Mr. Greer pushed his mug into Nika’s waiting hands, then strode to center stage, pausing along the way to pose. He looked absolutely ridiculous, twirling at the edge of the stage, his trousers fluttering slightly as he whipped around. He headed back toward center stage swishing his hips, trying his best to imitate a model you’d see during New York’s Fashion Week.
“Do you think you can do it?” he asked the group. Immediately, all the girls started prancing downstage in an awkward stampede. “No. No. No! One at a time! One. At. A. Time!” The herd of girls stopped in their tracks. “Every one of you, get backstage, including you, Frankie. Then I’ll call you out one by one.” The girls all hustled backstage, then Mr. Greer called out the name of each girl, who entered stage right, crossed to the center, twirled, and exited into the wings on the left.
After everyone finished, Mr. Greer took one more spin around the stage, then stopped at its edge to address the volunteers in the audience. I spotted Frankie, still in the wings, his mouth pulled into a puckered frown.
“Now, everyone. I think we are done for the day. Please come back tomorrow at the same time. Four o’clock. And do not be late!” Mr. Greer said.
The teens re-appeared onstage, and Mr. Greer addressed them as well. “Models, if you would like to bring the shoes you plan on wearing with your outfits, that would be superb.” He made a slow exit down the side stairs into the audience. Nika was right behind him, handing his mug back to him as they headed toward the lobby.
In the dressing room, on the left side of the stage beyond the wings, Tessa and I helped the girls organize all the clothing that would be used in the fashion show. The room was lined with racks of costumes from nearly every era I could think of. Shelves loaded with hats, wigs, and props hugged the ceiling. Fortunately, the theater staff had carved out space for us to use for our event, although it was tight.
“I swear, if my girls hung up their clothing like this at home, things would be a lot less chaotic,” Tessa said, hanging the last dress on a mobile rack while Izzy and Ashley placed the accessories into cubbies along the wall. Tessa’s daughters seemed to be getting along for a change. They’d focused on their mutual dislike for Austin Greer. I could hear them grumbling—likely plotting his demise—as they finished their tasks.
“Do you think we need to lock up Frankie’s jewelry?” I asked Tessa, eyeing the open cubbies at the back of the room. I thought it was probably a bit too expensive to leave out overnight. “I’ll go ask Frankie.”
I couldn’t find Frankie onstage or in what he’d called the house, so I headed for the lobby. As I passed through the seating area, I noticed a tattooed woman with a shaved head sitting by herself in the back row of the theater. While I would never choose to shave my head, I’d ended up with extremely short bangs last year after I got too close to a hot kiln and singed them off. Since then I’d been wearing my light brown hair in a short pixie cut.
I was pretty sure this woman’s hair—or lack of it—was a fashion statement, rather than an accident as mine had been. As Val would say, it worked for her. I wasn’t sure who it was, but if I had to put money on it, I’d say it was Vega. I’d seen pictures of her in one of the glass art magazines I subscribed to. Tessa, who knew nearly everyone in Seattle’s glass scene, told me Vega liked pushing boundaries in her artwork. While she was well-regarded, she was not well liked. Apparently, she was one of the only glassblowers who blew glass without a partner. As I had learned a few weeks ago, glassblowing with a partner was extremely difficult. I imagined it would be nearly impossible without one. Of course, for me, glassblowing was nearly impossible in general, except when my life—or Tessa’s—depended on it.
I spotted Frankie and Mr. Greer in the lobby arguing with a man I’d not seen before. I made a quick retreat back to the dressing room since they didn’t look they were having a friendly, or interruptible, conversation.
“I’m going to have to talk with Frankie later,” I said to Tessa. “He seems to be involved in a heated discussion with Austin and another man I don’t know.” Just to be safe, we gathered the jewelry into trays, slid them into the storage cubbies, and covered them with some scarves to keep them out of sight.
“Oh, I bet that’s Daniel Owens. He’s the manager here at the theater,” Tessa said as she corralled a few belts into a box and tucked it beneath the clothing rack.
