“Why are you coming in the back way?”
“I don’t really like big groups, ya know? I hoped I could just kinda come in quietly and check out the scene, under the radar.”
“Well, don’t worry, stick with me,” I said, trying to reassure him.
Spotting Dylan, Val charged toward us like a giant glittering rhino. Val wouldn’t be amused by my simile. I would need to keep it to myself, or face being stomped on by one of her rhino-sized stilettos.
“Oh my,” said Val. I swear she was tearing up. “Oh, I….” She was speechless, an unusual state for Val. She grabbed Dylan in the biggest hug I’d ever seen. Dylan looked tiny compared to Val, as she gripped him in a full-body hug. He hung there, arms loose, looking like a ragdoll in Val’s arms. Fortunately, she released him before he passed out. If Dylan wasn’t overwhelmed before, he was now.
“Hey, Val. How’s it goin’?” Dylan asked, trying to regain some composure, and straighten out his new (slightly used) clothes.
“Dylan, you must show me your beads,” said Val, trying to move on from what was too dramatic of a moment even for her. Val took Dylan’s arm, locked it into hers, and dragged him away. Poor Dylan, I hoped he’d survive the night.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see a chubby man standing beside me. “Are you Jax?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, because, really, I couldn’t deny it.
“Oh, Jax! I am soooo glad to meet you. I saw your work in the gallery. I’m Frankie Lawton,” the man said, extending his hand to shake, like Stanley-the-dog, palm down.
I wasn’t sure if I should shake his hand or kiss his ring. I gave his hand a tentative squeeze, as I had done with Stanley.
Frankie was a jewelry designer who had recently become a super-star in the world of high fashion. The model on the cover of last month’s Vogue magazine was wearing one of his necklaces and a pair of earrings, and that meant the demand for Frankie’s work had skyrocketed. Frankie was wearing a red jacket, a white shirt, and wide black belt. All he needed was a white beard and a red hat, and he’d look like Santa. A stylish, gay Santa.
“Oh, wow, Frankie, I am extremely pleased to meet you,” I said, in what was probably too enthusiastic a manner.
“Your work is stupendous! Stupendous!” Frankie said.
“Thank you, very much. I mean really. That means so much to me…” I stopped myself from gushing and embarrassing myself.
I saw Tito run by, carrying a cracker he’d clearly found under the appetizer table. When he was finished with his snack he ran over to us, and looked up expectantly. I assumed he was hoping we’d give him something else to eat. I tried to ignore him, but kept a cautious eye on him, since I knew he’d rather bite than bark. Suddenly Tito lunged at the cuff on Frankie’s red trousers, pulling and shaking his head from side-to-side.
“I don’t know why Rosie doesn’t keep Tito under house arrest,” Frankie said.
“Shoo! Shoo!” I yelled at the dog, waving my hands around, but not too close, trying to get him to let go of Frankie’s pants.
Just as quickly as he had attacked, Tito let go and ran off, to abuse another guest at the party.
Frankie regained his composure, and looked down to see if the dog had done any damage to his cuff. From what I could tell, it looked fine, and we were able to continue our conversation.
“I’m interested in purchasing some of the beads you have on display in the shop. But right now, I must run off to my next event. I’ll find you this weekend, so we can have a tête-à-tête. Okay?”
I was ecstatic. A famous designer wanted to work with me. If Frankie used my beads in a new jewelry line, I would finally make some money at my new career in glass, and could stop dipping into Aunt Rita’s savings account.
Feeling nearly delirious from the good news, I wandered through the crowd and back inside. Rosie came by while I was standing by my display. Amazingly, she didn’t notice the pedestal looked exactly as it had the day before. Perhaps one of the reasons Rosie hadn’t noticed (other than the fact it didn’t look that bad in the first place) was the subtle way I was standing in front of it, blocking her view.
I called Dylan over. I wanted him to meet Rosie, hoping that if she got to know him, she might continue to sell some of his beads in the store after the weekend’s events had ended.
“Rosie, have you met Dylan?”
