“What? There is no way you’d kill Misty. This is bull—”
“He accused me of trying to kill Rosie, as well.” Tessa was trying to keep a steady voice, but I could tell it was hard for her to continue.
“That’s easier to believe. That woman was a bitch.” The waitress came by and sloshed more coffee into Nick’s cup. He picked it up and drank deeply. I could tell he was feeling better, the color coming back to his face. “Did she die? Because she deserved it.”
“No, Nick, she’s okay, and let me give you some advice,” said Tessa, trying to protect Nick from any police scrutiny, “I wouldn’t go around saying things like that when there is a murder investigation going on.”
“You’ll have to get in line to be at the top of the suspect list. Following close behind Tessa is yours truly,” I said, as I held up my cup in a mock toast.
“Nick, maybe you could call the detective and tell him about the bead release under Misty’s fingernails. It might get the detective on the right track,” Tessa suggested. “And maybe you could tell him you think I wouldn’t have harmed Misty because I was supportive of you both.”
Tessa shouldn’t have been telling Nick what to say, because that could make her look even guiltier.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nick said. “I don’t really like talking to cops. They make me kind of nervous.”
“But what if it meant the police were able to discover who Misty’s killer was? Doesn’t that matter to you?” Tessa wanted to find the murderer, and not just to clear her name. She had cared about Misty and wanted her killer brought to justice.
“When you are on the street, people die, and the cops don’t care. Finding Misty’s killer, it’s not gonna happen.”
“Nick, is there any reason to think someone you knew killed Misty? How does Dylan feel about Misty?”
“Dylan didn’t know Misty much, only from Fremont Fire. She didn’t know him as long as I did. I’d only been hanging out with her for, I dunno, like the last year. Can’t think of a reason why Dylan would want to kill her,” Nick said, mopping up the last of the scrambled eggs with his toast.
“It seems like Dylan’s had it pretty hard, too. Did you know him before he started working with Tessa?” I asked, hoping Nick might tell us more about Dylan and Tracy.
“Yeah, he had some girlfriend a few years ago. She disappeared, I guess. I met him on the street back then. He was pretty trashed for a couple of years. Dylan, he had family around, but they kicked him out. And he hung out with me for a while.”
“And then I hired him at Fremont Fire,” Tessa said, thinking about when she opened her studio a few years ago. “When I first started, he’d come by and just look in the window. I eventually invited him in, and had him do some work for me, hauling oxygen tanks around, and lifting big boxes of equipment.” Tessa was a softy for any hard-luck case, so it made sense she’d wanted to help Dylan. “I’d give him a few dollars for his work.”
Nick continued talking about Dylan. “He has skills, you know, working at the torch. He used to make us these killer pipes with boro.” Boro was borosilicate glass, the kind of glass used to make pipes for smoking pot, but it can also be used to make beautiful beads and sculptures. Nick and Misty worked with boro at Tessa’s studio, and were able to coax the most beautiful colors out of the glass to make their gorgeous beads.
“Right, and when he started working at my studio, I wouldn’t let him make pipes, so he started to make beads,” Tessa remembered. “His ability to work with glass in the torch was amazing. He showed me things I’d never seen anyone do in boro.” Tessa was proud of how much she’d helped Dylan. “I’m glad I
could hire him as my studio assistant. He’s been a great help to me. With his apartment, it seems like he’s on the right track. If he can just start selling his beads, he’ll really be in good shape.”
Good shape, as long as he hadn’t killed anyone.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I fell into my bed just after two. I wasn’t going to be able to continue with these late nights, or I was going to experience a serious meltdown. I fell asleep thinking of Gumdrop and his psychic powers. Although, deep down I knew he didn’t have any such thing. I wished I had him here with me now. I could really use his psychic powers to help me figure out who needed to strangle people to solve their problems.
