2 Pane of Death Page 3

  A deep masculine voice called out, “In the living room. Come on through.”

  I was torn. Part of me wanted to meet this titan of the cyberworld; another part of me wanted to stand in the broad foyer and take in the striking architecture of the place. The designer had kept pesky things like walls to a minimum, the better to give access to the views from almost anywhere you stood. My first dazed impression was of acres of granite and polished wood, gleaming tile and rough adobe. The interior was both quiet and noisy, the many surfaces catching even the smallest sounds and echoing them back. The palette was monochrome, but the wash of color outside the windows—the vivid blue skies, the dusty greens of the native plants—more than compensated. I had to admit that I was impressed.

  Maddy tugged at my arm impatiently, and reluctantly I turned to follow her as she led me to where Peter Ferguson waited.

  Chapter 3

  Maddy headed toward the source of the voice. “Peter!” she said as she entered the living room, with me trailing like a U-Haul. She stopped abruptly, and I almost bumped into her, since I was too busy taking in the details of the house to pay attention.

  “Hi, Maddy. And you must be Emmeline Dowell.”

  I stepped out from behind Maddy, then stopped dead, struck dumb.

  I’ve been around a lot of computer nerds in my life, starting with Cam’s high school and college buddies. Heck, I’ve always preferred geeks to studs—they’re usually more interesting to talk to, once you get past their initial social ineptitude. And they’re smart and often creative people.

  Peter Ferguson was no nerd. Not even close. I took a moment to gather my scattered wits while making mental readjustments. It occurred to me that while I had read the occasional article or headline about the mysterious Mister Ferguson, I couldn’t recall ever seeing a picture of the man. If I had been expecting a pasty-pale, scrawny guy with thick glasses, I was so far wrong it was laughable. The man in front of me was well over six feet tall, rail thin. Middle-aged, yes—he had to be a few years older than my forty-something. But no glasses—his brown eyes, laugh lines at the corners, were clearly amused. His pewter gray hair was cut short, but not short enough to suppress the curl, and I thought I caught the glint of an earring in one ear. His clothes were simple—button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up and collar open, well-worn jeans, sandals. Although it couldn’t have taken more than a second or two for me to process this information, I realized he was waiting for a response from me with a smile lurking at one corner of his generous mouth.

  Without thinking about it, I stepped forward and held out my hand. “Yes, I’m Emmeline Dowell. Em. I make hot glass, and Maddy said she needed some help.” I was very proud to have remembered my own name.

  I could almost hear steam hissing from Maddy’s ears, but I really didn’t care. Peter took my offered hand, shook it briefly, and said, “Welcome, Em. I’ve seen some of your work downtown. Nice.” He let go of my hand, and I had to remind myself to do something with it.

  “Thank you,” I said demurely. I am not a demure person, but my mental data banks were working too slowly for anything more complicated. I wondered briefly if he ran into this reaction often; his expression was faintly amused, but not unfriendly. And, I realized, I was absurdly happy that he had seen and liked my work.

  It was only then that I realized there was another man in the room. He was shorter, rounder, and definitely sleeker than Peter. He stepped forward and extended his hand as well. “I’m Ian Gemberling. Peter’s bought some of his collection from me.” He turned toward Maddy and nodded. “Madelyn, nice to see you again.”

  Maddy nodded, her back stiff. “Ian.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence, then Ian said, “Well, I must be going. Peter, thanks for showing me the place, and let me know if I can help with anything. Good to meet you, Em.”

  “I’ll see you out,” Peter said, and the two men left us alone. I seized the opportunity to check out the spectacular view again. Nice to know what a few million could get you in this neighborhood. I tore myself away from the vista when Peter returned.

  “Peter!” Maddy’s voice was sharp, and I almost expected her to stamp her little foot and throw a tantrum.

  Peter took his own sweet time in turning to her. “Yes, Maddy?” he drawled.

