2 Pane of Death Read online

  Wasn’t I?

  Chapter 4

  As I entered my shop, I checked my watch: not even noon. So much for hobnobbing with the rich and famous. I’d spent no more than an hour in Peter Ferguson’s house. But I had come away with a lot to think about.

  Allison looked up expectantly as I walked in.

  “Hi, Allison—everything okay?” I asked. There were a couple of lookers in the shop, but they didn’t appear serious.

  “Fine, Em. Are you going to tell me about your excursion with Miss Madelyn?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, my lips are sealed, at least for the moment.” I wondered briefly whether telling Cam would be the same as telling Allison, but I wasn’t sure what their state of communication was at the moment, and I thought I should talk to Cam first. In any case, while I fully trusted Allison, who had long since demonstrated her ability to keep secrets, I thought I should stick to the letter of the agreement—at least until I had a contract in my hand.

  Allison tipped her head at me but asked no more about it. “Shall I go to lunch, then? And can I bring you anything? Nessa said she’d be in about two.”

  “Sure—just grab me a sandwich and something to drink. I think I can handle things here.”

  Allison gathered up her bag and left in search of food. I put on a bright smile and approached the browsers. “Hi! Can I tell you anything about the pieces? I’m the glassmaker . . . .”

  The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. Even after ten years in business here, I sometimes had trouble gauging the traffic flow. Summers were slow, due to the blazing Arizona heat, and I tried to make as much inventory in the spring as I could. Business usually picked up nicely in the fall, but there was no holiday rush, which I might have expected if I had stayed back east. Tucson had been growing rapidly for years, and there were more and more families moving in, but that didn’t mean they shopped in the trendy downtown district. I did more business with tourists, but they usually didn’t plan on traveling for Christmas, so I didn’t have to churn out a lot of volume. Things might have been different if I were selling through the Web, and I had considered it more than once, but I really didn’t want to spent a lot of my time peering at a computer screen and filling orders. I was happier selling directly to the public, and working with a few galleries who knew me and my work. They had done right by me so far, and I saw no reason to change things.

  When Allison returned, she and I traded off for a bit. I went upstairs to take the dogs out and gulp down my sandwich. After Nessa came in, I spent a little time cleaning up my place, something I avoided doing unless I knew I had company coming, which was almost never, except for Cam. I ran out to stock up on groceries and liquid refreshment, then took another shift in the shop. An ordinary day, but I had no complaints. In my spare moments, I puzzled over this morning’s expedition. Why Maddy? Why me? What other treasures might there be in Peter’s collection—and would I have a chance to see them? Why was Maddy acting so defensive? I wasn’t about to poach on her territory. It was her commission and I respected that, as a professional colleague. Or did she have a thing going with Peter, and see me as a threat? I giggled at that idea. Whether or not I had any faith in her artistic abilities, I could not deny that she was more feminine and appealing than I had ever been or would be, and I was fine with that. Peter didn’t seem to be married, and if she wanted to make a run at him, more power to her. I wasn’t interested; I had Matt. Strong, dependable Matt. My interest in Peter was based purely on the collection he owned. Keep trying, Em, and maybe you’ll convince yourself.

  I left Nessa to close up at six, and went upstairs to throw together something for dinner. Let me make it perfectly clear: I am not a cook. I can keep myself alive, and I send up thankful prayers almost every day for the marvels of modern frozen food. I know my way around the microwave. What’s more, I knew Cam really didn’t care what I put in front of him. He was coming to Tucson to see me and Allison. In some order. I’d take him whichever way. But despite my lackadaisical culinary skills, once in a while I liked to make some “real” food for him, and that would probably eat up the time until he arrived. Taking stock of my options, I decided on my quick-and-dirty chili recipe. Some years earlier, knowing my attitude toward cooking, Cam had proudly presented me with a slow cooker for my birthday. Actually it had been an inspired idea: I could dump stuff in whenever I wanted, and go away and leave it for hours at a time. Over time I had evolved a flexible form of chili, which usually involved whatever meat I had on hand, plus some chopped onion and ancho peppers, which I had in abundant supply at all times. The longer it cooked, the better it got.