From what we learned from Nick, Dylan didn’t have any reason to want to harm Misty. As for Dylan’s relationship with Tracy, Nick didn’t seem to know much, other than when Dylan and Tracy broke up, Dylan was devastated, which we already knew. We learned one important thing from Nick: Misty didn’t have meth under her fingernails. Knowing Misty wasn’t killed for drugs narrowed the list of potential killers, though it did mean the detective would likely continue to scrutinize Tessa. I hoped Nick might be willing to talk with the detective, especially if Tessa was about to be arrested for murder.
I was exhausted but couldn’t seem to settle down. I slept fitfully, tossing and turning. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t piece it together. Like a necklace, I wanted to organize all the pieces and string them onto a thread, one bead at a time. But, some of the beads were missing.
When I woke up in the morning, I felt like I’d slept about half the hours I had been in bed.
I stumbled out to the kitchen to make some coffee.
There was no sign of Marta. Thank goodness, too, since I didn’t think I could deal with her right now. In fact, I am not sure there was anyone I could face right now.
I had my workshop today. I was prepared and feeling pretty confident. I’d done many presentations when I worked at Clorox, and learned to get over my stage fright (conference room fright?) years ago. I was hoping to appear as calm as Dylan had during his beadmaking demo at Fremont Fire.
While the coffee was bubbling through the coffeemaker, I filled a bowl with cereal. I looked into the bowl, and I realized I wasn’t hungry. At all. It dawned on me that the tall stack of pancakes I’d eaten in the middle of the night now sat in my stomach like a lead weight. Ugh. Even coffee didn’t sound good.
I headed back down the hall to the studio. I had the samples I needed for my project, and instructions on how to create my necklace. The necklace was made of seven oval beads, each with swirls of transparent colors on the surface and white at the core. Students could also opt to make a bracelet with just three or four beads. Anyone who wanted to complete the project needed to have some smaller beads, some wire and a clasp. I had hoped to inspire people to try different combinations of colors and to experiment with how to use my beads in a design.
I pulled the sample necklace I’d be using in class today out of my jewelry box. This one was made of different tones of blue—from a light sky blue, to a denim color, to cobalt, and then to a dark ink blue, all swirled together. With white glass behind all of the cool blue tones, each of the beads seemed to glow.
My beads. I had nearly forgotten. Allen had my beads last night. And Rosie’s, too. I needed to call the detective right away. He needed to know about Allen, and the evidence I’d recovered from him. I grabbed my cell from my dresser and gave him a call.
“Grant,” the detective said, as he answered his phone.
“Detective Grant? It’s Jax O’Connell. I’ve got some important news. I found the beads you were looking for.” I explained to him what had happened last night. “I’ve got them right here,” I said as I walked toward the living room.
I looked on the coffee table for the baggy I’d put the beads in last night after I’d gathered them up. They were gone. Oh. No.
“Good job, Ms. O’Connell, I’ll send an officer over to pick them up.”
“Oh, detective, I think you should wait on that.” I’d lost Rosie’s beads. Or, more likely, they’d been stolen. Again. “I seem to have misplaced them.”
“What? Please, Ms. O’Connell, I am really getting tired of you wasting my time. If you want to play amateur crime-fighter, do it on your own time. Not mine.”
“No, you see, it’s not like—”
“When you have some real evidence, please be in touch.”
Who could have stolen those beads? The only person who had been here other than me was Marta. Why would she want those beads? Could she have tried to kill Rosie? As far as I could tell, the two women didn’t even know each other. And Misty? I couldn’t imagine any reason why Marta would have anything to do with her. It was just my wild imagination at work again. I needed to get dressed and stop worrying about untangling this mess.
Some people choose their jewelry to match the clothes they’re wearing. I do the opposite, and I pick my clothing to match my jewelry. I needed something to go with my blue necklace. I chose a pale blue silk top and black skinny jeans. Val would be proud of my fashion choices, but she would have preferred more cleavage and more sparkle.
I was going to have to find Val and get the latest update on Rudy, although I was hoping to avoid hearing any gory details, which Val seemed always to over-share.
