Pane and Suffering (15 page)

The twins had placed their sun catchers toward the middle section of the shared workspace so that their pieces reflected like a mirror. Their tools were bookended to the outside edge of the worktable.

“Interesting. Did you make them mirror images because Faith is left-handed?”

“Faith is the left-hander and I'm the right-handed one. It was the only way our mother could tell us apart,” said Rachel. “But not everyone catches on to that. You're observant.”

“Vital skill in the glass business. Thanks.” Savannah looked at their work and fingered the glass pieces to show them how much a few of them were not fitting the pattern well enough to start foiling. “Rachel, if you re-cut this piece”—she placed her finger on one of the central squares—“the whole panel will fit more snugly. It will be easier to solder if the gap between the individual pieces is smaller.”

She leaned over Faith's piece. “You've at least two pieces to recut to make a better fit.” She fingered an inside piece and one of the edge pieces. “This inside piece is too small and leaves too much slack. Also, if you replace this edge piece with a new one, the border will fit smoothly around the entire panel. It will be much easier for you.”

“I only have to do one.” Rachel did a little dance jig. “You have to replace two.”

Faith flushed red and puffed out her chest. “We're not done yet. In the end, mine will look better than yours. That's the way it always goes. You take an early lead and then I blow right past you.”

“What do we do with the leftover glass?” Nancy held up two small bits of her glass, speaking over the twins.

“I'm glad you asked.” Savannah grabbed a small dish that was underneath the instructor's worktable on the storage shelf and held it up. “This dish is an example of glass mosaics. All your leftovers can be used up in creating this ancient form of art. The Romans loved their mosaic floors. When you're a little more experienced, you can do more complicated things. Personally, I make kiln-formed earrings.”

Savannah left them to it and popped into the office for a few minutes. Sometimes the students made the best progress when the instructor wasn't hovering. Reaching for one of the cards that Officer Boulli had left, she dialed the number, waited for the machine, and punched in his extension.

“Officer Boulli.”

“Good morning. I want to report a break-in at Webb's Glass Shop. This is Savannah Webb.”

“You again?”

“Yes, Officer, me again. Someone broke into the shop, searched through the papers in the office, and left me a threatening note.”

“Okay, okay. Hold your horses.”

She could hear him shuffling papers and, based on the loud smack of the phone dropping and the muffled cursing, he apparently knocked over something.

“Okay. Just give me the details and I'll write up the report.”

She described her discovery and he assured her that someone would be around to collect evidence.

Dollars to donuts he forgets to report that note to anyone,
she thought as she hung up the phone.

She patted Suzy on the head and refreshed the water in her bowl. At the desk, she quickly turned on the computer, opened the browser, and logged into the geocaching database. Searching through the nearby sites, the list displayed her dad's geocache at Crescent Lake. Scanning down the table, she found the title had a line struck through the middle of the words.

She clicked on the title and read the entry displayed under the label C
ACHE
I
SSUES
. “This cache is temporarily unavailable. Read the logs below to read the status for this cache.”

She scrolled down to the log section and a note written using her dad's member name indicated “Until further notice, this cache is temporarily disabled.” The date of the log entry was several weeks earlier. She exhaled deeply. The date wasn't early enough to eliminate Smythe as a suspect. In fact, it looked like it was just after he'd arrived in the area to begin his search for a possible location for the Big Value Store.

Logging off, she pulled out the sheet of paper she had been using for calculating the net worth of Webb's Glass Shop. As a small family business, she was quite surprised at how well things were situated. She had known that Webb's was making solid money in the past months, but it seemed as though her dad had been building up the business for years to reach numbers like this.

No wonder Frank was so keen to press his offer. His bid was at least a hundred thousand dollars under its financial value. Smythe's was higher, but still well under the true value.

Returning to the classroom, Savannah demonstrated the process of grinding the cut glass pieces using safety goggles and a little hockey puck–like pusher to press the glass edges against the grinder wheel without grinding her fingers.

She stepped aside. “Who wants to try first?”

“Me, me, me.” Amanda raised her hand high.

Savannah tilted her head. “Yes, ma'am. Watch out that you don't take too much away. You can't put it back on.”

Amanda ground her piece perfectly.
She has been hanging around here quite a bit. That was not the grinding effort of a newbie.

“Amanda, that's a professional job. Why are you taking this class?”

She ducked her head, “Confession time. I've been hoping to get a job here. I love glass and I love this shop. I hope to teach one day. Thanks, again, for giving me a job here. I'm so over the moon.”

