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

by Janice Peacock

  Saundra was still going strong when I finished my update with Tessa. Saundra went on. And on and on and on. “In order to make the tiger-striped bead, with full instructions in my book Bead Diva 3: Jungle-Inspired Designs, we start by making what is commonly called a twisty, which of course, is incorrect…as we all should know, the proper name of this is technique is the Italian word latticino. Next…”

  I wandered off, figuring that someday I’d sit down and read her book. But at that moment, I just couldn’t stand her ego—it was taking up too much of the room.

  I waved to Tessa as I headed for the door. She looked like she had her hands full, trying to herd Indigo Martin up to the front of the room to get ready for her demo, and needed to find a giant hook to get Saundra off the stage.

  NINE

  “Gummmmmdrooooopppp!” I yelled coming in the back door. “Come on out, kitty-kitty-kitty!” There was no sign of Gumdrop. He was definitely not in the house, because he would have come out from his hiding place by now.

  My cat had been gone all day, and I was worried about him. I put a bowl of food on the porch, with the hope that if Gumdrop was hiding somewhere nearby, he’d come out when he smelled the food. We have some big rosemary bushes between the porch and the yard, and they looked like a perfect hiding place. I got down on my hands and knees to look under the low branches. No luck. My dear Gummie wasn’t there.

  As I turned to get up, I saw a pair of work boots next to me. Attached to these boots were a man’s legs, in fact a whole man.

  “Need some help?” the man said, offering me his hand. Oh, great. He must be one of Val’s boyfriends, another in her never-ending stream of bad choices.

  He was a tall, gangly guy with a pockmarked face. He didn’t seem like one of Val’s usual boyfriends, with his scraggly ponytail, enormous muttonchops, and harsh dark eyes. He wasn’t the friendliest-looking guy I’d ever seen, though he did seem to have manners enough to help me up.

  Val trotted out her front door. “Oh, hi Jax! This is Rudy, the painter you said was coming to give you a quote on doing your kitchen.”

  Ah. This explained why this scary man was here, although it didn’t explain why he’d been in Val’s house or why Val was carrying a pitcher of margaritas and two glasses. Perhaps she had finally taken my advice, and decided that sometimes you have to look past someone’s superficial beauty to see how terrific they are.

  “Oh, right,” I said after being hoisted up by Rudy and straightening myself out. “Do you have a quote for me on the painting job?”

  “Oh, yeah. Your kitchen.” Val had distracted Rudy. I wondered if he’d even been in to see the kitchen. Humph. “Yeah, it’s going to need a lot of work getting the peeling paint off the ceiling.” Oh yes, he had definitely been in my kitchen.

  “I’ll send you a quote real soon. I left my card on your kitchen counter,” Rudy said, as he headed toward Val’s door, a margarita with his name on it beckoning to him.

  “Okay, you guys, see you later.” But there was no response as the door clicked shut.

  Back inside, I sat at the kitchen table and stared up at the ceiling with its rippling paint that dated back at least twenty years. I hoped Rudy would give me a good deal on fixing it. Maybe I’d get the “neighbor-of-your-new-girlfriend” discount, but I doubted it.

  I started up my Mac, and went to Craigslist to see if any cats resembling Gumdrop were listed in the “Lost and Found” section. No gray cats had been found. I posted a “lost cat” message, giving a good description of my dear kitty, but leaving out the part about him being psychic, and also omitting that he was addicted to catnip.

  Since I was on my laptop I decided to whip up a lost cat poster to tack up around the neighborhood. I started up Microsoft Word, and typed up a description of Gummie, and added my phone number. I found a good picture of him and put it right in the middle of the page. Then I printed a few copies, and headed out the door and down the street, tacking up the posters on telephone poles as I went.

  On my way back up the street, I spotted Mr. Chu at his mailbox. He had an enormous orange tabby cat slung over one arm. His ratty robe was not all the way closed, revealing a dingy white t-shirt and boxer shorts.

