Cracked to Death (2 page)

Savannah lifted a finger to Amanda, but there was no stopping her.

Turning to the five students, Savannah grinned and raised her palms up. “It's unusual for one of our students to be late. I see you have all brought bottles you want to upcycle into something useful.” She walked around to look at the bottles standing on the students' desks. “The wine bottles are great, and I see you've taken off the labels.” She picked up one of Faith's vodka bottles. “The reason I specified modern vodka bottles is that the designs on them are screen printed, and they will survive the kiln temperatures. But if they're more than a few years old, the print may be dry and may flake off. It's safer to work with new bottles if you want the design to survive the heat of the kiln.”

She returned to the front of the classroom. “One of the things I enjoy making with the vodka bottles are small dishes showing only the label. I'm making a bunch of them now to use as promotional giveaways to boost interest in upcycling.”

SueAnn had finished wiping down her worktable with a sanitizing wipe and began emptying out her red canvas bag, which contained Van Gogh Vodka bottles in multiple sizes and varieties. Each flavor of vodka featured a different masterpiece screen printed on both the front and back sides of the bottle.

Savannah would have pegged SueAnn as a drinker of chardonnay or Southern Comfort, but with all those vodka bottles, SueAnn had to be a real lover of martinis. Perhaps after a couple of classes, she'd share some “teenies” with the twins.

The bell on the front door jangled, and Savannah heard Amanda call out, “Thanks, Vicki. That was nice of you.” As Amanda walked back into the classroom with the missing student, she wiped some sweat from her face. Addressing the classroom, “The sun is steaming hot out there. Anyway, Martin's here. No need to worry. His truck wouldn't start, so his friend Vicki dropped him off.”

A cute olive-skinned young man with light brown hair followed her into the classroom. He looked a bit annoyed by Amanda's explanation. He wore a faded red tank top, revealing a tattoo on his left shoulder of a pirate's chest surrounded by treasure. He also wore ragged cutoff jeans that looked like they had recently been shortened with a knife instead of a pair of scissors. The hack marks made by the knife had left a snaggletoothed fringe effect along the bottom edges of his shorts.

At least he's wearing tennis shoes, rather than the typical sandals men his age usually favor
, Savannah thought.
Amanda won't have to send him home to change his shoes.

“We're all here now.” Amanda flapped the side shirttails of her oversize shirt against her chest to cool herself. “Good, good.”

Savannah waited until Martin sat at the remaining worktable in the front row and placed a small brown paper bag on his work surface. She then gestured for Amanda to come and stand beside her at the front of the class. Once Amanda was next to her, it was time for introductions.

“Good morning. For those who haven't met me, I'm Savannah Webb, owner of Webb's Glass Shop, and I'm here this morning to introduce your instructor, Amanda Blake, who has worked extremely hard to create and organize this class for you. Amanda has been taking classes here at Webb's for several years and has impressed me with her patience and enthusiasm. I was so impressed that I hired her as an instructor and an office manager after knowing her for only a short time. Amanda will be in charge of Webb's Glass Shop while I work at our new location, Webb's Studio. I think you'll enjoy her professionalism and her dedication to working with glass as much as I do.” She winked and waved her hand. “Amanda, it's all yours.”

When Amanda moved behind the instructor's podium, her lips thinned to a tight grimace, and then she inhaled a big breath. “Welcome to our upcycling workshop. I'm glad you're all here.” Then she just stood there, and the silence lengthened. As the students began to shift in their seats, awaiting instruction, Amanda gave Savannah a pleading glance.

It was a surreal moment for Savannah. She knew exactly what Amanda was going through, as it was only a few months ago that Savannah, too, had stood in front of expectant students, frozen in panic. Savannah had been prepared to instruct her first class, just as Amanda was now. But it seemed they both suffered from stage fright when the nerves hit. Savannah knew Amanda would be fine eventually, but she couldn't leave her just yet. Not when she was looking at Savannah with puppy eyes.

“Yes,” said Savannah, picking up where Amanda had left off. “We're so glad you've decided to take this class. The first things we're going to cover are safety, logistics, and the rules of the glass shop. Amanda, it's right there on the first page. Right?”

Giving her head a sharp shake, Amanda opened her notebook. While she focused on the page, her shoulders dropped, and all the students could hear her exhale as she relaxed into a smile.