Dylan turned around to face Rosie. Both faces froze as they stared at each other. Between Dylan’s shyness and Rosie’s lack of people skills, it looked like they’d stand there forever. How did Rosie expect to run a small business when she couldn’t even hold out her hand and say “Hello?” Fortunately, Tessa found me and broke me away from the awkward moment by grabbing my hand and dragging me out to the patio.
“Our favorite song!” she said squeezing through the crowd and onto the grass so we could dance. As we were bopping around with a dozen other people to “Rock Lobster” by the B52’s, I saw Allen standing on the patio with a glass of wine. He was watching us dance.
“Who’s the guy over there checking you out?” Tessa shouted over the music.
I glanced over. “Allen Sinclair.”
“Wow. I had no idea I’d set you up with such a cutie! I should have had him interview me.”
“You’re married, so the fact he is a cutie probably doesn’t—or at least shouldn’t—matter to you.”
“Rock Lobster!” we shouted as the song ended. There was a momentary silence as we left the dance floor, or more accurately, “dance lawn,” which was looking shredded.
“Wow, Jax, good thing that song is only four minutes long. I’m not sure if I could’ve kept dancing much longer,” Tessa said, patting her forehead with the back of her hand. Her curiosity was killing her, I could tell. “Did things go well with Allen last night? I mean, really, really well?”
I was doubled-over with a stitch in my side from dancing. I definitely need to get out of the studio more often for aerobic activity. “What? You think I’m going to kiss and tell?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Especially since I set you up with him. You owe me.”
“I owe you?” I said, finally uncurling myself and looking straight at Tessa. “Well, in that case. The whole thing was a disaster, Tessa. Outrageously awful! Ridiculously terrible! Unbelievably bad!” My voice raised an octave with each new adjective.
I described in gory detail Gumdrop’s high-dive into Allen’s drink, and the abrupt end to our evening.
As the volume and pitch of my voice increased, Tessa
squeezed her eyes tighter and tighter closed, grimacing with each escalation in my tone.
We heard a crash and Tracy’s scream by the front door, and dashed inside to see what had happened.
THIRTEEN
We found Tracy behind the counter, cleaning up red wine and a broken wineglass from the floor. The beautiful new carpet was now stained ruby red, and Tracy was trying frantically to clean it up.
Rosie stood over Tracy, berating her. “You stupid, stupid girl!” shouted Rosie. “I don’t know why I put up with you, why I’ve supported you all these years.”
“Stop it, Mama! It was an accident.”
“Well, your life’s been one big accident, hasn’t it, Tracy? When are you going to grow up and take some responsibility?”
“It was a glass of wine! It’s not the end of the world!”
“Do not argue with me in front of customers!”
“No, Mama, I’ve got to be the ‘good girl’ all the time, right?”
Suddenly, Rosie noticed an entire room of partygoers was staring at her and her daughter.
“Excuse me. I need to freshen up,” Rosie said to a few of us standing close by, without making eye contact. Then she hurried up the inside staircase into her apartment.
“Here, Tracy, let me help you,” I said. “Look, here’s some soda water.” I grabbed a bottle from the nearby makeshift bar. “It may have some lemon in it, but it’s supposed to be good at taking out stains.” I t
ook a pile of napkins off the table, too, and started to soak up the liquid. I was down on my knees in my too-tight dress, wondering how I was going to get back up without showing everyone the Spanx and everything else up my dress. A hand, palm up, appeared next to my shoulder.
“May I help you up, miss?” said Allen, sweetly.
“Absolutely,” I said, taking his hand and hoisting myself up as gracefully as possible. As I straightened up, I saw Tracy bolt out the back door.
“Hi, Allen. How are you? Recovered from Gumdrop’s acrobatics?” I asked trying to make light of what was possibly the most embarrassing experience in my life. Actually, I have had many embarrassing experiences, but this one was at least in the top ten.
“Oh, yes. I’m resilient. My cords need some serious washing and I may never be able to drink another mojito. But, really, I’m fine. Just fine,” he assured me, with a brilliant smile.
Oh good. Well, that makes one of us.
Judy ascended a few steps of the staircase by the front counter to make some announcements.