  “I wanted to show Em what you’re thinking of for the glass panels, and you can tell her what you have in mind for the coordinating pieces.” And then she can vanish in a puff of smoke, because I don’t want to share you with anyone. Maddy didn’t voice this last part, but I could almost hear her thinking it. Fair enough—I wasn’t in the market. I had Matt, didn’t I? Sort of? But it was hard to stand in the same room with Peter Ferguson and not admire the gorgeous package. A girl can look, right?

  Maddy was apparently still talking. “Have the rest of the pieces arrived yet?”

  “Some, not all. I wanted to be sure the security was set up before I brought them in. But I need to see them in situ before we make any plans.” He turned back to me. “How much has Maddy told you about what I’m doing here?”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. “She said you wanted to use this place to give your glassworks the best setting possible. Although I must admit it seems a shame to pay for all this gorgeous view and then cover it up again.” I stopped, appalled. I was already criticizing the man, and I’d barely met him.

  “A fair judgment,” he replied, undisturbed. “I’ve been waiting to see how the house shapes up, and how the glass panels look, before making any final decisions about placement. I’m glad you’ll be a part of it. But you’re not a native Tucsonan, are you?”

  I shook my head. “No, East Coast born and bred. I’ve lived out here about ten years now.”

  “Ah. I thought I caught the accent. I’m from North Jersey myself. But it’s been a few years since I spent any time there—work took me to California.”

  “And now Arizona. Why here?”

  He shrugged. “A number of reasons. I wanted space, and light. Particularly light. And I wanted a change.”

  I wasn’t sure if his last statement was addressed to us or to himself, but his tone was final, and it would be presumptuous of me to pursue the thread any further. After all, it really wasn’t my business. I was here to provide glass, no more. If I wanted to; if he wanted me to. I realized that I wanted to. Whether he did, I wasn’t so sure about yet. And from the expression on Maddy’s face, I got the impression she wished I was about fifty miles off the New Jersey coast, and a hundred feet down.

  Peter unslouched himself from the wall where he had been leaning. “I’m forgetting my manners. Can I get you two something to drink before we look around?”

  “An iced tea, if you have it,” Maddy simpered.

  “Of course. I knew you’d be coming. And for you, Em?”

  “That’s fine for me.” I didn’t care what we were drinking. I wanted to look at the stained glass.

  “I’ll be just a moment. Feel free to look around.” He disappeared through an open archway behind him.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Maddy turned to me and hissed, “I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

  “I couldn’t be rude to the man, could I?” I replied, keeping my tone mild. My, she was touchy about Peter. “Isn’t he used to talking to the little people?”

  “Don’t be snide, Em. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. You deal with him through me, or I’ll find someone else for the fixtures.”

  I thought about my options. Maddy was a pain in the butt under the best of circumstances, and apparently she thought she had some claim to Peter—and would defend it tooth and nail. At this point I could decide that putting up with her wasn’t worth the effort, and I could walk away, no harm, no foul. On the other hand, I was curious now: Peter seemed serious about his plans, had given them some thought. From what I’d just seen, I was pretty sure that he wasn’t just looking to impress people with the money he’d thrown around acquiring a tidy little art collection. I
found I really wanted to know what he planned to do with it. Which meant I had to make nice with Maddy. I could do that, couldn’t I?

  I held up my hands. “Message received, Maddy. You can take the lead. I’m just here to see the place, and the glass panels.”

  Maddy searched my face to make sure I was sincere, and I gave her my best wide-eyed innocent look. Before she could say anything more, Peter emerged from the kitchen, juggling three mismatched glasses. “This is the best I could do. I’m not set up for entertaining yet.” He handed me a glass.

  “Not a problem . . . Peter.” I took it from him, our fingers brushing.

