2 Pane of Death (16 page)

This was getting me nowhere. It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be busy for both of us. “Cam, I need to get to bed. Put that thing”—I gestured toward the computer—“someplace safe. I’ll walk the dogs and grab a shower. And maybe you should give Allison a call, tell her there’s been a change in plans.”

He nodded, his mind clearly somewhere else—no doubt running code in his head. “Sure, fine.”

Nothing I could do about Cam. I collected the leashes, grabbed a jacket, and ferried Fred and Gloria down the stairs. In the cold night air, I followed the pups as they sniffed and squatted, wondering just what I had gotten myself into this time.

I was surprised that I slept at all, with so much bouncing around in my head. I managed to drag myself out of bed before the sun was fully up on Saturday morning. When I stumbled out into the kitchen area in search of caffeine, I found Cam sitting at my desk already at work. Cam has great contempt for my poor computer, but I’m no techie, and as long as it does what I ask—mainly, keep my business records in some sort of order and produce an invoice now and then—I’m not going to complain. He had banished my system to the back of the desk and had set up his own laptop, now bristling with additional cords, alongside Peter’s.

With a cup of Cam’s freshly brewed coffee in hand, I ambled over to him and peered over his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

His eyes never left the monitor. “I don’t know yet. It looks pretty straightforward, but I want to be careful to do this right.”

“Can you get into his files or whatever?”

“Probably. I’ll know more in a couple of hours. You going downstairs?”

“Yup. Should be a busy morning in the shop, and then I’ve got that class in the afternoon. Did you talk to Allison?”

I swear it took him a moment to recall who I was talking about. “Oh, yeah. I called her last night and said I’d be tied up today, and maybe we could get together tonight. I’ll have to see how it goes.”

If their relationship was going to last, Allison should know that nothing came between Cam and his beloved computer, and this was a special case. I sighed. “I’ll try to explain it to her when I see her.”

“She said she understood.”

While I had my doubts about that, I’d wait and see what she really thought when I got to the shop. Right now I needed food. “Did you feed the dogs?” I asked.

“What? Oh, no, I guess I didn’t. Sorry.”

He really was absorbed if he could ignore the concerted attention of Fred and Gloria at his feet. “Apologize to them, not to me.” I set about feeding everybody, got dressed, and then took them out for a walk. Despite the chill in the air, people were stirring early on this Saturday, and I waved at a few artisans I knew, most likely on their way to work.

After returning with the dogs, I made my way downstairs in time to meet Allison as she opened the front door. “Good morning,” I said brightly.

She gave me a smile. “Good morning, Em. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Having dispensed with the trite formalities, I seized the opportunity to find out what was going on with her—and Cam. “You talked to Cam last night?”

She hung her jacket behind the counter before replying. “I did. He said he’s working on something related to the Ferguson killing and couldn’t talk about it.”

“I’m sorry—I know you had plans. But it’s true.” I wondered why I was apologizing for Cam, but I knew how clueless he was about relationships. “Are you okay with that?”

She laughed. “What, that he finds his laptop more appealing than me? Em, don’t trouble yourself. In truth, I’m happy to have a little breathing room. He can be a bit intense, don’t you think?”

“Tell me about it.” Was the bloom off the rose already? Well, I’d let the two of them work out . . . whatever. “Nessa’s coming in at one, right? I’ll hang around up here this morning, and then I’ve got the class later, so I’ll have to set up for that. When are you going to get in some more furnace time?”

Allison was going through the start-up procedure for the register. “What? Oh, I hadn’t thought—I’ve been so busy trying to sort out these university classes and all. It’s like being let loose in a candy store, but it’s been years since school and there’s so much I don’t know.”

“Well, I for one think it’s great. And you’re lucky—you can take what you want and figure out what interests you.”

The door opened with our first customer of the day, and we were off. The morning was busy with sales and lookers. Allison ran out for sandwiches at noon, and when Nessa arrived I headed for the studio to set up for my students.

In preparation, I checked the glass levels in my furnace, turned on the glory holes, and laid out the tools we would need. I emptied the annealer, where the last batch of pieces had cooled overnight, then turned it on—I would need to put the students’ pieces in to cool overnight. I refilled a couple of the frit cans that were running low. And then the attendees started drifting in and I had no time to think. I had to keep an eagle eye on all the newbies to make sure they didn’t burn themselves on something unexpectedly hot and didn’t whack each other swinging a pipe around. Time flew.

It was after five when I waved good-bye to the last student and reversed the earlier process, turning off the glory holes, shutting the furnace door, and cleaning and stowing the tools. I gave a quick sweep to the concrete floor, checked the annealer setting one last time, then went back to the shop. Nessa and Allison were busy with customers, so I watched quietly for a moment—and felt lucky to have them both. Even though Allison had been working here only a short while, already I wondered how I had managed without her. The business was thriving, and I hoped it would continue to improve—if I could just stop tripping over dead bodies.

I should have known that the universe would not allow me to feel good for long. I turned to see Maddy hesitating in the doorway to the shop. As well she should: The last person I wanted to see was someone who had accused me of murder. A thick silence fell, as both Allison and Nessa joined me in glaring daggers at Maddy.

She summoned up a tremulous smile. “Em, I came to apologize. I said some things I didn’t mean the other day. Can we talk?”

My first reaction was to tell her to take a very long hike, preferably straight out into the desert, and not come back. But I was a grown-up—and besides, I wanted to know what had brought her here. I could at least hear her out. “All right. Not here. I know a place around the corner. Okay?”

Maddy nodded eagerly. “Great. Thank you, Em.” She glanced at Allison and Nessa, whose expressions had not changed. “Can you go now?”

