To Bead or Not to Bead, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 4

by Janice Peacock

“I won’t let you down,” Dylan said. As we passed around the plates of food, I noticed Val helped herself to several pieces of French toast.

  “I thought you were on Sleeping Beauty’s Diet. Does she allow you to eat French toast?”

  “Oh, that was a dumb diet! You know how they get you to lose weight?”

  “By eating fewer calories than your body burns?” I suggested. It seemed like a logical guess to me.

  “Perhaps, but what they wanted me to do was sleep. Like all the time, I mean, literally stay in bed and sleep.”

  “Sounds fantastic to me,” I replied. I never wanted to get out of bed in the morning.

  “Not me! I’ve got to get moving every day. If I don’t, I get all down in the dumps. I had to move on to the next diet.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “The Weekday Diet,” she said.

  “And that is…” I prompted.

  “I can only eat things that begin with the letter of the day of the week. So, it’s Friday, and I can eat French toast,” Val said.

  “Oh, lucky you. Looks like French fries, fajitas, and figs are also on your menu,” I said, counting items on my fingers.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to eat when I get to Saturday and Sunday.”

  “Steak and sausages?”

  “I suppose…”

  “Sangria and soup!” I suggested.

  “Good job, Jax. Way to help me with my diet,” Val said, digging into her breakfast.

  “No syrup?” I asked.

  “Not until tomorrow.”

  Rudy and Dylan didn’t make a peep while we talked about diets. They must have already learned to steer clear of asking women about such a sensitive subject. It was treacherous territory.

  I didn’t think Val needed to be on a diet, but if it made her happy, I was okay with that. I doubted she’d lose much weight on this so-called diet, because I could think of plenty of calorie-filled foods for each day of the week.

  Val was spot on with her new French toast recipe, along with eggs, fruit, and of course lots of coffee. After a to-die-for breakfast, I followed the men back to the attic to consult on the renovation project while Val bustled around in my kitchen cleaning up.

  The men grabbed the ghostly sheet-covered chair I’d been unable to move by myself and carried it down the stairs, a cloud of dust following them. They took it all the way outside onto my back patio next to my wrought iron bistro table. I didn’t want to keep it in the house a minute longer than necessary, given how filthy the chair was.

  “You want me to vacuum up here?” Dylan asked Rudy.

  “Nah, we’ll do that last. How about you spend some time putting in the insulation between the wall studs, so we can get ready for drywall. I’ll start bringing up the supplies,” Rudy replied.

  Rudy went up to the attic and took some measurements for the floor, which was going to be a bit of a challenge. While the existing floor was sturdy, there were a few missing planks. It would be impossible to match the new and the old flooring material. Instead, we decided to install new bamboo flooring that clicked together in panels. Rudy would close up the gaps in the floor so that the new floor could be installed properly.

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  “You can pick up the paint supplies. After Dylan gets the insulation in, we’ll do the wiring, get the drywall up. Two days, maybe three, we should be able to paint up there.” Rudy gave me a list of supplies and told me to pick a paint color, then he got to work.

  Val had nearly finished cleaning up the kitchen by the time I returned.

  “What do you have on your agenda today?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing until this afternoon. Then I’m working at the salon,” she replied.

  “Would you like to go a mission with me?”

  “Oh, of course, darling. You know how I love a good mission,” she said, as she put away the last of the silverware.

  “I was hoping you could help me pick a paint color for the attic.”

  “Oh, poo. That’s a boring mission. What else can we do?” Val asked.

  “I do have another idea.” I was worried I wouldn’t be able to gather enough jewelry together for the auction, and I was running out of time. I’d been thinking about Frankie. Even though he was a pain in the butt, I still didn’t have an emcee . I knew what I had to do.

  “I’ve got a better mission for us. Let’s go talk with Frankie Lawton and see if we can convince him to come back and be our emcee, and maybe donate some necklaces. If we can, let’s also see if we can find out what he knew about Austin, maybe get some insights into who might have wanted him dead.”