  “Then let’s drink to a happy partnership, and I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

  We carried our drinks with us as Peter led us through the spaces of his house. They were too open to be legitimately called rooms, at least on the ground floor; we didn’t visit the upper levels, although after listening to him for a while I had a sneaking suspicion that Peter would steal any corner he could for his beloved glass. Maddy burbled on, dropping arcane terms in a vain effort to impress her . . . what? Employer, lover? I couldn’t quite figure out their relationship. For that matter, I couldn’t figure out why there was one at all. Stop it, Em. It’s none of your business.

  To distract myself, I studied the existing lighting fixtures. While they were no doubt high-end and expensive, they were boring. Designed to be invisible. But at least they were inoffensive. Why would Peter want to replace them, if the focus of each room was to be on the glass panels? He had been fairly quiet, letting us absorb the spaces and understand the place. He had chosen this house well for his purposes: The sheets of plain glass faced in different directions, depending on the siting of the room, so there would be light catching the glass somewhere at any time of day. I found myself wondering how the rooms would be used.

  As usual, I spoke before thinking. “How do you see these rooms, Peter? You are planning for furniture and stuff like that, right? Where do you expect to sit, and what do you plan to do?” Maddy glared at me again, but I thought it was a legitimate question, given our roles here.

  His mouth twitched again. Did I amuse him? “If you’re wondering, yes, I do have furniture, and I expect this to be a home, not an art gallery. But the furniture will complement the windows, not vice versa. I wanted to keep the place bare and clean for now—makes it easier to visualize the glass.”

  “We don’t have to worry about teenage kids bouncing basketballs or anything, do we?” Was I actually prying? Was there a wife and kids waiting in the wings somewhere?

  This time he smiled openly. “Nothing like that. I’m designing this space for my own enjoyment.”

  I noted that he hadn’t elaborated about wife, kiddies, or even dogs, for that matter. Again, none of my business. But it was a large place for one man to ramble around admiring the pretty colors. Lonely.

  His voice startled me out of my reflections. “I’ve uncrated one panel, to get a feel for it. Do you want to see it?”

  “Ooh, Peter, which one? The Tiffany?” Maddy squealed.

  “No, that’s not here yet. Actually, I wanted to see how the Chagall looks.”

  I nodded. “Good choice—the color range should complement the desert palette. If it’s anything like the Vence series, that is.”

  Maddy and Peter both turned to look at me, with very different expressions. Maddy managed to combine confused and furious; Peter looked inquisitive. He spoke first. “You’ve seen them?”

  “Years ago. But if that’s your model, I can see what you’re going for—the simplicity of the chapel and the lushness of the glass.” In fact, I realized I wasn’t just sucking up—I did see it, in my mind’s eye. My estimation of Peter’s taste kicked up a notch.

  Ever the polite host, he turned to Maddy. “Are you familiar with those panels, Maddy?”

  “Not those particular ones,” she said through clenched teeth. “Where is this window of yours?”

  He smiled gently. “I saved it for last. This way.”

  We had almost come full circuit, back to where we had begun. At the end of the building off the main space there was a small room with windows on two sides; a third wall was lined with shelves, currently empty. A glass panel some six feet high was propped up against one of the dividers between the windows, its packing crate and padding lying on the floor.

  Wow. I’d remembered right. The panel was clearly from the same period as the Vence windows, and shared the intense blues and yellows, as well as the sinuous lines. Behind it through the window the desert unfurled, a gold-brown expanse of sand that stretched to the next mountain range beyond. The sunlight poured through the window, casting pools of colored light on the pale stone floor; I could almost see it moving, like a liquid. For a moment I was speechless, awed by the rightness of the combination. And what I saw spawned a whole series of images, and I couldn’t wait to see how the other panels he might have would fit. I knew exactly why he had started with this one.

  I turned eagerly to Maddy, who looked bored. “This is fantastic! Maddy, what do you think? How would you tie this together with the windows in other rooms?”

  Maddy looked at me to see if I was making fun of her. Deciding I wasn’t, she ignored me but talked directly to Peter. “I love it, Peter! It’s beautiful! This is going to be so exciting. I can’t wait to see all the others. When will they all be here?”

