Down in Flames

by Cheryl Hollon

  Savannah looked over to Edward and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I certainly didn’t mean to offend. Although the case is classified as a suspicious death because of the behavior of the driver, I think it’s more serious. Officer Williams supports my working on Nicole’s case, but I’m trying to find a stronger justification for helping in their investigation. I’m sorry that this is upsetting, but I’ll be giving Officer Williams the contents of Nicole’s locker.”

  Elizabeth covered her eyes with her hand. “Officer Williams has been trying to reach me. I ignored her messages because I needed some time to myself to deal with this nightmare. I didn’t think things could get worse.” She lowered her hand and pointed to the cauliflower box on the floor of the utility room. “Is that what was in her locker?”

  Edward lifted the box and moved it over to one of the worktables. “We also found supplies and materials for painting graffiti. Did you have any idea that Nicole was doing that? I certainly had no clue.”

  Elizabeth carefully refolded the note and slipped it back into the black envelope. “She had a restless side to her personality. She would get intensely interested in something, a person, a craft, a type of music. Then she would feverishly collect or pursue the subject for a few months, then drop it like a hot rock. Her younger brother is very much the same.”

  “She has another brother?” asked Edward. “She never said.”

  “Well, if Nicole was the family’s black sheep, Alan is the family’s gray sheep. He supported Nicole against her parents’ wishes, so they have that in common. Her parents will occasionally talk to him, so through him she had some idea about what’s happening in the family. Nicole had a trust fund. He knew that I was the principle beneficiary upon her death and that the family was freaked out about that.”

  Savannah pulled a pen out of her pocket and looked for something to write on. Edward grabbed a napkin from the bar. “So, his name is Alan Borawski? Do you know where he lives?”

  “I think he’s involved in a farm-animal rescue organization. I can’t remember the name, but its north of New Port Richey. We don’t hear from him very often.”

  “Elizabeth, when we were in the hospital you—and you may not remember this—you said that Nicole had been courting trouble. Do you remember?”

  Elizabeth huffed out an exasperated breath. “No, I simply don’t. I only remember the terrible shock.”

  “Of course.” Savannah rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t want to upset Elizabeth, but she also wanted to understand what Elizabeth had meant by her remark about Nicole courting trouble. “Could it be her new obsession with graffiti?”

  “I probably reacted to her updating the will and how it would probably upset her family even more.”

  Savannah noted that. “What about you, Elizabeth? Do you have a will?”

  “Nicole’s family lawyer drafted one after we got married and he updated it to account for all the stuff in the trust fund. The one thing he told me I need is my own financial adviser right away. Nicole was pretty good with money, she had it growing up. I’m terrible. Can you recommend someone?”

  “Sure, I’m using my dad’s adviser. He’s helping me grow the business while not losing my shirt. His name is Burkart. His office is just down the street on Central.” As Savannah looked through her phone contacts, Edward handed her another napkin. She looked up Burkart’s address and phone number, wrote them on it, then gave it to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth took it, then stared at the box. “Nicole was a very complicated person. I don’t think we’ll ever know everything about her.”

  Chapter 16

  Wednesday afternoon,

  Webb’s Glass Shop

  Savannah left Queen’s Head Pub with a low-down feeling in her belly. Elizabeth’s reaction to SNARK’s letter seemed exaggerated emotionally. Could it be that she already knew about SNARK’s infatuation with Nicole? SNARK needed to be found—but not right now. It was almost time for the flameworking class. She opened the back door to Webb’s Glass Shop and found Amanda sitting at the oak roll top desk.

  “Back early? How’s your mother?”

  “They needed to give her a bath and adjust her medications, so it’s better if I’m not there. Then she feels free to ask her nurse questions that she doesn’t want me to hear. Then she takes a long nap afterwards.”

  Savannah stood behind her and rubbed the tension out of Amanda’s stress-tightened shoulders. “I’m sorry, Amanda. This is going to be a difficult time.”

  “Thank goodness for my morning class. It gives me a point of focus.” She leaned back into Savannah’s deep massage. “Wow, that feels good. So, where are you in the investigation of Nicole’s death?”

  “What?”

  Amanda turned around and pointed to the small chair beside the desk. “You are investigating, aren’t you?”

  Savannah sat. “Yes, Officer Williams reactivated my consultancy contract. I told her what you said about SNARK. She’s says it sounds a bit sketchy—mainly because it is.”

  “But this character is world famous.” Amanda leaned back in the oak swivel chair until it creaked in protest. She sat forward. “Can I do some research?”

  “I don’t really think—”

  “Please.” Amanda mimicked a puppy-dog look. “I need something to occupy my mind. I have a new high-powered tablet PC that’s incredible. The wireless internet at hospice is a high-speed demon. Please? Pretty please?”

  Savannah nodded. “On one condition.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “You need to hear it first.” Savannah reached over to hold Amanda’s hand. “You have to text me a status every fifteen minutes while you’re researching. Your mother’s condition is serious, and you could get sucked into your research world and miss something important with your mother. So, let me know when you start and then when you finish.”

