Still Life and Death

by Tracy Gardner

  A door banged open against the brick of the building and two men came out with more costumes, the older gentleman pushing a garment rack. Savanna recognized Priscilla Blake’s husband, Dylan, and the younger man with him was the new tap instructor—she’d seen him when she’d taken Mollie to dance class after school. Miss Priscilla seemed to have plenty of help. Savanna reversed direction and went to her car.

  As she was backing out of the parking space, Libby’s daughter Rachel pulled in next to her. Savanna rolled her window down, waiting until she got out. Wasn’t she supposed to be having lasagna right now with her parents?

  “Hi, Ms. Shepherd!” Rachel bent down, peering into Savanna’s window. “How are you?”

  “I’m great! Everything all right?”

  “Sure. Oh—Mom forgot something. I’m just grabbing it for her.”

  Savanna nodded. “Have a good night!”

  Skylar was waiting outside the front door to Fancy Tails Saturday morning, baby stroller with her, when Sydney unlocked the shop. Savanna carried three coffees and a large white box to the table at the window, then rushed over to the stroller, peeking under the visor. “She’s awake! May I?” she asked Skylar.

  “Sure! Here.” Skylar spritzed Savanna’s hands with sanitizer.

  Baby Hannah was five months old, with a shock of fuzzy hair a little lighter than Skylar’s sleek blond bob. Savanna carefully lifted her from the stroller, saying, “Oh, look at you.” Hannah pedaled her tiny feet in her Winnie the Pooh sleeper, then settled against her aunt. Savanna bent her head and closed her eyes, breathing in Hannah’s scrumptious baby scent. “Ugh.” She met Skylar’s gaze. “How do you not just hug her constantly?”

  “I do! Hug her quick—I stole her from Travis, but I’m going into the office to catch up on some things. He’ll be here soon to get her.” At thirty-three, Skylar was the oldest of the three sisters. A mom of two, with four-year-old Nolan and now baby Hannah, plus her career as attorney in one of Michigan’s largest law firms, she somehow was still presentable at eight-thirty in the morning. Silver ballet flats and dark denim jeans were topped with a crisp pink blouse. Skylar reminded Savanna of one of her childhood business-themed Barbies, an organized, put-together, highly driven go-getter who looked equally comfortable in a courtroom or behind a stroller.

  “You have to let us babysit eventually, you know,” Sydney said. “Don’t you and Travis need a date night?”

  “We’ll work as a team,” Savanna added. “They’ll be in good hands, I promise.” She let Sydney take Hannah from her and distributed the coffees: black for Skylar, and caramel with whipped cream for herself and Sydney.

  “Okay,” Skylar said, sitting back in her chair.

  “Yay!” Sydney squealed. “When?”

  “Anytime. Really. I’m so tired. Hannah’s not even much work at this point, but Nolan is sure giving us a run for our money. We enrolled him in the pre-K theater class at Miss Priscilla’s, hoping to redirect some of his energy, but every time I turn around, he’s up to no good!”

  “Aw. Well, that makes sense,” Savanna said. “He’s competing for your attention.”

  Skylar nodded. “I know. Believe me. We make sure he gets lots of one-on-one time. I think it’s a tough adjustment for him.”

  Sydney gasped. “Oh my God.”

  “What? The pediatrician says it’s normal—” Skylar stopped midsentence at the sound of sirens.

  Sydney stood, cradling Hannah, and stared out the front window. A police car pulled up across the street, siren screaming. An ambulance was close behind.

  “What in the world?” They went out front, watching the action from the sidewalk in front of Fancy Tails. A uniformed officer entered the building across the street, weapon drawn, followed by Savanna’s friend, Detective Nick Jordan, and his partner. Finn Gallager and a fellow paramedic waited just outside the door, their large red Med-Kit bag at the ready. Shop owners up and down Main Street emerged to see what was happening.

  “They’re going into Libby’s,” Savanna said.

  Sydney frowned. “Is Uncle Max working this morning?”

  “Is Libby?” Skylar asked.

