High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) Read Free Page A

Fremont was known for the enormous troll that lives under a bridge in the area. It’s not a real live troll, just a statue, but between that, the giant bronze sculpture of Lenin, and the wonderful eclectic shops, it was the perfect place for her glass studio.
    Fremont Fire had a retail area in front where Tessa sold her own work, and the work of other local artists. The back half of her space was the glass studio. All types of people came to the studio to take classes, use the torches Tessa had set up, or learn to make a plate by fusing sheets of glass together in a kiln. Tessa was there to help the students, and of course to sell them whatever supplies they needed.
    Her studio was in an edgy neighborhood, but Tessa herself was the most down-to-earth person I’d ever met. Her clean-scrubbed face and brown shoulder-length hair said “soccer mom,” not artist. The funny thing about artists is that they look like normal people. In fact, I find that the people who look the most “arty” are often people who have the money to spend on interesting clothing.
    I parked the Ladybug and walked toward Tessa’s shop, the smell of bagels wafting from the open door of The Bagelry beckoned. A few spoonfuls of half-cooked cake batter had not been a good start to the day. I stopped in and picked up a dozen bagels, cream cheese, and some coffee. Since I was juggling a sack of bagels and a tray of drinks, I pushed my way backward through the door of Tessa’s studio.
    “ Good morning,” I yelled to Tessa and her daughters. “I brought food. Tessa, here’s your espresso, we’ve got bagels.” I put the bag on the counter by the front door.
    “ Excellent!” Tessa took her cup and gave me a big hug. “Are you ready for a fun weekend?”
    “ I think so. The big question is are you ready for the demos tomorrow?” I asked, smearing my bagel with more delicious cream cheese than was necessary.
    Dylan McCartney opened the door and slipped languidly into the Tessa ’s shop.
    “ Hey, Tessa. Hey, Jax,” said Dylan, always on the casual side, and always scruffy around the edges. That comes with being a twenty-two-year-old guy. If he’d been in Southern California, I’d have called him a surfer dude. Here in the Pacific Northwest, his t-shirt, flip-flops, and threadbare jeans looked out of place. He never looked like he was cold, but I couldn’t wear so little without freezing to death when temperatures get down to the 40s outside. Today it was 52 degrees and damp, which was typical weather for Seattle in April. I didn’t want to think about how warm it might be in Miami right now.
    Two heads popped out from around the corner of the storage room on the side of the glass studio.
    “Hi, Dylan!” Tessa’s teenaged daughters said at the same time.
    “ Hi, ladies,” he said smiling shyly, as he pushed shaggy sand-colored hair out of his green eyes.
    “ Izzy, Ashley, do you want bagels?” asked Tessa.
    “ Not hungry,” both girls replied.
    “ Well then, get back to work,” ordered Tessa. She knew how to keep those two girls focused, which wasn’t always the easiest thing to do. Izzy was sixteen and had gotten her driver’s license a few months earlier, much to her delight. To say that fifteen-year-old Ashley was jealous of her older sister’s new freedom would be an understatement.
    The girls disappeared back around the corner, and I could hear squeals and laughter. I wasn ’t sure, but it seemed like it might have had something to do with Dylan.
    Tessa rolled her eyes and laughed. She had a good sense of humor about her daughters. Today was going well for the girls—they weren’t fighting. There seemed to be a constant battle between the two, except when their little brother was around.
    Joey was four years old, an accidental addition to the family when Tessa already had a twelve- and a thirteen-year-old. While the two teen girls fought over everything else, they were united on this: They loved and protected Joey above all