“I'm glad you're excited, Amanda. But just remember it might be temporary,” Savannah responded.

Amanda nodded her head in acknowledgment as one by one, the remaining students stepped up to the grinder with varying levels of success. For once, Arthur didn't put his fingers in danger, though Nancy's professionally manicured nails came a little too close to the wheel for Savannah's comfort.

Ducking into the office while everyone had a turn at the grinder, she meticulously finished sorting and filing all of the paperwork on her dad's desk.

As far as she could tell, nothing was missing from the burglary, but that didn't mean that something disappeared from the stacks that she hadn't gotten to yet. It was also possible that an important paper or even an entire folder could be missing from the filing cabinet. At least she had finished her cleanup, but still felt frustrated about the entire situation. Shoulders slumped, she returned to the classroom.

“Okay. It's time for the copper foil demonstration. Each of you has a package of foil in your kit. Place it flat on your work board and pin it so that it won't unroll. Not so tight that it won't release the foil, but loose enough so that you can pull the foil toward you a few inches at a time.”

She walked around the classroom and adjusted some and praised others.

“Okay, we're ready to foil.” She picked up one of Amanda's pieces. “Gather around so you can see.”

There was a shuffled rustling of movement.

“I can't see,” said Rachel.

“Here, stand next to me.” Faith pulled her sister by the elbow.

“Good. Take one of your glass pieces”—Savannah held the small square of glass—“and place it on the foil strip about one quarter of an inch from the edge.”

She picked up a small tool that looked like a miniature paint roller. “This is called a burnisher and it is used to press the foil solidly onto the glass. This is an extremely important step to—”

The phone in the office rang.

Savannah continued. “—ensure that the solder will adhere smoothly. Now, it's your turn. I'll be right back to check your first foiled piece.” She smiled and ran to answer the office phone. “Webb's Glass Shop. How may I help you?”

“May I speak to Miss Savannah Webb?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“I'm the managing director of Eternal Gardens where your father was laid to rest. I thought it my responsibility and duty to inform you that we've received a court order from the St. Petersburg Homicide Department to exhume your father.”

Chapter 17

 

S
avannah replaced the phone and stood completely still. That was direct confirmation that the police were now taking her suspicions seriously. The roiling in her stomach was evidence of the conflict she felt about wanting to be believed and the consequences of being believed.

She sat so heavily in her dad's chair it let out a high squeak. Focus.
This is what you wanted.

She picked up the phone and dialed the main number for the police department. “May I speak to Detective Parker?”

“May I tell him who is calling?”

“This is Savannah Webb. It's in connection with the deaths of Hugh Trevor and John Webb.”

She was connected very quickly.

“This is Detective Parker, Miss Webb.”

“I've just been told that you are exhuming my father's remains for an autopsy. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is. You were my very next call. I will let you know the results of the autopsy as soon as it is finalized.”

“So you think he was murdered?”

“I can't really say, Miss Webb. I'll call you when I have more information.”

“Who do you suspect?”

Detective Parker paused for several moments. “I'm not at liberty to say just now. When I have something to report, I'll let you know right away. We'll be in touch.”

Savannah hung up and placed the phone back on the receiver.

The class stared at her as she returned to the classroom, but she was focused on the class at hand and continued to provide guidance and answer any questions until the time to leave finally rolled around. Amanda kept a constant stream of chatter with Jacob but it was obvious that she could barely wait for the start of the lunch break today so she could ask Savannah about the phone call.

When noon finally arrived most of the students left with the exception of Amanda and Jacob. Savannah felt dazed and couldn't readily recall what she said to her students after receiving the news from Detective Parker.

Amanda and Jacob followed Savannah as she walked into the office and immediately sat down. Jacob picked up Suzy.

“What was that call about?” Amanda's words coming in a rush. “You look upset.”

“Yes, I guess I am. They're going to dig up my dad for an autopsy.”

Jacob looked straight at her, “That means they believe you now.”

Savannah nodded her head.

“Does this change anything? Are we still going to Mom's nursing home?” Amanda's eyes widened.

“As soon as I make a call to Dad's finance manager. For some reason, I keep forgetting to do this.”

Amanda looked over her glasses. “It's not like anything much is going on. I'll work on my sun catcher until you've finished your call.”

“Okay, I'm going to go home for lunch. See you later.” Jacob and Suzy left the office and proceeded to walk out of Webb's.

Finally, Savannah picked up the phone and dialed the number. The phone had barely rung once when it was immediately answered.

“Kevin Burkart, Financial Services.”

