Not yet ready to stand in her dad’s place, she traced a template of the piece onto a small piece of butcher paper. She cut the paper with an X-ACTO knife and pasted it to the glass with a glue stick. Next, she protected the edges of the paper with wax. She moved over to the cutting section of the workbench and made the straight cuts with no problem. Picking up her dad’s cutter, she placed it precisely on the curve and began to score.
“Miss Savannah?” Jacob appeared at her elbow.
Savannah flinched and the cutter threatened to veer off the line, but she pressed her lips tight and continued to guide the cutter off to the edge of the glass. Well, that proves I need practice. She turned to Jacob and smiled.
“Did Hugh tell you about when you should talk and when you should wait?”
“Yes, Miss Savannah, but—”
“It’s important to wait until I’m finished cutting a piece of glass. I haven’t looked at the invoice, but I think this is German glass and it’s quite expensive. I could have ruined the whole piece.” She stopped as Jacob began to breathe loudly and faster.
He looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, Miss Savannah.” He gulped in a new breath and blurted, “There’s a man outside.”
“What? We’re closed. I know I turned the sign around to CLOSED.” She went out of the workroom and stopped just at the front of the display room.
A man was pointing a small black device up to the roofline of the shop. He was quite short in a sharkskin gray suit with a black shirt and cartoon tie featuring Felix the Cat. It was not a local look. His hair was so thin that he must have faced a daily decision whether to comb it over or shave it clean.
Savannah opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop. “May I help you?”
He smiled with brilliant white teeth that nearly glinted in the bright afternoon sun. “Good afternoon.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed her a business card. “Are you Miss Webb?”
She took the card without looking at it. “Yes, I’m Savannah. May I help you?”
“I’m Gregory Smythe of the ACME Land Development Company. That’s S-M-Y-T-H-E.” He enunciated each letter, stretched out to shake her hand, then cleared his throat. “It’s the European pronunciation handed down from my British relations.”
“You must be the developer everyone’s talking about.”
He smiled like a Cheshire cat, then immediately frowned. “I’m sorry for the loss of your father.”
“Thank you.” No, you’re not sorry at all.
“I’m looking at the properties on this block in the interest of the corporation. We are interested in making a fair market offer for your building. I believe we have already sent an offer to Mr. Webb.”
“Yes, I found the offer letter on his desk earlier.”
“That’s great. Can I come in for a minute and discuss it with you?”
For a fleeting second, Savannah considered refusing, but in truth she was curious. She virtually towered over the pudgy little man—he was no threat to anything but her temper.
Nodding, Savannah walked back into the shop with Smythe following. As soon as he entered, he looked up at each corner in the ceiling and poked his head into the classroom and tried to peek into the other rooms.
Not subtle, she thought. She stood behind the sales counter with her arms folded. “What’s your pitch?”
“Do you know the construction details of this building? Do you have any architectural drawings?”
“There might be some in my dad’s older papers. I’m not sure, but I think he still has all the original drawings that were used for the construction of this building. Why?”
“I’m trying to estimate the cost of demolishing the individual properties on the block. The amount of concrete in each foundation is a critical cost factor in determining the effort required to remove the debris. It’s part of my report to the corporate office.”
Savannah dropped her chin to her chest. If I sell out, then I sell out. I’ll have no business to complain about after the sale. She looked back at the slimy excuse for a real estate developer. If I don’t agree, he’ll pester me until doomsday.
“I’ll look into the shop’s records, but I’m not making any promises. I have your card. I’ll contact you if I find them.” She guided him to the door and opened it for him to leave the shop.
“Thanks for your time,” he said, absolutely oblivious to the effect he had on the owner of a business that he was callously measuring up for demolition. Savannah watched as he moved over to the building next door and began pointing his laser at its roof.
She turned back to the workshop and saw Jacob deep in concentration working on painting the next piece. She addressed the errant cut she made and split the glass along the impromptu tangent. Then she scored the curve again using a lighter hand. She split the glass again and took it over to the panel and trial fitted the new piece. It was nearly perfect. Maybe she could do this.
The bell on the front door jangled again.
“I thought I locked the door.” She dashed into the display room and nearly bumped into Edward who was carrying a tray with a plate of cranberry scones along with two cups.
“You need to eat something, so I thought you should meet up with my scones.”
“They smell heavenly. Come on back to the office. She raised her voice. “Jacob! Mr. Morris has brought us some scones.”
Jacob peered around the corner of the workshop door and glanced at the tray. “I’ve eaten lunch, Miss Savannah.” Then he disappeared.
Edward shrugged. “His diet is strictly controlled by his parents . . . and also himself by that token. Food issues have an unusual interest as one of his obsessions. One week he refused to eat anything but blueberries. His lips turned Smurf blue.”
“Exactly how long has Jacob been here?” Her father had told her when he took Jacob on, but she couldn’t remember how long ago that had been.
“Only a few months, but I understand he’s doing quite well.” Edward set the tray down on a little table against the wall of the office. He lifted both to a spot near the desk and moved a gray metal folding chair next to the desk. He picked up one of the cups and placed it in Savannah’s hands. “Now, tuck in.”
