“I was at home sleeping. Suzy was with me and my mother knocked on the door to wake me up when she left for work.”
“What time was that?”
“She knocks at 6 o’clock and then I take Suzy outside.”
“Did anyone see you?”
He shook his head no.
No alibi, but she absolutely believed him. Jacob did not kill Hugh. Boulli was most likely trying to upset her. And it definitely worked.
Chapter 10
Tuesday Evening
Savannah stood by the cash register so disoriented that she stared blindly at the display screen. With a start, she remembered that she had come over to shut it down. Although she had managed to complete the lesson of the day, she was still reeling from the police interviews and the realization that the murderer could be someone she knew.
I should have expected the interviews. The police need to determine if it’s a case of suspicious death.
All the students had packed up and left except Amanda. She walked up beside Savannah. “After I load up my car, I insist that Edward and I introduce you to the local artists’ watering hole. You can’t just go home alone after all this piffle from the police. What do you say?”
Savannah hesitated. “I meant to start clearing out the office tonight and start an inventory of the shop equipment.”
“Come on. It’s just a ten-minute walk. Edward said he would meet us out front and walk with us.”
“You called him?”
“Yep, I need to take care of Mr. Webb’s famous daughter.” Amanda winked and hooked her arm through Savannah’s at the elbow. “You know you want to go. Besides, we can discuss that note while we’re there. Please, please, please?”
Savannah thought that Amanda was a little overeager to discuss a murder case, but she smiled at her enthusiasm anyway. Her energy provided a bright spot that Savannah didn’t realize she needed. She pressed the OFF button for the cash register. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
They walked next door and picked up Edward in front of Queen’s Head.
“How do you walk in those?” Savannah pointed to Edward’s black, highly decorated cowboy boots.
“Vanity . . . pure vanity. When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a cowboy and live out west. I bought these boots when I got promoted from dishwasher to busboy. They were expensive, but I love them.”
“What kept you from going out west to Colorado or New Mexico?”
Edward looked over to Savannah. “Brits also adore the sea. I think the west coast of Florida is as far as I’ll go.”
They crossed busy Central Avenue and in three short blocks walked into a low, industrial building with a three-story addition in the back.
Savannah laughed. “This doesn’t look like a brewery. It looks like a factory or distribution center.”
Amanda gave her a light punch to the arm. “Bingo! That’s exactly what it was.”
Edward tilted his head toward the gravel lot next to the building. “They made specialized industrial pipe here and held their inventory in the warehouse. There are still some pipes out in the car park.”
“How long has this place been here?” Savannah looked around the brightly furnished new brewery. How nice that it was so close to Webb’s. Edward and Amanda were right to insist that she accompany them for a social break.
“It’s been open about six months,” said Edward, peering at the list of beers handwritten on the chalkboard behind the bar. “The owner has lots of experience with brewing beer. He’s co-owner of the Bella Brava Trattoria downtown and he was always brewing beer to use in the fish and chips batter. It got to the point where they were selling that beer to local restaurants all around the Tampa Bay area. Lucky for us, he decided to make a real investment here and start a brewery.”
Amanda chose one of the high-top tables made of poured concrete with gray metal stools for seating.
Edward settled onto a stool. “I like the atmosphere here. The staff is friendly and the brewed selection is always changing. I’m bringing his three most popular beers into the pub next week. Customers are asking for them.”
Savannah scanned the chalkboard and found her thoughts reaching back to Seattle. Her friends had enthusiastically educated her in the subtleties of craft beer. She should call Ivy again tonight. It would be good to hear a familiar voice. “I love me a nice ale. How’s the Beach Blonde Ale?”
“It’s a good beer for Florida, refreshing and light,” said Edward, “with just enough hops to balance out the sweetness of the malt. It’s their bestselling brew.”
The server walked up and took their order. Edward ordered an India Pale Ale and Amanda asked for a light lager.
“Why is it called 3 Daughters Brewing?” asked Savannah.
“The owner has three daughters.” Edward turned around and pointed to a set of handprints forever immortalized in the concrete bar counter top. “Those are their handprints when the bar was being poured. It’s definitely a child- and pet-friendly place. Their hours on Sundays are only for the afternoon and they’re closed on Mondays.”
“That’s unusual. But very nice,” said Savannah. “Isn’t this place your competition? Just around the corner and all?”
Edward grinned. “That’s the beauty of a loyal local clientele. My pub has high end British fusion service and a full bar with cocktail specialties each day of the week. The 3 Daughters is the largest brewery in Florida with a fantastic tasting room, but no kitchen. They host food trucks on most nights. We co-exist very well and my business has increased since they opened.”
“What do you think about Office Boulli and the grilling?” Amanda put her neon green–tipped fingers over her mouth. “I mean the interviews.”
Savannah put a finger to her lips to shush Amanda while the server placed their pints on coasters and left them with a broad smile and a “Just give me a shout if you want another.”
After a long sip of her blonde, Savannah said, “It’s an indication that there is an investigation under way. But is that a good thing?” She looked at her new friends. “I think this is going to get ugly. They’ll be looking at someone in the shop who was working with Dad and Hugh.”