“Right. We have some fairly strict safety rules here because”—she held up a small printed index card—“heat burns and glass cuts. First, you must wear formfitting clothing to prevent a flapping sleeve from catching fire. You must also wear closed-toe shoes to protect your feet from a falling bottle or dropped scraps of cut glass. Notice that our first-aid kit is right over there on the back wall, by Savannah.”

Savannah held her arms in a “product display” pose straight from
The Price Is Right
, and the class broke into relieved laughter. She followed it with an “Over to you” wave of her arm at Amanda.

“Thanks, Vanna.” Giggling, Amanda turned to the next page in her instructor's notebook. “Next, our restroom is located in the office, through the door behind you. Last are the introductions, so let's go around the room, and each person can state their name, where they're from, and can say a few words about why they're taking this class.” She put her hand on her ample chest. “I'll start. I'm your instructor, Amanda Blake, from St. Pete. I've chosen to teach this class because the subject of reusing materials, or upcycling, is close to my heart. I've been a recycling enthusiast since I was a small girl. I'm excited to merge that passion with my love of glass.” She nodded to the first row. “Now it's your turn.”

SueAnn rose up from her chair and stood in front of her worktable. “I'm SueAnn Dougherty. It is one word, SueAnn. Not Sue. I'm from Boston, and I'm spending a few weeks in Treasure Island, Florida. I love making folks their Christmas gifts in the summer, and I love the idea of recycling bottles and turning them into cheese trays. I can wrap up the bottle with a selection of hard cheeses, and I'm done.” She sat down.

The next student began his introduction. “I'm Martin Lane from St. Pete Beach. I find all kinds of bottles and salvaged marine parts for one-of-a-kind suspended hangings. I may get a small kiln to use at home, but I wanted to try to experiment in a class first,” he said in a low, husky voice as he looked directly at Amanda and winked.

Amanda tried to cover her blush with a wave to the next student in the row behind Martin.

“I'm Patty Kelner from Roosevelt Prep School in Akron, Ohio.” Patty looked at the red-haired girl next to her and nudged her in the side.

“Ouch! Okay. I'll do the talking. I'm Yvonne Whittaker, also from Akron. We're cousins, not sisters.” She craned her neck around to look at the twins in the back row. “We're visiting my grandparents, who live in a huge condo in downtown St. Petersburg. We're here for the summer and needed to do something to get out of their hair.”

“And it also counts as school credit. That's awesome,” said Patty.

Amanda looked to the third and last row and interrupted the whispering twins. “Ladies, you're next.”

“You start,” said Rachel.

“No, you start,” Faith whispered, loud enough for all to hear.

Rachel started to protest, but Amanda broke in. “Rachel, would you start please?”

Huffing out her pursed lips, she began her introduction. “I'm Rachel Rosenberg, from right here in St. Pete, and this is my younger sister, Faith.”

Faith smiled, with a little queenly nod. She glowed with the pleasure of a sibling who always got her way. “We like taking workshops here at Webb's. It doesn't matter what kind of class. Once the workshop is over, we donate our finished pieces of glasswork to charity auctions here in St. Pete.”

Amanda stood a little taller behind the podium. “Thank you all for your introductions. I have only a few more housekeeping details, and we'll begin. The upcycling workshop is a full week, starting today and ending on Friday. Class is scheduled from ten a.m. to one p.m. each day. I will start with a short lecture, followed by a demonstration of the day's project. Afterward, I'll assist you in creating the day's assignment. After you've completed the assignment, you'll all work independently on variations of the day's project until the end of the day's class. I'll load up the kiln with your completed works to fire them overnight. The next day, we'll check on them first thing in the morning. For Friday's kiln work, you can pick up your works anytime we're open the following week. Now that those details are out of the way, I'd like to see the bottles you've all brought in for your upcycling projects. You first, Martin.”

Rachel was quick to say, “Oh, Martin is the teacher's pet, is he? He's a tiny bit—”

“Young for you. Robbing the cradle, are we?” Faith's eyes crinkled with glee as she once again finished her sister's thought.

Amanda pressed her lips tightly together and rolled her eyes at the irrepressible twins. “Ladies, really? Let's concentrate on our lesson, shall we?”