“Hi Kevin. This is Savannah Webb. I've been meaning to call for several days now.”

“Hi Savannah. I've been expecting your call. No problem. Do you want to make an appointment so we can review the financial state of Webb's? I have a meeting with another client for most of the afternoon, but I can squeeze you in tomorrow.”

“Maybe next week for a detailed review, but for right now I just need to know if there was anything major that Dad had in the works. I've reviewed the statements that covered the last few months and things look quite good.”

“Cash flow, expenses and earnings had been going pretty well for John and except for the loan to the Queen's Head Pub, there are no outstanding liabilities.”

“Loan? What loan?”

“Oh, I thought you had met Edward already.”

“I have, but he didn't say anything about a loan. How much was the loan for?”

“It's an unsecured loan for thirty thousand dollars.”

“What? Why did Dad do that?” Savannah found herself standing.

“I don't know. I urged him to place a lien against the pub, but he refused. He had his way, of course. I'm only the advisor.”

“Dad could be stubborn.”

Kevin laughed, “That's putting it mildly. Do you want me to start preparing for the sale of Webb's?”

“I'm not sure yet. Things are in turmoil with Hugh's death and I'm trying to find my feet.”

“Just let me know what you want to do. The decisions are now yours.”

“OK. Thanks, Kevin. I'll make an appointment for early next week.”

Savannah sat back down as she hung up the phone. She was trying to figure out why Edward had failed to mention the loan.
He's been so nice to me this entire time—the loan must be why.

The front bell clanged and Edward called out, “Anyone up for tea? It's a new one.”

Amanda followed Edward into the office, “Are there scones?”

He carried in a small tray with blueberry scones and a small ornate teapot with four tiny cups to match. “I've found a new white tea I adore called White Orchid. The flavor is delicate and the caffeine is very low.”

He set the tray down on the little table and turned to Savannah, “I think I'm a suspect. Detective Parker stopped by to ask me questions about my business and if anyone could verify my alibi. Of course, I was home alone. So, nope.”

Edward looked at Savannah's flushed face and tight lips, “What's wrong?”

“Wrong?” she could hear the near squeak in her voice. “Just when were you going to tell me about the loan?”

“Oh,” He looked over at Amanda, then back to Savannah, “I have been trying to tell you since Monday, but—”

“Burkart told me. Really, you couldn't find ten seconds to let me know about something that major? I might have made a terrible mistake negotiating a sale.”

“I'm sorry, but I didn't mean to cause any problems. It was just business—”

“I can't talk about it now, please leave.”

“I'm sorry, Savannah. Let me—”

“Leave, now!” He picked up the tray and headed back to the pub.

Amanda watched the blueberry scones disappear with Edward. Her sad expression had no effect on Savannah's resolve.

“What a pitiful face,” Savannah shook her head, “I'm sorry for that. Let's get a bite on the way to the nursing home.”

Savannah and Amanda closed up shop and walked outside towards Amanda's car. Savannah dragged open the heavy passenger door of Amanda's vintage Cadillac and buckled up with the retrofit seat belts. “Where did you get this beauty?”

Amanda was a cautious driver and looked at the rearview mirror and then to the side mirrors and then yet another scan before answering. “This was my mom's car. She only drove it to the hairdresser and then to the Publix supermarket. It was the last car my dad bought her, so we both love it. I still take her to the hairdresser when she's having a good day. It really perks her up. But the car isn't as important as what went on between you and Edward back there. What gives?”

Savannah took a couple of seconds to compose herself before she responded, “Well, it seems that my father loaned Edward thirty thousand dollars, but Edward didn't think it was important enough to mention to me. I found out when I finally spoke to Burkart.”

“Oh, wow. I understand why that would upset you. But I'm sure there's a reason why he hadn't mentioned it yet. I bet he was planning on it, Savannah.”

Savannah remained mum on the matter as Amanda drove the few blocks down Central Avenue and parked near the Bodega, a Cuban sidewalk café.

They ordered at the walk-up window and carried their fresh sandwiches and drinks out to one of the sidewalk tables. The earlier rain had left the sidewalk with that fresh smell that made them want to linger all day.

Savannah sipped her ginger orange soda. “When I was in the office, I checked on the global geocache database for the one that Dad had used for the cipher that Jacob and I solved to find the onion skin sheet. Dad took the cache down for repair just after Smythe showed up to canvas the area for potential super store locations.”

Amanda had just taken an enormous bite. Holding a napkin in front of her lips, she mumbled around the mouthful, “That's suspicious.”