Once we finished our duties and made sure all the girls had been picked up by their parents, Tessa and I left with her daughters. Since she had parked her minivan on the street near the front of the theater, we went through the lobby. Austin, Frankie, and Daniel were still arguing and had been joined by a woman with short black hair who was hurling epithets at all three men. As we silently passed them, I realized we were in for more drama than we’d bargained for at the theater.
TWO
Tessa’s van, as usual, was trashed inside, full of the detritus that comes from having three active kids and a schedule a little too full to take care of tasks like cleaning out your car. Izzy and Ashley spent the trip home complaining about Mr. Greer. Since they were speaking in whispers in the backseat, I only caught a few snatches of their conversation, like “so unfair,” “sucks,” and “like, totally mean.”
As Tessa drove me home, I got a call on my cell phone.
“Hello, Jax? This is Nika Petrovich. We met earlier today. I’ve spoken with Mrs. Greer, and she’d very much like you to come see her on Friday.” Nika and I made plans for my visit, and I hung up the phone.
Tessa glanced my way. “What was that all about?”
“Amanda Greer is interested in looking at my beads and jewelry.”
“Congratulations. That’s fantastic. I hope she buys a lot from you,” Tessa said as she turned down the long alley next to my house and parked.
“I hope so, too. From the sounds of it, she has money to spend.” I waved goodbye as Tessa made a six-point turn behind my house and headed home to her husband, Craig, and their youngest child—little Joey, a surprise addition to their family twelve years after Ashley was born.
I crossed the patio and let myself in through the back door. Coming into my studio, I found my fat, gray cat, Gumdrop, snoozing in his favorite spot, my worktable. Dropping my handbag on the table, I gave Gummie some head scratches, then walked down the hall to the kitchen. My Craftsman-style duplex, which I’d inherited from Great-Aunt Rita, was slowly coming together after a couple of years of renovations.
I was starving after all the work I’d done at the theater, so I made a grilled cheese sandwich and ate it while sitting in front of the laptop in my office-cum-guest room. The Bead Lair, as Tessa had nicknamed this room, was a cozy little spot where I stored my extra beads. In addition to a desk I used for doing paperwork, there was a daybed guests could use when they came to visit. Tonight it was not the Bead Lair, but the Bill Lair, as I grappled with the stack of bills that had arrived a week ago, which I had been putting off paying. I winced as I opened each envelope, and only once because of a paper cut. When I was done, my bank account was nearly empty. Although Aunt Rita had given me this house and a hefty bankroll when she passed away, I didn’t like dipping into that nest egg. Instead, I was trying my best to live on what I made as a glass beadmaker.
Now that I was a glass artist, I was happier than I’d ever been. It was a choice I’d made three years ago when I left Miami and my useless boyfriend, Jerry, behind. He’d started to love booze and televised sports more than he loved me. Leaving my home in Florida behind had been difficult, but the friendships I had made here in Seattle had grown strong in the last few years. While I did feel homesick from time to time, this was the place I belonged, along with my catnip-addicted feline friend.
It was late when I finished the bills, but I wasn’t ready to go to bed. I was tempted to fill a jumbo-sized wine glass and drink away my worries. While that would have been in my ex-boyfriend’s playbook, it wasn’t in mine. I needed to clean ou
t my attic, which was the very last thing I wanted to do. My attic was spooky. I’d only been up there a couple of times, and I’d always spent as little time as possible in it. I had an aversion to small, spider-infested spaces. A spider web streaking across my face could make me want to pee my pants, or at least bolt out the door.
Tessa had remodeled her attic during spring break, and it turned out so well I decided I should do it too. My project would be much smaller, because I didn’t have as much to spend, and because my attic was tiny compared to hers. Part of my motivation to complete the project sooner rather than later was that my sister Connie’s son, Jeremy, was coming to visit. He had painted many of the watercolors that brightened my home and was a talented young artist. I had promised him he could stay with me this summer while he was taking an art class at the University of Washington. It would only be another month before Jeremy arrived, so I had to stop procrastinating and get to work on my attic so my nephew could have the Bead Lair, and I would have my new attic space to use as an office.