Savannah covered her mouth with her hands to hide her chuckle. She then gave a little wave, intent on heading toward the front door, but she halted in mid-step when she noticed that Martin had removed two small deep blue bottles from his paper bag and had placed them on his worktable. “Martin, these are not modern.” She picked one up and ran her finger along the seam that went from the bottom of the bottle to the bend in the neck.

SueAnn stood and leaned over to peer at the bottles. “They look like old-time medicine bottles. Does one of them still contain the liquid?”

Martin turned to SueAnn. “There were no stoppers. The liquid is long gone.”

“Where did you get them?” asked Savannah.

“I found them on the beach near the Intracoastal Waterway near Treasure Island.”

“On the beach?”

“Well”—he shrugged his shoulders—“sorta near the beach. I found them where I was diving.”

“I don't think they're modern. They could be quite old.” Savannah looked at the bottom of the bottle. “They may even be valuable.”

“Exactly what I'm hoping you guys can find out. They look too unique to go into the kiln for melting into cheese trays. I was hoping you might be able to research their origins.”

Savannah held the bottle up to the light. “They could be quite old. Do you mind if I talk to a couple of experts I know?”

“No. I would appreciate it,” said Martin. “That's exactly what I was hoping you would say.”

Savannah placed the bottle back down on the worktable. “I'll pick them up after class.” As she headed to the classroom door, she looked back at the cobalt bottles. “I'm curious, wildly curious.”

On her way to the rear door, her phone pinged, alerting her that she had received a text message. Savannah pulled out her phone and tapped the screen to display the text. It was from Jacob's mother.

 

 

“Rats!” Savannah quickly texted,
On my way
, and then bolted out the rear door of the shop.

Chapter 2

 

Savannah pulled into the large barely graveled parking lot of the warehouse she had recently converted into Webb's Studio. As Savannah had anticipated, Frances Underwood was pacing the small concrete pad in front of the entry door and jingling her car keys. Her son, Jacob, was leaning against his mother's silver BMW, with a backpack over his shoulder and his black and tan service dog, Suzy, snuggled in his arms. She was a bit small for a beagle, but that made her easier for Jacob to handle.

Savannah quickly climbed out of her car. “I am so sorry, Frances. I completely misjudged my time.”

Frances smoothed the front of her custom-tailored navy suit. “It's not like you to be late. Even so, you should have called or texted.”

“Arghhh!” Savannah palmed her forehead. “Of course I should have.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I apologize. It's Amanda who has me off kilter. This morning is her first day as an instructor for a workshop. I should have anticipated she would be nervous and I would need to hang around the shop a little longer than usual.”

A smile tipped the corners of Frances's precisely made-up lips. “A nervous Amanda would be a challenge. There was an incident I wanted to talk to you about, except I'm due in juvenile court in ...” She looked at her small Rolex. “Goodness! Twenty minutes.” She raised her beautiful eyebrows slightly. “It sets a bad tone if I'm late. The lawyers get unruly.”

“I've had keys made, and I'll give one to Jacob so this won't be a problem in the future.”

Frances gave Jacob a light peck on his cheek. “What a wonderful solution.” She bent to give Suzy a good scratching behind the ears. “Suzy, take good care of him. Jacob, tell Savannah about the unfortunate incident with the nasty man.” She got in her car and sped away, throwing up a few stones from the sparse gravel.

Savannah unlocked the newly painted green entrance door to Webb's Studio. The thick coat of paint covered the fact that a new door would be needed in the near future.

She stepped aside. “What's this about a man?”

But Jacob whizzed by on his way to the workshop.

He's beelining for his workbench. I'll tackle him about the situation when he's settled down to work. He'll be more comfortable
.

Savannah stood for a moment and looked around at the newly painted concrete floor, the partitioned work spaces, and relished the warm glow of pride in her chest. This was her personal vision—not her father's or his father's. The planning and development of Webb's Studio were hers and hers alone.

The recent growth in the number of art galleries, high-end gift shops, and juried art festivals had created a demand for artworks, which local artisans struggled to meet. The timing was perfect for a facility that rented out affordable work space that supported independent artists.

She wished her dad could see this. She had returned home from Seattle, where she was studying glassblowing, when her dad died unexpectedly of a heart attack about six months ago. That event had been quickly followed by the death from a heart attack of his longtime associate. Two heart attacks in one small shop had raised all sorts of alarms for Savannah. Sadly, it had turned out she was right when she helped the police investigate their murders.