“Hello!” Judy shouted, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Hello!” Judy said again, pathetically. No one was paying attention or quieting down.
Marta got up on the step next to Judy. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and let rip a loud wolf whistle. It was impressive and effective. The room was now silent. “I am overwhelmed and overjoyed to see everyone here for our first-ever Weekend of Education, Enlightenment and Design!” Judy said.
“WEED!” I whispered in Allen’s ear. He stifled a laugh.
“We’ve got some great workshops lined up for you tomorrow and Sunday. If you’ve not already done so, I hope you’ll sign up for a class. I’ll be around all weekend. If you need anything, I’m here for you. Everyone, please enjoy this evening, and a huge round of applause to Rosie for hosting this party, and to all the artists who are here this weekend to share their lovely beads and jewelry designs.”
Dylan slid up next to me on the side opposite Allen. “Jax, can we talk later?” he asked quietly, so he wouldn’t interrupt Judy’s announcements.
“Sure, Dylan,” I replied, still listening to Judy.
Judy finished her speech and we all applauded. I looked around to see if Rosie had come back down to hear our appreciative clapping. I couldn’t see her anywhere, and suspected she was up in the apartment, trying to calm down.
“Now, how about a drink? One without mint or catnip?” I asked Allen.
“An excellent idea.” He took my hand and led me through the crowd and toward the front door.
“Wait a minute, there are drinks right next to us.”
“Ah, but it’s so noisy, so many people!”
“I know, but listen, I can’t leave the party. I’m here to support Rosie. And Tessa is in there somewhere. And Dylan, he wanted to talk with me. I—”
“Okay, okay,” Allen said.
“But, I have a great idea. You go get a couple of chairs and bring them out front.” There was no way I was going to be able to sit on the curb in this dress, and if I did, I doubted I’d ever be able to get back up again, without a team of professional body-builders doing some heavy lifting of my backside. “I’ll get some wine and glasses, and meet you out there in five minutes. We’ll make our own sidewalk café.”
Before Allen could respond, I was gone, dashing to the makeshift bar. The ice bucket was empty—only a small amount of water remained. Tucked at the back of the buffet was a lone bottle of chardonnay I nabbed. It was warm. Ugh! Warm white wine was the worst. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I grabbed the ice bucket. I caught Allen’s eye as he headed out the door with the chairs, and pantomimed that I was going upstairs to get ice. There’d be a refrigerator in Rosie’s kitchen, and I hoped I’d find some ice to chill the wine.
The kitchen was at the top of the stairs that led from the store to the apartment. I opened the freezer, grabbed the ice tray and, as I started knocking the cubes into the bucket, I heard screaming, this time from right outside on the balcony. It sounded like Tracy screaming again. I hoped she hadn’t spilled a bowl of guacamole this time, because Rosie would explode at Tracy for ruining the carpet and a perfectly good avocado as well.
I dropped the ice bucket and dashed out of the kitchen, rounding the corner into the small living room. Tracy was on her knees on the balcony outside, crying and calling for help. Her mother had fallen on the stairs, and Tracy was frantically trying to pick her up. Since Rosie outweighed her daughter by at least fifty pounds, Tracy’s attempts to pull her mom up the stairs were futile.
“Let me help!” I yelled, running through the open sliding glass door toward them. Rosie was lying face-up, her body sliding down the stairs. She’d been thrashing a moment before, but now Rosie wasn’t moving.
“Rosie! Rosie!” She didn’t respond when I called her name. I tried to roll her over to see if a different position might help her, but she didn’t budge. Then I saw it: a loop of beads twisted around the scrollwork on the balcony’s railing. The necklace ran down and around Rosie’s neck, and then came back up and connected to the beads on the balcony.
Rosie’s necklace was strangling her!
I tried to pull it loose, but Rosie was sliding down the stairs, and the cord around her neck pulled tighter and tighter. Tracy was crying, and trying to help, but she just didn’t have the strength to move her mom.
“We’ve got to cut this wire on the necklace,” I shouted, hoping someone would hear me. Since the music on the patio below us was loud, no one could hear anything up on the balcony.
