Off the Beadin' Path, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 3

by Janice Peacock

  “That makes sense,” Tessa said. “I’ve done that before when I needed inspiration.”

  I hoped that was Duke’s reason for being in class, and not something more sinister that had led to the demise of Dez or Marco.

  EIGHT

  Late that afternoon, I swung into the long narrow driveway between my place and the house of Mr. Chu, my cat-obsessed neighbor. He was sitting on his back porch with three cats on his lap, stroking a Persian longhair next to him. He reluctantly waved as we headed inside my house, but only after I waved at him. Mr. Chu liked cats more than humans.

  “We need to get our minds off all of the bewildering things that have happened today,” Tessa said.

  “Like the disappearing guys,” I said.

  “Or the dead ones.”

  “Dez is in some bar, if we’re to believe Abby.” I knew how Abby felt, helpless and uncertain, not knowing where her partner was. I’d certainly felt that way many times when my then-boyfriend Jerry didn’t come home until long after I had gone to bed, back in the days when I lived in Miami.

  “I don’t know what to believe, but we’re never going to figure out what happened by sitting here and coming up with theories,” Tessa said.

  “I don’t think the sheriff is going to be much help,” I told her. “He doesn’t seem to think anything has happened. Frankly, he wouldn’t know what to do in a murder investigation if Marco’s body—”

  “Or Dez’s—”

  “Or both, showed up in a morgue.”

  “Maybe you should call Detective Grant,” Tessa said.

  “Oh no, that’s not a good idea. He’ll ask me out if I call him.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  “I’ve been avoiding him. I don’t know why, Tessa, I’m not sure I want to date a cop.”

  “He’s not really a cop, right? He’s a detective.”

  “He’s a homicide detective,” I said. “He carries a gun. He has a badge.”

  “You’re right, he is a cop, but he doesn’t get shot at much, I bet. Still, you might want to call him. Maybe you can say this is strictly business and you’ll talk about a date another time.”

  “And…well, I worry he’ll go back into his prickly mode if he’s working on a murder case with me around. He wasn’t the nicest guy when we were dealing with the murder at Rosie’s store.” I shivered. Even though a year had passed, I still had grim memories of opening the Dumpster behind Aztec Beads and discovering the body of a young woman. On that dreadful day, I also met Zachary Grant, a homicide detective for the Seattle Police Department. With his ugly tie, slicked-back old-school haircut, and steely attitude, he was the last man on earth I thought I’d be interested in, let alone who would be interested in me. But after the investigation, he warmed up to me, and I saw a kinder, gentler side of him I’d not seen before.

  “He knows you better now,” Tessa said, handing me the phone. Once again, no one, especially me, could say no to Tessa for long.

  I tapped Zachary’s name on my phone.

  “Grant,” the detective said in his usual serious tone. He must’ve looked down at that moment and spotted my name on the caller ID. “Jax, I didn’t see it was you.” His voice warmed as he spoke.

  “Hi, Zachary,” I said. I felt awkward calling him by such a formal name. I wanted to call him Zach, but he much preferred his full name. “I’m calling because, well, there’s been a murder.”

  “I usually know about murders when they happen here in Seattle. I haven’t heard about any new incidents.”

  “That’s because it happened in Carthage.”

  “Carthage? Why would you be out there mixed up with a murder?”

  “Tessa and I are taking a glassblowing class. She saw a dead body through the window of the studio late last night. It was awful.”

  “I assume the local law enforcement is taking care of this,” Zachary said, a tinge of impatience in his voice.

  “The sheriff doesn’t seem to think there was a murder, so I guess that’s why I’m calling you, to see if there’s anything you can do to help.”

  “Where’s the body? Once a coroner gets it, the gears will start moving.”

  “We can’t find it. Tessa saw it last night. By the time the sheriff got there, it was gone. Someone had cleaned up. No body. No blood. Nothing.”

  “Maybe Tessa didn’t see what she thought she did.”

  “She really did see him. We don’t know what happened after that. Oh, and the weird thing is, we don’t know where one of the studio owners is, either.”

  “No one’s worried about him?”

  “No. Apparently, he goes on drinking binges and disappears for days at a time. His wife isn’t particularly worried about him, at least, not yet.”

  “You called the police last night when Tessa saw whatever it was she saw? Did you wait for them to arrive?”

  “We heard someone crashing around in the bushes outside the studio. We didn’t know what else to do so we drove away and then called 911. We hid in the Ladybug behind a car repair shop until a sheriff came by, and he sent us home. But apparently, when he got to the studio, everything seemed fine to him, not a soul around, dead or alive.”

  “Who is it Tessa thinks she saw?”

  “Marco de Luca, but she doesn’t think she saw him. She actually saw him lying dead in the studio. He’s Italian, famous in the glass world, and, well, sort of a ladies’ man. He is, or was, the instructor for the class we’re taking.”

  “Maybe he found someone to spend the night with and simply hasn’t made it back yet. It’s possible, right?”

  “No! I believe Tessa. And get this, the sheriff said if there’s no body, there’s no crime.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Zachary said. “But there needs to be some evidence that a crime was committed.”