  “Oh, no. I think Uncle Max might be,” Savanna said. “What if—what if something happened? What if he or Libby are hurt?” She’d never seen anything like this. It was broad daylight on quaint, idyllic Main Street, and an officer had just stormed into the flower shop with his gun drawn. Her stomach lurched. She didn’t know what she’d do if something awful had happened to Uncle Max. Or Libby. She glanced at Sydney.

  Her younger sister’s face was drawn in fear as she stared at the scene across the street. “She wanted to have tea today,” Sydney whispered.

  “What?”

  Sydney met Savanna’s gaze. Her mouth was drawn down, and she looked agonized. “She asked me last night if we could have rooftop tea this morning. She wanted to hear about my date. And I told her no! I could’ve changed our plans—you two wouldn’t have cared. I should’ve been there.”

  Skylar’s husband Travis pulled up to the curb amid the chaos. He came around to the passenger side and asked, “What happened?”

  Skylar shook her head. “We don’t know. Everything was quiet until two minutes ago.”

  Travis turned and took in the scene across the street. His chiseled profile could’ve been cut from a GQ ad. He and Skylar made a striking couple. “I’ll get her out of here. Are you coming? All of you? It might not be safe.”

  “No. Uncle Max or Libby might be in there. I’ll call you, okay?” Skylar put a hand on his forearm and leaned up to kiss him. “Don’t worry.”

  He frowned at her as he took the baby. “Call me. Soon.”

  She nodded. The sisters were across the street in seconds, stopped at the entrance to Libby’s Blooms by a Carson police officer.

  “What’s going on?” Skylar demanded. “Our uncle works here with Libby. We need to know if they’re inside.” Sydney was talking with Finn, still on standby outside the building.

  “I can’t say,” the officer replied. “You’ll have to wait out here. They’re sweeping the place now.”

  “Is he hurt? Is Libby? What happened?” Savanna chimed in.

  “I can’t release any details. What’s your uncle’s name?”

  “Max Watson.” Her mind was racing. “What brought you all here? Was the alarm tripped or something?”

  The officer met Savanna’s gaze. She didn’t recognize him, but it wasn’t like she knew all the cops on Carson’s police force. “We responded to a 911 call.” His badge bore the name of Whitney. He turned his head quickly as the radio on his shoulder crackled.

  Detective Nick Jordan’s voice came through the static and made Savanna’s heart drop into her stomach. “Whitney. Premises are clear. Send in the paramedics. We need them on the roof. Now.”

  Chapter Two

  Savanna was abruptly jostled to one side by Anthony Kent, Libby’s husband. Skylar caught and steadied her, hands on her shoulders.

  “Sorry,” Anthony murmured, already past her. “I just got here—this is my shop. I’ve got to get in there. What’s happened?”

  Officer Whitney stepped in front of him. “Mr. Kent?”

  “Yes, yes. We aren’t even open yet. Is my wife all right? I’ve got to—” He attempted to push his way past Officer Whitney and the other officer who’d just joined the group clustered around the front door.

  Whitney put one hand on Anthony Kent’s chest, stopping him. He unclipped his radio and spoke into it. “Jordan. We have Libby Kent’s husband out here.” Finn and the other paramedic entered the building.

  “Copy. Keep him there. I’m coming down.” Detective Jordan’s command was loud and clear.

  Two more people from the sheriff’s department appeared: a young man carrying a large case, and an older woman with a camera. The word Evidence was emblazoned on their
shirts and caps.

  Whitney opened the door for them. “To the left and up two flights to the roof.”

  Hot tears stung Savanna’s eyes, threatening to overflow. She stepped back, pulling Skylar and Sydney with her. “We have to call someone.”

  Sydney’s brow furrowed. “Uncle Max isn’t answering his phone. He always answers. Should I text Finn?”

  “No, don’t do that,” Savanna said. “He probably can’t tell you anything, anyway. What about—”

  “No,” Skylar said. “Don’t call yet. We don’t want to cause unnecessary worry. Wait until we know what’s going on.” Her tone left no room for argument.