  I’ve met a few crazy cat ladies, but Mr. Chu was the first crazy cat man I’d ever met.

  Mr. Chu headed back down the driveway between our houses, and I caught up with him.

  “Mr. Chu, hi, how are you?”

  “Fine, fine,” he said, holding his cat close and petting him in long strokes. Mr. Chu was a man of few words. I think he preferred cats to people.

  “I’m wondering if you’ve seen my cat,” I said, as I followed him down the driveway. “He’s big and gray with long-hair, and has a bit of an attitude.”

  “No. Can’t say I have.” We’d reached Mr. Chu’s back door. When he opened it, I could see a handful of cats standing inside looking up at their owner expectantly.

  “Can’t let any cats out,” Mr. Chu said, squeezing in the door, waving, and shutting it quickly.

  My search for Gumdrop would have to continue later.

  What I needed to do now was to put together the packet of instructions for the workshop I was giving on Sunday. I had a tutorial for a bracelet, using five oval white heart beads. Each bead is wrapped with wire to create a link in a chain, then the links are attached together to make a pretty bracelet, or you can make more components and create an entire necklace. A necklace like that was on display at Aztec Beads this weekend.

  …

  This was a different kind of job than I used to have. These days, it seemed like I was constantly working: making beads, making jewelry, creating inventories, working on my website, contacting galleries, at all times of the day and night. When I worked for Clorox, it was a regular nine to five job. I had job security and a consistent paycheck. I had all of that…until Aunt Rita and I decided it was time to start on my next adventure.

  That day I simply went into my boss’ office and said, “Terry, I’m resigning. I need a change.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t be around much longer. You haven’t been happy for a while,” Terry said, staring at his computer screen, not turning around.

  “I’m moving to Seattle. It’s a long story. I’d really like to get out of here sooner than later. Any chance we can skip the two weeks notice?”

  “No problem, Jax, no problem at all.” The blue glow of the computer screen illuminated his dark face. “We’ll send you a final check.”

  “Thanks so much, Terry, you are changing my life!” I said, trying to work up some enthusiasm in him.

  “No problem. Have a nice life,” he said, as he continued to review his latest test results.

  That. Was. It. Not even a handshake good-bye. I walked down the white hall, with its white floor, through the white door, and into a world of living color.

  …

  A knock on the back door jolted me out of my memories. I fully expected it would be Marta, there to show me what a good job Stanley had done making a piddle, or a pee-pee or whatever.

  “Dylan,” I said with surprise, as I opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m just nervous about going to the party tonight. You know, it’s all a bunch of bead ladies, and then me.”

  “What, you want me to make you an honorary bead lady? It can be done, you know,” I said with mock seriousness.

  “It’s just that I don’t fit in, you know?” Dylan said, looking down at the table, dejected. He noticed the stack of class instructions. “You ready to teach your class?”

  “I am. I think, I am. Maybe,” I said shuffling through the papers to make sure they were all complete.

  “I dunno, Jax, maybe I should give it up, I mean, nobody takes me seriously.”

  “Look, Dylan: I take you seriously. Tessa takes you seriously. You take yourself seriously, right? That’s enough. Go home, put on some nice clothes,” I said looking at his old t-shirt, holey jeans and flip-flops, “and get ready to schmooze som
e people tonight. Maybe you’ll meet a jewelry designer who wants to place a huge order for your excellent beads.”

  Dylan stood there, staring down at his saggy pants. “I can’t really afford any new clothes. The new apartment is pretty much wiping my bank account clean each month.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” I said grabbing my handbag.

  “Uh…”

  “Come on, Dylan, nobody is going to take you seriously unless you ‘up your game.’ Okay? So, let’s get moving. I’m going to be your fairy godmother.”

  “Fairy god—”

  “That’s right Dylan. Fairy. God. Mother! You know, she gets Cinderella a new dress to go to the ball.” I turned and opened the studio door, and gestured toward the Ladybug.

  “Sire, your carriage awaits.”

