Snake in the Glass

by Sarah Atwell

  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.”

  Chapter 13

  One of the key characteristics of peridot is its double refraction: Objects seen through it appear double.

  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?

  Allison was in the shop when I arrived. We didn’t even need to speak: we just looked at each other and shook our heads. Okay. No news was not good news, but didn’t have to mean bad news. No news was just . . . no news. I picked up the phone and called Matt.

  I was surprised that he wasn’t at home, since this was Saturday. When he answered at his office after the usual delay, I said abruptly, “Matt, we’ve got to start looking for Cam.”

  “No word from him?” Matt sounded distracted, distant. “You want to come down and file a report today?”

  “Wait—it’s Saturday. What are you doing there?”

  He sighed. “The Gem Show always brings extra trouble, so we’ve got a full crew here. You can come in today.”

  “All right.” We said terse good-byes and I hung up, unsatisfied—a feeling that was compounded when I realized I had forgotten to ask him about his morgue search. Or maybe I hadn’t forgotten; maybe I really didn’t want an answer to that. Still, somehow filling out a piece of paper with Cam’s particulars did not feel like taking action.

  Allison was watching me anxiously. “Will he help?’

  “As much as he can. It’s not exactly high on his priority list, and I can’t complain about that. I know, I know—I want to do more, but I have no idea what. You?”

  “No. Cam’s made no effort to call me. I thought perhaps he might have written me, but there’s nothing from him. Oh, Em—he’s
got to be all right! I’ll never forgive myself if . . .”

  “Stop. Don’t go there. He’s probably camping out under the stars howling at the moon and cursing all women, me included. This is just a precaution.” I almost smiled at Allison looking for a letter, since Cam was such a computer guy, but then I remembered that Allison didn’t even own a computer and probably had no e-mail address anyway.

  I collected my car keys and made my way to the police station. Inside I was greeted by Mariana, the desk sergeant, who knew me fairly well. “Oh, hi, Em—the chief left this for you. He’s in a meeting at the mayor’s office, about security for the Gem Show, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be.” She passed me a large manila envelope with my name on it. “Trouble?”

  “Thanks. I hope not. I’ll just fill this out and give it back to you, then.”

  I sat down in one of the unyielding plastic chairs in the waiting area and pulled out the form. It felt wrong, reducing Cam to a list of words on a page. White male, six foot one inch, 180 pounds (maybe?), gray eyes, blondish-brownish hair (varied depending on how much time he had spent in the sun recently), scar on left elbow. No jewelry. Clothes? Would guessing that he was wearing faded jeans, a button-down shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and ratty running shoes help or hurt? Car: I could give make and model, but damned if I had memorized the license plate. I barely knew my own. Last seen? A week ago, at my place. Permanent residence? He didn’t have one at the moment. Place of employment? Nowhere, until next week. Relatives? Me, and only me. I didn’t know whether to get mad or depressed by the stupid form, so I did both.

  I finished filling in the blanks as best I could and handed the form back to Mariana. She glanced at it, then at me. “Your brother?”

  I nodded. “He’s supposed to be moving to Tucson to start a new job, but I haven’t heard from him in a week. And that’s not like him.”

  “I can see that you’d be worried. I’ll see that the chief gets this as soon as he returns.”

  “Thanks, Mariana. I’ll see you.” I turned and left more abruptly than I might have, not wanting to face the concern in her eyes. I just wanted to get on with finding Cam—and I hated that there was nothing else I could do. So I went back to the shop.

  Allison was out, presumably at lunch; Nessa was in. I didn’t feel like eating, so I said, “I’ll be in the studio, if anyone needs me.” If I couldn’t do something about Cam, I would do something with glass.

  “That’s fine, dear,” Nessa said. “We’ve got the shop covered.”

  The air was heavy with things we weren’t saying, so I fled to the studio and started working.

  A few hours later I managed not to drop the piece I was transferring to the annealer when there was a sharp rap at my back door. Denis, no doubt. I carefully stowed the hot glass piece and shut the annealer door before answering. It was indeed Denis, and the fact that he looked terrible, like warmed-over cheese, penetrated even my preoccupation. “You okay?” I asked.

  He shoved past me without answering. “My stuff’s still in the kiln?”

  “Yes. I haven’t touched it. Let me . . .”

  Before I could do anything more, he had grabbed a pair of long tongs and opened the top of the kiln, reaching in to extricate one of the small crucibles. He dumped the contents on the metal marver and started poking through them with a pair of long tweezers, sorting them into two piles, one larger than the other. I caught the glint of gold from the smaller pile—ones he had successfully transformed? Nevertheless, apparently he wasn’t happy. He returned to the kiln for first one, then a second crucible, until he had gone through the same steps for each, all in grim silence. I watched without saying a word, afraid he might snap like a bowstring if I interrupted him.

  When he had sorted through all the stones he stood frozen, staring at the two piles. “It’s not enough, damn it,” he muttered, although loud enough for me to hear him.

