2 Pane of Death (5 page)

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.

Wasn’t I?

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.”