  “Folks.” Officer Whitney moved away from the entrance to the flower shop, leaving his partner there to guard the door. He spoke to the gathering crowd spilling out into Main Street, primarily made up of business owners and employees, though curious patrons were now emerging from the coffeehouse as well. Shops would all be opening soon for Saturday morning customers. “Everything’s under control—you all need to head back inside.”

  “What’s going on in there?” Miss Priscilla spoke up. She and her husband stood near the front door of the dance school.

  “We’ve got students coming in,” her husband added. “What happened?”

  “We have a right to know!” another voice chimed in from the crowd.

  Sydney’s friend Kate from the yoga studio came over to the trio of sisters. “Do you know anything? My first class starts at nine. I’m thinking I should cancel it.”

  “No idea what all this is about. We think our uncle was inside opening the shop,” Savanna said. “You didn’t happen to see him this morning, did you?”

  As Kate opened her mouth to speak, Uncle Max emerged from Libby’s Blooms, followed closely by Detective Jordan.

  “Oh!” Savanna was flooded with relief. Uncle Max seemed to be okay. He was talking with Nick Jordan. She pushed her way through the crowd, Skylar and Sydney behind her, and threw her arms around her uncle.

  He patted her back gently, then embraced his other two nieces as they joined in. “Oh, my. I’m quite all right.”

  Savanna let go, now noticing how pale his face was. He looked shaken. Then she saw his hands, stained red. The white cuffs of his shirt sleeves were covered with blood. There were flecks of blood on his lavender waistcoat and his shoes, and she spied the faintest smear at his left temple. She gripped her uncle’s arms. “My God. Are you—” She couldn’t finish the sentence; she was too busy assessing him. There was no injury that she could find.

  Detective Jordan stepped closer to their little cluster. “He’s fine,” he said firmly, addressing the three of them. “It’s not his blood.”

  Sydney gasped. “Libby,” she whispered, her eyes wide and fearful.

  “What happened? Is she...” Savanna couldn’t finish the question. Their poor uncle! What on earth had happened?

  “Give me a minute,” the detective said. He met her gaze, and for a split second she saw that he was rattled. The man normally had the world’s most impenetrable poker face. Seeing him rattled sent a chill up her spine and filled her with dread.

  Savanna considered Nick Jordan a friend after all they’d been through since she’d come home to Carson. He’d expressed his gratitude to her last year for her major role in solving the murder of a Carson government official. And before that, she’d assisted with handling dangerous incidents going on at Caroline Carson’s mansion. Savanna’s knack for seeing hidden details, sometimes without even trying, was a skill she owed to her years in Chicago working as an art authenticator. Details like that scant trace of blood on Uncle Max’s temple, which worried her more than his bloody sleeves. What had gone on inside the flower shop that he’d come out unharmed, but bloodstained from head to toe?

  Detective Jordan was taking in the growing crowd. She was close enough to hear him as he leaned toward Officer Whitney and spoke quietly. “Run up and tell Taylor they’ve got to bring her out the back. I’m not putting that out on the radio.”

  Whitney nodded and darted through the entry door.

  Savanna’s breath caught in her throat. She turned to ask Uncle Max, but thought better of it. The man looked like he was still on his feet through nothing but sheer will.

  Detective Jordan’s face was stony. He raised one hand in the air, addressing the crowd in a deep, authoritative voice. “People. The show’s over. No details will be released until we complete our investigation. There is no imminent danger. I need the sidewalk cleared now.”

  Little movement ensued, the onlookers obviously still curious.

  Jordan exchanged glances with the other officer still stationed at the door, then continued, his tone calm, though Savanna heard the undercurrent of irritation. “Let us do our job. My officers will be happy to issue tickets for loitering if needed.”

  The crowd began to disperse.

  Sydney asked, “Uncle Max, what happened?” She had an arm linked through Max’s, and Skylar took his other arm. He seemed not to hear her.