She sat in the desk chair, took the cup, and sipped the tea. She looked up. “Bold?”
“Oh, yes. It’s my version of English Breakfast. I mix all the teas for Queen’s Head and we get some very fussy customers, indeed. I still don’t have the Earl Grey right. The occult bookshop owner keeps telling me it’s too mild.”
“Did you bring scones to Dad every day? This looks like a regular routine for you.”
“Well spotted.” Edward grinned wide. “We had a breakfast coffee and afternoon tea ritual going on since I opened Queen’s Head three months ago. He reminded me so much of my pa back in London. He missed you as well. I think it did us both good.”
“I’m ashamed that I didn’t know that. He mentioned the pub. Said I would like the beer.”
“How’s the exhibit coming along? John mentioned that it would be soon, right?”
“Very soon. It opens two weeks from tomorrow. I need to call my partner today and let him know things are a little more involved here.”
“Partner?”
“Um, not in that way at the moment. Ken Silver-hawk is co-artist for the joint exhibit. He’s also my assistant when I’m creating a large piece in the glass studio and my ex-boyfriend. It’s complicated.” She shrugged and took another sip of tea as she glanced at Edward. Should she tell him about her dad’s note? Could she trust him?
Dad had apparently liked Edward. I should trust that.
“I found a note from Dad.”
Edward sipped his tea and looked up at Savannah over the rim. “I’m not surprised. He was worried about something but wouldn’t talk about it.”
She turned to the open desk, pulled out the envelope marked SAVANNAH and handed it to him. He glanced at the warning, pulled out the notebook, and
scanned the writing. His eyes first widened to saucers and then narrowed in concentration. “What does this mean?”
“After the warning is a cipher that Jacob helped me solve. Well, honestly, he solved it. It tells me to go to a location that only Dad and I knew about. I expect to find something there, as well.”
Edward put his cup down on the little table. “This puts everything in a new light. You need to call the police and tell them that you found this.”
“I called right after I found it. Dad was a bit paranoid. I think it was mostly because of the work that he did for the government years ago. But it’s only a note—not really much of anything.”
Edward handed Savannah a scone. “You really do need to eat. I mean it. You’re not thinking straight. He meant for you to protect yourself.”
Savannah munched on the scone and looked into those green eyes again. “I know you’re right. There was always an edge to him after Mom died. I mean I still carry a Swiss Army knife on me because he said you never knew when you might need it.”
“What did the police say? What are they doing?”
“The officer who was here when Hugh was found took down the details. But I have so little information. I don’t think they’re taking it seriously. My suspicions sound childish, even to me.”
“Okay. But what if this is a real threat? How do you feel about Hugh? Is it possible he could have been saved if you’d found the message sooner?”
“Good point.” She looked at Edward. “It was humiliating. The officer treated me like a crazy child.”
“You had to call. It was the right thing to do.”
“Okay. Again, you’re right.” She picked up another scone. “Look, I know I’m starving, but these things are ridiculously good.”
“Thanks. I enjoy bringing them. They’re my favorite comfort food.”
He looked a bit uncomfortable as the moment of silence between them stretched into a minute. Clearing his throat, he finally said, “We need to think about how to protect you. Your dad gave you a pointed warning. We should take it seriously.” He let the words hang in the air. “I’ve got to get back to the pub and see what needs doing before the dinner crowd arrives. Let’s get our heads together tomorrow and figure out what we can do. Cheers.” He waved and scooted quickly out the door.
After Edward left, Savannah made herself sort through the papers and put them into two stacks. One short stack of drawings for the demolition estimate and another stack of last year’s tax return and this year’s financial statements from her dad’s accounting program. The remaining papers were filed into the four-drawer oak filing cabinet right beside the desk.
She slowly read through the statements. According to the reports, the shop was doing quite well even before the profits from the church windows were projected. The reports indicated that her dad made most of his money on commissions but also a surprising amount on the materials that were purchased for the classes. This could actually grow into quite a nice living if she decided to stay.
Stay? Where did that come from?
She grabbed a sheet of notebook paper and began to calculate the total net worth of the business. She labeled the columns and then found herself staring at them through sand-filled eyes as if the figures had just turned into dancing Sanskrit. Her watch said 4:30.
My brain isn’t working. It’s still early, but I’m dead tired.
She tidied the stack of papers in preparation for completing the evaluation tomorrow, got up, and went into the custom workshop. “Jacob, it’s time to clean up and put everything away and close up the shop. We’ve had a busy day.”
And I have a lot of thinking to do.
Chapter 5
Monday Evening
Savannah pulled her dad’s van into the attached carport of the family Craftsman house in the Euclid/St. Paul neighborhood. It was about ten blocks east of the Grand Central District and close to the downtown section of St. Petersburg. Most of the surrounding houses were built in the twenties and thirties, but many of them had been transplanted to these quiet streets from other sections of rapidly developing early St. Petersburg.