  Dylan looked at me uncertainly. “Let’s go,” I said, trying to clear up the picture for him. “I’m going to buy you an outfit to wear tonight.” This had not been part of the plan for my busy day, but I am always a sucker for a good cause.

  “I won’t buy you anything crazy, or anything that’s going to make you feel uncomfortable. Just something nice.” I was getting worried Val’s love of makeovers was contagious. “I’m not going to spend a lot, we’re just going to get you something that will make you feel confident, and maybe that confidence will mean someone wants to buy a few extra beads.”

  “Just the two of us?” Dylan asked timidly, as I opened the car door and pushed him in. I came around to the driver’s side and swung myself into the seat.

  I gave him a sideways glance. “Why?”

  “Well, I think your neighbor, Val, dresses nice. Maybe she could come?”

  My head came to rest on the steering wheel. Val. If I invited her to come on this little makeover adventure, I would never hear the end of it.

  “Sure, Dylan, if that would make you happy,” I sighed. “Let’s go talk with Val and see if she can come.” I hoped Rudy had already left, and that Val would simply not open the door if we were interrupting something.

  We got back out of the car and came around the side of the house, narrowly missing a pile of poop Stanley had left behind. Dammit, Marta, get your shit together. Literally. Figuratively.

  Dylan followed after me like my own puppy. When we arrived at Val’s door a few seconds later, we knocked and Val opened the door.

  “Yessssss,” she said with a big curious smile.

  “Dylan and I were wondering if you’d like to go shopping with us,” I said, subtly craning my neck around Val to see if Rudy was inside.

  “Becausssssse…,” she prompted me to continue, leaning saucily against the doorjamb.

  I took a deep breath. “Because Dylan here needs a new outfit to wear for the party tonight, and so I said I’d buy him something.”

  “But really, Jax, you don’t—” said Dylan.

  “I want to—”

  “People! People!” Val said clapping her hands to get our attention.

  We both stopped and looked at her, our mouths still open but no words coming out.

  “You know that expression, when you don’t have anything to wear, you should ‘shop your closet?’” Val asked.

  “No,” Dylan and I said in unison.

  Val sighed. “Well, the idea is that before you buy anything new, you should make sure you don’t have the perfect thing already in your closet. But, there is another saying, a corollary.”

  “Corollary?” we said in unison.

  “Yes, corollary!” Val said impatiently. I have to admit that while I knew what a corollary was, I was pretty surprised Val did. “The corollary is: when you can’t find anything in your closet, shop your neighbor’s closet.”

  I had never seen Val so pumped up. “Don’t you worry, Dylan, I will take care of you.”

  Dylan looked nervous. I’m sure he was regretting his idea of asking Val along on our clothes-shopping spree. We were both assessing our options for a getaway plan.

  Val grabbed both of us by the wrists, and yanked us inside. It was too late to escape now. She’d closed us in, and we were trapped in her living room with her animal print pillows and bright pink sofa.

  “I have a few things here that might work and it might mean Jax can save her hard-earned money.” Val was talking a mile a minute.

  “You see,” she said, by way of explanation, “I’ve had a few boyfriends.”

  “Just a few,” I agreed, being more than just a little snarky.

  “And so sometimes they leave things behind. I have here a giant box of men’s clothing,” Val said returning from her bedroom and struggling to see over the top of the box she carried.

  “I’m getting clothing worn by a bunch of old dudes?” asked Dylan.

  “Not old,” said Val. “I do not date old guys.”

  “Val, your donation to Dylan’s cause is a great one,” I said, but I knew this wasn’t going to work out. Her heart was in the right place, but a bunch of questionable clothing from some guys who were also pretty questionable, seemed like a less-than-perfect situation.

  “Look, I am just trying to help, and save you money—”

  “I know, Val, but geez, Dylan’s not going to like, or fit into, any of these clothes. I mean—”

  “You always think the guys I date are losers, really—”

  “Hey, check it out!” Dylan said, beaming and mock modeling for us, turning side to side to show us how excellent he looked. While we were arguing, Dylan had picked out a shirt from the box and pulled it over his ratty t-shirt.