The studio's layout was a glass artist's dream in terms of space, light, and comfort. Next to the door, she keyed in the code for the alarm and turned on the ancient public address system. In the background she heard the soft strains of “Für Elise.” She had taken particular care to ensure that the endless loop of light classical music wouldn't repeat for several days.

Along the back wall, just beyond the partitions, a solid bank of twelve paned windows illuminated the space with gorgeous sunlight from its southern exposure. Off to the right, she had created a tiny office and a large workshop for the commissioned work she continued to receive due to her late father's excellent reputation. At the end of the wall and to the right was Jacob's large workshop. He worked more effectively in this corner, away from any noise and distraction. He was getting a reputation for his excellent restoration skills.

She poked her head in his workshop. “Hey, Jacob. Is everything all right? Do you need anything?”

Jacob looked up from the ancient seven-foot-long stained glass panel lying on their largest worktable, one with a built-in bank of fluorescent lights to illuminate the work in progress from below the clear surface of the table. Underneath the cut glass pieces, a printed template outlined the geometric design. Each small piece of glass had been placed on top of the template. The template was drawn with a unique number written on it for each tiny element of glass. Many of the pieces were missing, and some of the existing ones were covered with dirt and grime.

“No, thank you, Miss Savannah. Everything is fine.” He stooped to pick up the small beagle standing by his feet. He kissed the top of the little beagle's head. “Everything is fine. Right, Suzy?”

Suzy was Jacob's service animal and was in charge of the inhaler in her service vest. He needed it in case he had a panic attack. From past experience, Savannah knew he was uncomfortable about something, or else he wouldn't have picked Suzy up.

She inhaled a deep breath and released it. “Let's try this again. I want the exact truth this time. Were there any issues when you arrived at the studio this morning?”

He looked down at his adorable dog. “It was Suzy. Suzy was not comfortable when we got out of Mom's car.”

“I don't understand, Jacob. How did she behave?”

A long moment passed in silence; then he put Suzy down on the floor. Savannah was patient. She knew Jacob had something to tell her, something he found embarrassing, since there was a rosy flush around his collar that was slowly creeping up to his chin. She knew that Jacob needed to arrange the words just right. Rushing him would not help.

“There was a man.”

“Okay. Where was he?”

Jacob looked down at his feet and then apparently made up his mind that showing her was better than telling her. He picked up Suzy again and left the workshop. Savannah scrambled to follow them. He walked to the front door and pointed to the corner of the warehouse closest to the street. “He was there. He was—”

“Jacob, tell me. I won't be mad. I promise.”

“He was going to the bathroom on our new studio.”

Savannah's shoulders dropped, and she released a tight breath of relief. She suppressed her grin and controlled her voice. “Yes, that was wrong, but there are many people who don't have homes. You didn't say anything, did you?”

Jacob shook his head. “It was disgusting, but at least he didn't pee on my side of the studio.” He went back inside to his workshop.

She shook her head slowly. Jacob had been a key contributor in her investigations. His razor-sharp observation skills had been useful in her detective adventures. That kind of attention to detail gave him the potential to grow into an amazing stained glass restoration expert.

Savannah walked out of the studio and over to the corner of the building that Jacob had pointed to. Sure enough, her nose and eyes were assaulted by direct evidence of recent urination. The scraggly bushes hugging the foundation provided enough cover to shelter a behavior she wanted to discourage. She turned at the sound of a motorcycle pulling into the gravel parking lot.

She walked over to stand by the lovingly restored Indian motorcycle and waited until the driver had removed his helmet. She held his face and kissed him and enjoyed the bright look in his eyes. “Did you bring scones?”

Edward Morris laughed. Laughter came easy these days. As his British fusion pub, Queen's Head, had begun to gain traction as a Grand Central District favorite restaurant, he had become more relaxed and more confident in a financially secure future.

Savannah realized that Edward was becoming a significant part of her new life in St. Petersburg. He had been at her side through the puzzling and life-threatening investigation of her father's murder, and he continued to support her efforts to fill her dad's shoes as an influential leader in the community. She felt more and more certain that their close friendship was moving to another level.

“Hungry, as usual, I see.” He dismounted with a practiced grace and was a bare two inches taller than Savannah's six feet. He unsnapped one of the leather-fringed saddlebags on his motorcycle and pulled out a brown paper bag, which he handed over. “Have you made coffee?”