  “That’s what we thought. The sheriff said we’d need to find him a body before he’d start an investigation.”

  “He wasn’t going out to look for the men or gather evidence?”

  “He said he would start looking for the missing men, but I think for him that meant checking out the local bars. He’s too busy manning his speed trap, and eating donuts—”

  “Muffins,” Tessa corrected.

  “Whatever,” I said, shushing her.

  “You know I can’t show up there and start investigating,” Zachary said.

  “I figured. So, we need to sit tight and wait for something else to happen? Like another murder?”

  “Or for these men to come back from their drinking spree.”

  “But—”

  “If they don’t show up tomorrow, call me.”

  I didn’t say a word.

  “Put Tessa on the phone, will you? I know she’s standing there.”

  I handed the phone to Tessa. She listened briefly and hung up.

  “Well?”

  “He said you shouldn’t go looking for dead bodies,” Tessa said. Detective Grant’s surly attitude had returned, and it was aimed at me.

  “Of course I won’t!” I said, but I knew it was a lie. And so did Tessa.

  NINE

  In the morning I rolled over to find Gumdrop staring at me with his big green eyes.

  “Oh! Gummie, you scared me to death.” I grabbed the cat around his fat gray belly and lugged him out to the kitchen. “I’m putting you on a diet.”

  Gumdrop’s bowl was full of crunchy food.

  “Too early in the morning for catnip,” I said, setting him down next to his bowl and giving him a little scratch on the chin. He closed his eyes and purred. As soon as I stopped scratching, his eyes were open and staring at me again. Ignoring him, I busied myself in the kitchen, making coffee and toast. Tessa shuffled out a few minutes later and I handed her a full cup.

  “Are we headed out to Carthage?” Tessa asked.

&
nbsp; “I got a text from Abby saying class was still canceled.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ve got a question,” Tessa said. “Why are you getting ready to leave?”

  “Because we’re going out to Carthage anyway.”

  “Even though there’s no class?”

  “There’s something I want to check out.”

  Tessa sat in my favorite paisley wingback chair and watched as I pulled my waterproof boots out of the closet and put them by the back door.

  “That’s exactly what Detective Grant did not want you to do,” Tessa said.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just taking out my boots. It’s supposed to rain.”

  “And you’re not going to use them to slog around by the river next to the studio?”

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “You have always been a rotten liar. I remember how our first grade teacher, Mrs. Martinez, wanted to know who let the hamster out of his cage. I knew it was you.” Tessa and I had been friends since kindergarten. Although we spent some years apart when she lived in Italy and Seattle while I stayed in Miami, I’ve always considered her my best friend. There were some long stretches when we weren’t in touch, when the demands of life and work got in the way of staying connected. But even though I wasn’t in contact much in the years prior to my move to Seattle, Tessa and her family were at least part of the reason I came.

  “I told her it was a jail break. You don’t think she believed me?”

  “No one believed you,” Tessa said with a shake of her head, returning to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup.

  “I’ll only use those boots if absolutely necessary.”

  “You’re going to look for Marco’s body, aren’t you? That’s why we’re up so early.”

  “I thought about it all night. You saw Marco. He was dead. He’s out there rotting in Carthage somewhere. Don’t you think his family would want to know where he was?”

  “His parents never seemed to care where he was…” Tessa said, and then realizing she’d said something she shouldn’t have, clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “What did you say?”

  “I meant that his parents may not care where he is,” she said, back-pedaling.

  “But that’s not what you said. You said ‘never seemed to care,’ which sounds like you knew Marco’s parents.”

  “Oh, well, I...Venice is a small city, everyone’s heard of the de Luca family,” Tessa said.

  “Come on, you might as well spill the beans, or maybe it’s spill the beads? I’ll find out some other way.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I want to hear it. All of it,” I said, sitting down on the sofa across from her and looking her straight in the eye.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Don’t give me that B.S. Let’s start with the most basic question: Did you know Marco de Luca before yesterday?”

  “It’s very complicated,” she said.

  “And when were you planning on telling me this? And why is this the first time you’ve mentioned this to me. You’ve had many opportunities.”

  “It’s very, very complicated.”

  “Let me try one more time. The man who taught the class at Old Firehouse Studio—who is likely dead, if you saw what you think you did—have you ever seen him before in your life?”

  “Yes,” she said, nearly whispering. “Look, my parents, they wanted me to marry a de Luca.”

  “What? How come I don’t know about this? You were supposed to marry Marco?” I asked.

  “Marco, no. Dario, his younger brother. But I chose Craig. He wasn’t Venetian, not even Italian! My parents disapproved, so did my grandparents. It took them a long time to realize love trounces fame any day of the week,” Tessa said. “It didn’t end well with Dario.”

  “Wow, your parents must have been pissed at you.”

  “At first they didn’t understand. How could I not want to be part of the famous de Luca family? They owned a giant glassblowing studio and were a big deal in the glass industry in Venice for the longest time. They made everything: vases, sculptures, chandeliers, beads. It was my grandfather, my nonno, he wanted me to marry well. He always said our family came from royalty. He like to joke that my mother named me Tessa because it was short for Contessa.”