“Hey, I thought I’d come up and help you with the ice,” Allen said as he rounded the corner, but he stopped in his tracks when he came upon our frantic rescue scene.
“Quick, Allen, what can you find that will cut wire?”
“A kitchen knife!” He ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and was back in seconds.
“Cut right here,” I said urgently, pointing to a spot on the necklace above Rosie’s head. Allen cut the wire. The tension on the strand loosened and the necklace flew apart—beads tumbling everywhere. By now, the partiers downstairs had finally heard enough commotion to realize something was wrong. The music stopped, and people rushed to the bottom of the outside staircase that connected the balcony with the patio.
“Call 911!” I screamed. I flipped Rosie over. “Rosie? Rosie? Are you okay?” I put my ear to her chest. I thought I could hear a faint beating, but I couldn’t tell if that was my own heart pounding, or hers. “I think she’s still alive.”
Tracy sat on the step next to her mother’s limp body. “Mama. Mama, please be well, please be alive.” She squeezed Rosie’s hand, and it seemed to me Rosie squeezed back, but that may have been wishful thinking.
The ambulance arrived minutes later and the medics went to work on Rosie, checking her vital signs, giving her an oxygen mask and starting an IV. Rosie was unconscious as the EMTs put a collar around her neck, placed her on a backboard, and carried her down the stairs. Rosie was alive, but in terrible shape. One of the paramedics said the hospital would have to run tests and monitor her closely to make sure there was no permanent brain damage.
I watched the emergency technicians load Rosie into the ambulance, as all the other partygoers stood out of the way.
“Is anyone coming with us?” asked one of the medical technicians.
I looked at Tracy. She was in no shape to go to the hospital, unless she was the one being admitted.
“Look, I’m going to go with Rosie,” I said spotting Tessa. “Tracy, Tessa is going to get you settled so you can lie down upstairs.” Tessa put her arm around Tracy and guided her back to the apartment. “I’ll call you when I have an update,” I called. This was the last thing I wanted to do tonight, but I knew it was the right thing.
“Allen, can you be a wonderful guy and help get the shop shut down and everyone sent home?”
“I am an expert at being a wonderful guy,” Allen said with a smile, and I didn’t doubt him.
I also didn’t doubt he was looking up my dress and at my shiny black Spanx as I pulled myself into the back of the ambulance. I looked out the back window as we drove away. All of the partiers stood on the street watching us go, wondering what had happened.
FOURTEEN
The stretcher, now raised up into a gurney, rolled into the emergency room at Virginia Mason Medical Center. Its huge glass-paneled facade gleamed brightly in the darkness. Since the emergency team had called ahead, there were doctors waiting for Rosie when she arrived.
“You the next of kin?” a nurse asked me.
“Uh, no, sorry just a friend, you see—” The nurse interrupted me.
“You know what happened?”
“Well, you know—”
“Allergies?”
“She was strangled, so it’s not like—”
“Medical hist—”
This time, it was my turn to cut her off.
“Look, I have very little information. I can tell you her name—Rosie, officially Rosa I think, Lopez. A necklace was strangling her, and she couldn’t breathe.” The nurse raised a single eyebrow, but didn’t look surprised. I’m certain she had heard it all working in the ER.
“Unconscious when you found her?”
“I think she was conscious when I first saw her, but as I was helping her, she seemed to have passed out.”
“Can you describe the item that was around her neck?”
“A long strand of beads—it was wrapped tightly around her neck, so we cut the wire that held it together.” I wondered if anyone would think to pick up the beads from the necklace, if they would have been swept up and thrown away after the night’s chaos, or taken by a greedy beader. Poor Rosie wouldn’t want to lose her art glass bead collection.
“Wait here,” said the nurse, turning on her heel, rubber soles squeaking as she walked away. They’d taken Rosie back through the double doors and into the treatment area. The nurse had stopped me before I’d been able to follow Rosie back.
I sat down on one of the vinyl benches in the waiting area, squeezing myself between a boy who looked like he’d been socked in the eye, along with a woman who was probably his mom, and a man who needed a few stitches on his finger, given the amount of blood soaked into the washcloth he was holding.
High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) Page 8
