Snake in the Glass (25 page)

“Don’t beat yourself up, Cam. Mescaline messes with your memory. Em told me that you mentioned a woman.”

Cam closed his eyes for a minute, I assumed to try to recreate his memories. “There was a woman somewhere in there. And she and the man argued, but it was kind of like I was hearing it under water. None of it seemed real. Will something come back, Matt?”

“Maybe. The stuff affects people differently. You have any recollection of how you got here?”

“I think the woman drove me here and dropped me off, but I really can’t be sure.”

Matt sighed. “About what I expected. It’s not your fault, Cam. I’d guess that they picked that particular stuff to achieve exactly that result. Either you wouldn’t remember anything useful, or if you did, it would be so garbled it would be worthless. If they’d wanted you dead, we probably never would have found you. Maybe they didn’t want another body on their hands.”

After that sobering statement, we all fell silent. I noticed that Allison’s hand tightened on Cam’s arm.

Finally Cam broke the silence. “What now?”

“Cam, I’ve got to take you to talk with the sheriffs, or at least the Pima County sheriff—his department’s the lead on this. I’ll vouch for you.”

“Thanks, I guess. Will I need that?”

“I hope not. You ready to go?”

“I guess.”

Before Matt could drag him away, I grabbed Cam for another hug. So did Allison.

Nessa had only to look at Allison and me as we
walked in to know that we finally had good news. Her face lit up. “Cam?”

“He’s back.” I couldn’t stop smiling. It felt so good to be in the shop without the awful black cloud of uncertainty hanging over me. Sure, there was still that pesky matter of dead Alex, but selfishly I was just happy that my brother was home safe.

I set about filling in the blanks for Nessa. “He just showed up last night, high as a kite on what the EMTs said was probably mescaline,” I began, “and unfortunately he can’t remember much about the last couple of days. Matt says that’s to be expected, but there shouldn’t be any lingering aftereffects.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Allison, have you seen him?”

I swear Allison blushed again. I stifled the bad joke that popped into my head: I was sure she had seen all there was to see of Cam last night.

“I have.”

Nessa probed gently, “And is everything all right?” Allison nodded, unable to suppress her own smile. Then she grabbed a duster. “I’d better get the dust off these shelves.” She busied herself at the far end of the shop.

I finished the rest of the story for Nessa, ending with “and the next thing Cam knows he’s sitting on my stairs contemplating his navel or the galaxy or something. He did mention there was a woman involved somewhere in there. And that is about the sum total of what he could tell us: a man who knew about Alex and the RV, and who drove an ordinary car, and possibly a woman somewhere in the mix. And two days of real pretty pictures in his head.”

“Oh my. Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for him. Oh dear—look at the time. I’d better open up.”

“And I’m going to try to make some glass, if you don’t need me up here. You’re both in all day, right?”

“We are,” said Nessa, counting the small bills in the register. “Although it seems a bit silly to have both of us here when there are so few customers.”

“Nessa, I don’t think Allison would leave right now even if I paid her to, and I’m not going to make her go. If you’d like to take a little time off to spend with Frank, that’s fine.”

“We’ll see. You go get some good work done.”

“I’ll do my best.” I headed for the studio; it felt as though I hadn’t been there in weeks, rather than only two days. Blessed peace, at last. I turned on one of the glory holes and went over to the cabinet to contemplate my frit and wait for inspiration. What color was today? A lot brighter than yesterday, no question. What would Cam have seen, under the influence? Maybe he could help me recreate his visions in glass—plenty of swirls and pretty colors. That could work. I picked up a warmed blowpipe and opened the furnace for my first gather. I had been experimenting with a new technique that involved fusing individual rods of different colors into a single long one, then using segments of the rod to blow out into individual pieces. The end result—when it worked—was a wonderful swirl of rainbow colors. Perfect for Cam’s recent psychedelic experience.

Three hours later I closed the annealer door on a nice clutch of glassworks. I realized that I’d missed lunch, and I was starving. I could see Nessa in the shop and assumed that Allison was at lunch.

