Down in Flames

by Cheryl Hollon

  “Frankly, me neither. But it goes to prove we really don’t know what secrets our friends are carrying around, do we?”

  “Well said.” Detective Parker’s cell phone rang and vibrated on the surface of the scarred wooden table. He answered the call. “Detective Parker.” He sat listening and then a smile slowly spread across his face. “That’s very good. I’ll be right over.”

  Officer Williams raised her eyebrows as a question.

  “They’ve sorted out an office for me at last.” Detective Parker began gathering up his possessions. “Stop by after your meeting with Savannah. Let’s just hope those failed servers have been restored and we can get back to normal.”

  “Normal, sir? We don’t have normal—we investigate murders.”

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday afternoon,

  Queen’s Head Pub

  Savannah walked through the front door of the nearly empty pub and spied Officer Williams seated at what was becoming her posse’s favorite table, right in front of the women’s restroom. “Hi, Joy. Have you ordered?”

  “Yes. I’m trying something new, a green tea maccha-thingy. Edward recommended it.”

  Savannah raised her eyebrows. “It may not be drinkable. He has been experimenting with everything.” She held out her hand and waggled it. “Some are fabulous, some are . . . less good.”

  “We’ll see. He’s bringing one for you as well.” Officer Williams smirked. “We’ll suffer together.”

  “I heard that!” Edward brought a tray with two glass cups of a green creamy liquid topped with an inch of white-frothed cream. He also set down a large plate of ginger-pecan scones.

  Savannah clenched her jaw, then opened her mouth to protest. “Another new scone recipe?”

  Edward tilted his head. “I’ll get Nicole’s locker contents.” He left before Savannah could voice her concern over so much experimentation.

  “We’re still going to talk to the SHINE organizer?”

  “Right after we down this horrible green concoction.” Savannah lifted the glass cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. She turned down her lips, squinted her eyes and shivered. “Oh no. This is absolutely horrible.” She eyed Officer Williams. “Your turn.”

  Officer Williams inhaled a bracing breath and took a sip. Her lips pursed, and she choked down a swallow. “This is awful. Where can we dump it?”

  Savannah grabbed both cups and went into the ladies’. She quickly dumped the contents into the sink, returned to the table, and set the empty cups in front of them.

  Edward returned from the back of the pub with the fauliflower box, securely taped.

  Officer Williams took the box. “Thanks, Edward. I’ll go through this and see what it adds to our investigation.” She eyed Savannah. “We’ve got to go. Thanks for the tea.” Officer Williams headed for the front door.

  “You haven’t touched the scones, and what did you think of the tea?”

  “Hmmm. I’m not a real fan of green tea.” Savannah gave him a tender kiss. “Stop with the experimentation for now. Focus on winning the Best Burger in the Burg competition. We’re going to find Nicole’s killer. I promise.”

  Officer Williams was waiting for her outside the pub. “How far is it to the SHINE headquarters? Can we walk?”

  “Absolutely. Their office is across the street from Haslam’s Book Store. I’m sure the SHINE organizers would appreciate it if we walked instead of leaving a patrol car parked in front for everyone to see. There would be questions.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Funny how that makes people nervous,” said Officer Williams. She adjusted her utility belt and waved an arm toward the street. “After you.”

  They walked into the small storefront that had a poster announcing the upcoming SHINE festival. The door was locked, but there was a small doorbell with a note taped over it to ring for access.

  Officer Williams pressed the button and they heard the door lock click. A middle-aged man with a full head of shoulder-length white hair tied at the neck opened the door. “Hey, Officer. Has another mural been vandalized?”

  “No, sir. Not that I’ve heard, anyway,” said Officer Williams. “Can we come in and talk to you about one of the mural artists?”

  “Sure, come on in.”

  The man stepped aside, and Officer Williams and Savannah entered a small room about forty feet deep that contained a large square worktable with stacks of mural drawings and two office desks at the back.

