Cracked to Death (9 page)

Chapter 13

 

Amanda drove her mother's ancient Cadillac back to Webb's Glass Shop, unlocked the front door, and turned the hanging sign over from C
LOSED
to
OPEN
. She felt a huge weight pressing down on her heart because her friends knew nothing about her relationship with Martin. She should have told them when she had the chance. It didn't make sense, but she appeared to be keeping secrets from the sheer habit of it.
Despicable.
What remained of her heart seemed like a deep hollow, and she had a sense that a possible future had been severed.

She went back to the office and logged into the computer system. Although the system was old, it still worked like a champ. She logged in to her social accounts and started the slog to find connections that might prove helpful to the investigation into Martin's bottles.

Although they had texted almost obsessively, she knew he hadn't frequented the popular social sites and shared anything personal. He had regularly posted a link to a Web site he used for selling his driftwood creations, but the entries had been scheduled in advance. She followed the link and, starting with last month, began searching through the comments participants had left when he posted pictures of his creations.

Most of the comments were complimentary, and Martin answered questions about the components he used and where he had found them. One poster, however, was consistently caustic and accused Martin of using unsavory methods for acquiring the more esoteric parts that were skewing his work toward the steampunk crowd.

Not sure how this could be relevant, Amanda continued to gather a list of unpleasant interactions. She noticed one of them in particular increased in venom as she neared the current date. That Martin didn't respond to the attacks seemed both strange and sensible. He had ordinarily been quick to try to align fate to his will. Maybe Martin knew that nothing would thwart a troll's attacks. The most vitriolic postings originated from someone with the user name Anonymous. And all postings from Anonymous had stopped abruptly on the day of Martin's death.

She leaned back in the creaky old chair, then stood and paced the small office. The next bit of research would entail a bit of hacking in order to identify the troll that had plagued Martin for no apparent reason.

She looked at her watch. It was closing time for the shop, so she went from room to room, turning off the cash register, locking the front door, checking on the status of the kiln, and turning off all the lights, except for the ones near the street-side windows.

Back in the office, she settled down to the tricky challenge of identifying Martin's troll before she needed to visit her mother. There was always the pressure to make time to go to the home and visit her mother every day, if at all possible. Sometimes, her mother didn't know her, but the staff knew she was apt to visit her mother at all times of the night and day. Amanda was convinced that the staff gave extra care and attention to her mother because of the frequency and irregularity of her visits. It also made Amanda feel better.

After following multiple threads of information, Amanda finally tracked the owner of the vicious comments to an identifier pointing to a business Web site. She followed the address to a salvage and dive operator who advertised private excursions into the Gulf of Mexico at half-day and full-day rates. The name of the business was Collins Salvage and Diving. It took another series of selective searches to track down the registered owner of the business. The owner was Captain Larry Collins.

She had begun to consider the impact of her discovery when she was startled by a loud knock on the front door. She frowned. The sign was turned to
CLOSED
, and no one should be trying to get into the shop after hours.

“Ridiculous,” she huffed. “We're closed.”

She peeked around the office door to see who might be trying to get in. It was Detective Parker. He was standing in front of the door, with a very determined and no-nonsense look on his face.

She hurried to open the door and stepped back. She stepped back so quickly, she lost her balance and had to grab the door quickly to keep from falling. As Detective Parker walked into the shop, Amanda thought he had gotten taller since she saw him last. She cleared her throat.

“What on earth brings you here? It's after hours.”

Detective Parker looked down at Amanda, and the silence grew long and loud.

Amanda repeatedly wrung her hands in a folding motion. “I know. I know. You found Martin's phone, didn't you? I knew you would. You know, don't you? You know about us, right?”

“Since you knew I would find the phone, why didn't you call and save us both this aggravation?”

“I thought there was a possibility the phone was lost. It was possible, you know. Martin was ridiculously careless with his phone. It was a cheap flip phone with the tiniest call plan ever.”

“We would have gotten the phone records regardless. Even without the physical phone. It merely takes a little longer.”

Amanda covered her face with both hands. “I know. I—”

“I know for certain you know,” Detective Parker interrupted. “What I don't understand is why you didn't contact me as soon as Savannah suggested to us that the diver's body was that of Martin Lane.”

“I was afraid you would arrest me.”

“Not without reasonable evidence.”

“But I don't know that. I've been involved in two separate investigations where a completely innocent person was suspected of murder. That's twice! Twice!” She halted for a moment to press her ample chest with her hands. “Then the other thing is I need to be with my mother every day. She needs me every day. She would get frightened and maybe the staff would neglect her and maybe she would fall and . . .” Amanda lowered her hands and looked at the floor. “What do you want?”

“It's not a big problem. You only need to come down to the station to make a statement about your relationship with Martin and answer our questions about his actions. I also need to know where you were the night Martin was killed.”