  “Now that’s what I call a mission,” Val said as she whipped off her frilly apron. “I even know where his shop is, so I’ll drive Firefly. Let me grab my purse.” Val had named her car Firefly, for reasons I couldn’t understand. I thought she just wanted to have a car that had a fun name like my Ladybug, but she insisted it had something to do with an old sci-fi TV series. I tried not to ask too many questions about Val’s science fiction obsession, because once she started talking about it, it was hard to get her to stop.

  She ran next door and was back minutes later, her gold lamé purse slung over her shoulder and a sparkly necklace in her hand.

  “Here’s that necklace I’m donating for the auction,” Val said.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it from her and adding it to the growing collection of jewelry on my worktable. “It’s going to go for a high price. You sure you don’t want to keep it?”

  “No way. I’m happy to donate it.”

  Val’s car was behind the house, so we left through my studio. She climbed into her car, and, as usual, removed her high heels and threw them in the back seat. I got in on the passenger’s side, but left my shoes on.

  Frankie had a design studio and gallery in one of the swankier parts of Seattle. As we drove toward his shop, I realized I hadn’t thought much about what I’d say to him, but I knew I had to try to convince him to be our emcee. It would also be interesting to see what he knew about the Greers. I wondered what insights he might have about Austin’s murder. He’d told Rosie Paredes to stay away from Austin and Amanda Greer. She’d been pretty upset when I’d visited her a few days ago. Apparently, Frankie thought the Greers were dangerous—how could that be? It was possible Frankie had seen something that had spooked him at the theater, or he might have witnessed the murder. For all I knew, Frankie could have been the one to murder Austin Greer, although he didn’t seem to be the type.

  As Val drove, I realized she was circling the same blocks over and over.

  “I thought you knew where we were going,” I said as I pulled out my phone to look up the address for Frankie’s studio.

  “I’m using The Force. It’s an ancient Jedi mystical power,” Val said. “It’s strong with me, and it’s telling me where to go.” She waved her long red-lacquered fingernails in a mysterious way just above the steering wheel.

  “There is no such thing as The Force,” I said, punching the keys on my phone, searching for Frankie’s address.

  Val ignored me.

  “I sense Frankie’s studio is this way,” she said, making a sharp left turn that flung my shoulder into the passenger door.

  “Ouch! Be careful! Now my shoulder hurts,” I said, rubbing it.

  “And…we’re here!” Val said triumphantly, pulling to the curb. The letters FL, for Frankie Lawton, loomed high above us in fancy script on a shiny silver sign. Miraculously, she had found his shop. I begrudgingly stuffed my phone back into my handbag. Whether Val had succeeded in finding our way using magical Star Wars powers, sheer dumb luck, or something in between, it really didn’t matter. She’d gotten us here.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said, getting out of the car and staring up at the sign.

  “Never doubt the Force,
my young Padawan.” Val reached in the back seat and grabbed a pair of high-heeled sandals and put them on. I wasn’t sure they were the same ones she tossed there earlier, since she had a stockpile of shoes in her back seat. She grabbed her purse and huffed toward the shop—clearly offended I’d doubted her mysterious Jedi powers.

  Inside Frankie’s studio, we found the man we were looking for. He looked decidedly unglamorous with his bifocals on, busily connecting little bits of silver chain together with a tiny pair of jewelry pliers. His gallery was elegant, with pale gray walls and a black high-gloss floor that made me worried I shouldn’t be wearing shoes while walking on it. Part of me wanted to glide across it in stocking feet, but I didn’t think Frankie would be amused. While Frankie was usually wearing something colorful and flamboyant, today he matched his gallery—black shirt and pale gray trousers.

