VERY GOOD, JACOB. YOU’RE DOING FINE. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?
Jacob sat still, then turned his head to look out the sliding glass doors to the balcony. The silence lasted for several quiet minutes. He patted Suzy, then turned back to his phone and resumed texting.
NO, NOTHING.
Frances stood. “I think that’s all for now. He finds this upsetting, and I have yet to agree to a treatment plan with his therapist.”
“Why?”
“The main treatment for selective mutism is behavior therapy. Sometimes medication plays a role in successful treatment. Behavioral therapy should be the first choice, and would be my first choice, but Jacob’s therapist wants to start with medication.” Frances glanced at Jacob. “He knows I’m uncomfortable resorting to drugs without fully exploring other treatments. This is not our first rodeo.”
Officer Williams raised her eyebrows. “What if the therapist insists?”
“I’ll be looking for a new therapist.”
Officer Williams thought Judge Underwood would win that argument.
Chapter 12
Tuesday evening,
hospice
Savannah found Amanda sitting in a sturdy lounge chair at her mother’s bedside. Mrs. Blake looked too tiny and frail to be in such an oversized bed. The head of the hospital bed was raised, and Mrs. Blake was curled up on her side like a child, listening to Amanda read. Her eyes were bright and focused on Amanda’s expressive face.
The bright blue book, Clownfish Blues, was open and Amanda was reading from it in multiple voices and gesturing with her free hand. She looked up. “Hi, Savannah. Mom, it’s my boss, Savannah. You remember her, don’t you?” Savannah thought Amanda sounded a little nervous asking that last question.
“Of course I remember her.” Mrs. Blake turned toward Savannah. “Give us a kiss, dear. It’s lovely to see you.” She reached out a pale arm. Savannah walked around the huge bed, gently held the bony fingers, and kissed her papery cheek.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Blake?” Savannah bent over to look into two piercing eyes.
“Please call me Viola, dear. I’m doing as well as I can. Thank you for letting Amanda take some time off work to read to me. I love the way she animates a book. I think she’s better than those books on tape she used to buy for me.”
“Mom!”
Mrs. Blake looked over to Amanda. “Don’t ‘mom’ me, young lady. You’re very good. You should read to the little kiddies at the library.”
Savannah laughed. “Do you mind if I take Amanda away for a minute? I need to ask her some questions.”
“You mean about that young woman who was killed by the hit-and-run driver?”
“Mom! How did you find out?” said Amanda.
“I’m not dead yet. I can push the buttons on the remote and watch the news.” She sounded indignant, but Savannah saw a twinkle in her eye.
Amanda looked up to the ceiling and spread out her hands. “What can I do?”
Mrs. Blake shooed them away with her hands. “Get out and chat. I need to rest my eyes for a little while.”
Amanda adjusted the pillows behind her mother’s head and tucked the soft blankets around her tiny form. “I’ll be right back.”
They found a bench in the hallway not too far away. “What’s up? What questions?”
“I suspect that Nicole’s hit-and-run was deliberate. I won’t be able to let this lie. To set my mind at ease, Edward and I are going to investigate. Well, he doesn’t know it yet, but as soon as I tell him that it was no accident, I know he’ll help me.”
“But I’m not able—” Amanda began to bluster.
“I know, I know.” Savannah gave Amanda a side hug. “You cannot leave your mother’s side and I don’t want you to. I just need for you to tell me everything you know about Nicole’s life. Her interests, her relations, her hobbies, anything.”
Amanda fiddled with the pages of Clownfish Blues. “I didn’t know her all that well, but she did come next door sometimes to take a break.” Amanda raised a hand. “Not when I was holding class, of course.”
“Of course. Anything will help. You know her brother and her wife. You’re the one who recommended her to Edward in the first place.”
“Yeah. She was a server at that New Orleans restaurant down the street. What was the name? Oh, Ricky P’s. They’re out of business now. That’s a shame; they had genuine beignets and a creole shrimp étouffée to die for. Sorry, I can’t seem to stay on track with things. Nicole seemed way too smart to be working as a waitress, so I suggested that she apply for the manager job at Queen’s Head Pub. Edward was running himself ragged.”
“Did you know she was estranged from her parents?”
“I did.” Amanda lowered her voice. “She made a comment last Mother’s Day that I was lucky to have the relationship I have with my mom. Nicole was down that day. I don’t think she was jealous in a mean way, just knowing what she was missing made her sad.”
“It can be a difficult day for me sometimes, too. I was only nine when my mom died. I didn’t have that much time with her. Every year after that, Dad always made a reservation in a nice restaurant. We would get all dressed up, go out and be thankful that we had her in our lives. He would remind me of the things that she did to show how much she loved us.”
“Your dad was one of a kind.”
“He was.” Savannah pressed her lips together for a moment. “In the last month or so, did Nicole mention anything that was bothering her—like politics? Discrimination? Her family? Anything?”
“Nothing like that at all, but she did have a passion for the mural artists.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, there’s one in particular with a funny name that she was wild about. He was a graffiti artist who had just been awarded his first work in the SHINE Mural Festival last year. Nicole and Elizabeth went to see him several times while he was painting his assigned wall.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know his real name. He signs his work as SNARK.”