“It's a big problem.” Amanda looked up at Detective Parker. “You see, I was with my mom at the nursing home that night. I used to work there before I got my job with Webb's Glass Shop, and I still have a key. All the staff know me, and I usually help them out when I visit Mom. But her memory isn't good, and no one knows I was with her that night, so I don't have an alibi.” She bit her fingernail. “No alibi.”

“We'll do our job and check with the staff. You might not have seen someone who saw you. But if we can't verify that you were definitely elsewhere, I'll have to bring you in for questioning.”

Amanda felt her heart in her throat.

Chapter 14

 

Savannah opened her front door and stepped out onto the porch as Edward drove up to her street on his rumbling Indian motorcycle. It was a collector's delight, refreshed but not diminished; it gleamed from care and polish. He drove up to the curb, dismounted, and pulled off his helmet.

“I've remembered something.” He hopped up the steps, then kissed her lightly. He took her hand and led her over to sit on the porch swing and put a strong arm around her shoulders. “I should have spotted this when you pinned up Martin's picture on the corkboard. Last Monday Martin and some friends were at Queen's Head to celebrate something big. He wore a loud Tampa Bay Buccaneers football jersey for some reason.”

“Celebrate what?” Savannah reached for his hand and held it softly.

“I don't know. But evidently, we were the first stop on a bar crawl through the Grand Central District. It's possible they revealed the reason for the celebration at one of the other stops.”

“We should definitely check it out. Maybe the reason for the celebration is connected to his death. In any case, we might be able to discover some friends who knew him. Do you know where they went?”

“I know they went to 3 Daughters Brewing after Queen's Head.” He tilted his head. “Are you up for a scavenger hunt?”

Savannah smiled wide. “Yep. Let me lock up and call Mrs. Webberly to tell her I'll be gone for a while.”

“Won't she mind?”

“Oh no. Quite the opposite. She loves walking Rooney around the neighborhood. It's an official excuse to catch up on gossip and admire everyone's flowers.” She walked over to the door. “Hang on for a second. I'll be right back.”

In a few minutes, Savannah returned with her backpack over her shoulder. She turned to lock the front door. “Okay, let's start with 3 Daughters Brewing, or do you think we should park at Queen's Head?”

“3 Daughters Brewing will do.”

Savannah clicked the unlock button on her key fob to open the doors of her Mini Cooper. “Let's go.”

It took barely ten minutes to complete the drive down to 3 Daughters Brewing. The brewery was fairly crowded with regulars and a few tourists. They latched on to two chairs at the bar, and Edward caught the eye of the bartender.

“A Beach Blonde Ale and a Bimini Twist IPA, please.”

As the bartender drew their beers, Edward asked, “I'm trying to track down a mate of mine who had a bar crawl on Monday night. Do you remember them? One of the guys was wearing a maroon-and-gray-striped Buccaneers football shirt with a pirate skull on a flag.”

“Sure do. Monday is a quiet night here, and they practically took up the whole table.” She nodded toward the large table behind them. “They were celebrating a valuable find of some kind.”

Savannah looked at Edward and raised her eyebrows. “Interesting.” Her eyes were bright with repressed excitement. “Maybe it was something about the bottles.”

The bartender placed their cool pints in front of them. “Would you care to start a tab?”

“No. We'll pay up.” Edward handed over a twenty.

They each took a long pull from their beer. When the bartender returned with Edward's change, Savannah asked, “Do you know where the party went after they left here?”

She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I think they were planning to go to Urban Brew and BBQ next. It looked like they were walking to all the bars, because there was a lot of discussion about how far it was from here.”

Savannah nodded her head. “Thanks. You've been helpful. Did you get any other hints about what they were celebrating?”

“I don't know, but they certainly had fun with their theme.”

“Theme?” Edward crinkled his brow.

“Sure. They kept singing, ‘It's a pirate's life for me,' and one of the guys brought out bandanas for them to wear with eye patches.”

“Weird.” Savannah drank the last of her beer and noticed Edward's was gone, as well.

“Not really.” The bartender wiped down the bar. “A lot of sports fans identify with Gaspar the Pirate as a symbol of rebellion.”

“Thanks,” said Savannah as she rose to her feet. She hooked her arm with Edward's when he stood. “Let's get out of here. They may have been more talkative as the evening wore on.”

Edward placed his hand over Savannah's, and they walked out onto Twenty-Second Street North, heading for Urban Brew and BBQ. “I haven't been here long. What's this pirate business?”

“You'll understand when business perks up during Gasparilla.”

She could see that Edward was puzzled.

“It's based on the legend of Gaspar the Pirate, who supposedly used the Tampa Bay area as a base of operations for hiding his loot and recuperating between voyages.”

Savannah thought it was foolishly pleasant to enjoy the fact that Edward seemed pleased to hold her arm so elegantly.
I could get used to this. He has seriously nice manners, and he doesn't appear to be ashamed of them.

