“The raku firing’s supposed to be a high point of your workshop,” Danny told Bess, George, and Nancy the next morning as they nursed steaming mugs of coffee outside. “But,” he went on with a grin, “I doubt I can match last night’s excitement.”
“What, not even one exploding barrel?” Bess joked.
“Hey, I wouldn’t put down that accident last Sunday,” George objected. “If it weren’t for you almost getting blown up, we wouldn’t have been here. And just think what we would have missed.”
“Several attempts on my life for starters!” Nancy said, touching a lump that had formed on her head.
Just then an SUV rolled slowly down the gravel drive in front of the studio past the sleepy students making their way toward the firing. A middle-aged man jumped out. He was wearing chinos, a neat cotton shirt, and a light windbreaker.
He walked right up to Danny.
“Mr. Bye,” Danny said, his eyebrows arching. “You weren’t supposed to be back until Monday.”
“When the police call, you drop everything and come,” he said, jiggling his car keys. Danny introduced them all.
Mr. Bye’s eyes lighted on Nancy. “So you’re the heroine here. I heard all about your adventures from the police this morning. Quite a story. And, off the record, there’s more to it.” He motioned for the little group to follow him into the studio. “The news will hit the papers soon. But you deserve to hear what’s really been happening.”
“As it turns out, Jonathan and Ellie May were only pawns in a much bigger, more dangerous game. Interpol’s been tracking a ring of art and crafts counterfeiters. They lure artists and artisans into what starts out as a very lucrative business of making fakes. Then they turn the tables and blackmail them into faking masterpieces for very little money. These guys play rough, and there are rumors of some artists going missing—possibly murdered. The police were amazed that the operators had reached out to our community here—though we certainly had the talent on staff.”
Mr. Bye left, and the other four went back into the yard.
“Hi, guys, any room for me?” Theresa walked up, lugging a large milk crate full of pots.
“You’re going to fire those?” Danny gave a mock look of horror. “Like in raku firing?”
“Like in raku, if you don’t mind!” Theresa said. “It’s about time you saw what this sweet little refined potter can do when she gets down and dirty!”
Bess looked from Theresa to Danny and nudged Nancy. “She’s flirting with him.”
“They’re flirting with each other,” Nancy corrected her, trying not to laugh. “You know how it is on TV in sitcoms. When two people hate each other that much, they’re bound to fall in love.”
Theresa walked up and handed Nancy a package wrapped in white tissue paper.
“I wanted you to have this as a kind of thank-you, Nancy. You more or less saved my whole career here. Ellie May did a pretty thorough job of framing me.”
“I’m just glad she’s going where she can do no more harm,” Nancy said, accepting the package. She undid the tape, removed the wrapping, and gasped with delight. Theresa had given her one of her large porcelain bowls. Nancy held it up to the sunlight. The porcelain was thin and fine and translucent. “Theresa,” she cried, “this is beyond beautiful!”
“And you’re beyond wonderful,” Theresa said, throwing her arms around Nancy and gathering her in for a hug.
“Since it’s time for presents, I have something for you,” Danny said. Awkwardly he shoved a large brown paper bag into Theresa’s hands. It was tied with twine.
Theresa smiled shyly as she undid the twine. She reached into the brown bag and pulled out a thick black sketchbook. “I had heard you took this!” she cried, and gave Danny a mock glower.
“But wait. Isn’t the point that now I’m giving it back?” He cast a pleading glance at Nancy, who threw her hands up and laughed.
“I’m staying out of this,” she said.
“Right, only after the mystery’s been solved,” George teased, guiding Nancy to the place where someone had started the little raku kiln.
The table to the side of the kiln was covered with pots. They ranged from tall elegant vases to Danny’s sturdy jugs to Theresa’s elegant tea bowls to more awkward pieces from the beginners in the workshop. Nancy spotted one of her bowls instantly. It was chunky, thick rimmed, and not very graceful.
She picked it up and turned to Bess and George. “One thing’s for sure,” she said, chuckling. “A genuine twenty-first-century Nancy,” she said, displaying it to her friends. She met Theresa’s eyes and winked as she added, “There’s no mystery to who made this pot.”