I thought I’d check in with Rosie and see how she was doing before I headed out for the day. I called the hospital.
“Virginia Mason Medical Center,” the operator said when she picked up.
“Oh, hello, Virginia,” I said, distractedly, as I hunted through my closet for some cute shoes to wear today.
“Ma’am? This is ‘Virginia Mason Medical Center.’ That is the name of the place, not my name,” the operator said in short, clipped words. She gets to deal with space cadets like me every day.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I’d like to check on a patient. Rosie Lopez.”
“It looks like Ms. Lopez will be leaving this afternoon against the doctor’s recommendation. The notes in the system indicate we are processing her discharge at this time. Since she is leaving against her doctor’s orders, we require that she be released to a family member.
“Her daughter?” I asked.
“It says here that she will be leaving with her husband, Rudy Lopez.”
Husband? Rudy? Was Rudy’s last name Lopez?
I pressed the End button on my phone.
Rosie didn’t have a husband. Or did she? I found Rudy’s business card. Lopez Painting. What the heck did this mean? One thing it meant was that Rosie wasn’t a single mom. But if she was married to Rudy, why hadn’t I seen him at the shop? Were they divorced? Maybe. Did it mean that Rudy was Tracy and Benny’s dad?
There were too many questions, not enough time, and frankly, not enough brainpower to figure out anything, given my lack of sleep during the last few days.
I tacked Rudy’s card to the corkboard, right next to a picture of Gumdrop. His green eyes staring back at me from the image.
Green eyes. Who has green eyes? Not Rudy. Not Rosie. Not Tracy.
I called Tessa’s house, and Ashley answered.
“Hullo,” said Ashley, sullenly.
“Hi, Ashley. It’s Jax.”
“Uh-huh,” Ashley said, surly in her lack of interest.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Um, I guess,” she said, continuing with her the tone of apathy.
“Is Benny awake? Can you tell me what color eyes he has?”
“Uh, yeah, he’s watching cartoons. Lemme check.” She dropped the phone. It sounded like it hit the floor. I heard a commotion, and an “OW.” I hoped she hadn’t forced Benny’s eyes open to check them. She came back and said, “Green. Or, sort of greenish blue.”
“Thanks Ashley. Nice talking with you,” I said.
“Whatev.” I heard an abrupt click. Ashley wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat.
Benny’s eyes were green, in a family of people with brown eyes. What were the chances of that? From what I understood about genes, somewhere between slim and none.
I knew someone with green eyes. A person. Not a cat.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I cruised slowly through my neighborhood looking for Gumdrop, and then drove to Aztec Beads, making a small detour to get coffee, since I’d skipped my cup at home. Tracy was searching for some silver wire on a display rack when I came in.
She looked tired, her eyes smudged with makeup and tears. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to quiz her about her family, but I wanted to talk with her before Rosie showed up. I hoped I would see Rosie at some point this morning, because I wanted to find out if her husband Rudy was the same Rudy who was going to paint my kitchen. Oh, and the same Rudy who had been watching movies, and who knows what else, with Val, just to make things more complicated.
“Hello, Jax,” said Tracy. Her tone was dark. Clearly, she had not gotten over the fact she had found me snooping around on the balcony the day before.
“Tracy, hi, listen, I hope you’re not still upset about yesterday. I was, and still am, trying to figure out who strangled your mom and who killed Misty. You’ve got to believe me,” I pleaded with her.
“I want to believe you, Jax, but I’m just having trouble figuring out who to trust right now.”
“I get it. I really do.”
Tracy had found the sterling wire she was looking for and she fidgeted with it as we talked. Her long hair fell across her face as she released a rattling sigh. I was running out of time, Rosie would be here soon. I decided that if I was going to talk with Tracy about her family, it was now or never.
“Tracy, I need to ask you about something. Or someone.”
“Dylan?”