Edward held open the tiny door to Urban Brew and BBQ, and they stepped inside. It was an eclectic place filled with hand-built high-top square tables that had been placed by the street-facing windows and along the left wall of the small taproom. A server asked if they wanted to be seated on the back deck, and they both nodded yes.

The picnic benches on the deck were long and encouraged a sense of community, as the space was shared with other customers. Savannah turned to Edward. “Let's sit in the middle. We might learn more by talking to our neighbors on either side.”

“Good plan.” They sat as close to the middle of the space as they could get.

As soon as they were settled, the server handed them a paper menu. “Our list of craft brews is on the blackboard. We're running a Wednesday special on Six Ten Magpie, a rye pale ale. It's a two for one until we run dry.”

Savannah quickly scanned the blackboard. “We'll take the special.”

After the server placed two beer coasters in front of them, nodded, and left, Savannah looked at Edward. “Gosh, I didn't even ask if you like rye beer. Do you?”

“Luckily for you, I do. But this isn't about the beer.” Edward smiled a wry grin. “It is strangely pleasant to have decisions made for me.”

She shrugged. “I'm used to being decisive.”

“And you know a lot about beer.”

“That I do. Here they are.”

The server placed two glistening amber pints on the coasters. “Would you like to order something from the food menu?”

Savannah looked up at the server. “Nope, just the beer. But I would like to ask you about a group that came by here on Monday night. They were celebrating an event of some sort, and I was wondering if you remember them.”

“Sure. Monday is usually quiet. Why do you want to know?”

Savannah leaned back, and Edward quickly said, “I own Queen's Head Pub, and we're thinking of offering a similar beer crawl to event planners. So, Savannah and I are asking the bars on their route how the event worked.”

Edward stole a glance at Savannah, who rolled her eyes.

“Like I said, it was a quiet night, so they were a nice surprise. It would have been nice to know beforehand, as they tapped us out of a popular local beer. We're having a hard time getting more, and with the weekend coming, we'll disappoint some regulars.”

“Could you gather what the celebration was about?” asked Savannah.

“It was strange. The beer they ran us out of is called Gaspar's Tropical Ale, and they kept toasting to him.” The server shrugged his shoulders.

“The pirate?” asked Savannah.

“Yeah. It's a good ale. There was also a lot of talk about some sort of bottles. Oh, and when they left, they starting singing that bottles of beer song, only they changed the words. So instead they were singing, ‘A hundred bottles of beer on the beach.'”

Savannah looked over at Edward and hid a huge smile behind her hand. Trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, Savannah asked, “How many were there? Did you catch any names?”

“Nope. They paid in cash. Well, one of them paid for the whole group. There were about six of them.”

“Do you know where they went next?” said Edward.

“They said their next stop was the Amsterdam, but groups like theirs are not reliable. They could have gone anywhere.” The server smiled and then returned to the kitchen.

“How far is it to walk there?” Savannah held her glass up to the light, sipped her beer, and followed that with a long pull.

“Not too far.” Edward pulled out his phone and tapped the map icon. “It looks like a fifteen-minute walk. Are you up for it?”

“I sure am!” They left their drinks, laid enough cash on the table, and started the walk down Central Avenue, toward the waterfront.

“Why do you think they were celebrating?” Edward asked.

“I think they had discovered a cache of these bottles and then had determined they were valuable. It's strange that Martin would bring them to class if he already knew they were valuable. Was he trying to get validation?”

“Maybe he didn't find out until that afternoon—that would be enough time. The class lets out at one. Maybe he didn't trust his friends.”

They finally made it down to the Amsterdam. It was packed to the gills.

“What's going on here?” Savannah managed to squeeze in and stand inside the door. “It's Wednesday night, for Pete's sake.”

“You don't follow sports. The Tampa Bay Rays game has let out. They must be running a special event of some sort.” He looked around at the sea of noisy baseball fans dressed in royal blue and white team logo wear. “Of course, this might be the natural overflow from Ferg's across the street.”

“I haven't been here before, but I hear they carry a draft Trappist ale.” Savannah grabbed Edward's hand and wove her way around the customers to the bar. “Too bad this crowd is here. I would have liked to try it.” Catching the eye of the frazzled bartender, Savannah pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and waved it.

She had his attention immediately. Leaning closer to be heard over the din, she said, “We need to know who came in here on a bar crawl late Monday night.” She held up the twenty. “It's yours if you can tell me.”

A big smile flashed across the young man's face. “No problem. It was a group led by two guys. They're regulars here and have been stopping here near closing time for several weeks. So most nights they were the last ones here, and I got to talk with them a little. They were divers. The one guy was Martin. I don't know his last name. He sometimes showed up with a girlfriend.” He snatched the bill. “The other always paid, and the name on the credit card was Larry Collins.”