“The only one who fits that description is Jacob,” said Edward.
Amanda harrumphed. “That’s not likely. Well, how would they describe slimy Smythe and freaky Frank? They wanted Mr. Webb and Hugh out of their way so they could complete their nefarious deals.”
Edward and Savannah looked at Amanda long and hard.
“What?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just saying what most of the District is saying about those two. They are obvious suspects.” Amanda pounded her plump fist on the surface of the table. “It can’t be Jacob.”
“Well, like Officer Boulli said, if the police begin to think it was murder, Jacob would be his first suspect. What on earth would be Jacob’s motive?” Savannah asked.
“Looking at it from the outside”—Edward fiddled with the stack of coasters that were scattered around on each table—“it could be that he felt threatened by some issues that makes no sense to us at all.”
Amanda puffed her exasperation. “That’s ridiculous. He just isn’t capable. Look how devoted he is with Suzy.”
“I agree with Amanda. He might be the logical suspect, but I don’t for one minute think that it could be. It’s not within the realm of possibility for me.” Savannah realized that her passion was running away from her and took some calming breaths.
“I agree with Savannah. Edward, you’re outnumbered.”
Savannah looked down into the golden liquid and made a decision. “I think we have to take on the investigation before Officer Boulli makes such a hash of things, no one will be able to look for anyone but Jacob.”
Amanda and Edward looked at each other. “We agree, but how?”
Savannah sat up straight. “We have two advantages. One, my dad apparently figured out something quite a while ago and left me a trail to follow. Two, we’re clever. Between us,
we know more about the District than anyone on the police force.” She raised her beer for a toast. “We need to solve this case. Agreed?”
Edward raised his glass. “Agreed.”
Amanda raised her glass. “Agreed.”
Their glasses clinked and they each drank to their new adventure.
Savannah fingered the moisture hugging her beer glass. “So, given that none of us believe it’s Jacob, who could it be?”
Edward wriggled on his bar stool. “In my mind, the one who has the most to gain from the sale of Webb’s Glass Shop would be Frank. He gets the big contract and he eliminates competition in the whole city.”
“I remember that the Tampa Bay Times covered the competition because of the age of the historic stained glass. Just how much is that contract from the church worth?” asked Amanda.
“It’s about twenty thousand dollars a panel.” Savannah drained the last of her beer. “That’s a large chunk of change for a small glass shop. They want to do at least ten of the most important panels. Dad told me that Frank was livid that the church committee awarded the commission to Webb’s.”
“That’s a motive, sure enough,” said Amanda.
“I agree, but how on earth do we put him in the frame for it?” said Edward.
Savannah’s shoulders stiffened. “Well, one thing we can do is find out where he was on the days that my dad and Hugh died. If he doesn’t have an alibi, we have something to go on. If he has an alibi, then at least he is eliminated for good.”
“Good thinking, but how do we do that?” asked Edward.
Amanda scrunched her violet-shadowed eyes. “Well, we could ask him.”
Savannah smiled. “That’s direct. Since I’m on the hook to meet with him for lunch tomorrow, I can try to find out where he was.”
Amanda smiled. “Good luck with that. He’s been exceptionally obnoxious, lately. Whenever he came to Webb’s, there would be an argument between him and your father—almost every time.”
“What was the argument about?”
“I really tried to find out, but they were very clever. They would both go in the custom workshop or the office and close the door.” Amanda spread her hands wide, “Believe me, I tried to listen in on their conversation, but I have no idea what they were fighting about.”
Edward drained the last of his brew. “What about Slimy Smythe?”
“Again, I have an excellent excuse to talk with him about the shop and the other owners of the block. He should be easy to meet casually since he’s measuring all of us for demolition expenses.”
“That’s going to be the tricky one. He’s one of those compulsive smartphone junkies. He is obsessed by e-mail and would check it even when he was in the middle of discussing an offer with Mr. Webb. It’s distracting and annoying in the extreme.” Amanda’s phone pinged and she dived into one of her bags to look at the screen. “It’s my mother. Why on earth did I think it would be useful for her to have a cell phone?”
Edward signaled to the server. “That’s a great plan. Let’s have another round. Savannah, there’s a stout I want you to try. It’s a dark wheat with chocolate overtones. It carries a strong taste, but it’s very well executed. Good?”
Savannah nodded enthusiastically. “Bring it on.”
Edward waved to the server and asked her to bring a sample of the Brown Pelican.
Amanda’s phone pinged again and she gathered her multiple bags. “Not for me. I’m a lightweight and I’ve got to get over to the nursing home to see my mother. You wouldn’t believe how accurately she can tell time when I’m running a bit late.” She dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table and waved a cheery good-bye to them and to the server.
Savannah giggled. “I so enjoy having her around. She’s so funny and sincerely good people.”
“Things certainly have been wildly exciting here, I must say. What do you think the police are up to with these student interviews?”
“I feel vindicated, but I still don’t think they’re taking it seriously. And if they are—it’s Jacob I’m concerned about right now.”
“Do you think Jacob is the one?”
