since I’m a breeder, I get to choose his official name. But he’s usually just called Stanley,” Marta added.

I wasn
’t sure what the protocol was for meeting a dog, but I certainly hadn’t done it right when I met Tito yesterday.

“
Uh. Hi,” I said to Stanley, whose full name bordered on ridiculous.

“
Say ‘shake,’” Marta whispered in my ear.

“
Shake?” With that, Stanley lifted his fat paw, pad-down like royalty, for me to greet him properly. I swear, this dog had better manners than I did. I gave his fat paw a squeeze, and he set it back down on the floor.

“Oh, look at his pretty collar,” I said, noticing the elaborate jewelry around
the dog’s neck, his silver nametag tucked in among crystals, charms, and tiny glass dog bones.

“Thanks, they’re my specialty,” she said. “Jax,
I am so sorry Stanley startled you.”

“
Well, it’s just that I can’t seem to find my cat.”

“
Oh, he’ll turn up. When he does, you’ll see that he and Stanley will be the best of friends.”

“
Okay, we’ll hope so,” I said, scanning the room, looking for a fluffy gray tail sticking out from under a piece of furniture. I didn’t see one.

Marta smiled and looked like she needed to break some bad news.
“One itty bitty thing, Jax, I should warn you about is that Stanley has a leather fetish.”

I didn
’t want to think about what kind of weirdness that was.

“
He likes to chew on shoes, especially fine leather,” Marta said, reacting to my puzzled look.

I reached down slowly and picked up my nice l
eather handbag from the floor, and set it on the kitchen counter.

“
I should take my cutest puppy-wuppy out to the backyard to do his piddle,” Marta said.

“
Piddle?”

“
Oh, you know, go to the bathroom,” she explained. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up any messes he makes.”

“
I don’t actually have a backyard. I have a place to park my car at the entrance to the studio back there—no real yard per se, just a cute little brick patio with a bistro table.”

“
Oh, well, Stanley can poop just about anywhere,” she said, reassuring me.

I
wasn’t reassured. I was worried. Worried Gummie would never return while that dog was here. Worried about what the studio entrance might look like after several days of “piddle.”

I searched for Gumdrop as I headed back to
the studio. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I hoped, since
he was such a scaredy-cat, he hadn’t bolted out the front door. Once I was dressed, I headed off to Fremont Fire hoping Stanley and Marta were not going to destroy anything while I was gone.