“Have you eaten?” I asked as I closed the studio door behind me.

“I have, and Allison’s getting her own lunch now. I’d have brought you a sandwich, but I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“That’s fine. I was finally back in my rhythm, and I got a lot done. I’ll run out now and get something.”

Fifteen minutes later I returned to the shop with a bulging plastic bag filled with tasty stuff. Allison hadn’t returned yet, and Nessa had busied herself by the register while a lone customer browsed the shelves. “I’m back,” I said, stating the obvious. “I think I’ll go into the office and eat.”

“Oh, Em, before you go,” Nessa said, beckoning to me from behind the counter.

Curious, I walked around the counter and put my head close to hers. “What’s up?” I said in a low voice.

“I’m not really sure,” she replied in the same tone. She indicated the customer with the tiniest of nods. “The lady came in a few minutes ago, and she’s been kind of drifting around since, looking, but I don’t think she’s really interested in the glass, if you know what I mean.”

I tried to check out the woman without being obvious. Middle height, close to my age, long dark hair, casually but nicely dressed in pants and a pressed shirt. Something about her said “not a tourist,” but that was about all I could tell. Except that she seemed nervous: she kept looking around the room, now and then casting a sidelong glance toward us. I had to admit we looked a bit suspicious ourselves, huddled behind the counter, whispering.

I agreed with Nessa’s feeling she hadn’t come here to buy art. Was she casing the joint? But that was absurd, because it wasn’t easy to walk out with a batch of glass items—they’re both heavy and fragile. We never had much money in the register, and most of our buyers paid by credit card anyway. There were plenty of other stores around here that had better pickings for a burglary. So what was she doing here?

I crossed the room toward her. “Hi, I’m Em Dowell, the glassmaker. Did you have questions about any piece in particular?”

“Oh, no, no. I’m just looking. You have some lovely work here.”

“Thank you. Do you own any glass pieces?”

“Not art pieces, no. But I’ve walked by your shop before, and I was in the neighborhood and had a few moments to spare, so I thought I’d stop in and take a look.”

She seemed sincere enough, and I’d learned over time that some people don’t like to be crowded when they look at art. “Then I’ll let you enjoy the pieces at your own speed. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thank you,” she replied politely, moving away as quickly as courtesy permitted. Definitely a nervous lady.

She must have sensed my eyes on her, because after a few more minutes she grabbed a piece off the shelf, almost at random, then approached the register. “I’ll take this,” she said curtly.

It was a medium-size bowl in one of my favorite techniques—a swirl of multiple colors, with a line of aventurine glass that added a subtle sparkle. “Oh, I’m glad you like that—it’s an interesting pattern, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Nice.” She handed me a credit card, and I processed the sale while Nessa carefully swathed the piece in bubbled plastic. She put the wrapped object in a box, and the box in a bag, just as I handed the woman her credit card and charge slip. Out of habit, I looked at the name on the credit card: Beverly Harrison. That didn’t ring any bells. When her hands were free, I handed her the bag.

“I hope you enjoy it. And please come back again.”

The woman left without a further word, and I turned to Nessa. “What was going on with her?”

“She seemed so fidgety. I was surprised when she actually bought something.”

Before I could snag my lunch and disappear to my hidey-hole to eat it, Matt and Cam came around the corner and let themselves in.

“Hi, guys,” I greeted them. “Everything go all right?”

“As well as could be expected, all things considered,” Matt said. “Unfortunately Cam couldn’t contribute very much, which didn’t make anyone happy.”

“I’m sorry, Matt,” Cam protested. “How many times do I have to tell you that? I just can’t remember.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you that I understand? It’s just frustrating that you’re the best lead we’ve got at the moment, but there still isn’t much to work with. It’s not your fault, Cam, and thanks for your help. Em, I’ll talk to you later. Oh, hang on—we need to switch cars again.”

We exchanged keys, and Matt left. I gave Cam a nudge. “Cam, you have any plans?”