  “Hello, Frankie,” I said, as I closed the door behind me. Val immediately started buzzing through the store looking for pretty things to buy. Frankie tipped his head back to get a look at me, and, realizing he couldn’t see more than ten inches away with his bifocals on, pulled them off and squinted.

  “Oh, no. I know why you’re here,” Frankie said with a frown. He must have known I was going to try to convince him to come back and work on the gala. “Did Tessa send you? Because I’m not coming back. It’s not happening.”

  “No, Tessa didn’t send me. I came on my own. But, listen, we need you, Frankie. We’re really struggling,” I said. I didn’t know him that well, though I had done business with him last year. He always seemed just a little too far out of my league, so it was hard to connect to him in a personal way.

  “Excuse me, but this necklace is just gorgeous,” Val said, holding up a sparkly crystal necklace made of dozens of multicolored faceted gems. I was pretty sure this was Val’s way of buttering up Frankie so she could get him to help us. She was a pro when it came to getting people to do what she wanted them to do without them having a clue she was pulling their strings. If Val did indeed have The Force, this is how she used it—to charm people. “I love it! Is it for sale?”

  “Of course,” Frankie said. “I’ll give you a good price on it, because it’s a prototype. But seriously, I know you’re not here to buy jewelry. What do you really want?” he asked turning his attention back to me.

  “To be quite frank, Frankie, Val is here to buy jewelry. Me? You guessed right. I’m here to see if you’ll come back and be our emcee.”

  “Sorry, that’s just not going to happen. When your pal Tessa initially got in touch with me, I was flattered, honestly. But the Greers…”

  “What about the Greers? I talked to Rosie, and she said you thought they were dangerous. What is that supposed to mean? She’s so upset she won’t even donate a piece of jewelry for the auction.”

  “Look, you don’t need to know. Okay? Just know there’s more to the Greers than meets the eye. Although, I doubt I used the word dangerous. That may be what Rosie thinks I said, but I’d say it’s more like complicated. And I don’t need things to be complicated.”

  “You know Austin was murdered, right?”

  “No! I knew he was dead, but I thought it was an accident—” Frankie sighed. “That’s what I mean about complicated. Austin and Amanda always had an agenda—you just didn’t always know what it was. I’m certainly not going to be the one who spills it all out in the open. I don’t want to be near any scandals. It’s damaging to my brand,” Frankie said, spreading his arms expansively to show off the wares in his swanky retail gallery.

  “Right. I understand. But can you at least tell me who would want to harm to Austin Greer?”

  “I don’t profess to know all the people Austin harmed in his life. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He seemed to spend a lot of time giving his money away and doing silly frivolous things like trying to keep that silly theater afloat. Who’d want to kill him for doing that? I don’t know.”

  “But, how about in other ways?”

  “You might as well know, because you’re going to find out if you investigate. Austin and I were business partners for a while. I’m not too proud of what we did, but you know, it was before I’d made it big. He bought me out, so I did okay. Austin thought he was doing all of these people a favor by selling his product. Me? I just thought it was a quick way to make a buck. At the time I was a little short on funds. Of course, in the end, he sold the company for a hefty profit, and he came out in even better shape. The guy really knew how to land on his feet.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Penis enlargement cream,” Frankie said, without blinking.

  “And that’s why you think he’s dangerous? That must have been some serious cream,” I said.

  “Austin was crazy. You know the only one who is crazier? His wife. And you know what the problem is with crazy? You can’t trust crazy people. Now, ladies, I need to get back to work. Can I wrap that necklace up for you?” Frankie asked Val, who was trying on the necklace.

  Something had upset Val. I wasn’t sure if it was his mention of penis cream, or Frankie’s uppity attitude, but I could tell she was unhappy by the tone of her voice, which had gone up an octave or two.

  “You know, I think I’m going to ask my boyfriend for this for my birthday,” Val said, setting the piece back down on its fancy Lucite display pedestal. This was her way of telling me she had no intention of buying this necklace—her birthday had been a couple weeks ago, she didn’t have a boyfriend, and if she wanted something, she would just buy it—she didn’t wait around for someone to buy it for her.

