Snake in the Glass (12 page)

Matt had watched me as I worked my own way through this. Finally he said gently, “Em, I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“I know. This isn’t your fault. And I’m probably worrying for nothing. You must see a lot of that in your job.”

“I know you’re not the hysterical type, and I am taking this seriously. Give him a couple more days, and if he hasn’t shown up, then you can file the report and we’ll start the gears turning. All right?”

“Okay. Matt, there’s one other thing. . . . Can you check the morgue?”

Matt looked at me with something close to pity. “You really think that’s necessary?”

I shook my head. “I just don’t know. But it would make me feel a lot better if we could eliminate that as a possibility. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother.” I stood up.

“It’s okay, Em—that’s an easy call.”

Matt stood up, came around his desk, and wrapped his arms around me. Maybe there was nothing practical he could do, but he was doing a great job of making me feel better, and that was something.

I was the one to break it off. “You have time for dinner tonight?”

“Let’s try for tomorrow, and I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

I gathered my stuff. “I’d better get back to the shop and make sure things are okay. I’m glad Allison’s back, and I think she’s had her fill of Ireland for the moment. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Count on it. And you let me know when Cam comes walking in the door.”

“Believe me, you’ll hear me yelling from here.”

When I walked back into the shop after lunch, two
pairs of anxious eyes turned to me. “Sorry—nothing new, and Matt says there’s not much we can do right now. You?”

Two sets of shoulders drooped. “No, no word,” Allison said. “I’m sorry, Em. This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not. Anyway, Matt and I agreed that if Cam hasn’t surfaced by the time he’s supposed to start his new job, then we can start the official process and look for him. Right now let’s just assume the best and go on about our business. Assuming we have any. Nessa?”

“The same.”

“Which is zero. I’m going to go to my office and pay a few bills and then inventory my supplies. You know where to find me.”

“Office” was probably a misnomer. The ground floor of my middle-aged brick building was divided between a large open studio and a smaller display area; storage and my business-work area was squeezed in behind the shop, along with a bare-bones bathroom. The actual work area in the office consisted of a scarred countertop with a rickety rolling chair in front of it, and it was laden with a computer, a phone, and a lot of stacks of paper—supply catalogs, invoices, bills, and other records. At least it had a door, not that I ever closed it.

I managed to lose myself in necessary paperwork for an hour or two. I definitely needed more supplies, and I also needed a new trucker to deliver those supplies on a regular basis. I’d had bad luck with my last two. Would the third time be the charm?

I stood up, stretched, and ambled toward my work area in time to hear pounding at the back door. Why was I not surprised to find it was Denis? Funny—every time I saw him he looked a little bit worse, and I’d only known him a week. But he didn’t seem dangerous, just deeply distressed. Like he hadn’t slept, eaten, or even bathed for a couple of days. Didn’t the man have a day job? How could he be spending so much time at my place in the middle of a semester? I opened the door for him.

“Hi, Denis. How’re you doing?” It was a rhetorical question, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted an answer.

He pushed past me, already rummaging through his pockets. He fished out another wad of bills and thrust it at me. “Here. That brings us even for now. You said we could talk about going forward?”

“All right,” I said cautiously.

“Look, Em, I need those stones I left here, and I need more time. I think I’m really onto something with this technique.”

I was beginning to wonder if I needed to call somebody about him. And I was certainly ambivalent about having him around the studio. The man needed some serious R & R. “Denis, are you all right?” I said gently. “Can I get you some food, something to drink?”

He ran his hands over his face and slumped against the marver. “No, no. I’m sorry. Things have been difficult lately, and I’ve had a lot on my mind. I know I must sound like a lunatic.” He straightened up and looked at me squarely. “Look, I really need just another few hours with the kiln, and I need to leave another batch of stones in overnight, see if I can replicate the last couple of runs, build up some volume. I can’t pay you right now, but I swear I’ll be able to in a week or two. Can you trust me that far?”