  “But that seems overly cautious.” Amanda frowned and patted her soft, wavy hair.

  “Maybe so, but it’s the only way I’ll let you get involved with Nicole’s investigation. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Savannah heard the doorbell jangle, followed by a familiar chatter at the front door. She smiled again at Amanda and walked toward the front of the shop.

  Rachel and Faith Rosenberg were the first to arrive, almost immediately followed by Herbert. The remaining students trickled in so that at the stroke of one o’clock everyone was sitting at their stations.

  Savannah stepped over to a small table that held six sets of hand-blown wine goblets with a matching stem placed inside the bowl. She held up a set and separated the stem from the globe. “What’s missing here?”

  Faith raised her hand. “The stem?”

  “Yes,” said Savannah. “That’s what we’re going to make today. I’ve already made the globe and the foot. All you need to do is make the stems.”

  “But—” interrupted Rachel.

  Savannah looked over to Rachel. “No buts. You already have the skills to make a beautiful stem for these wineglasses. The technique we’ll use for our first stem is called latticinio. It’s a decorative type of twisted glass cane most commonly created from clear and white glass. After you have your stem thick enough and long enough, I will come around and attach the globes and feet for you.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Patricia. “I was going to leave before I embarrassed myself.”

  “I would never let you work outside your comfort level. That said, I have a few techniques to show you that will make your stem more interesting. First, I’ll show you how to merge two colors, then twist and pull them into a cane.” She lifted a shoebox full of glass rods. “I have our box of scrap rods for you to use as practice. Pick out two and punty them up on a clear rod. We’re going to make several twisted canes.”

  She handed the box around and everyone practiced successfully. Of course, the twins needed special handling, but they were so delighted with the results, it was impossible to be annoyed.

  Myla
Kay appeared distracted and Savannah had to repeat an explanation of the process to her separately. It still didn’t seem to sink in, but once Myla Kay got a good look at what the twins were doing, she picked up the technique right away and produced a beautiful stem. Again, she used strong contrasting colors that combined in unexpected beauty.

  “Now I’m going to show you how to make a simple seahorse to use as the stem of your wineglass. I’m first going to mix two shades of blue to give the form some texture, then I’ll make a rough shape and show you how to pinch out fins and the tail with a special tool.”

  The time flew by as Savannah helped each student fashion a seahorse. The twins used coral and yellow for their stems, and everyone was delighted with their final product. She took a group picture of the students holding their still warm wineglasses.

  The purpose was to not only post the images for social media promotion, but as a practical way to identify who belonged to each individual goblet when she unloaded the kiln the next day.

  “What a great class, everyone. See you tomorrow when we make our first bead.”

  Again, she asked Herbert to stay behind. “I am so impressed with your seahorse. You wield the tools well and your color choices are wonderful. Have you given any thought to my suggestion to join the teaching staff?”

  He nodded. “I have. I talked it over with my wife.” He looked up at Savannah with a wry little grin. “Apparently, she’s been very concerned about my retirement. So far, she says I have spent more time watching TV each day than I did in a month when I was working. She would be delighted if I started teaching part time.” He paused. “I would love to.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll refund your class fees and apply a deep discount to your materials. We’ll need to teach one class together, and then you’ll be on your own for scheduling future workshops.”

  He nodded. “I’m in.”

  After Herbert left, she cleared up the classroom and started preparing rods for the next day’s beadmaking class. The beads would be formed on mandrels—small rods that looked like barbecue skewers. The bead-release coating that she was painting on each mandrel needed to dry overnight. She coated her entire inventory of twenty-four mandrels and placed them upright in a rack to dry.

  Her cell phone rang. “Hey, Frances. How’s Jacob doing?”

  There was a sharp edge to the judge’s voice. “I’m conflicted.” Frances paused for a second. “You know perfectly well Jacob loathes using technology, even though I kept telling him it would be the perfect way for him to communicate. He’s been coping since he stopped speaking. He only gets agitated when asked a question or told what to do. Anyway, he’s managed to text me five times today about when he can come back to work. Five times. All the texts were clear, no typos, very adult. I want to hear what you think about it.”

  “He has gotten more comfortable with a phone since the accident. How do you feel about him coming back to work?” asked Savannah.

  “Before this, he’s never shown much interest in using a phone. He’s barely agreed to my insistence that he carry his cell on his person at all times, just in case he has an anxiety or asthma attack.”

  “Texting is the perfect way for him to communicate—I didn’t think he would ever get comfortable with it.” Savannah paused. “Why are you conflicted?”

  “This horrible event has had a strangely maturing impact on Jacob. He’s taking responsibility for helping to find a cure for his mutism. He explained to me, using text messages, that he believes that the sooner he returns to his normal routine, the quicker both his speech and memory will return.”

  “Wow, that’s a change. It’s a good change isn’t it?”

  “It is. That’s going from being compliant with me and the specialists who advise us, straight to being responsible for managing his own health and welfare needs.”

  “Given that he’s communicating so well, I’m fine for him to come back to Webb’s Studio. Tomorrow, if he wants.”