“I guess.” I shrugged. “Let me get a jacket.”

When I came around the counter, Nessa leaned over and whispered, “Do you need backup?” in her most conspiratorial tone.

I laughed. “No, I think I can handle this. But thanks. You two okay to close?”

She nodded, and stepped back. “I think we can manage. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“See you then,” I said breezily, then turned to Maddy. “Let’s go.”

I led the way the short two blocks to a bar where I figured we would find some privacy, given the early hour. I was right: The dim interior held only a few people, mostly tourist couples looking for local color. I nodded at the bartender and made my way to a booth at the back, Maddy trailing silently. I slid in on one side, and she took a seat opposite.

A young waitress approached and looked expectantly at us. “Beer for me,” I told her. “You, Maddy?”

“Oh dear, I don’t know. . . . If you’re having something . . . a white wine, maybe?” She was dithering.

“And some chips and salsa, please.”

The waitress nodded and headed for the bar. I turned to Maddy. “Okay, you asked to talk to me. So talk.”

While waiting for her to begin, which took a while, I studied her. I hadn’t seen her since she had stormed into Peter’s house flinging accusations, and events since had obviously taken a toll. Her blonde hair hung limply, her eyes and her nose were red, and she looked somehow shrunken. Peter’s death seemed to have hit her really hard—but why?

Finally she spoke, avoiding my eyes, shredding a napkin with both hands. “Em, I wanted to say how sorry I am about accusing you of killing Peter. I didn’t mean it—it just came out, in the stress of the moment.”

The waitress arrived, and I framed my response while waiting for her to retreat. “Maddy, as I recall, you repeated the story to Chief Lundgren, after you’d had a chance to calm down.”

“I know, I know. But I was just so upset. . . .”

As if I
wasn’t
upset at finding a corpse? I have no patience for these fragile females who crumple under the least pressure, and I was in no mood to be charitable to Maddy. She was the one who had gotten me into this in the first place, and her apology struck me as rather feeble.

“And so was I,” I said tartly. “Peter Ferguson didn’t deserve to die, and now his collection is who knows where, maybe gone forever. It’s a lousy situation. And your accusation didn’t make things any better. Come on, Maddy—I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I don’t think I deserved that.”

“I know,” she said, gulping down a sob—and the rest of her wine. “But when I saw him lying there, dead . . . We were lovers, you know.”

I have to admit that stopped me in my tracks. I sat back to consider, swallowing some more of my beer, stalling for time. For a start, I didn’t believe her. I had seen them together and had witnessed nothing that suggested that kind of intimacy. Talking with me, Peter had dismissed her, saying that it was an old family connection and nothing more. Him, I believed. At least his explanation had made sense. So, why was she lying to me? More of her posturing? Self-dramatizing? Did she hope to gain some small notoriety from being labeled Peter Ferguson’s last . . . whatever?

Reluctantly I had to admit to myself that I was intrigued. What was Maddy’s game? There was only one way to find out. I reached out a hand and laid it over one of hers. “You poor thing, you must feel awful. I didn’t know. Do you want to talk about it?”

She did.

Beers and wine had somehow morphed into margaritas, against whose effects the bowls of chips had little impact, and still Maddy talked on. “He was always such a lovely boy. Quiet, shy, you know. Kept to himself. But even then I knew he was someone special. He had such a way of looking at you, like you were the only person in the world. And for the longest time he never said anything to me about the way he felt. But when he moved to Tucson, when he chose me for his special project—I knew it was to be our time, at last.”

What universe was this woman living in? I searched my befuddled brain for memories of what Peter had said about Maddy. Sure, he had been an attractive man. If he had been a geeky youth, he had definitely moved past that. And yet . . . I had to admit I had wanted to believe that the appreciative gaze he had turned on me had been for me alone, that I had been special. Even though I had had no intention of acting on it, I had hoped that there really was a little spark of attraction flickering there. So how could I blame Maddy for building castles in the air?

But that was all they were—I was sure of it. Peter had been kind and patient when she was around, but I believed he had shared his true feelings toward her with me, when we had been alone.

But, hey, if Maddy was in a mood to spill her guts to me, her new best buddy . . . “You must have been upset when Peter got married,” I tossed out as bait.

Maddy took it. “That bitch! All she wanted was his money.”

“Hold on. Didn’t they get married before he got rich and famous?”

“I never said she wasn’t smart. She knew he was going places. She latched on to him like, like . . . what’re those sucker fish thingies?”

“Remoras,” I said absently. I am a font of useless information. “So you’re saying she was a gold digger? They did have a couple of kids, didn’t they?”

“Yes. They’re gorgeous, and smart too. But Jennifer turned them against Peter, used them to pry more money out of him in the divorce.”

“That’s terrible!” If it was true. I had no way of knowing, and I didn’t exactly trust Maddy’s spin on it. “But they kept in touch? I mean, she’s here in Tucson, isn’t she?”

“She’s a vampire!” I refrained from pointing out that vampires sucked blood only from living creatures, which Peter wasn’t. “She had all the money she could want, but she just couldn’t handle being a nobody, instead of Mrs. Peter Ferguson. And now she’s going to play the grieving widow, while it’s me who
really
loved him.
I’m
the one who’s going to miss him more!”

Maddy threatened to dissolve into tears, but I couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t as self-serving as Jennifer. And whether Maddy was just jealous that she wasn’t getting the public sympathy that Jennifer was reaping.

Em, listen to yourself. You’re as bad as Maddy.
When had I become so cynical?
Enough.
I checked my watch: time to go home. The restaurant was full now, warm and noisy, but Maddy still looked like uncooked dough, a sodden lump of misery. It was not a pretty sight.