“SNARK?”
“He’s a real character. No one admits to knowing who he is and he paints his murals mostly at night, covered head to toe in a ninja outfit. Only his eyes were uncovered.”
“Right. I read about that in the Tampa Bay Times. Wasn’t he the winner last year and didn’t show up to receive his award?”
“That’s him. Instead, he left a note in an envelope taped to his winning mural. The note instructed the committee to leave his prize in cash taped to an obscure mural. The prize wasn’t huge, but it did add an element of mystique to his reputation. He encouraged the festival organization to offer bigger prizes the following year.”
“That’s unusual.”
“Nicole said he was here from Los Angeles and has a huge following there. Any building that has a SNARK graffiti automatically increases its value assessment by at least a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Wow! Any idea why he keeps his identity secret? Did she know?” asked Savannah.
“She thought it was something to do with art forgery. Apparently, he can expertly mimic any artist of any period and usually includes a famous image in his murals.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “That’s amazing. I need to look at his works a little closer.”
“I think Nicole was obsessed with his identity. She mentioned that discovering his identity was something she wanted to do. At one point, she tried to talk Edward into using one of the pub’s walls for one of the festival murals.”
“Well, that wouldn’t work. Edward is very clear about his branding at the pub.”
“Right. He didn’t want the hassle at the time.” Amanda stood. “Look, I need to get back to Mom. If I’m out of the room too long, she falls asleep. She’s been sleeping a lot the last few days. When I think about it, it’s been more like the past few weeks.”
Savannah stood as well. “Of course. Just one more thing. Do you think Nicole had unmasked SNARK?”
>
“Elizabeth thinks she did, and I agree with her. I think there was some tension between them about that. Elizabeth was concerned that Nicole’s obsession about SNARK might be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? In what way?” asked Savannah.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Certainly not healthy though,” said Amanda over her shoulder as she went back into her mother’s room.
Savannah went out to her Mini and before she started it up, she pulled out her phone and called Officer Williams to report her findings from the Mustard Seed Inn. She held back telling her about her conversation with Amanda regarding SNARK because she wanted to run it by Edward first.
After that she searched the internet for the mural artist SNARK. The results revealed that the artist was quite a character. Obsessive about not revealing his identity to the point that his Wikipedia page read like the biography of an international spy. That could be a branding technique, or he could be hiding something sinister. Savannah closed the app.
Maybe Elizabeth was right to be concerned.
Chapter 13
Tuesday evening,
Savannah’s house
Savannah’s heart lifted when she pulled into the carport of her Craftsman bungalow. Edward’s vintage Indian motorcycle was tucked into the carport with just enough room left over for her Mini—he was home early.
It must mean something that I feel happy knowing he’s home. I wish I were more comfortable with the idea of marriage.
She unlocked the door, walked into the living room, and plopped her keys into the ceramic bowl on the table by the door.
Rooney scrambled up from the rug in front of the fireplace and wriggled to a sitting position in front of her. “Good boy, Rooney. You’re such a good boy.” Savannah rewarded him for his calm greeting with a big cuddle. Rooney immediately canceled out his good behavior by bowling Savannah over with big puppy licks. She ended up on the floor with Rooney on her chest. “Rooney! Sit.” He fell all over himself trying to lick her and sit at the same time.
Edward came in from the kitchen holding a TV tray stacked with a dessert, tea, napkins, and spoons. “Well, that went well.” He smiled. “Are you done wrestling?”
Savannah scrambled up from the floor and gave Edward a long kiss. “Hi. What’s this?” She eyed the tray.
“This is ginger tea and a hot gingerbread pudding with a side of vanilla ice cream. It’s a new recipe. Sit. We’ll try it out here.”
Savannah sat on the couch and Edward sat beside her. She tilted her head. “Isn’t this the second new recipe today?”
Edward twisted his lips to the side. “Guilty as charged. I’m cooking my way through my feelings. How is it?”
Savannah spooned a large bite of the bread pudding with a smidge of ice cream. She let the flavors roll around in her mouth, then rolled her eyes back into her head and hummed her pleasure. She followed that with a sip of the tea. When she could finally speak, she said, “Edward, this is the best you’ve ever done. This has to go on the menu.” She turned back to the dessert and they were both silent until there was nothing left.
“I talked to Amanda at hospice.”
“How’s her mother?”
Savannah sighed deeply and could feel her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Edward. It’s not going to be very long before she passes. This is going to overwhelm Amanda.”
“But her mother has been frail for a long time. Surely Amanda must understand that her mom is slipping away?”
“Intellectually, I think she understands that these are her mother’s last days—but emotionally, she’s not really prepared. No one ever is.”
They both sat silent for a few minutes. “Losses are hard,” said Edward.
Savannah stood and grabbed the dessert tray. “Help me clear up in the kitchen. I think I’ve found a reason for Joy to give me a chance to participate in the investigation of Nicole’s accident.”