  “I’ll tell him. He’ll be delighted. Am I the only one who is a bit upset at his behaving like a grown-up?”

  “Isn’t that what we all want?”

  “It is, intellectually, what I have always dreamed Jacob would do.”

  “Then why are you conflicted?”

  Frances sniffed. “My baby is growing up.”

  Chapter 17

  Wednesday afternoon,

  police headquarters

  Officer Williams returned to the common squad room and discovered it was completely empty. Only the rumpled, worn, and carelessly torn carpet remained. A memo was taped to one of the walls announcing that the office was operational in the new building.

  She checked Detective Parker’s office. There was another note taped to the wall of the empty office.

  To Whom It May Concern:

  My old office is as you see it, and my new office will not be ready until Friday. I appear to have been lost in the move to the extent that I’m unknown to the St. Petersburg Police Department. Getting my identity back, either physically or digitally, from the damaged data servers will probably take a few days. The friendly folks at Ferg’s Sports Bar have given me the use of a booth, and I will be working from there until sanity has returned.

  Regards,

  Detective Parker

  Officer Williams twisted her lips to one side and bit at the corner. She had a decision to make. Should she find him at Ferg’s Sports Bar and risk his well-deserved wrath at the injustice of his situation? Or should she could make her way into the new building and call him on her cell phone to make her report?

  What would he do?

  Decision made, she went out and crossed the street. Ferg’s Sports Bar was owned by Mark Ferguson, a native of St. Petersburg, graduate of Florida State University, and former teacher in the Pinellas County school system.

  In 1992, he had an idea to open a sports bar in a run-down area of downtown St. Pete, known as the Gas Plant District. With the help of family and friends, Mark purchased the Sunoco gas station that became the first Ferg’s building.

  He built the sports bar with reclaimed wood from torn-down houses and repurposed materials from All Children’s Hospital and the Derby Lane Greyhound Track. It was now the most unique restaurant, bar, and event venue on the west coast of Florida. Mark was a mainstay of his creation, and Joy had met him several times. It was completely in character for him to offer Detective Parker a temporary work space.

  Officer Williams wandered through the rooms until she was at the back, farthest from the street noise. She found Detective Parker at a booth with a notepad, several manila folders, a white mug of coffee, his cell phone, and two pencils precisely arranged on the surface of the wooden table. His posture was ramrod straight, and he was staring at this cell phone like it was a live rattlesnake.

  “Sir?”

  Only his eyes moved to glare at Officer Williams. “Welcome to my office.”

  “What on earth is going on?” She scooted onto the bench across from him.

  “There’s been a mistake with the layout of the new offices. A big mistake. I don’t have a new office.”

  “What? How did that happen?” She swallowed quickly. “I saw the final layout last week. Your office was clearly marked. It was one of the larger spaces. It had a window.”

  “Apparently the powers that be can’t count. They were short by one office.”

  “Who’s going to get yours?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t really care.” He glanced back at his cell phone. “I had a pointed chat with the head of facilities. He’s going to do a shuffle of some sort and call back when they get it straightened out.” He performed an exaggerated eyeroll. “I merely need to be patient.”

  To keep from grinning, Joy pressed her lips together so tightly she could feel them tingle.

  Detective Parker broke into a big smile. “Yes, I know I’m acting like a petulant nine-year-old, but a work space is important to me. I feel adrift without an office.” He waved a hand to one of
the servers passing by. “Coffee with cream for this officer, please.”

  The pent-up giggle exploded into a full belly laugh, and Joy couldn’t speak for a few seconds. “I’m really sorry. I hope it gets fixed soon.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, then planted her work face on. “However, I’m grateful for the opportunity to take the lead in this hit-and-run.” She opened her notepad. “I’ve started our investigation with Nicole’s family. There apparently was a split when she announced her marriage to Elizabeth. She has both parents and three brothers for immediate family, and an uncle as well. They all live nearby.”

  “How did they split over her engagement?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to contact anyone yet. Everyone is out. I’ll get more information from Edward Morris and Savannah. If I know Savannah, she’ll have ferreted out all of Nicole’s personal details.”

  “What has Savannah uncovered so far?”

  Referring to her notes, Officer Williams reported, “I’m meeting her for coffee in a few minutes to get an update and the contents of Nicole’s work locker.”

  “That should have been done by Forensics.”

  “Unfortunately, it was missed at the time of the hit-and-run, and apparently Nicole’s wife, Elizabeth, was ready to take off with the contents. If Savannah hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t have anything to analyze at all.”

  Detective Parker folded his arms. “Fair point. Go on.”

  “Nicole seemed to be more than just an acquaintance with the graffiti artist SNARK. It appears that Nicole was beginning to paint graffiti herself in the late hours, after she closed up Queen’s Head Pub. Savannah has also made an appointment with the SHINE Mural Festival organizer. The main office is near her glass shop, so I think I’ll go with her.”

  Detective Parker furrowed his brow. “The graffiti interest seems completely out of character. I met Nicole a few times over this last year. I would never have guessed that she was interested in deliberately defacing property with self-aggrandizing variations of a secret name. I simply don’t get it.”