  “But didn’t Marco recognize you the other night?”

  “Maybe. He called me Tessa. I’m not sure how he would have known my name otherwise, unless Abby told him. By the time I was with Dario—”

  “With Dario? What do you mean with?”

  Tessa ignored my question and kept going. “Marco left Venice and was traveling the world, teaching classes and exhibiting. His parents never did know where he was and didn’t seem to care.”

  “Or, cared very deeply, but didn’t know how to express it.”

  “Oh, they knew how to express a lot of things, trust me, all of us fiery Italians do,” Tessa said, pausing to gather her thoughts. “Can we please put it behind us? It really has nothing to do with what’s going on now. It was a long time ago.” Tessa rose from the chair and abruptly left the room. I hoped she would accompany me this morning, because I was going out to search for Marco whether she came with me or not.

  Gumdrop jumped into my lap. I pulled him close to me so we were face-to-face.

  “Gummie, did you know Tessa had an Italian boyfriend before Craig?”

  No response.

  “Come on, Gumdrop. Tell me what you know.”

  “Yellooo?” His usual response. The cat jumped from my lap and headed for a warm spot on the Oriental rug by the window. “Thanks, Gummie, for being so helpful.”

  TEN

  “Jax, of all your really rotten ideas, this may be your worst,” Tessa said, as I pulled to the side of the road at the top of the slope by the river in Carthage. A loud crunch emanated from beneath the Ladybug as we came to a stop.

  “I sure hope that wasn’t anything serious,” I said, getting out of the car and peeking under it. All I could see was mud. I flipped the back seat forward and Stanley the basset hound did his best to leap from the car. He needed a little help with his back end, so I gently lifted his hindquarters from the footwell behind the driver’s seat. He galumphed away and landed right in a puddle. We were all going to need a bath when this was over. I caught up with him and clipped a long leash onto the dog’s collar.

  “Do you really think Stanley can help us find something other than dog treats down by the river?” Tessa asked.

  “Stanley is a basset hound—a hound. He’s supposed to be able to track things.”

  “I don’t know about him. He’s probably never tracked a thing in his life,” Tessa said, looking doubtfully at Stanley as he waded out of the puddle he’d landed in.

  “We’ll never know if we don’t give it a try. Come on, Stanley,” I said, squishing through the mud and grass down the bank toward the river. Stanley, realizing we had a mission to accomplish, took off at a trot down the slope, sliding as he went and pulling me along behind him.

  “Hold on. Whoa! Stop!” I yelled. The dog was well trained by his previous owner, or “his guardian,” as she would have called herself. He stopped in his tracks but continued sliding down the muddy hill, stopping inches from the river’s edge as I stumbled along to catch up with him. Tessa followed at a much slower rate, gingerly picking her way to the river’s edge.

  “What now?” Tessa asked, finally arriving at my side and looking down at the river.

  “I’m not sure how I get him started. In the movies, they usually have something for the dog to smell to get a scent.”

  “You haven’t thought this out at all, have you?” Tessa said, blowing her bangs off her forehead. She was still distressed from this morning’s talk about Dario de Luca, though I couldn’t understand why. She herself said it all happened a very lon
g time ago. I hoped she might eventually fill me in.

  “Let’s give it a try,” I said, unclipping the leash from the dog’s collar. “Okay, Stanley! Go!”

  The brown river churned past us, as he snuffled along the muddy bank, his nose to the ground. He stayed close to the water’s edge, at times coming dangerously close to falling in. I hoped he wouldn’t end up in the river because I was in no condition to jump in and rescue him, especially given how deep the water was and how quickly it was rushing by. We slogged through the cattails, heading farther and farther away from the studio.

  “Are you really hoping we’ll find Marco’s body?” Tessa asked.

  “Yes, a body or footprints or something.”

  “Footprints? There are footprints all over the place.”

  “Some sort of clue about what happened to Marco or Dez.” I wished I could have stopped to enjoy this beautiful spot by the river. It was by far the part I liked best about Carthage: the river, the rolling hills, and the lush conifers growing near the river’s edge. But while we were on this grim mission, I didn’t have the time or energy to do anything other than focus on the muddy riverbank and scan for a dead man, or men.

  The dog slowed down near a clump of reeds and branches, pacing back and forth in front of it and finally stopping. Stanley had found something. Or, he was simply having a good time, it was hard to tell.

  “Ah-roo!” Stanley howled. We ran to him as fast as we could through the muck.

  “Help me look under here,” I yelled. When Tessa caught up, we started moving the debris. Together we flipped a large pile of branches into the water.

  Marco’s pale, muddy body was wedged in the reeds in the narrow inlet below us. His red shirt was pushed up around his neck, revealing a gaping dark red hole above his left nipple. His eyes wide, he stared blankly at the gray sky above us.

  Tessa and I fell backward into the mud and sat there in stunned silence. The stench of Marco’s decomposing body hit us next. If we hadn’t already been sitting, I’m sure I would have fainted from the smell.