  Savanna followed his gaze to Libby’s husband. Detective Jordan was speaking with him, and he put a hand on the older man’s arm. Nick Jordan was a big believer in personal space. Savanna didn’t think she’d ever seen him stand that close to anyone besides his wife. If Libby was only hurt, paramedics would’ve already brought her out and rushed away with her. Savannah’s chest was pinched with anxiety over what Jordan must be telling Libby’s husband. Libby was not okay. Not even close. She drifted closer, but their words were too quiet for her to catch.

  Anthony Kent nodded, his eyes wide now. The officer at the door escorted him into her police cruiser, and they sped away, causing the few stragglers left on the sidewalk to stop and gawk.

  Detective Jordan approached Savanna’s little group. “Mr. Watson, do you mind if we finish with your statement now? We can use the office inside.”

  “That’s fine,” Uncle Max agreed.

  Skylar took charge. “We’re coming with him.” Savanna could’ve kissed her.

  Jordan didn’t argue. He held the door open and ushered the four of them into the building, turning the manual lock on the inside of the door and pulling the shade down against the remaining onlookers.

  Once in the office, Detective Jordan motioned to the chair behind Libby’s desk. Uncle Max sank limply into it. Savanna pulled a chair over beside him for Sydney, who looked almost as pale as their uncle. Savanna had a terrible feeling about all of this. Where had they taken Anthony Kent? To the hospital, to be with Libby? Why hadn’t they let him go in the ambulance with her?

  “Walk me through your morning, from your arrival here until you discovered Libby,” Detective Jordan said to Max.

  “Weekends are the busiest,” Uncle Max said. “So I try to do as much as possible ahead of time before we open.”

  Savanna shook her head to clear it, focusing on what her uncle was saying.

  “I’d typically get everything running, set up the cash register, water the plants, that kind of thing. Libby never enjoyed opening.”

  “But she was here this morning,” Detective Jordan stated. “Why?”

  “I believe it was due to the upcoming Flower and Garden Show, Detective. The last several days, Libby was keeping early hours. She was often already in the greenhouse when I’d arrive. She was cultivating a plant for the show; she’d been going on about it, hoping it might win.”

  “Was the shop unlocked when you arrived?”

  “No. It was locked—I had to let myself in.”

  “And you entered through the front or the back?”

  “Oh, the back. We always do; best to leave the street parking for customers. Libby made a point of that. She liked us to park at the far end of the parking lot.” Uncle Max raised a hand as if to run it across the top of his head. He froze, eyeing his blood-stained hand midair in front of his face. He dropped it bac
k into his lap.

  Jordan jotted something in his notepad. “Did anything seem out of place when you arrived?”

  “No. Nothing that I noticed.”

  “Was it usual to lock yourself in when you opened the shop in the mornings?”

  Max inclined his head, looking curious. “No, why? I didn’t. I believe I left the back door unlocked after I arrived.”

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “But it was locked when you arrived, yes? So Libby must’ve locked it this morning when she got here before you. You did say you found it locked?”

  “Yes,” Max agreed, frowning. “That’s odd, but I suppose she was being cautious? As she was here early, on her own?”

  The detective didn’t answer. Savanna was glad for the small break in the questions he was peppering her uncle with. Nick Jordan was intense when he was digging for information.

  “I know the front of the shop was also locked,” Max said. “I had to let you in after I called 911.”

  “What about the door to the stairwell? Did you have to unlock it when you went up, or was it open?”

  “It was locked; it’s a key deadbolt. Libby and I always lock it behind ourselves, since it’s a common-use stairwell for the building.”

  “Who has a key to that deadbolt and to the shop? Besides you and Libby?”

  “Her husband Anthony, for when he does the books. And Rachel. I think that’s it.”

  Skylar interrupted. “Nick, what are you getting at? What happened? Did someone attack Libby?”

  Detective Jordan pressed a thumb and forefinger against his eyelids for a moment. He sighed and looked at each of them as he spoke. “Someone shot Libby, likely with a silencer. Your uncle discovered the body—sorry, he discovered Libby—when he went upstairs to water the greenhouse plants. He called 911.”

  Sydney gasped. “She’s dead? She’s just...gone?” Her hand flew to cover her mouth.