“You know him better than I do, but I agree with Amanda on that score. Jacob didn’t do it. He has a few quirks but they’re all related to either food or his environment. What do you think?”
Edward shrugged. “You could be right. I don’t know for sure, but your dad trusted Jacob, even though he apparently feared for his life. Your dad was indeed a suspicious man, but case in point, he gave Jacob a key to the back door. If anything, Jacob may be in as much danger as you are.”
“Rats. I forgot to call Burkart about the finances. Remind me tomorrow, please. Where is my brain? How do you organize yourself for getting everything done?”
Edward was looking down into his beer seemingly lost in thought.
Savannah touched his arm. “I’m worried about how the investigation will be conducted by Officer Boulli. He seems distant and detached from the facts of the case. He appears to just be walking through the process. I wonder how his boss views his behavior.”
“You spoke to Detective Parker for a few minutes. What’s he like?”
“He seemed the polar opposite of Officer Boulli. Boulli appears not the least bit interested in preventing a dangerous situation in the shop.”
“I haven’t met the famous Officer Boulli. He hasn’t come next door to question me even though I knew both men as well as everyone else in the District.”
“If Detective Parker takes the case away from Officer Boulli, I think things could go badly for Jacob. It might be better to keep the police at an uninformed distance until we get further along with our investigation.”
“Stop obsessing. We’re as bad as Boulli until we get some information.”
“That’s a fact.”
“How do you like this salty brew?” Edward pushed the sample glass toward Savannah.
She lifted the large shot glass, sniffed delicately, took a nice gulp and swirled it around her mouth.
“Hey,” said Edward, “you’ve done this before.”
Savannah tilted her head sideways, batted her eyelashes in an outrageous flutter, then swallowed the beer. Setting down the shot glass, she admitted, “I’ve been playing coy. I’ve been a beer cicerone since the week I turned twenty-one.”
“Cicerone?”
“It’s the equivalent of wine sommelier. In Seattle, I organized the city’s beer runs. They were very much like the Bad Santa Crawl here at Christmas and the Kilted Beer Run on St. Patrick’s. I also hosted a beer blog that had over five thousand followers.”
“So you officially know more about beer than I do.”
“Yep.” Savannah nodded her head, then sipped her beer. “Officially.”
Chapter 11
Wednesday Morning
On the third day of class, Savannah opened up the shop, started the cash register, and realized that Edward hadn’t delivered morning coffee along with his mouth-watering cranberry scones. She didn’t exactly expect him to bring her breakfast each day, but she was a little hungry and even a bit disappointed.
Stopping by the local gym had been the exact right thing to do. The boot camp training session was already in progress when she’d arrived but the instructor had welcomed her and she’d slipped into the mindless pattern of kettle bell lifting alternating with jumping jacks and the dreaded lunges. The crack of dawn class was a complete hodge-podge of young professionals, college students, and active retirees in need of a challenging exercise class.
For the first time in days, the knot at the base of her neck wasn’t trying to creep up the back of her head. She’d signed up for a one-month membership to keep up her fitness level and help reduce her stress.
The door jangled and she turned with a smile to greet those delicious scones, but it was Reverend Kline stepping through the front door. He was wearing his pastoral suit of light gray over a black shirt with a black clerical collar and narrow black leather tie-up shoes. He had a fol
der in his hand. “Good morning, Savannah. I was passing by on my way to see the church’s district superintendent and wanted to drop this brochure into your hands personally.” He held the folder out to her.
“Good morning, Reverend Kline. It’s nice to see you.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m feeling a bit alone in the world.” Savannah read the banner across the brochure. END OF LIFE GROUP COUNSELING—INSPIRATIONAL INTERVENTIONS IN GRIEF AND BEREAVEMENT. She held it away from her and looked askance.
“I know.” Reverend Kline shrugged his shoulder. “It’s a bit sensational, but it makes it easier for me to discuss grief with potential members of our therapy group. I established it about five years ago and I must take some small credit for building it into a successful part of our mission.”
Savannah flipped through the brochure and looked back to him. “I’m not sure this is what I need just now. This morning, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and stay there. Luckily, Rooney needs to go out and then needs to be fed. By then, I’ve started the day.”
“That’s exactly why you need to come and join the group. Each member has been where you are now. It really does help.” He scanned around the shop. “You’re continuing with the business?”
“I don’t think I want to talk about my father’s death to a group of strangers.” She flipped to the back page of the brochure and looked at the picture of kindly faces quoting words of sympathy and supportive testimonials. “Dad’s biggest contract was for your replacement windows. They require specific expertise. Hugh’s death has left a gap in skill and knowledge that will be difficult if not impossible to fill.”
“I thought your plan was to sell the house and the shop in order to return to Seattle.”
“Well, the actual plan was to sell Webb’s to Hugh, but that has been completely turned upside down. I want to finish teaching the class Hugh was all geared up to handle. I feel obligated because the students signed up and paid for it way in advance. I’m happy to keep Dad and Hugh’s last few commitments. They were real particular about commitments. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the backlog—probably cancel them. I don’t know. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.”
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