  Since I knew it would take Cam a few hours to get to Tucson, I dumped the basic ingredients in the cooker and went on about my business. It was issuing good smells by the time Cam arrived. As usual, Fred and Gloria heard him before I did. He let himself in and allowed himself to be smothered with wet doggy love for a couple of minutes. I let the pups take first crack at him—I was the grown-up, so I could be patient. Finally he straightened up and I gave him the hug he deserved—and needed, by the look of him.

  “Hey, brother of mine, you look beat. Traffic?”

  He shook his head. “Not bad. I got a late start, and I had a lot to think about on the road.”

  “Well, let me feed you, and then you can crash or tell me all about it or whatever. You’ll be here all weekend, right?”

  “Sounds good. Yeah, but I probably have plans for tomorrow night.”

  Allison, I assumed. Although that “probably” mystified me.

  “Help yourself to something to drink. I personally am going to undertake the intimidating task of making rice in the microwave, and then we can eat.”

  “Far be it for me to interfere with such a delicate process.”

  Thank goodness we shared a gene for mild sarcasm.

  In ten minutes I had steaming plates in front of both of us, with some bread from a nearby bakery, and cold beers all around. I waited a few minutes until he had forked up half the contents of his plate, then said, “So, what’s going on?”

  He avoided my eyes, chasing the last bite around his plate. Finally he said, “This back and forth stuff is getting old.”

  I assume he didn’t mean coming to see me. “Allison?”

  Still no eye contact. “She knows how I feel. Why can’t she move to San Diego? Or I’ll move here—I’ve told her that. I can get some kind of job, or telecommute. We can work it out.”

  Poor baby, he still didn’t get it. “Cam, my sweet, innocent brother, you’ve got to be patient. This is the first time in her life she’s been independent, and out from her jerk of a husband’s shadow. She’s enjoying it. That’s not meant to hurt you, but she does need to grow. Heck, it’s only been a couple of months. But pressuring her is only going to push her away.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know—we’ve been over all this before. But how long is long enough?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but don’t give up. I know she cares about you.” I stood up and collected the plates and deposited them in the sink. “Coffee? I picked up a pie at the bakery, if you want it. And there’s ice cream.”

  “Sure,” he said glumly. He sulked until I had put water on to boil and sliced pie onto plates—and added ice cream, of course. When I sat down again, he said, “So, how did your meeting with Ferguson go?”

  “I wondered when you’d ask.” In fact, he had been so uninterested in that event that I knew just how much he was hurting over Allison’s resistance. “He’s not at all what I expected.”

  Cam leaned back in his chair and finally looked at me, with a gleam of amusement. “You were expecting a geek?”

  “Well, I don’t think I ever saw a picture of him. I apologize: I assumed—wrong, as it turns out. He’s really an interesting guy.”

  “Tell me again how the two of you connected.”

  I gave him the brief outline of Maddy’s proposition, ending with a description of what I knew about the glass collection. “If
the rest of it is anywhere near as good as the Chagall I saw, this should be really something. I’ve got to say I envy him—he can create whatever kind of space he wants to show these off, and then he can live smack in the middle of them and enjoy them.”

  “Well, he’s certainly got enough of that.”

  Was there a sharp note in Cam’s voice? “Jealous?”

  “No, it’s not that. Look, I know some guys who have worked for him, and not everybody was happy about the way he folded up his company. He came out just fine, but some other people have had trouble landing new jobs, or ones as good. He got out at the right time.”

  I poked at my pie. “Are you saying that he did something wrong? Inside information? Or that he stiffed his employees?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. Nobody’s ever been able to make anything stick, but there are still some unhappy people around. But, to be fair, the computer industry is always like that, and there’s always somebody whining about something.”

  I tried to match up shady dealings with the man who I’d seen this morning. He was smart enough, certainly. He was no naive data cruncher, out of touch with the world. Part of me wanted to believe that anyone who was as passionate about art, who really understood it, couldn’t be dishonest. I certainly didn’t want to think he’d used ill-gotten gains to assemble his fabulous collection.

