Read Online Snake in the Glass by Sarah Atwell - Free Book Online Page B

similarities to the main space: rows of booths filled the room. But the booths were both larger and less crowded with merchandise, and there were far fewer people, not many of whom were tourists or browsers. Most looked intent and serious.
    I turned to Frank. “Are you doing business today?”
    “Maybe. It’s always good to talk to some of these guys, find out what’s going on in the markets—as much as they’ll tell me, anyway.”
    “You mean they don’t always tell the truth?”
    Frank flashed me a smile. “Not all of it. Come on, let me introduce you to one of my old pals.”
    He led me to a booth across the room, with a man and a woman behind it. Both greeted Frank warmly. “You old crank, what got you out of Oz and all the way to Tucson?” the woman asked. She was a striking woman whose age fell somewhere between mine and Frank’s, although it was hard to pin down since her skin showed evidence of time spent in the sun. A lot of time. I wondered if she and Frank had had . . . something, sometime.
    “Ah, Miranda. It was your siren call, of course.”
    “Go on! And don’t make Stewart here defend my honor.”
    “Bosh—I could take him one-handed. How are you, then?”
    “Couldn’t be better, Frank,” Stewart boomed. “Wish the economy would improve, but we’re holding our own. You buying or selling?”
    “Neither right now, although if the right deal came along . . . Let me introduce you to Em Dowell—she’s a glassblower here in Tucson.”
    “And how do you know this lovely lady, so far from home? Has he been telling you he’s a millionaire ten times over?”
    I laughed. “Does Frank have money? Actually we met because his niece took a class from me.” That was an oversimplified explanation, but true.
    Stewart turned back to Frank. “You have relatives, man? I thought you were a lone wolf.”
    “That would be your sister’s daughter, Frank?” Miranda said more softly. I’d guessed right—they must have been close at one point, if she knew about Frank’s family.
    “She is, all grown up now. Back in Ireland for the moment. So, tell me . . .” Frank and Stewart leapt into an arcane discussion of international gem markets that left me baffled.
    Miranda was kind enough to notice. “Are you interested in stones?”
    “Until yesterday I would have said no—I’ve got my own business here, and any spare cash I have goes right back into that. But there’s some lovely stuff here. Have you been doing this long?”
    “Most of my adult life. It kinds of gets into your blood, always hunting for something new or better. The diamond industry has changed quite a bit over the past decade or two, so it’s exciting to try to stay on top of things.”
    “I think it’s great to find a woman here. Are there a lot of women in the gemstone business? Do you find it makes your work more difficult?”
    “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But I can’t imagine doing anything else. And you? I don’t recall hearing of many female glassblowers.”
    “There aren’t,” I admitted. “Maybe twenty percent. But I love what I’m doing, and I love being my own boss.”
    “There is that. Were you looking for anything?”
    “Not at all. Just following Frank around. I’m learning a lot from him.”
    “He is one of a kind, isn’t he?” Miranda smiled fondly at the two men, who were deep in discussion, and I noticed a few small packets of gems had emerged from pockets.
    “He is that.”
    “Are you two . . . ?”
    It took me a moment to figure out what she was asking, then I laughed. “No, not at all. Although he and my, uh, friend seem to be leaning that way.”
    “I’m glad. Frank’s a good man at heart, although he’s hard to pin down.”
    “Do you travel to a lot of shows?” My question set us off on a long dialogue about the gem trade and the places it had taken her, and I had to admit I was fascinated. It sounded like a romantic lifestyle—but also a dirty, uncertain, wearing one. I preferred my