Anytime someone used the word “trust,” it suggested the opposite to me. I wavered. But I really did feel sorry for him, and I didn’t have much to lose. “Okay, Denis. I’ll give you tonight, and some time tomorrow. But the weekend is really busy here, so that’ll have to be the end of it.”

He straightened up. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Em. I’m so close! That should be plenty of time. You won’t be sorry. Look, I’ll get out of your hair now, but I’ll come back around six, okay, and I’ll put another batch in, and then I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“Breathe, Denis, breathe. That’s fine. I’ll be here.”

The man was all but quivering with excitement as I escorted him out the back door. I hoped I hadn’t made a big mistake.

After I had locked the door behind him, I restacked the piles of paper on my desk area and went back to the shop. Nessa was nowhere in sight, and Allison was straightening pieces on the shelves.

“Was that the man you spoke of last night?”

“Yeah, that’s Denis. He’s pretty high-strung. I told him he could come back and leave some stuff in the kiln overnight, and then he’ll be back tomorrow to look at it. He thinks he’s got some wonderful new technique.”

“And you didn’t have the heart to turn him down.” Allison completed my statement but with a smile. “You’re a good person, Em.”

“I try,” I said. “But he really is making me nervous. He’s stretched pretty tight, and I don’t want to pick up the pieces if he snaps.”

“What more do you know about him?”

“Not much. He said he teaches at the university—English, I think. And he has a wife named Elizabeth—he brought her with him once. That’s about all I know. But, heck, I don’t ask my students for a full profile when I let them in. Anyway, he paid me what he owes, so I guess the next day is on credit. Or maybe my gift to him.” I extricated the wad of small bills from my pocket and handed it to her. “Looks like he’s been pawning the family jewels. Poor guy. Frank says the type of gem he’s using isn’t expensive. Of course, for all I know he’s bought tons of the stuff.” I tried to imagine a ton of rough stones and gave up. Luckily a couple of lookers came in, and I approached them with the intent of turning them into buyers. “Hi, I’m Em Dowell, and I’m the glassmaker. Would you like me to explain this technique to you?”

 

 

As promised, Denis was waiting once more at the
back door just before six. This time he looked almost cheerful. “Hi, Em,” he greeted me as I unlocked the door for him. “Thanks for letting me keep working. I’m sorry if I was a little crazy earlier, but I’ve been juggling so much stuff. But I’m close now, and I’m really excited.”

I closed the door behind him. “Well, if what you showed me is any indication, I can see real possibilities. Do you know much about the gem business?”

“Not a whole lot, but I know people who do, and once I get the technique worked out, they’ll help.” He set down his backpack and started fishing packets of stones out.

I perched on a stool to watch. “So, once you’ve got the process nailed down, are you going to go into business?”

“What? Oh, no. ‘Don’t give up the day job,’ you know? But it would bring in a little extra, and it’s kind of fun, seeing what’s possible. Maybe you get that kind of feeling, working with glass?”

This was the first time he’d actually asked a personal question, and I was happy to answer. “I think so. I’m always experimenting, and there’s always more to learn. That thing you’re doing, with changing colors—there’s a glass technique called amberina that’s like that. The glass starts out yellow—or amber—but if you heat it differentially it turns red. You can get some interesting effects that way. I gather it’s due to the gold content in the glass.”

“That sounds cool. Oh, bad choice of word—glass is hot, right?”

“That it is.” Denis seemed . . . silly, I thought. I wondered if he was on some kind of mood-altering drug. Still, it wasn’t any of my business, and I’d been paid. “Well, I’m starving, so I’m going to go up and find some food. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Will that be enough time?”

Denis looked up from the small piles of stones he was sorting. “What? Oh, sure, fine. I just want to get these into the kiln and make a few notes. I really appreciate your letting me come back. And I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Things should go better now. You go ahead.”