  “Em? Are you going to be working with him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Maddy may be a problem—I’m still not sure why she wanted to include me, although I think she needs my help. Heck, he may not want me involved. But before I get in too deep, could you do a little snooping and tell me what you can find out about him?”

  He brightened at that idea. “Sure, that’s easy. Now?”

  “Aren’t you seeing Allison tonight?”

  “Nah. She said something about meeting a bunch of people and planning for a study group or something. I’ll catch up with her tomorrow.”

  Cam bounded out of his chair to unpack his laptop. I collected the dishes, smiling to myself. It took so little to make him happy—just give him a computer project to work on. Still, my request was more than just a diversion for Cam, who could handle this kind of thing blindfolded. I wanted to know more about Peter, because things just weren’t adding up. He’d left behind a very successful business—under a cloud? He’d moved here to Tucson, where he didn’t seem to know anyone—except Maddy (who in my opinion wasn’t enough of a reason to cross state lines)? He was remodeling this huge and expensive showcase house—for sole occupancy? And, from what little I’d seen, he was too young and too smart to be content with doing nothing except admiring the pretty views for the next twenty or thirty years. Stop it, Em, I scolded myself. I had enough going on in my own life without getting involved in some kind of mess.

  On the other hand, if Cam’s report came up clean . . . I really wanted to know more about Peter.

  As usual, it didn’t take Cam long to troll through his online sources. I have great respect for computers and the Internet—I just don’t want to know how to use them, beyond the basics. And, of course, I have Cam to do it for me. The best of both worlds. By the time I had made another pot of coffee, he was back at the table with a sheaf of paper, looking like an eager schoolboy. I set a mug of coffee in front of him and sat down across the table.

  “What’ve you got?” I asked.

  He looked puzzled. “Not a lot of negatives. More like a bunch of innuendos, if you know what I mean. What people don’t say, or how they phrase their answers.”

  “You have to read between the lines?”

  “I guess. Anyway, nothing illegal. Just a bunch of disgruntled people who think he should have kept the company going so they could keep their jobs.”

  “Is that unusual in your business?”

  “Not really. Hey, you’ve read the papers—companies like this start up and fold all the time. Peter managed to ride out the dot-com bust pretty well, and it looks as though it was due to good management and a healthy cash balance more than luck—which is to his credit. He also had a strong product. Don’t know how much of which he was directly responsible for—I know he’s something of a legend for some of his early programs, but that was a while ago. The guy’s what—fifty?”

  Cam hadn’t yet reached forty, so fifty probably seemed ancient to him—especially among programmers. “I’d guess. So if he had survived this long, why did he decide to fold?”

  Cam shook his head. “I’m not sure. Could have been personality conflict, internally. There’s one guy who’s been the most vocal about the dissolution of the company. His name’s Andrew Foster. He’d been there from the beginning, and he thought he didn’t get a fair deal.”

  “Lawsuit?”

  “No, nothing like that. Just a lot of complaining to the press, and then they stopped listening.”

  “So if he had had any real grounds, he would have sued?”

  “Maybe. This is just a first pass—I can dig some more if you really want. How much do you need to know?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just don’t want to waste my time with this commission if it isn’t going to pan out. Hey, while you’re at it, can you check out his collection of glass? What he’s been buying and what he’s paid for it?”

  Cam grinned at me. “Thinking of padding your bill?”

  “No, just curious. The art market always seems crazy to me anyway, but since he’s got the bucks to play in it, I’d like to know what it’s worth. And I think I met his dealer, or one of them—a guy named Ian Gemberling. Maybe that would be a good starting point.”

  “Not a problem.” Cam finished his coffee and went back to his laptop. He returned more quickly this time. “There’s not a lot of stuff online, and it looks like the big dealers and houses are pretty cagey about dollars, but I think it’s safe to say that big-name glass panels go for mid to high six figures, maybe more. You know how much he’s got?”