“Not yet. I just got here. Amanda was a little nervous teaching her first class.”

Edward fastened his helmet to the cream and tan motorcycle. “She's a natural teacher. She'll be fine. What were you looking at over by the street?”

“I've got to have those bushes cleared away. Apparently, my warehouse is the local outdoor relief station.”

“Well, if you Americans would be more civic minded and would build more public toilets, it wouldn't be a problem.”

Savannah punched him in the arm. “Not a solution. Try again.”

Edward jokingly held his arm. “Ouch! Have you been to the gym already this morning?”

“Not to the gym. I walked over to Crescent Lake for a boot camp exercise session this morning. I had to get there at five. That's the only time it's cool enough to work out with any intensity.”

Edward looked at the overgrown shrubs and patchy weeds in the parking lot. “This is untidy, but I don't know anyone who could help. I don't need a lawn service with my condo, and we have only potted plants at the pub. Nicole keeps them alive. I'll ask her when she comes in for the evening shift if she can recommend someone. As a bartender, she knows and talks to everybody.”

Looking down at the thin gravel and the bare sand, Savannah chewed on her lower lip. “I'm going to have to make the outside a little more inviting if I want to increase the number of students that rent studio space. Not too much. It still needs to look a little grungy so it has some character.” She shook her head. “Never mind. I'm rambling.”

They went inside and headed toward the kitchen on the left side at the far end of the studio. In its checkered past, the warehouse had once housed a catering business. So there was a fully functioning kitchen, although the appliances were ancient industrial makes. The countertops were stainless steel, and once they'd been cleaned, they looked as good as new.

Savannah put the brown bag on the wooden worktable in the center of the large room. She had found ten wooden chairs for it at the local thrift shop, and now it served as a great communal dining spot.

“When are you going to paint these chairs?” Edward asked.

“Probably this weekend.” She opened the top glass-fronted cabinet beside the deep stainless-steel sink and brought down two cups and took them over to the only new appliance in the kitchen, an espresso machine. “Wish me luck here. I've used this only a couple of times.”

Edward sat and lounged on one of the chairs and folded his arms behind his head. “This is quite a new experience. The only one who ever makes me coffee is Nicole.”

Savannah turned around to quip but instead smiled.

She felt small beads of perspiration form on her forehead. “She does make good coffee.” Turning back to the countertop, she added, “My machine is a bit smaller than the monster you salvaged for the pub.”

“Which brand are you using? My local favorite is Kahwa.”

“And my favorite is the Colombian French roast from Mazzaro's Italian Market. Hush and let me concentrate.” She carefully brewed two cups of espresso and added a generous dollop of steamed half-and-half to each. She finished them off with a deft shake of cocoa powder and placed the cups on the table.

Edward sipped his coffee, and his eyebrows rose over the rim of his cup. “Mmm. This is extremely good. I may have to reconsider my supplier.” He lowered his cup.

Savannah felt a flush of pride rise in her chest. The practice had paid off. “I'm glad.”

“Have any students signed up for studio space yet?”

“Yes, finally.” She opened the brown bag and took out a cranberry scone. “Two former students, Helen Carter and Arthur Young, from my first stained glass workshop back when I first arrived from Seattle. They've already paid their monthly fee. I'm expecting them sometime this morning.”

“How many students do you need to break even?”

“I need only eight, but I've got space for sixteen.” They walked out into the cavernous room. “I've got eight work spaces set up. Four of them are completely ready, using existing equipment I brought over from Webb's. The remaining four need a little refurbishing work on the stuff I practically stole at an auction. I plan to add a few at a time until this space is completely filled. Then, if I clean up the loft, I could add even more.”

“When are you going to move Webb's Glass Shop into this space?” They returned to sit at the table.

“I can't do it. The building for Webb's has been in my family since the nineteen twenties. It's been the center of my life since forever and has provided a generous income for a number of decades. I won't destroy the memories that live there. So the shop and the studio will remain two separate spaces.”

Edward scraped back his chair and stood. “How's the huge commission piece for the big shot coming?”

“For the mayor? I'm struggling.” Savannah stood as well.

They walked into her workshop, which was adjacent to her office and next door to Jacob's workshop.