“I saw how you reacted when you saw Dylan here in the shop and I noticed how you disappeared from Fremont Fire when he started his demo. I figured it was because of him, but I wasn’t sure why. Dylan told me yesterday you two were together nearly five years ago.”
Tracy set the wire down on the counter. She stretched her hand across her body and rubbed the opposite shoulder. It had the effect of looking like an empty embrace. Tracy looked up at me. Her eyes were filled with tears.
“You didn’t seem too happy to see him,” I said.
She sniffed. “I just hadn’t seen him in so long, it was a shock to have him standing right in front of me.”
“It sounds like he has really missed you.”
“Jax, I know you are trying to help, but seriously, this is all a bit complicated.”
“But, Dylan, he’s more than just your ex-boyfriend?” I asked.
“How did you know?”
“For one thing, everyone in your family has brown eyes, except Benny.” All those years of college biology had taught me that green eyes didn’t usually show up in parents who had brown eyes. “And then there was the fact you disappeared about five years ago.”
Tracy looked at me and swallowed hard. I knew the truth and she couldn’t deny it.
“Benny, he’s just about the right age. Did your mom take you away because you were pregnant?”
“Jax, look, you figured it out. Good for you. But you just need to forget that you know anything about this. My mom, she can’t find out that you know. Okay? She’ll kill me if she knew I told you.”
“And Dylan, he doesn’t know, does he?”
We looked out the window and saw a pickup truck pull up to the curb. It was sporting a bumper sticker that read, “May The Force Be With You.”
Too late. Tracy and I would have to finish our conversation later.
A man got out of the truck, came around to the passenger’s side, and helped Rosie onto the curb. She slapped him away, like a bothersome mosquito. Rosie was definitely bouncing back.
It was Rudy—at least, it was someone who bore a close resemblance to Rudy the housepainter.
Rosie’s face looked puffy. She had not been able to put on any makeup to help with the purple circles under her eyes. I think she had hoped to sneak into her shop and upstairs without anyone noticing.
Tracy had regained her composure, standing up taller and brushing back her hair. Lara, or Sara, came over and Tracy handed her the wire she needed for the class. Back to business-as-usual, for now.
“Mama, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the hospital,
” Tracy said, as Rosie and Rudy entered the shop.
“I was done with that place. They said I was okay, no damage, I called Rudy, and had him come and get me.” Rosie was still wearing her clothing from the other night, including the beautiful sash she had been wearing around her waist. She had artfully wrapped the scarf around her neck to hide the bruises she’d sustained when the necklace had been pulled tight.
As Rosie adjusted the sash, I wondered if she could have used it to kill Misty earlier in the evening before her fall.
“Rudy?” I said, trying to get his attention.
“Uh, yeah?” Rudy said, trying to figure out if he knew me. “Oh, right. You’re the lady who hired me to paint your kitchen. Jax, right?”
“Rudy, you look different to me,” I said, examining him closely.
Rosie took the opportunity while I was focused on Rudy to sneak away to the apartment. She didn’t want people in the shop to see her looking sick, and didn’t want anyone making a fuss.
“Yeah, Val cut my hair, shortened up the sideburns too, you know, made me look nice,” he said quietly, hoping Rosie was out of earshot.
He was right. Val had worked her magic on Rudy. His hair was now washed and short. He looked much better without the long greasy ponytail he used to have. The muttonchops were thankfully gone. And his pockmarked face—he now looked more rugged than ugly and mean. Val was a genius at makeovers. No doubt about it, Rudy was a new man.
Before I could start quizzing Rudy about his relationship with Rosie, and the rest of the family, the phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw Andy’s name flashing on the screen. I moved onto the back patio so I could answer my brother’s call.
“What did you learn?”
“Well, your perp, he’s clean.”
“What? What are you talking about? Why are you talking like that?”
“Oh, well I thought that’s how people spoke when they were investigating a crime.”
“I don’t know how sleuths talk, I’m thinking they just talk like normal people.”
High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) Page 17