Her parents’ Craftsman was one of the originally built two-story houses on a double lot, and her dad had been a founding member of the local neighborhood association. As an active and supportive group, they welcomed all new owners with a personal invitation to a monthly porch party. The association was determined to defend its eclectic charm of brick streets and giant live oak trees. Each tree was still circled with the traditional bright purple azalea plants that thrived with the constant falling of the acidic oak leaves.
One of the things her parents were most pleased about was when visitors remarked, “What a charming home. It feels so comfortable here.”
Maybe I should go find the clue from the cipher. It’s not far, and I know right where it is. Standing on the porch jingling the keys, she heard a short yip. That settled it—it wasn’t fair to keep her dad’s Weimaraner puppy out of the action. Rooney needed exercise and as her sore back testified, so did she. Besides, if she found the clue she might have more to tell Edward . . . and the police.
She walked up three steps and across the wide porch that contained a porch swing and two comfortable white wicker rockers arranged to look out over the street and entice neighbors to stop and chat. Her mother had always kept a pitcher of iced sun tea on the glass table in front of the window. Her dad had continued the small custom and it became an unspoken invitation to all that he was ready for visitors.
The barking from inside the house increased in volume and pitch. It was a fearful sound and one of the reasons she was uncomfortable about spending much time away at Webb’s. She pulled a doggie treat from her backpack, then unlocked the door to find Rooney crouching by her dad’s recliner rumbling an uncertain growl. At nine months he was still pretty much a puppy with long gangly legs and big feet that he hadn’t grown into yet.
“It’s okay, Rooney.” She bent down low to reach out the treat to the trembling dog. “It’s me. It’s Savannah. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
He stopped growling and lifted his head to sniff up in the air to catch the scent of the treat. Legs tentative, he took a tiny step forward, sniffed again, then another tiny step. Savannah stood and held the treat a few inches from his nose. He gently took the treat, and with a crunch and a gulp, it was gone.
The ghostly grey wiggling mass finally greeted her by placing his paws on her shoulders and licking her face sticky wet. It was a puppy response and she hadn’t had the heart to begin training him to wait for a greeting until after she had put down her backpack and keys and motioned to him to approach.
She sighed. “Maybe I’ll leave that to your next owner. I don’t have room for a dog in my little apartment in Seattle. Down, Rooney.”
He immediately returned to the recliner and sat with his head cocked and amber eyes alert.
The next step in her routine was to check the house for signs of Rooney’s disobedience. Her dad’s bedroom was untouched—no issues there. She thought she had left her bedroom door closed, but must have left it ajar, because it was now wide open. Rooney had found his way inside. Her heart sank. My shoes!
Her fears fully realized, well-chewed dress heels were lying in the middle of her bed. The tatters were strewn everywhere as he had apparently shaken the life out of them. She picked one of them up and groaned. “Rooney!”
His head appeared around the edge of the open door, but he didn’t step inside.
“Why on earth do you only chew on left shoes?”
Rooney lowered his head and lay down flat, eyes looking up.
“You know this is wrong. Bad dog!”
He tried to sink even lower on the floor, looking more pathetic and adorable.
“I know. I can’t stay mad at you—but really, only left dressy shoes?”
No movement from him.
“Let’s go for a walk, yes?”
Rooney’s short tail wagged a staccato beat in enthusiast
ic agreement and he whirled over toward his leash on the Stickley table by the door. Snapping it to his harness, Savannah set the alarm, grabbed her keys and phone, and they trotted out the door. The sidewalks were made of original hexagon paver stones. They were beautiful, but extremely high maintenance and worse, dangerous if not maintained properly. Her dad and his neighbors had found a specialist to make repairs twice a year and split the cost among them. As a result, the blocks were beautiful and safe.
At the end of the street, Rooney performed as expected and she made like a responsible pet owner and cleaned up after him. Back at home, he tolerated the removal of his leash, then returned to the recliner. She wanted to get things settled with her ex before going after the cipher clue.
Pulling out her cell phone and selecting Ken’s number from the recent call list, she checked her watch. The three hour time difference worked to her advantage as it was still late afternoon in Seattle.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Ken. It’s Savannah.”
“Where are you? I’ve been waiting for your call. Are you back yet? We have a ton of stuff to do before the exhibit opens.”
She took the phone from her ear, looked at the displayed image of Ken looking absolutely smoking hot, and realized that he had not uttered one word of sympathy, not one. She pressed her lips into a tight line and put the phone back to her ear. “I’m still in Florida. Things have turned out a good deal more complicated with my dad’s shop.”
“I thought you were going to sell it to Hugh.”
“Yep, that was the plan. Hugh died yesterday.”
“What?” Ken’s voice rose to a high pitch.
“I’ve got to stay a little longer and get things sorted.” How did I not see how self-centered he is?
“What about the exhibit? We still have two pieces to create to complete the—”
“Ken, you need to find another partner to help you with those last two pieces. It won’t be me.”
“Who am I going to find at this stage? The studio time is reserved, the material is already ordered. Everything is all set.”
Pane and Suffering Page 5