  He stuck out his hand. “My name is Vince Currier. I’m the Director of the SHINE Festival this year.”

  Officer Williams smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Officer Williams and this my consultant, Savannah Webb. She’s—”

  Vince interrupted. “Aren’t you the new owner of Webb’s Glass Shop?”

  Savannah shook his hand with an equally firm grip. “Yes, since the beginning of the year.”

  Vince waved a hand to a circled hodgepodge collection of chairs in front of the two desks. “Have a seat. If you don’t have mural defacement to report, how can I help?”

  Officer Williams cleared her throat and pulled out her notebook and pen. “We’re investigating the hit-and-run accident that occurred on Monday afternoon. It appears that the young lady who was killed was involved in trying to identify a graffiti artist named SNARK. Are you familiar with that name?”

  “You’re talking about Nicole, aren’t you?”

  Savannah said, “Yes, she was struck right in front of my shop. She died in the hospital. We found all the materials that she would need for graffiti in her work locker. So she was obviously not public about her interest. Did you know she was an amateur graffiti artist?”

  Vince lowered his head for a second, then looked at them each in turn. “I knew she was interested in the identity of SNARK. She was one of his regular commenters on his daily Facebook posts. She pestered me for more information about him for weeks before our latest SHINE Festival. I thought it was unhealthy, but I meet all sorts in this job. Artists are inherently strange and strangely obsessed.”

  Savannah pulled out her phone. “Hang on. SNARK has a Facebook page?”

  “He does. It’s simple—just SNARK.”

  Savannah opened the app and found SNARK’s page. The first post was a graffiti image obviously taken in the dark, just after it was completed. She scrolled down in the comments and saw a comment from Nosy Barkeep.

  “That’s got to be Nicole’s street name. It’s her initials.” She searched the comments on several earlier posts and each had one or more comments from Nosy Barkeep.

  Closing the app, Savannah glanced at Officer Williams. “She was seriously obsessed. Also, the images are mostly in the area right around our section of Central Avenue. He must live nearby.”

  Vince agreed. “She kept asking me for more information about him—really made herself a pest.”

  “What did you tell her?” asked Officer Williams.

  “Everything I knew,” said Vince.

  “Which was . . .” said Savannah.

  “The same as everyone else. Absolutely nothing.”

  Chapter 19

  Wednesday afternoon,

  Webb’s Glass Shop

  Savannah shuttled out the last students from Webb’s Glass Shop with no time to spare. Her meeting with Officer Williams was important, but she had been forced to invite Joy to meet with her at the shop instead of the new café, Bandit Coffee Company. Amanda had gone to hospice and there wasn’t anyone else to keep the store open. She couldn’t keep closing up and expect to keep her business open.

  Joy walked in with two takeaway espressos and a six-pack of the little shop’s signature specialty—pumpkin coffee muffins.

  Savannah hurried over to give Joy a brief hug and took one of the espresso cups. “Sorry to deprive you of the atmosphere of the Bandit. News has gotten around that it’s a great coffeehouse, so it might be around for a while. I’ll be as quick as I can with an update. Mm, that muffin looks good.” She and Joy went to the back
office, where Savannah sat in the old oak office chair and Joy plopped down in the side chair.

  “How’s the move to the new building?” Savannah asked.

  “My new digs are great. I’ll unpack my single box this afternoon, but Detective Parker is still livid over the mix-up with the offices.” She took a huge bite of her muffin, then mumbled, “But it’s all right now, and he’s moving in as we speak.”

  Savannah sank her teeth into one of the muffins and a silent reverence took hold. They both smiled, in pumpkin heaven.

  “Do you have news?” asked Officer Williams after a quick swish of coffee.

  “Yes, Vince called a few minutes ago. He forgot to tell us that Nicole was excited about engaging on-line with SNARK. This was right before her accident.”

  “How does he know?”