“Well, that means Smythe is still in the frame. We need to get more information about him. Maybe we could find some of his selfies on social media. Since he's always taking them, he must be posting them to some site somewhere.”

“I would love to try my hand with that,” said Amanda. “Who knows what might be out there on slimy Smythe. That would be diabolically fun.” She looked over to Savannah. “Oh, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I meant interesting or challenging.”

Savannah smiled. “I understood, Amanda. Don't worry.”

They finished their sandwiches, tossed the debris in the trash, and drove over to Martin Luther King Jr. Street North.

As they pulled into the Abby Rehabilitation Center, Amanda said, “They don't call them nursing homes anymore. The new jargon is rehabilitation center or assisted living residence. I don't think it makes any difference inside, but there it is anyway.”

Savannah wondered if Amanda was feeling nervous for her to meet her mother. “How long has your mother been here?”

“Oh, let's see.” Amanda looked straight ahead and then to the mirrors and then made another scan before answering. “I think it's been five years now. She doesn't have Alzheimer's, but rather it's a bit like that. She has vascular dementia. Some days are pretty good, but the worst days are when she doesn't know me.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks, but she's very well taken care of and I get to see her nearly every day. Luckily, she has the type that lets her enjoy the present—not one of the angry or violent reactions to her condition. I'm lucky.”

Savannah was not surprised that Amanda considered herself lucky that her mother had the “good kind” of dementia.

They parked and entered through a side door.

Amanda led the way into the pleasant lounge with a low hum of television background and general chatter. “Mom's usually out here trying to find someone to chat to. It's the same conversation every day, but no one seems to mind.”

The air held the typical nursing home scents of cleaning products, air fresheners, and old people. The furnishings looked well used, but not tattered. There were amazing arrangements of fresh flowers scattered around the room.

“Hi, Mom. How are you doing today?” She leaned over and kissed a small woman on her mottled cheek. Mrs. Blake was sitting poker straight in a streamlined wheelchair. She wore a purple tracksuit and a shorthaired wig of tight burgundy curls. Given the look of her neon lime sneakers, Savannah would not have been shocked if Mrs. Blake had suddenly launched out of the wheelchair and raced wind sprints around the room.

Amanda dragged up a couple chairs for herself and Savannah and they sat on either side. “Mom, this is my new boss, Savannah Webb. She's John's daughter . . . John who used to run Webb's Glass Shop. Do you remember him?” She took her mother's hand in hers and rubbed the top of the slender, blue-veined forearm.

Mrs. Blake turned to Savannah with a serenely blank stare.

Savannah smiled. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Blake. Your daughter is going to be a big help to me in the glass shop. She's so cheerful and courteous with my customers . . . and the other students, of course.”

Mrs. Blake nodded and looked pleased. “I'm glad to meet Amanda's friends. Where's Amanda?”

“I'm right here, Mother.” Amanda looked up and puffed her cheeks out in a long sigh.

Savannah stood. “I think I'll just look around for Mrs. Lattimer now.”

“Go ask them at the reception counter—right through those double doors and down the hall.” Amanda pointed. “They should know where she is.”

Savannah followed Amanda's directions and met the harried receptionist. She was told that Mrs. Lattimer was outside at the back of the facility. She went back and got Amanda and together they walked over towards the back.

Amanda hung behind as Savannah approached the covered patio. A rather large woman in a bold blue dress was reading. She sat in a sturdy wheelchair beside a large planter full of blooming petunias of every imaginable color.

Mrs. Lattimer looked up with bright clear blue eyes. She removed her reading glasses and let them hang by a sparkling silver chair on her ample bosom. “Hello Savannah.”

“You remember me?”

“Of course. Frank talked about you earlier this week. He comes to take me out to lunch on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. He's a very attentive son.”

“Yes, I had lunch with him yesterday. I'm not sure he enjoyed it. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“I'd be happy for anyone to sit with me.” She held up the novel she was reading. “Most of my company nowadays is found in books.”

Savannah sat in a white wrought iron chair with a deep cushion. “What are you reading?”

“One of those new thrillers full of bullets, bombs, and sex.”

“Really?”

“I'm frail—not dead. This book is fantastic.”

Savannah chuckled. “That sounds fun. Frank and I had lunch at the new Mexican taco place just down the street from the shop.”

“Oh, we haven't been there yet.”

Savannah chuckled, “I don't think he was very pleased with the place. It was quite casual with outdoor seating on picnic tables. Not fancy enough, I suppose. Where did he take you on Sunday?”