Edward followed her into the kitchen. “How? There’s no connection to the art community at all. That’s the only way for you to get hired as a subject matter expert—your expertise is in art.”
“Au contraire.” Savannah began rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. “Amanda said that Nicole was a fan of one of the mural artists who paints on our buildings. He has a secret identity. I looked him up when I was in the hospice parking lot. He not only creates murals for our annual festival, but also sprays political images on sidewalks, train cars, trash cans, walls—any urban surface where he can plant his stenciled images. I could talk to the organizers of the SHINE Mural Festival and see what I can find out about contacting some of the local underground graffiti artists. I think Nicole was determined to unmask his real identity and that’s why she was killed.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch. Do you think Joy will be able to take you on as a subject matter expert on that alone?”
“I would like to think so. Though you and I are both critically short-handed . . . You’ve lost an experienced manager. I’ve lost an apprentice for who knows how long, and Amanda is dealing with her dying mother. I probably should just keep out of this one.”
Edward snorted. “That’s never stopped you before. I’m convinced that if you hadn’t fallen in love with glass, you could have had a lucrative career as a private detective.”
“Right, but I overcommit all the time.” Savannah finished the last dish, wiped out the sink, and cleaned the counters. Drying her hands on a towel, she said, “It usually turns out all right, but it adds stress to our already hectic lives.” She paused. “You finish here. I’ll call Joy again. I think she’ll agree with me about SNARK.”
Joy answered on the first ring. “Hey, Savannah. It’s late. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize. Nothing’s wrong. Well, a bit suspicious would be more accurate. I want to run something by you and maybe get myself back on the clock as a consultant.”
“I don’t really see a connection for you to join the investigation. Nicole was a bartender, she doesn’t have a connection to your area of expertise. She was not an artist.”
“Yes, but according to Amanda, Nicole was obsessed with unmasking the identity of a graffiti artist known as SNARK. He’s affiliated with the local SHINE Festival and seems to be a social media phenomenon.”
The phone was silent.
“Joy? Are you there?”
“Yep, just thinking.” She was silent for a few more seconds. “Okay, that is a connection to the art community—a very tentative one, but it could qualify you as a subject matter expert. I’ll run it by Detective Parker in the morning. I’ll let you know, but don’t act without my authorization. He might not agree. This is a very sketchy connection.”
“No problem,” said Savannah. “Thanks.”
Edward leaned against the counter with his arms folded. He grimaced. “I still don’t see how it plays a part in Nicole’s death.”
Savannah turned from the sink. “All graffiti is evidence of either social or political dissent, but stencils have an extraordinary place in history. They’ve been used to start revolutions and to stop wars for centuries. Maybe she discovered an underlying message in his work. Maybe. I don’t think this was an accidental hit-and-run. I suspect we are investigating a murder.”
Chapter 14
Wednesday morning,
old police headquarters
Officer Joy Williams knocked on the doorjamb of Detective Parker’s nearly empty office. The change since her last visit was huge. The only items remaining were the empty filing cabinets and his small round conference table with its four side chairs. A single sheet of paper lay on the conference table, and Detective Parker stood staring at it with his hands on his hips.
“What!” Detective Parker barked without lifting his eyes from the sheet of paper.
“Sir, I need just a moment of your time.” Officer Williams stepped into the hollow sounding office.
“You can have all my moments, Officer Williams.” Detective Parker folded his arms across his
chest. “The powers that be have decided that my new office is not ready for occupancy, but they didn’t tell me that until the movers had whisked away the contents of my office. Everything. Everything. My pencils, my pens, my stapler, my PC, my phone. Even my cell phone charger.” He heard his cell phone beep. He pulled it out of his inner jacket pocket and looked at the battery life remaining. “I’m down to fifteen percent!” He stood there a minute, looking at his draining cell phone, then looked at Officer Williams.
“What’s that smell?” asked Officer Williams.
“Smell?” Detective Parker sniffed the air. “There’s nothing left in here except—” He looked down at the dull gray carpet. “A million instances of spilt coffee, Cokes, greasy lunches eaten at the PC, and birthday cakes. Some parts of this building date back to the nineteen fifties. What you smell, Officer Williams, is over sixty-five years of memories.”
Then his eyes began to sparkle, and his lip twitched. He lifted his head back and laughed like a child. “Why am I getting into such a state? We used to investigate crimes with nothing at our fingertips but wits, a pen, and a notepad. We can do that again. What did you need?”
Officer Williams hesitated. She wasn’t sure now if he was angry or amused. She hoped he wasn’t angry. “Sir, I—” She didn’t know if she should continue. He had never seemed so distant.
“Go on. Make your report. I’m over it.” He pulled out one of the conference table chairs for Officer Williams and sat in another one. “What’s the latest?”
She sat, pulled out her notebook and cleared her throat. “Sir, I’ve been reviewing the evidence on the Nicole Borawski hit-and-run incident. I couldn’t find the filed report from Traffic. I have the hard copy I printed out. I don’t normally do that but it’s a good thing I did. The electronic one has vanished from the server.”
Detective Parker frowned.
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