He looked at his watch. “I suppose I should go talk to the people at SDE and explain what’s been going on—at least, as much as I know. Then I’ve got to start looking for a place to live.”

“Where’s SDE based?”

“They’ve got a building on the south side of town. Maybe I’ll just drive around that end of town and see what the neighborhoods look like.”

“Small problem—your car’s still at the police lot, isn’t it? But you can take mine.” I crossed the room and gave him yet another hug. “Be careful, will you? The last time you went anywhere, you disappeared for a week,” I said into his chest. “You will be back for dinner, right?”

“Unless I get kidnapped again,” he said, struggling to maintain a straight face.

I swatted him. “Don’t even joke about that.” I handed him my car keys. “Now, drive safely, and carry a clean hanky.”

“Thanks, Em. See you later.”

“I should hope so.”

After yet another slow day, we closed up the shop
at six. Nessa and Allison followed me upstairs, and while they gushed over the dogs, I ordered several assorted pizzas.

Cam was next to arrive.

“Did you sort everything out at work?” I asked. “Were they worried when you didn’t show up?”

“Not really. It’s a pretty informal group.”

“Well, they’re keeping you humble if they didn’t even miss you. I’ve ordered pizza. Can you run out and get some beer and whatever anyone else wants to drink?”

“No problem. Allison, you want to come?”

“I do,” she replied promptly, holding out her hand. Cam held it all the way to the door and probably would have kept on holding it except that it was a little difficult to go down the stairs that way.

They passed Frank on his way in. He looked pleased with himself and the world, but then, he usually did. He brightened noticeably when he saw Nessa. “Nessa, my dear, I wondered where you’d hidden yourself.”

“I haven’t gone far, Frank,” she replied placidly.

“Frank, you want to stick around for dinner?” I asked. “Because I’m hoping we can pool the bits and pieces of information we have and see where we are.”

“Delighted, and I may have a few nuggets of my own to share.”

Matt appeared next, unannounced but somehow not unexpected. “Hi,” I greeted him. “Pull up a chair. Dinner’s on its way. Oh, before I offer you a beer, I should ask, is this business?”

“Sort of. Let me get business out of the way, and then I’ll think about that beer. Is Cam here?”

“He was—he will be. I sent him out to get the aforesaid beer. Allison went along.”

“How’s he doing?” Matt asked.

“Seems fine to me. I think Allison agrees.”

“Good. I’ve got some stuff I want him to look at.”

Cam, Allison, and the pizza all arrived together, and we busied ourselves for a few minutes with distributing and ingesting food and drink. Once everyone had managed to consume a slice or two, I judged we were ready to get down to business.

“Okay, everybody,” I began. “Looking at the brain-power around this table, we should be able to work out who drugged Cam and who killed Alex in no time, right? Matt, why don’t you start? You said you wanted Cam to look at something?”

Matt carefully wiped the pizza grease off his hands with a paper napkin while I moved used plates and glasses out of the way. He picked up a large manila envelope he had brought with him and pulled out a stack of papers. “We had no problem with Alex’s disk— it wasn’t protected. And we didn’t find much interesting stuff on it. Mostly property records, deeds, expense reports, that kind of thing. It’s probably as innocent as it looks—Alex thought Denis should have a full copy of all the business information, all on one disk, but I don’t think it was because he expected to die. So no great Sherlock Holmes surprise.”

“What is it you want from me?” Cam asked. “I don’t know much about the business side of what Alex and Denis were doing.”

“It’s not that. There are some pictures of rock formations that were included, and I thought I’d run them by you to see if they look like what you saw on the property where the RV was parked. I’d like to know if the RV was parked at the site the stones came from, or if they’re from somewhere else. These were the only landscape shots on the disk, so Alex must have thought they were important. Frank, you can take a look too—you’ve been out there.”

“Happy to help, Matt,” Frank replied.

Cam held out a hand for the photos, and Matt passed them to him. “You know I’m not a geologist,” he said absently as he studied each image.