  “Apparently, SNARK paints or bombs, as they call it, every Saturday. He has a huge social media following that are obsessed with being among the first to spot his newest work.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I looked at his website. Every Sunday morning, he posts an image of the night’s work. Then he challenges his followers to find the newest one. There’s usually a response within the hour with a picture of the new image.”

  “Does the winner get a prize?”

  Savannah shook her head. “Nope, just the honor of being first. It’s crazy.”

  “This is smart. But this also means, if he’s working every Saturday night, he must scout out a location beforehand and then do the actual work. He must be operating in one general location somewhere close by, otherwise the travel time would make this impossible. It’s an interesting subculture. Anything else?”

  “I’ve got another approach to get in touch with SNARK. Amanda suggested that I pose as a potential client with the idea that I want him to paint a mural on the side of Webb’s Glass Shop. I’m offering a fee large enough to attract his attention.”

  “If his identity is secret, how does that work? Someone must pay him. If he’s expecting to make money, then everything associated with that must be in place. Well, you know about that part. Tax numbers, checking accounts, 1099 forms and the whole deal.”

  “Somehow he manages to do business in cash. I haven’t asked my accountant yet about how I would expense it, but with a SNARK image on my building, the property’s value will skyrocket. The least I can do is give it a try.”

  Officer Williams polished off the last few crumbs of her muffin. “That might work. You could get a jump on us. We’re stuck with merely a description of a white car. Pretty much anything else would advance the case. Meanwhile, I need to get back and make sure no one jumps my claim in the new building.” She sipped the last of her coffee and got up. “It’s like the wild west up there.”

  Savannah rose as well. “Could you check for anything in your system about SNARK?”

  “Sure, but since that’s an alias, the probability of a decent result is dim. Plus, we are still in no-man’s-land with restoring the servers, but I can tap into some of the global databases that aren’t affected. Also, do you have time to go with me to interview Nicole’s uncle? I know you’re pressed for time, but he lives nearby, and I could use another pair of ears.”

  “Mmmgph,” Savannah mumbled around her muffin. “I can go only if it’s within the next hour. I’ll leave a note on the door. Again.”

  “Terrific.”

  Savannah pulled a page out of the black backpack she took everywhere. “Edward and I are going to look for this.” She placed it in front of Officer Williams. “According to the time stamp on the back, it’s one of the last images that Nicole snapped. We want to see if it offers any clues or hidden messages.”

  “Thanks for getting an artist’s view of this.” She picked up the picture and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Savannah.

  “I recognize that area. There was a house nearby that I considered buying. That’s a pretty rough section of town.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Regardless, I’ll alert the local patrol that you’ll be in the area. They’ll make a few extra circuits while you’re looking around. I’ll also have them connect with you, so look for them to make contact.”

  “Sure.”

  “Only if they don’t get pulled away for something urgent, of course.”

  “Of course. Remember, we’ll have the very large, very excited, very protective Rooney with us.”

  “Hah! You’ll be fine then.”

  Chapter 20

  Wednesday afternoon,

  Nicole’s uncle’s house

  Savannah rushed through the closing routine for Webb’s Glass Shop, then hopped into the squad car with Officer Williams.

  “This won’t take long,” said Officer Williams. “I’ve called ahead, so he’s expecting us.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “In the penthouse of the newest condominium tower downtown, ONE St. Petersburg.”

  The new development was a game changer in St. Petersburg. The forty-one stories contained only luxury condominiums that started at nearly a million dollars each. The influx of so many affluent residents affected the entire community in positive cash-flow ways. The St. Petersburg downtown ambiance would never be called sleepy again.

  “Wow, he is the rich uncle. That’s super exclusive and the tallest of the new buildings.”

  “So far, I hear there are plans for another one, even taller but farther west.”

  “I heard that too, but I think it’s in either permit difficulties or financial trouble.”

