2 Pane of Death (7 page)

I could hear Matt’s returning footsteps on the stairs, and I found myself smiling. The man really was in a hurry, so I headed for the bedroom and the filmy number I’d laid out, just in case.

Matt was gone by the time Cam let himself in late that night. I was too snug to bother looking at the clock.
Trouble in paradise?
I wondered as I drifted back to sleep.

I was not reassured by the sight of Cam’s face at breakfast the next morning. “Problems?” I ventured, trying to be tactful—not easy, this early.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. You remember that weird animal in
Doctor Doolittle
with the heads at both ends?”

“Yup. Why?”

“That’s the way this feels. She says she loves me, but then she pushes me away. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wait. Be steadfast, brave, and true, and trust that it will all work out in the end.”

He looked at me skeptically. “And how are things going with your warrior hero?”

“Just fine, thank you very much. Now can we talk about something that doesn’t involve our messy romantic lives? You have any plans for the day?”

“We thought we’d go see the San Xavier Mission—Allison hasn’t seen it yet. You?”

“I might do some more work in the studio. I’m playing with a new technique—well, new to me—where you take colored rods and fuse them around the bubble and stretch it out.”

“You really like trying out new techniques, don’t you?” Cam said, almost wistfully.

“Sure. Hey, remember, I haven’t been doing this all that long, and I know I’ve still got lots to learn. Besides, it keeps things interesting. Don’t you find the same thing with computer code?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. More in the hardware than the software these days. Maybe Ferguson had the right idea, getting out now. He’s still got time to do something else with his life, if he wants to.”

“Are you thinking about becoming an art collector?” I tried to lighten Cam’s uncharacteristic morose mood. I managed to draw a smile from him.

“I don’t think so. But aren’t there some dude ranches around here? Maybe I could become a wrangler. Just for a change of pace.”

“But then you’d have to really work!”

We bantered happily until Cam adjourned to the shower. I was surprised when the phone rang—Cam was just about the only person who called on this line, besides Matt, occasionally. I was even more surprised when I answered and found it was Peter Ferguson.

“Am I calling at a bad time?”

How had he gotten my number? I hadn’t given it to him. Oh, right—he’s a computer genius, so he could probably find anything. “Oh, no, nothing like that. I was already up, and I was just getting ready to head down to the studio.”
Em, you’re babbling.
“What can I do for you, Peter?”
Please don’t say you’re firing me before you’ve even hired me.
I was surprised by how much I cared.

“A couple more of the glass pieces have arrived, and I wondered if you’d like to see them?”

No mention of Maddy. Should I bring her up? I decided against it. I would much prefer some quality time with the glass—not to mention Peter Ferguson—without her intrusive presence. “When did you have in mind?”

“Today, if you’re not too busy.”

The glass in my studio wasn’t going anywhere, and Nessa could cover the shop. “Fine. Say, one o’clock?”

“Excellent. You can find your way?”

“I think so. You might as well give me your phone number, just in case I get lost.”

I scribbled down the number he gave me, and hung up. I turned to find Cam looking at me with a wistful expression. “What?” I demanded.

“That was Peter Ferguson?”

I nodded. “He wants me to look at some more of his glass panels. No, you can’t come. Maybe next time.”
Good heavens,
I thought,
would there be a next time?
“And he didn’t say anything about Maddy. I wonder what that’s all about.”

“You sure that’s all he wants?”

It took me a moment to figure out what he meant. “Cam! It’s nothing like that. He knows I share his appreciation of these pieces, and I’m not sure Maddy feels the same way. It’s a privilege to get to see them.”

“Uh-huh. Did I mention that Ferguson doesn’t appear to be married at the moment? Although he was, at least once, according to what I saw yesterday.”

“So what? This is not a romantic rendezvous. This is business.”

“Whatever you say.”

I had to think Cam’s hormones were running amok, and he was seeing things that didn’t exist. Sure, Peter was an attractive man, but I wasn’t in the market. I was taken. I was in a committed and stable relationship. Uh-huh.

 

I was ridiculously pleased with myself when I managed to find Peter’s house on the first try, since I was not exactly familiar with the upscale neighborhood. I realized as I approached the driveway that I hadn’t asked about whether I would have any trouble getting through the security. I stopped beside the box at the end of the driveway and stared at it, trying to recall which button Maddy had pushed, and then jumped when a voice said, “Drive on up.” I had to wonder what kind of system kept constant watch. Or maybe Peter had been hovering, eagerly waiting my arrival. Sure. I drove up the drive without setting off any sirens or attracting slavering Dobermans. I wondered what else his security system included. Obviously someone like Peter Ferguson would have access to the most cutting-edge electronics, but I still wasn’t sure how those would be used on a hillside lot without fencing. I parked where Maddy had parked earlier, and after smoothing the wrinkles out of my pants and pulling down my shirt, I approached the door. It opened before I could decipher the unobtrusive intercom system. There he was in front of me before I had time to prepare myself mentally—and he looked as good this time as he had the first time.

“Em, thanks for coming. I hope I haven’t taken you away from anything important.” Today Peter was wearing a different, darker pair of jeans and a terra cotta-colored long-sleeve T-shirt that highlighted the silver cast to his hair. He looked completely . . . ordinary. I had to remind myself again that this man could probably buy a small country if he wanted to.

“Do people often turn down your invitations?” I said, more tartly than I intended. I was nervous, although I wasn’t sure why.

He chuckled. “Actually, I don’t invite many people here, so it’s not a statistically valid sample. Come on in.”

Nothing had changed since my first visit—the place was still empty and gleaming. “Is Maddy coming?”