Rudy, a painting contractor, was one of Val’s makeover clients—some would say victims—whom she’d met last spring. They’d become fast friends since they were both obsessed with science fiction movies. I’d often find Rudy in Val’s half of the duplex watching Star Wars movies. He had worked on Tessa’s attic remodel and said he would help with my project, too. When he visited last week he broke the news to me that my attic needed more than painting, but that he could handle the additional work. As long as I helped with some of the labor, he could do the project during his spare time and would work for the cost of materials, plus some glass beads. Anytime I could trade beads for something I couldn’t do on my own, I was happy with the arrangement.
Remembering how my cat had caused so much trouble the last time I’d opened the attic, I grabbed Gumdrop and tossed him into the hallway, then shut the door to my studio. I wasn’t going to chase him around my attic through the dust and spider webs as I’d had to do last time I ventured in. With Gumdrop safely locked out, I grabbed the flashlight I kept at the back door, then headed up the stairs, careful to step around all the boxes of beads I had stacked there.
After switching on the flashlight, I let the light play across the rough pine floorboards. Fortunately, there wasn’t much up here other than a few boxes, a brass floor lamp that had seen better days, a ghostly-looking chair covered in a sheet, decades of dust, and the inevitable webs between the bare wall studs. I couldn’t wait until all the nooks and crannies were covered with drywall and a fresh coat of paint and all the hiding places for creepy-crawlies were eliminated. As I looked around the room, I noticed a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. I pulled on the cord at the base of the fixture to try the light. Nothing. I ran downstairs, grabbed a bulb, returned to the attic, and swapped out the old one in the simple fixture. Light flooded the room. Up until this moment, I hadn’t had high hopes for what this space would look like. Looking around now, though, I could tell it was going to be terrific when it was complete.
Grabbing the old floor lamp, I pulled it out the door, and dragged it downstairs. Then I tossed its moth-eaten shade in the trashcan and carried the rest of the lamp to my car. I would take it to Goodwill when I had a chance. Heading back into the attic, I tried to tackle the ghostly-looking chair, but it was too heavy to budge. Rudy was going to have to move that himself.
The next step was to get a broom and knock down the cobwebs, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Where there were webs, there were spiders. I wasn’t in the mood to tackle any eight-legged creatures tonight, or any night for that matter.
At midnight I crawled into bed with Gumdrop, who was curled up on my pillow. He often complained about it, but I refused to share a pillow with him. I moved him to the blanket at the foot of the bed, and we both fell fast asleep.
THREE
Tessa was at my door bright and early the next morning, juggling two coffees and a bakery bag as she opened the door and let herself in.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” she said. I shuffled out of my bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen, where she stood arranging the breakfast items on the round oak table.
“You are my very best friend,” I said, hugging her.
“Thanks, and you are mine.”
“Can you tell me one thing?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you here so early? Austin Greer told us we didn’t have to be at the theater until four o’clock.”
“Yes, that’s true, if we were only working on the fashion show,” Tessa said.
“I thought that’s what we were doing.” I took a cup of coffee out of the cardboard tray.
“I also volunteered us for the auction—all part of the fundraiser for the Homeless Advocacy Team.”
I closed my eyes tight and tried not to react. Tessa had a lot of energy, especially early in the morning. I honestly didn’t know how she could have that much stamina with three kids, a retail shop, a glass studio, a husband, and a house.
“Aah…” I said, figuring this was my safest response.
“And so we need to get to the theater early to meet with the fundraising coordinator, Jaya Bakshi.”
“Aah…”
“So we need to get going.”
“Aah—”
“Don’t say ‘aah’ again, or else I’m going to leave and take your breakfast with me.”