  They pulled into the parking garage and Officer Williams found the guest parking the concierge had described. The concierge met them in the lobby. His uniform was the perfect replication of a New York doorman: a tailored double-breasted jacket with brass buttons and a silk top hat.

  “Good afternoon, Officer Williams and Miss Webb. Mr. Borawski is expecting you.” He led them to an elevator marked private. “Mr. Borawski has been rather fragile of late and he’s naturally upset over the death of his favorite niece. I advise you to be as gentle as you can under the circumstances. Mr. Borawski’s caregiver will meet you.”

  They zipped up to the penthouse in a flash. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out to find a butler was waiting to greet them. He was in his late sixties, silver-haired, wearing a black silk crew neck with slim black trousers. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’ve been expecting you. My name is Arnold Banyon, Mr. Borawski’s manservant. This way, please.”

  He led them into the entry that opened out into a great room that presented a magnificent view of Tampa Bay. Mr. Borawski was sitting in a lounge chair on the terrace, dressed in purple silk pajamas, a deeper purple silk robe, and covered with a cozy powder-blue woolen blanket. He gave them a wan smile and motioned for them to sit in the two chairs pulled up close beside him.

  “Bert, this is Officer Williams and Miss Savannah Webb,” said Arnold. Then he disappeared like a spooked cat.

  “Please sit here.” His voice sounded like an overplayed record that skipped its tracks. “My voice isn’t strong, and I don’t hear as well as I used to. I understand you have some questions about my niece, Nicky.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re so sorry for your loss. It’s especially tragic for such a young woman.” Officer Williams took out her notepad and pen. “I have just a few questions about the circumstances between Nicole and her parents. Can you explain why they’re estranged?”

  A small table stood beside Uncle Bert that held a box of tissues, a tall glass of ice water, and a crystal dish that held a variety of pills, capsules, and lozenges. He pulled out a tissue, dabbed his eyes, and threw it into a small waste can next to the table. The can already held a number of discarded tissues.

  “When Nicole announced that she was going to marry Elizabeth, it was an enormous shock to her parents. They had no idea she was gay.”

  “She kept that secret?” asked Officer Williams.

  Uncle Bert raised his index finger, the
n took one of the tablets. After replacing the glass on the table, he said, “I knew from the time she was a toddler, that she would prefer girls to boys, but her parents were oblivious and are still extremely homophobic. Even now, they have no idea that Arnold has been my lover for more than two decades.”

  Savannah glanced sideways at Joy, who signaled her to go ahead. “Can you tell us about the trust fund?”

  “I knew that Nicole’s parents would be very angry when she finally came out of the closet with her engagement to Elizabeth. As I expected, they cut her off completely. She was attending the Massachusetts College of Art and Design and she had to withdraw from classes.”

  He paused for a moment. “I wish she had asked me for help at that point, but Nicole thought she could persuade her parents to accept the marriage. Then they canceled the lease on her car, so she bought an old junk car. That depleted her small savings. She had nowhere to live after she left the dorm, so she moved in with her brother and then quickly found a job as a waitress.”

  “You mean her brother Alan?” asked Officer Williams.

  Uncle Bert took a sip of the ice water. When his hand began to tremble, Savannah jumped up and placed the glass back on the small table.

  “Thank you. I have Parkinson’s and sometimes my medications disagree with each other. It’s unpleasant.”

  Officer Williams shook her head. “No problem. Take your time.”

  He smiled weakly, then continued. “Once I surmised that my idiot brother and his wife were determined to destroy Nicole’s future, I set up a trust fund for both her and Alan. It pays out a decent annuity until my death, or when they reach age thirty. Then they will take over full control.”

  “What are the provisions for Nicole’s death?” asked Savannah.

  “Well, that’s a little unique. I had it set up to transfer the annuity over to Nicole’s wife and the remaining trust fund to her brother Alan.” He raised his hands palms upward. “I have everything I’ll ever want, and Arnold is set as well.”