“See you in a bit, then.” I left him in the studio, exiting through the shop to make sure that things were shut down, and then went up the stairs to my place. When I entered, there was no sign of Frank. I fed the dogs, then walked them, taking a roundabout route to see what my colleagues and competitors were up to, and noting that Madelyn Sheffield’s stained-glass shop had a for-rent sign posted in the window. Wonder what would go in, in her place? It was a nice site, but I was happy where I was.

After the dogs had exhausted all the good smells of the evening streets, I took them back home, refilled their water dishes, then looked at my watch. An hour had passed, and if all Denis had planned was to put some more stones into the kiln, he should be done by now. Back I went, down the stairs, and around to the back. The lights were on, but when I unlocked the door and went in, Denis was nowhere to be found. But the kiln was shut neatly, and his backpack and notebook were gone. As I straightened a few tools, I spied a pebble lurking under one of my glass nippers. No, not a pebble—one of Denis’s treated tones. As I held it up to the light, I could see the golden glow in the center, though the stone was less than a quarter inch in size. I slipped it in my pocket to show Frank, whenever he showed up.

Which was sooner rather than later, because he was waiting when I let myself back into my home. I wondered, not for the first time, just what he did with his days, although I guessed that Nessa might have played a part this afternoon. But I wasn’t going to snoop. “Hi, Frank. Have you eaten?”

“I have.”

“That’s good. Oh . . .” I hesitated a moment before pulling out Denis’s stone from my pocket, but then said, “Can you take a look at this?”

He took it from me, rolled it in his palm, then held it up to the light. Then he pulled a loupe from his pocket and walked over to the lamp by my couch and peered through the stone. “Interesting,” he finally said. “This is your pal’s work?”

I nodded. “He left it behind by mistake. What does it look like to you?”

“Definitely peridot—you can tell by the double refraction in the crystal, if you know what to look for. And it’s got that yellow-green cast. But I’d guess it’s darker than it started, and the internal color is unusual. He might have a shot at selling it.”

“If he doesn’t have a nervous breakdown first. Let’s assume Denis is on to something entirely new, never seen before. What does he do next?”

Frank handed the stone back to me, sat down on the couch, and leaned back, linking his hands behind his head. “He’s an egghead, right? So he doesn’t have connections in the gem business. If he’s smart, he’ll find a partner who knows the trade and let him sell the stones. Hope he knows some good cutters. The stones will sell better if he can flash the finished product.”

“How does he find somebody?”

“Plenty of small dealers in town for the Gem Show. He’d be in good shape to go that route.”

“So why is he in such a hurry? Unless he’s already cut a deal and he’s afraid he’ll lose it.”

“That I can’t tell you.”

“Okay. Like I said, maybe he’s just nervous. I’ll see that the stone gets back to Denis when he stops by to pick up his next batch. It may be his last, although he said he wanted more kiln time. What kind of dollars are we talking here, if he can put together a batch of rough stones?”

“If you’re lucky, he’ll net enough cash to buy a kiln of his own and get out of your hair.”

“Amen to that.” I stood up. “I’m heading for bed. Oh—I talked to Allison this morning, and we agreed that if we haven’t heard from Cam before Monday I’d think about filing a missing persons report. That’s what Matt suggested.”

“You’re that worried?”

Reluctantly, I nodded. “It’s not like him, not to contact me at all. I don’t want to think that there’s anything wrong, but I’d rather do what I can, you know?”

“I’m sure he’s fine, but I agree with you. No harm to it. Well, good night to you—see you in the morning.”

Somehow my dreams were colored by sparkling
stones, which flashed and twinkled and then dissolved as I tried to grab them. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I decided I couldn’t wait until Monday to officially start the search for Cam. We had been raised by parents who could most kindly be called indifferent, and my brother and I had banded together early, despite the eight years’ difference in our ages. As adults we didn’t call each other every night and chat, and I didn’t hover over him: we both had satisfying and busy lives. But these circumstances were different, and I expected him to let me know that he was all right and planned to return in time to start work on Monday. That’s all I wanted. So where was he?