“You’d take my coffee?” I asked, clutching it protectively against my chest, much like Mr. Greer had done yesterday when I bumped into him.
“I don’t think I could get you to part with that coffee.” She grabbed the white bakery bag from the table and dangled it in front of me. “But I could probably run faster than you. I have chocolate chip muffins that I’m going to hold hostage until you’re ready to go.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would. Now go! Get ready, or I’m going to have to eat both of these delicious muffins.”
“You win. I’m going,” I said, knowing I was defeated. Plus, I’d do almost anything, provided it was legal, for a chocolate chip muffin. I headed back to my bedroom to get dressed while Tessa sat down at the table to have her breakfast. “There better be a muffin left for me when I get back.”
Tessa took a bite of the muffin. “You better hurry. These are delicious.”
I got ready in minutes and joined Tessa at the table. She was right—they were some pretty amazing muffins
• • •
It’s never a positive sign to show up somewhere and discover four police cars in the parking lot with their lights flashing, but that’s what we saw when we pulled up at the Chanticleer Theater.
I parked the Ladybug, my lovely red convertible VW bug, in the parking lot behind the theater, well away from the commotion at the backstage door. Tessa and I made our way to the door, where two burly police officers who were blocking the entrance stopped us.
“Sorry, ladies,” the shorter of the two officers said. “We’ve had an incident, and we are not allowing access to the theater at this time.”
“What kind of incident?” Tessa asked.
I grabbed Tessa by the hand and pulled her away.
“See that white van over there?” I whispered. “You know what that is, right?”
“Ambulance?”
“Try again,” I said.
“Ice cream truck?” Tessa said with a smirk. “I don’t know, Jax—oh…” It finally hit Tessa. That was a medical examiner’s van. In my experience, a coroner’s vehicle parked outside a building could mean only one thing. Someone had died.
Two men in disposable white coveralls rolled a gurney with a blue body bag on it out the backstage door of the theater. Without a word, they slid the body bag and stretcher into the van and drove away. We returned to the police officers.
“Can you at least tell us who was wheeled out of here?” I asked the officers. Just then, Da
niel Owens appeared in the doorway, looking disheveled and confused.
“Hi, Daniel—we haven’t met, I’m Jax, one of the volunteers for the Homeless Advocacy Team fashion show—”
“And auction,” Tessa added.
“We were wondering —what happened? Is everything okay?” I asked, although I knew from the body bag that it wasn’t.
“No, everything is not okay. I found Austin Greer, and he was—was—” The man crumpled into Tessa’s arms.
Tessa, a mom through-and-through, held Daniel and patted him on the back reassuringly.
“Oh, no. Austin, dead? I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry,” I said. “How can we help you?”
“I just want to forget what I saw, I—” Daniel released his grip on Tessa and ran his hands through his thinning hair. “Sorry…”
“You know what? I need a cup of coffee. How about you, Tessa?”
“No, I’m good,” she said, oblivious to where I was headed with my suggestion.
“Oh, no, I don’t think you are.” I gave her one of those wide-eyed read-my-mind looks Gumdrop sometimes gives me. His stares are usually a request for catnip, so his mind isn’t that hard to read. I thought if we could get Daniel away from the theater for a cup of coffee, we might learn a little bit more about what had happened, and comfort him at the same time. Plus, I felt I could use another caffeine fix.
“Come to think of it, I do need some coffee,” Tessa said, finally catching on. “Come on, Daniel. I’ll buy you a cup.”
“On second thought, those officers may not want you to go,” I said as I glanced over at the police officers who were watching us.
“They said it was okay if I leave,” Daniel said. “I gave them my phone number and address, and I told them what I saw. I’m pretty sure they’ll want to talk to me again.” Daniel reminded me of a young Woody Allen, pale, weak, neurotic—like he needed to spend a little more time outdoors and little less time in the dark passageways of an old theater.
To Bead or Not to Bead, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 4 Page 2