  “Not yet. I’ve seen the house, and I think he’s talking about maybe six rooms? I don’t think he’s going to mix and match pieces—more like one room, one window. Maybe. Maddy didn’t seem very clear about it, or maybe she just didn’t want to tell me. So let’s say two or three million, if they’re important pieces.”

  Cam whistled. “Must be nice. So, what’s going on with this Maddy person?”

  “I really don’t know. We’re in the same business, sort of, but if you want to know the truth, I think she’s a lightweight turning out pretty tourist pieces. She seems to do well enough at it. But that doesn’t explain where she met Peter, or why he thinks she’s up to the job.” I wondered if I’d ever find out—I was pretty sure Maddy wasn’t going to fill me in.

  “The rich aren’t like you and me,” Cam intoned.

  “Yeah, they’ve got more money.” I finished the quote for him. “Well, I’m willing to play along unless and until Maddy becomes too much of a pain in the butt. I don’t need the business that much. Although it was fun meeting a real live titan of industry. Did you ever cross paths?”

  “I wish,” Cam answered. “I’ve looked at some of his code, and it’s really elegant. There are a couple of things I’d love to ask him about. You don’t think . . . ?” He looked hopeful.

  “Not with Maddy standing guard at the gates. We’ll have to see.” I caught a glimpse of my wall clock. “Shoot, it’s getting late, and I’ve got a class to teach tomorrow. You want to walk the dogs, or shall I?”

  “I’ll do it—I need to stretch my legs after the drive.”

  “Thanks. I’ll grab a shower. Breakfast?”

  “Great.”

  He assembled leashes and headed out with the pups. I gathered up the papers he’d left scattered on the table, wondering idly what it would be like to spend as much money as you liked for a piece of art. What would I buy, if I had that chance? Something to think about.

  Chapter 5

  Breakfast at my place is kind of a haphazard affair. Both Cam and I are morning people, so we mesh well there
, but mostly we forage for whatever we can find to eat.

  “What’ve you got on for today?” I asked, finishing my coffee. I knew I had a full day ahead of me.

  He shrugged. “Allison and I are having dinner. She’s off tomorrow, right?”

  “Yup. I figured you’d be out tonight, so I’m meeting Matt.” Since we had gotten back together, Matt and I were taking things slowly. Tonight we were going on a real date: Matt was taking me out to dinner. It was kind of nice, being courted. “Will you be out, uh, late?”

  Cam tried to keep a straight face and failed. “Want a little privacy? We can go to Allison’s place, although it’s not quite as luxurious as these accommodations.”

  I looked for something to throw at him, but we’d eaten all the soft stuff. “Hey, I’m putting you up for free. I could go to Matt’s place,” I offered, with less than complete conviction. Matt still hadn’t succeeded in exorcizing his ex-wife Lorena’s presence from his house.

  Cam sat back in his chair. “Isn’t this ridiculous? You’d think we were kids. And backseats sure aren’t big enough anymore.”

  “How did we manage to miss all that, back then?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind whether it’s better or worse this way.”

  “I know what you mean.” I wasn’t as insecure as I had been at twenty-something, and I was certainly less easily embarrassed, but sometimes I wondered if I had missed the romantic boat, and I still wasn’t sure how or why. But Matt and I had something good, and it would lead wherever it led. I was in no rush—or at least, not the way Cam was.

  I stood up and dusted the crumbs from my lap. “I’ll walk the doggies, and then I’ve got to get to work. Let me know if your plans change. Walkies, my loves?” Fred and Gloria had stationed themselves at my feet, hoping for a stray chunk of something yummy, but a walk was almost as good.

  Dogs satisfied, I plunged into my day, and the next time I looked up it was after five. When my class was over, I cleaned up the studio and went back to the shop to catch up with Allison. Since she was with a customer, I wandered around my display area, repositioning articles on the shelves and making mental notes about what was selling well so I could make more. As I walked among the shelves, I couldn’t help eavesdropping on Allison: She had picked up the language of glass quickly, and as a bonus, most patrons seemed intrigued by her soft Irish accent. She made a good salesperson, not that I wanted to keep her chained in my shop forever.