  He was wearing a simple gray long-sleeved dress shirt, and was on his way to looking fabulous. Dylan was such a sweet man, still just a boy, really.

  “Here’s a belt!” said Val, starting to stuff it through his belt loops. “This will help make those saggy pants look better.”

  “You have any shoes in there?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” said Val. “Guys seem to leave shirts behind much more often than shoes.”

  “Actually…I’ve got just the solution for the shoes,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I ran out Val’s door and then back into my front door, nearly colliding with Marta, who had returned from Tessa’s studio, and Stanley.

  “We’re going for a run,” Marta said.

  Poor Stanley didn’t look like he was up for a run. Marta noticed Stanley was looking droopier than usual. “Maybe we’ll just go for a walk today.”

  I came back to Val’s five minutes later with a pair of black sneakers.

  “Look at these shoes. These would work, right?”

  “Well…” said Val, examining them as if they were something dead I’d scraped off of the road.

  “Come on, these are great,” I insisted. “They’re black, they are sort of unisex, right?”

  “Well…” said Dylan.

  “Seriously? Dylan? You are going to turn up your nose at these perfectly good shoes? I am pretty sure they’ll fit you. They’ve always been too big for me. Better than flip-flops, right?”

  “See, I kind of have my own shoes, I just don’t ever wear them. I like flip-flops better. They just feel more natural. They let my feet breathe, ya know?”

  “Okay, so, what you are saying is that you already have good shoes. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  Val gently folded the shirt, brushing out its wrinkles and placed it in a fancy shopping bag along with Dylan’s new belt.

  “Go home now, and I’ll see you looking faboo at the party tonight,” called Val as Dylan headed for the door, making his escape before she tried any more makeover moves on him. I’d personally make sure Val, who was a hairdresser, never cut Dylan’s shaggy blond hair. It was perfect for him.

  “Thanks, ladies. Later.” Dylan took his new shirt and belt with him and we watched as he loped down the street.

  “Well, I’ve got to get myself going. You know I need at least an hour to get this,” Val gestured Vanna White-style to her curvaceous body, “ready to par-tay!”


  “You go get all of that ready,” I said, gesturing wildly at her, “and I’ll go take care of this,” I continued, gesturing again, this time pathetically, at myself with the untucked t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers I’d thrown on this morning. At least I had a nice necklace to camouflage the small, white specks from the donut holes I’d eaten earlier.

  As I headed out the door, I could hear Val yell, “Don’t forget to wear something nice and prett—” I shut the door quickly, before she finished giving me her advice.

  I was relieved I didn’t have to do the fairy godmother thing after all, because now I had more time to get ready for my workshop—and more time trying to put myself together for the party.

  TEN

  On the rare occasion when I need to dress up, my standard party attire is black from head to toe, or at least from cleavage to knee. But today, for some reason, I couldn’t get behind that fashion choice. Instead, I went with red. Full on, fire engine red. I knew that I was never going to be this young again. I was getting older every second, so I might as well be bold. At least for one night.

  I had a cute dress I’d never had the guts to wear, but I thought I’d finally whip it out for tonight’s party. The dress was a wrap-around style, and it was great, because it could expand or contract based on my current size. Val had been making some great desserts recently, even some of the failed ones were delicious. I was glad the dress had this valuable feature, given my recently expanded size. Val, as might have been expected, had helped me pick this dress, and while she was comfortable flaunting her own voluptuous features, I must admit I wasn’t comfortable looking this curvy in public.

  I pulled on my trusty Spanx to hold all the curves in the right places, jumping up and down and holding the waistband to squeeze myself into them.

  Then I put on the biggest red necklace I’d ever made. Each of the eleven spherical beads in the necklace had a red core and a layer of gold leaf. On top of the gold was a thick layer of crystal clear glass, and tiny flowers and vines swirled around the outside of each bead. Between each of the larger orbs was a small gold disk that coordinated with the gold leaf deep inside each of the glass beads.