of the textures and shapes, the unmatched delight of creating something beautiful from only her imagination, her ever-growing bead collection and a little hard work. But this afternoon, even threading the waxed cord onto the needle was an exercise in frustration and she almost quit a half-dozen times.
Every time she was tempted to put the project away, though, she reminded herself that she was exercising, working her arm, hand and wrist muscles as her occupational therapist insisted.
She found even something as basic as a wrapped loop a challenge. She was struggling to hold the pliers and bend the wire when her cell phone rang.
Usually she hated interruptions while she was beading and tried to remember to turn off her ringer. In this case, she jumped at any excuse to take a rest, especially when she saw the identity of her caller on the phone display.
“Hi, Evie. How’s the most brilliant bead store manager in the entire Mountain West?”
Her store manager snorted. “Suck-up. You really think that’s going to work with me?”
Claire smiled, her frustration subsiding in the sheer joy of talking with one of her dearest friends. “It’s worth a try. How are things?”
“Crazy-busy. You wouldn’t believe the pre-Mother’s Day business we’re seeing. We’re rocking right now. That class we did for that memory charm bracelet you designed was standing room only. Seriously.”
“That’s great, Evie. Thank you so much for covering everything for me.”
“No worries.”
“I’m still planning to be back Monday. I got the all clear from Dr. Murray today. I hope I can make things a little easier for you then.”
“Don’t push it. There’s no need for you to rush back before you’re ready.”
“I’m so ready. If I don’t get out of this house for something besides doctor appointments and therapy, I might do something crazy. Like take up knitting or something.”
Evie laughed. “We wouldn’t want that. You’ve got enough hobbies, hon.”
“I can’t afford any more.”
“You know you’re going to have to pace yourself. When you first come back to work, you’re going to want to jump back into everything you did before, but you’ll have to take things slow.”
“Are you speaking as my friend or as a physical therapist?”
“I’m retired,” Evie said automatically. “But, okay, both.”
“I know, I know. I promise, I’ll be good.”
Evie made another sound of disbelief but didn’t argue. “I’m actually calling because we’re running low on our heavy-gauge wire. If I place the order before the close of business today, we can get a shipment Monday, but I thought I’d better run it past you.”
“Whatever you think best.”
“We need it, obviously, but our usual distributor raised their price five percent a few weeks ago. Do you want me to shop around to try to find a better deal?”
She did a quick calculation in her head of the discount they received buying in bulk. Even though math wasn’t her strong suit, she’d become rather more adept than she ever expected at figuring percentages in the two years she’d owned the store.
“Let’s do half of what we normally order. What we lose for the quantity discount, we might be able to make up by finding a different supplier with a better price point.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking, but thought I should check with you.”
“You don’t need me, Evie. We both know you could run the store in your sleep.”
What a blessing that she had someone she trusted so implicitly to leave in charge at String Fever. Evie was smart and creative and capable…and probably far more business-savvy than Claire.
“The other reason I called was to give you the skinny on Gen Beaumont’s wedding. Or have you heard already?”
“You forget I’m living in seclusion, completely isolated from the outside world.”
“Except for cell phone, home phone, television, the internet… And your mother, of course.”
She laughed. “Well, yeah. Except for that. But I haven’t heard anything about Gen. What’s up? She knows the designer is rushing to send another gown, right? Don’t tell me she’s decided to send it to someone else for the beadwork.”
“There is no one else in town who can handle the job except you.”
“And you. And possibly Katherine.”
“Okay. The three of us. Gen knows she won’t find anyone better.”
Despite her best efforts to keep her attention firmly away from the window, Claire caught a flicker of movement and watched Riley heading toward the street, his arms full of shingles, and Owen following him like a little shadow.
She quickly looked back at the beads, picked up one of the recycled glass barrels and rolled it between her fingers. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Well, the good news is you’ve got an extra six months to work your broken arm back into condition before you tackle her project.”
“Why?”
“Gen postponed the wedding.”
The bead popped out from between her fingers and rolled onto the area rug and she had to lean sideways and dig through the thick pile to retrieve it. “You’re kidding! Why?”
“Their family is in crisis. I gather she talked it over with her fiancé in Denver and they decided to wait until things settle down.”
“Because of Charlie.”
“Right. The kid is facing serious consequences for the burglaries and the accident. Last I heard, they were talking maybe vehicular homicide.”
Claire gasped. “Oh, no. Poor Laura.”
The mayor’s wife was a customer at the store. She favored large, flashy, expensive art glass beads and usually managed to finagle one of the store employees into basically creating it for her with sly little interactions like, “Can you just get me started?” or “Will you show me that technique again?” or “You know I always struggle with that particular gauge of wire.”
Usually Claire’s employees loved to help people with their projects, but Laura Beaumont’s ploys to have people do the work for her without compensation of any kind had become so transparent, most of them just rolled their eyes—discreetly—every time she walked in the store.
“Poor Gen. It couldn’t have been an easy decision. I wonder how her fiancé and his family are taking the news.”
Genevieve Beaumont was marrying the son of one of Colorado’s most prestigious families, rich and politically powerful, in what had promised to be the leading social event of the year. She sincerely hoped Sawyer Danforth’s family didn’t try to distance themselves from the Beaumonts in light of Charlie’s legal troubles.
“Why do you think Charlie slashed up the wedding dress? I always thought Gen and Charlie got along fairly well, despite the eight-year gap in their ages.”
“Who knows.” Claire didn’t need to see her friend to sense her shrug. “Maybe Charlie was resentful of all the attention Gen was getting. Or maybe he doesn’t like the groom. Or maybe he just thought the dress was ugly.”
So much anger had been channeled into that wanton destruction. She couldn’t imagine it.
“He must be a very troubled young man to have made such terrible decisions.”
“Or maybe he’s just a rotten kid. It’s possible.”
She caught