“Come on through to the kitchen,” he said. “No, I didn’t invite her. I wanted to talk to you.”

Why did I feel like a schoolgirl called to the principal’s office? “Should I be flattered or worried?”

The kitchen was much like the rest of the house—acres of gleaming brushed steel, granite countertop, cool tile floors. Since the kitchen was at the rear of the house, the windows were small and looked out on the rising hillside dotted with scruffy mesquite and assorted cacti.

“Is it too early for a beer?”

“Sure, fine.” This was a social occasion?

He pulled a couple of bottles out of the mammoth refrigerator and offered me one. I took it and twisted off the top—no fragile flower, I. He raised his bottle to me, and we drank.

I had no idea what to say next, but he solved that problem for me. “You look like you think I’m going to bite. Relax.”

“Sorry. I just don’t understand why I’m here.”
And Maddy isn’t.

“Listen, I’ve got a couple of folding chairs in the—heck, I don’t know what to call it—the big room? Can we sit down?”

“Sure.” I followed him back into the main space and had to fight to drag my eyes away from the amazing view. I was raised on the East Coast, and even after ten years in Tucson I still hadn’t gotten over how spectacular it could be. He gestured toward a chair, and I sat; he pulled another chair closer, perpendicular to mine, and then he sat. He took another long swallow of beer before he started speaking.

“You’ve got to be wondering why I hired Madelyn Sheffield for this job.”

I stared at him, trying to decide how to answer. I opted for the truth. “To be honest, I have. I don’t know how you know her, but what I’ve seen of her work is, uh, nice, but not at all in this league.” Mediocre, trite, silly—there were a lot of adjectives I could have picked, but I was trying to be polite. “And if we’re putting all our cards on the table, I’ve also wondered just why I’m here.”

He twirled the bottle between his hands. “You’re an intelligent woman, and I figured you would have questions. I thought it would be simpler if I just explained up front, and you can decide whether you want to work with me. With the collection.”

“Thank you, I think. I’m listening.”

“Your assessment of Maddy’s talents is accurate. To put it kindly, I think she’s reached her full potential running a small shop in a tourist mecca. She makes a modest living.”

“Okay,” I said dubiously. Did he lump me in the same category?

Again, he read my mind. “She can’t hold a candle to you. You’re serious about your work, and you’re turning out some interesting pieces. Along with the commercial ones. I know—you’ve got to make a living.”

Was he going to offer to be my patron? Play Medici? This was becoming bizarre. “You were going to explain what Maddy is doing here.”

He sighed. “Maddy is the daughter of my mother’s college roommate. They were close then, and they stayed close, and I guess you could say that my mother has had a huge advantage in terms of bragging rights. She feels bad about that, from time to time, so when I started talking about installing this collection, she remembered little Madelyn, and she decided she could make up for a lot by involving her. God help me, I agreed to go along. I’d met Maddy occasionally over the years, but she didn’t leave any lasting impression. When I met her again after my mother had cooked up this little scheme, I was less than thrilled, but I’d already agreed, and my mother wasn’t about to let me off the hook. And Maddy was so pleased, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wanted to back out.”

I was beginning to see a glimmer of logic here. “So that’s where I come in? I’m supposed to provide the expertise or whatever that Maddy lacks?”

“That’s what I hoped. If you’re willing. When I realized that I was stuck with Maddy, I started looking for someone to back her up, and your name came up a couple of times. I saw some of your work, and I liked what I saw. Look, I know that installing the collection isn’t exactly rocket science, and I’m taking care of all the structural considerations, but I’ve asked Maddy to work out placement, coordinating other lights in each room, that kind of thing. I’m sorry if I insulted you, but the only way I could think of to bring you in was to think up some portion of the project that I knew Maddy couldn’t handle—the hot-glass work.”

“Were you serious about that, or was it only a cover story?” I didn’t know if I felt relieved or disappointed.

“I’m serious. It’s not a major commission, because I want to keep things focused on the panels, not tarted up with a lot of unnecessary accessories, but I envision harmonizing the interior lighting with the main panels. I want it to be unobtrusive but complementary. I have the awful feeling that Maddy would want to churn out mock Tiffany shades with themes to match the artwork.” He gave a theatrical shudder, then looked directly at me. “What are you thinking?”

I took a second to figure out exactly what I did think. “For a start, I’m glad you told me. This whole thing didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Maddy was not a logical choice for this kind of project, and she doesn’t like me much, so bringing me in made the whole package even stranger. Now I can understand it, and thanks for laying it out. Did you tell Maddy I came with the package?”

“Let’s say I suggested it strongly. Why don’t you get along?”

“For the reasons you already pointed out: I think she’s a lightweight, and I care about what I’m doing. She thinks she’s an artist. I don’t buy it, not that I’d tell her to her face. We’re part of the same local community, so I don’t go looking for trouble. But I think I can say that working with her is not going to be a picnic. She’s already tried to shut me out—she didn’t want me coming back here again. She wants control of things.” I hesitated for a moment before adding, “And I think that’s one of my conditions. If you want me to stay on and babysit Maddy, I’ll need to have equal access to the pieces, if I’m supposed to come up with something harmonious.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Let me worry about Maddy. So you’ll stay?”

Had he had any doubt? The siren song of the glass had lured me here—well, that and some ordinary curiosity about a man whose name appeared in headlines. So sue me, I’m human. But the glass was the deciding factor: I wanted to see those windows, not just once, but again and again, under different conditions. I wanted to
know
them, internalize them, learn from them, and see what I could take from them for my own art. “I will, under those conditions. You manage Maddy, and I’ll see that she doesn’t go overboard with cutesy.”