  “Thanks, Frankie,” I said, turning to go. “You know, if you think of something—anything—that you think would help us find Austin Greer’s killer, will you get in touch with the police?”

  “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t want there to be some crazy person out there killing people,” Frankie said, replacing his bifocals on his nose and returning to his work. “Oh, and I promise I’ll talk to Rosie and tell her that donating a necklace to your fashion show isn’t going to be dangerous. It probably won’t even be complicated.”

  “Frankie? Can I at least ask you this one tiny favor?” I asked.

  “Talking to Rosie isn’t enough? Sure, what can I do for you?”

  “Could we possibly get some of your jewelry back that you took from the fashion show? I’m having trouble rounding up enough replacements.”

  “Look, why don’t you take that necklace your friend likes, that ought to go with something,” Frankie said. “And please, don’t thank me, it’s the least I can do.”

  He had that right. It was the least he could do, the rat.

  • • •

  “So, Val, what do you think?” I asked as we got back in her car.

  “Do you know where I can get that cream?” she asked, looking not the least embarrassed.

  “What? Why?”

  “Not for me, of course! Just for future reference.” Val started the car and made an abrupt U-turn.

  “Clearly I didn’t think you were going to use it yourself. I’m not sure. I’ve, um, never needed it before,” I said. “But what I really meant was—what do you think about Frankie?”

  “Seems pretty slimy to me,” Val said as she accelerated through a yellow light.

  “Slimy? Why?”

  “He just doesn’t seem that honest, like he’s hiding something. You know, it’s like when Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock were talking in this one episode—”

  “Val. Please, no more Star Wars references today.”

  “Sorry, darling, but that was Star Trek.”

  “Whatever. Look, Frankie told us about his, uh, cream. It didn’t seem like he was hiding much of anything,” I said.

  “Take my word for it, that was just to distract us. I don’t know, Jax. Something tells me he knows more than he’s saying.”

  I wasn’t
sure what to think about Frankie. He didn’t seem like someone who would be willing to climb up into a scaffold to drop a chandelier on someone. He seemed more likely to poison someone. Which made me wonder—if he had access to whatever drugs were in his questionable cream he once sold, might he also have helped Austin get the drugs he needed to feed his addiction?

  SEVENTEEN

  Val dropped me off at home and then headed to her salon.

  We still didn’t have an emcee, thanks to Frankie’s unwillingness to rejoin our team. We’d already saved the gala from being shut down, but now we were risking having to cancel it because we didn’t have a host. I wracked my brains for an idea—someone we knew who would have the charisma to make it all happen. Someone who had good stage presence. Then it hit me. One of the most magnetic people I knew was Ryan Shaw. He was in Hamlet at the Chanticleer Theater, so he definitely knew his way around the place and was comfortable in front of an audience. If anyone could convince him to help us, it would be me. I knew Zachary wasn’t going to like it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  I started some coffee and went back to my studio to check on Gumdrop, since he wasn’t sleeping in his favorite paisley chair. I found him on my worktable, on the towel I had placed there a few days before. He’d rearranged the necklaces for the auction in his quest to get comfortable. I had five necklaces, now that I had Val’s donation. I added Dylan’s necklace to the pile along with Frankie’s piece. I was getting close, but wasn’t done yet.

  “Come on, you big baby,” I said, picking him up, lugging him out to the living room, and setting him on the sofa. I grabbed a cup of coffee, joined Gumdrop on the couch, and made the call.

  “Hey, Ryan,” I said when he answered.

  “I hadn’t expected to hear from you,” Ryan said, sounding a little cautious. “Are you feeling a little less shaky after last night’s escapade?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it. I have a favor to ask. We need someone who can be an emcee for our event for the Homeless Advocacy Team at the Chanticleer Theater on Sunday,” I said.