“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-nine,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 w
as 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 leather 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.
EIGHT
When I got to Fremont Fire, I spotted Tessa at a table on the raised platform that would be used for today’s beadmaking demonstrations. She’d moved some of the worktables aside to make room for the rows of seats the girls had set up yesterday. It was looking like an official classroom. On each chair Tessa had placed a brochure promoting the upcoming classes at her studio. Clever, clever Tessa, always marketing her services and products.
“Where the heck have you been?” Tessa blew her bangs out of her eyes, a sure sign of exasperation.
“I am so sorry I’m late. I forgot that Marta Ellison was staying at my house this weekend, and she showed up right as I was getting ready to leave.” This, of course, was a lie. I had still been asleep when Marta arrived. In some ways, it was fortunate she showed up when she did, or else I might still be sleeping.
I saw Nick and Misty working in a corner of the studio that hadn’t been re-configured for today’s sessions.
Nick was working at a tabletop torch. Misty was cleaning mandrels, thin metal rods beadmakers wrap glass around when they are making beads.
“Hey, Jax,” said Misty.
“Do you need some help dipping mandrels in bead release?” I asked.
“It’s okay, I’m almost done,” Misty said, dunking a couple of inches of each mandrel into jar full of what looked like a clay milkshake, and then placing each wet-tipped mandrel into a hole in a wooden block to dry.
I’d chatted with Misty and Nick at Fremont Fire a few times, and I’d seen them selling their beads on the street, like yesterday. They used Tessa’s studio to create batches of beads they would sell. My friend supported Nick and Misty by letting them use her scrap glass, and she often gave them free rental time on the torches to help them make a few extra things to sell.
I admired some of the beads that had just come out of the cold kiln, now sitting on the counter, still on their mandrels.
“Oh, these are some of my favorites,” Misty said, noticing that I was admiring her beads. “That red color. It’s hard to work with.”
“All right, you guys need to finish up,” Tessa said, “we’ve got people coming in here to watch demos in about an hour.”
“Yeah, we’ve gotta stop. No more money to keep going,” Nick said, as he turned off the torch.
“Well, don’t worry about paying me. You can pay me back some other time.”
As Nick moved away from the torch, he knocked over a small jar of bead release, and Misty helped him wipe up the mess on the countertop.
“I dipped some extra mandrels for you, Tessa,” Misty said with a smile. She seemed happy to be able to do something nice to help Tessa in return for all she had done for them.
“Misty? How much for the red bead?” I asked.
“Is $20 okay with you?”
“It’s worth every cent,” I said.
Misty pulled the bead off the mandrel. The bead release crumbled away as she did, leaving in its place a perfect hole. She placed the bead in my hand, happy to have made a sale.
I handed her a bill and pocketing the bead.
“Hey, thanks,” said Misty with a small wave, as she and Nick headed for the door.
“Not staying for the demos?” Tessa asked.
“Yeah, we’re not really into hanging out with so many…”
“Bead ladies?”
“Uh, yeah, sort of,” said Nick. And they were gone.
We bustled around, getting ready for the demos. They were scheduled to start at 11:00, and just a few minutes before that, Fremont Fire was packed with people sitting in the audience.
“Hey, Tracy,” I said noticing her taking a seat on the aisle. “I didn’t think you’d make it here for the beadmaking demos.”
“I’ve never been over here before, and it seemed like it would be fun to see some flameworking.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Okay, everyone, let’s get started! First up is Dylan.” Tessa was trying to get everyone seated and ready to watch the first demo. “He’ll be making a hollow bead from borosilicate glass, also known as Pyrex.” My sturdy measuring cup was made of Pyrex, and it amazed me to think that a torch could melt it.
Dylan had been hiding out in the storage room. I think he had stage fright, poor guy. Tessa coaxed him out, and he got started. As soon as Dylan lit the torch, I saw all of his nervousness melt away, and he started describing his process. He was at home behind a torch, and I smiled, watching him make a perfect pendant in front of dozens of onlookers.
I looked down and realized the chair where Tracy had been sitting was empty. How strange. Hadn’t she just told me she was looking forward to seeing how beads are made? Perhaps there’d been an emergency back at the bead shop.
When Dylan finished, we all applauded for him and he made a silly awkward bow before he left the raised stage area.
We took a break before the next demo started. Tessa had gotten coffee sent over from Starbucks. She’d bought some donut holes and piled them high on plates on one of the side tables. By the end of the break, I had drifts of powdered sugar across my black shirt. I swear I do not know how other people avoid looking like they were hit by a miniature blizzard when eating those little white donuts.
I brushed myself off as best I could. I’d worn a necklace, made of beads, of course, that I’d wrapped around my neck a couple of times to make a choker. I unwound it and put it back on as one long necklace, hoping to camouflage any speckles of white sugar remaining on my shirt.
>
Tessa took the stage once again. “Next up is Saundra Jameson. Many of you know Saundra from her popular Bead Diva book series. We are happy to have Saundra here to demonstrate how to make one of her animal-print beads.”
This likely explained why Judy from JOWL had been wearing a large tiger-striped bead yesterday. Saundra must have made it.
The Bead Diva took the stage, looking elegant in her long flowing skirt and kimono-style jacket. Saundra tied her long hair back with a satin ribbon and removed her jacket. She donned a work tunic so she wouldn’t ruin what she was wearing if a small piece of glass landed on her while she was working. That happens from time to time to anyone who is a flameworker. One thing that meant for me—since I didn’t own a fancy work tunic—was that most of the jeans and shirts I owned had tiny burn holes in them.
“Hello, everyone. I am glad so many people showed up to watch me demo today,” said Saundra.
“Came specifically to see her?” I said to Tessa, as we stood at the back of the room. “Because no one would show up to see the other riffraff?”
“Shhhhh,” Tessa scolded.
“Today you will be seeing me create a bead I’ve only demonstrated on one other occasion, and that was when I was asked to show some high-value donors how to make one of my signature beads at a fundraising event,” Saundra continued, sounding pleased with herself.
“Diva and saint,” Tessa whispered, looking at Saundra with at least at much disdain asSaundra had for everyone else in the room. “Listen, I’ve got to go herd some more cats to keep these demos going.”
Hearing Tessa mention cats, even if hers were metaphorical, reminded me of Gumdrop. “Tessa, you are not going to believe this, but Gumdrop has flown the coop!” I told her what happened, and filled her in on Marta and the not-very-welcome Stanley. Tessa gave me a big hug and wished for Gumdrop’s safe return, and then went off to find the next performer in today’s three-ring circus.
High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) Page 5