  I was getting stiff, trying to hold still. Besides, this was my studio, so why was I walking on eggshells? “Problems?” I said.

  Denis turned to look at me, his expression bleak. “The process works, but not often enough. I need more. I can’t make any money on this unless I have money to make more stones. And I don’t have the money. Isn’t that stupid? And I still need to get the stones cut and polished. What am I supposed to do? Em, I need more kiln time. And I need it now. Look, I’ll pay you as soon as I sell some stones. Or I’ll pay you in stones now. Whatever you want. But I’ve got to create more, and fast.”

  I studied him. Nice, respectable professional, my age. Good, steady job. Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? He’d gotten himself into this mess. Maybe under different circumstances I would have said yes, but I was worried about Cam, and Denis’s check had bounced, and I wanted to get some of my own work done—and I was tired of being a pushover. “Look, Denis, I think you’re going to have to find another kiln to use, or even think about getting one of your own if you’re serious about this gem thing. I just don’t think this is working.”

  Denis didn’t say anything, and he had a peculiar expression on his face. Anger? Frustration? Calculation? Was he trying to figure out what he could offer me to change my mind?

  Finally he spoke with a curious calm. “Em, I understand your position, and I know I must sound like a madman. I’m not really like this. It’s just . . . money pressures, I guess, and I’m so close to making this technique work. If I could find another way, I would, really. I know it’s not your problem, is it?”

  I felt relieved—and as though I had backed away from a cliff. Poor Denis really was wound up about this gem thing. Was this kind of mania part of the whole precious-stones thing? I’d have to ask Frank.

  Apparently my mind was wandering, because Denis had gone on talking and I wasn’t following. “Excuse me?” I said.

  “I was saying that I’d be interested in meeting your brother.”

  My antennae went up. “My brother?” I said.

  “Yes. Cameron Dowell’s your brother, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. Do you know him?”

  “We have some mutual colleagues who’ve talked about his work. Sounds like interesting stuff. He’s moving to Tucson?” Denis’s face gave nothing away.

  “Yes, he is.” I liked this less and less. How many people knew that Cam was moving here? Not many, I would guess. “Someone at the university knows him?”

  “I guess that’s where I heard about him. He’s done some work with people there, hasn’t he?”

  “I think so.” Heck, I didn’t know. “Denis, why are you so interested in Cam?”

  He held my eyes and smiled slightly. “Just curious. He sounds like a guy with a lot of interests.”

  “Maybe I can introduce you, when he gets here,” I said, my voice tight.

  “Sure. You expect him soon?”

  “Any day now.” Okay, maybe he was just being polite, trying to soften me up so I’d give him more kiln time. Maybe he really did know people who did know Cam—it wasn’t unreasonable. So why was I so uneasy?

  “Good. I’m sure you’ll enjoy having him around. Listen, Em, about the kiln time. I know I’m asking a lot, for you to trust me, but I believe that it will all work out, and soon. All I need is maybe another couple of days, a few more runs, to fill out the first batch. I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise. Can you give me that much?”

  I wavered. I liked Denis less and less. But if he really did know who Cam’s local friends were, I would have something to give the police—if it came to that. Which it wouldn’t—would it? “Okay. Fine. You do what you need to do. You have until Monday and then we’re done. Understood?”

  He still had the same mirthless smile. “Thank you, Em. I’ll be back later to start another batch. And I sure hope your brother’s all right.”

  I stood frozen in place as Denis gathered up his stones, slipped them into bags, slid the bags into his backpack, then let himself out the back door, at an unhurried pace. By now all my interior alarms were sounding.
Why had he had brought up Cam’s name now? And why would he use those words: “I sure hope your brother’s all right”? Was he trying to send me a message? Did he know something about Cam’s whereabouts? Or was I just being paranoid and overreacting to an innocent comment? How was I supposed to know?

  Too many questions, not enough answers. Time to talk to Matt again.

  Chapter 14

  The Aztecs, Toltecs, Incas, and ancient Egyptians believed that peridot could balance the energy of the physical body.

  Once Denis had disappeared into the night, I headed back upstairs in a daze. No Cam, no message. No Frank either. I was feeding the dogs when I was interrupted by a knock on the door. The dogs raced to the door, looking eager, so it probably wasn’t an enemy. I didn’t have any enemies, anyway. Did I? I didn’t dare hope it was Cam.

  I opened the door to Matt. Wordlessly I, well, not exactly threw, but propelled myself into his arms, startling both of us. He patted me awkwardly but held his ground.

  Reluctantly I let go, embarrassed, and peeled myself off him. We backed into the room and I shut the door behind us.

  “Bad day?” he asked, watching my face.

  “I’ve had better. Any news?”

  “No, I don’t know anything more. Though I did follow up with the ME’s office to see if they’d found any unknowns lately.”

  “And have they?”

  “Only one in the right time frame, and before you ask, it wasn’t your brother. He was Hispanic, maybe ten years older than Cam.”

  “Well, that’s something, I guess. Is he the one I read about in the paper the other day—the one with the pebbles?”

  “That’s him.”