  “Sometime this week, Maddy. I’ve got some contractors coming in this week to talk about structural support—these things are heavy, and I want to make sure the frames can support them, since the house wasn’t built for this kind of glass.” Once again he turned to me. “Em, what would you suggest for lighting?”

  I shook my head. “I’m nowhere near ready to think about that—I need to spend some more time with the pieces. And so should you—you need to see them at different times of day, under different conditions. It’s not like going to the home store and picking out a lamp shade.” I surprised myself with my own vehemence: I really did want to do it right.

  Peter nodded, once. “Good point. And there’s no rush. I want to get this right.”

  Was the man a mind reader?

  Maddy apparently had had enough. “Well, Em, I think we should be going, since there’s not much more to see right now. Peter, let me know when the rest of the panels are here and uncrated. I’m looking forward to seeing them all.” She stood waiting, and I realized I was supposed to move.

  I turned to make my farewells, ignoring Maddy’s glare. “Peter, it was a pleasure to meet you. And I second what Maddy says—if this window is any indication, the rest of the collection should be spectacular. Thanks for asking me to help.”

  He escorted us to the door, then leaned on the doorjamb watching as we pulled away—probably so he could arm the alarm system again. Maddy didn’t say anything until we had reached the road. “I trust you’ve seen enough?”

  I turned in my seat to look at her. “No, of course not. This is a custom job, and each room is going to be different, with different requirements.”

  “Fine. I’ll take pictures.” She gripped the steering wheel fiercely.

  What was her problem? Did she think I was going to steal her glory? This was her commission, and I was only a bit player. Still, I had professional standards, and if I was going to create something that my name was attached to, I wanted to make it the best that my skills would allow. And it would be a privilege to work with these pieces—the likes of which I had only read about or seen in museums or churches. I could learn a lot from studying them up close.

  Or was she afraid I was going to steal her man? From what I had observed, Peter didn’t see himself in that role, but maybe Maddy had hopes.

  But to keep close to the art, I had to keep Maddy happy. I sighed quietly. “How do you know Peter?”

  “I’ve known him for years,” she replied. She didn’t add anything, and I wondered what the story was—and why she didn’t want to share it.

  I watched the scenery roll
by as we headed back toward the city. “Who was that Gemberling guy?” I asked after a few moments, more to break the silence than because I was interested.

  “Ian? He’s an art dealer from Los Angeles. Peter has bought several pieces from him. You haven’t heard of him?” She made it sound as though Ian Gemberling was a household name.

  “No, can’t say that I have. I don’t pay a lot of attention to high-end dealers.”

  Maddy sniffed, then fell silent again. This lasted until we arrived back at my studio. She pulled up at the curb and stopped with a jerk. “Em, let’s get this clear up front. This is my project. I’ll let you know when and if I need anything from you.”

  My, she was being proprietary. “You know, we might want to work out a contract or something. We are going to get paid, aren’t we?”

  “Oh. Right. Let me put something together and I’ll get back to you. Time plus material?”

  This didn’t seem to be the right time to argue with her, even though her terms were a bit insulting. “Let me think about it, and I’ll look over what you come up with.”

  “Fine. I’ll be in touch, Em. If you have any questions, give me a call.” I waited for the rest of that statement—“not Peter.” When she didn’t add anything else, I opened the door and climbed out of the car, then watched her pull away, fast.

  What was going on with her? Peter’s collection promised to be better than I could have imagined—and it looked to me as though Maddy was completely clueless about what to do with it. But Peter did not appear to be a stupid man, and he had chosen her to work on this. Why?

  One thing was abundantly clear: I wanted in. From what little I had seen and heard, this glass collection would be memorable, and it would be a privilege to work with it, even if that meant putting up with Maddy. Of course, spending time with Peter Ferguson would go a long way toward compensating for Maddy’s snits. But I was there for the glass.