A Bead in the Hand (Glass Bead Mystery Series Book 2) by Janice Peacock Read Free Book Online

was the red-faced man I’d seen earlier checking badges. It must have been the end of a shift. At least they were keeping the place well-protected. The Twins stayed at the bar to have another round of absinthe. They’d had too much to drink and were trying to figure out how they could play beer pong without beer or ping-pong balls.
    Back in our dimly-lit room, I noticed a lump in Tessa’s bed. As expected, she’d never made it down to the bar.
    I was feeling tipsy from my margaritas. They weren’t as delicious as Val’s, but they were at least as powerful. I stripped off my pants and crawled into bed, leaving my T-shirt and panties on. I was too tired to find my PJs and didn’t want to rustle around too much and wake up Tessa. I had requested a 7:00 wake-up call, which was a disgustingly early hour.
    When the alarm went off, I stumbled out of bed and into the shower with my eyes half-closed. Then I silently threw on some clothes. Tessa was sound asleep, the covers pulled up over her head. My friend could sleep in; she would still have plenty of time to shop for beady treasures.

SIX
    I WANTED TO GET IN to the ballroom early so I’d have time to adjust and clean up anything at my table that had been disturbed during last night’s blackout. There would be a giant crowd of shoppers at the doors when the bazaar opened, since no one had been able to shop for long last night. The people who weren’t able to complete their sales would be looking to pick up the purchases that had been left behind when the sale was shut down.
    Downstairs, I bought an extra-large coffee in the lounge and a Snickers bar from the hotel’s gift shop. This was definitely not the breakfast of champions. At the ballroom entrance, there was a broad-shouldered security guard standing at the door. He was much more attractive than the ruddy-faced guard who had checked badges at the door last night. This guard was tall, with olive skin and close-cropped dark hair. He was tall, slender, and solid—like a tree. He stopped me as I tried to breeze past him.
    “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, with a pleasant but firm smile. “Can’t let you in until eight.”
    “Seriously? I’ve got a coffee in one hand, a canvas bag full of beads in another, and my show badge hanging around my neck. You know I’m supposed to be here.”
    “Sorry, ma’am.”
    As flirtatiously as possible, I touched the corner of his name tag, so I could pull it into view.
    “Rrrryan,” I said, channeling my inner-Val, leaning in as provocatively as possible. “Are you sure you can’t help me?” I wasn’t adept at flirting, but Val had been giving me lessons. I was a poor student, especially when it came to my relationships with men.
    “Sorry, I have strict instructions. I can’t let anyone in until 8:00 a.m. We’re trying to avoid any problems with theft.”
    I pulled the Snickers bar out of my handbag, peeled back the wrapper, and started eating it. “Fine. I’ll just wait here and stare at you grumpily for ten minutes. And don’t call me ma’am.”
    “Yes ma’—I mean, okay.”
    A couple of excruciating minutes passed, and I realized this was probably harder for me than for him. So rather than stare at him in stony silence while chewing, I decided to strike up a conversation with him. It’s always nice to meet someone new, especially when he’s good-looking.
    I wasn’t sure what my opening question should be. I certainly didn’t want to talk about the weather. Conversations about the weather here in the Pacific Northwest usually went like this:
    “Do you think it’s going to rain?”
    “Yes.”
    Instead, I asked, “Do you like being a security guard?”
    “I like working the night shift. I come on duty at midnight and I get done every morning at 9:00 when another guard comes on duty to relieve me. I read a lot during my shift—there’s not much else to do.”
    “What do you like to read?” I asked. I would rather talk about reading than being a security