Down in Flames

by Cheryl Hollon

  Savannah looked at the brown-paper-wrapped package. “Is that the painting?”

  “Duh!” Phillip placed it on the checkout counter. “How long do you think you’ll need it? I took it off the wall in my uncle’s home. We’re not sure when he’s coming back from the rehabilitation facility, but he gets anxious if he thinks anything has changed while he’s gone.” Phillip shrugged his shoulders. “It’s possible that this time he won’t ever return, but so far he’s made an unbelievable rebound from each health crisis. He’s pretty resilient.”

  “You told him you were taking the painting?” Amanda frowned. “Is there any chance that it might worry your uncle when he’s ill? Some of the oddest things can affect the recovery time of a patient that is under stress. I’ve had lots of experience lately. My mother is in hospice with lots of ups and downs in the state of her health.”

  Phillip looked stunned. “That’s where things are with Uncle Bert. I never thought of what might affect his health. He’s always ill. But I guess I could have kept it from him.” He turned pale. “You don’t think this would make him worse, do you?”

  “I don’t know your uncle, but my mother in hospice gets all sorts of weird notions.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  “We’ll need the painting for at least all of today and possibly tomorrow. If we discover something, I’ll have to turn it over as evidence to Officer Williams.”

  “That seems a very long time. What gives?”

  “I’m not sure how long Jacob will need to analyze the painting to his satisfaction. He won’t know either.” She tucked the painting under her arm. “But I’ll take this over to Jacob right away so that he can get started.”

  “Fine, give me a call when he’s done.”

  Phillip left, leaving behind a sense of relief.

  “What on earth is he so annoyed about?” asked Amanda. “We’re only trying to help solve Nicole’s murder.”

  Savannah shrugged her shoulders and went out toward the back. “He might just be impatient. We don’t know him.” She placed the painting and the folder of graffiti in the back of the Mini. She got in and stared into the rearview mirror at the scratches that her leap the previous night had caused. It reminded her to be careful more effectively than Edward’s warnings. It took only a few minutes to drive to Webb’s Studio.

  She placed the wrapped painting on the small end of the long wooden table in the conference room at the studio. She positioned the folder of graffiti images beside the painting.

  Jacob appeared at her elbow and he adjusted the folder to align perfectly square next to the painting. Service beagle Suzy stood at attention beside Jacob. She was on full alert to any change in his emotional state.

  “Jacob, I want you to study this painting and compare it to the pictures in the folders. The images are from Nicole’s cloud storage and might give us some ideas to go further in our search for her murderer. That said, you have all the time you need to perform a thorough comparison. I’m not going to tell you what I suspect because I want your objective assessment. When you’re finished, write down your conclusions then send me a text. I’ll come over and get them.”

  He turned to look straight into her eyes and made a tiny nod to acknowledge that he understood.

  A shiver rolled down Savannah’s spine. Jacob had never, ever, ever made direct eye contact before he witnessed Nicole’s hit-and-run. He had always looked at a spot near the center of her forehead.

  In the end, Nicole’s accident had already affected Jacob. When his speech and memory returned, Savannah considered that some changes might be permanent. She hoped those changes would be for the better, but there was an equal chance that he would have more trouble interacting with others. She shook that thought out of her mind.

  “I’ve got one more task for you, if you feel up to it.”

  Jacob tilted his head to the side.

  “I need to know how Nicole’s family established themselves as pioneers here in Pinellas County. Hopefully, you can visit your friend at the main library and have her scour the records for information on those early days.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he continued to look her in the eye.

  “Okay, Jacob.” She bent and started to give Suzy a little scratch on the top of her head, but quickly withdrew. It was a no-no while a service animal was on duty. “Sorry. Anyway, I’ve got to get back and teach the flameworking class. Remember, text me before you go home—even if you haven’t finished your analysis.”

  * * *

  By the time Savannah ate her packed peanut butter sandwich, followed by one of Edward’s cranberry scones, she had completed the required tax forms for this month. She confirmed that the calendar reminder was on the right day for next month and started toward the flameworking classroom.

  She heard the bell ring. “Hi, ladies.”

  The Rosenberg twins entered wearing a combination of teal and hot pink that shouldn’t have worked on the octogenarians, but they absolutely rocked it. Savannah felt her eyebrows try to park in her hairline. “Can you help me for a few minutes? I’m running behind. Can you empty the kiln and put each student’s beads at their workstation?”

  “Not a chance,” said Rachel.

  “We’re not staff,” said Faith.

  They hooked their arms together and stood like a two-person protest march.

  Savannah gasped. Have I been so rude that these gentle women have taken offense?

  “I’m so sorry.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I didn’t mean to—”

  Rachel and Faith leaned back and roared peals of laughter. “Gotcha,” they said in perfect unison.

  Savannah sighed heavily in joyous frustration. The twins were more support to her than they could ever imagine. With their advanced age came an instinct for lightening the emotional load for the friends around them.

  I’m lucky to have such friends. And Edward. And Amanda. And Jacob with Suzy. And Joy. And Rooney. And Snowy. What a wonderful family.

  She finished her setup chores while Rachel and Faith distributed the beads from the kiln. By that time, the remaining students were present, and Savannah started the class.

  She held up a bead that combined two colors side by side. “This is the first bead we’re going to make today.” She handed the bead to Myla Kay, who again examined it in slow motion before she passed it down the row.

  “After we master that one, we’ll tackle another one that is a little more complicated.” She held up a lime-green bead with purple stripes and orange protruding nodules. She handed it to Herbert. “I’ll expect you to make at least three of these.”

  Herbert inhaled a deep breath and then studied the bead carefully. Savannah thought she could see his mental wheels spinning—already planning on how to make it.

  When the beads had been returned to her, she held up a bead that had a wide, bright red base, two narrow strips of white, and a ring of small black dots that protruded from the surface like tiny octopus tentacles. “This is our master bead. Once you’ve made a bead like this, it indicates that you have mastered all the skills necessary for flameworking beads.”

  Myla Kay raised her hand. “What if I can’t manage to make that last bead? Will I get a failing grade?”

  Savannah chuckled and shook her head. “No one fails this class. The whole purpose of this workshop is for you to determine if this is something you want to pursue. It’s an introduction to the various techniques, not a master class. It takes a lot of hours in front of this frightening flame here to get good at making beads. By the end of today, for each of you, that decision will be clear.”

  Herbert laughed. “I love this.”

  Savannah pointed to the box of glass rods. “Okay, everyone. Pick out enough colors for your beads, then punty them up for the first bead.”

  It was a cheerful class with everyone caught up in bead colors, spinning the mandrels so that the beads lay even, and making dots and stripes for at least three beads each. Herbert made
about a dozen, more than enough for a small necklace.

  At the end of the session, Savannah took a picture of the entire class holding their beads on mandrels. She made sure each student understood that they could pick up their beads tomorrow, any time after one in the afternoon. She explained that by using the slow cooldown, their beads would have less chance of cracking.

  Savannah plastered her customer smile on her face until each student left. She was exhausted. This class was a reminder that she frequently took on more than she could manage. Six students required too much hands-on assistance for one instructor. She knew she needed an assistant instructor, but she envisioned continuing as principle instructor.

  The new teaching structure would pay out if she expanded the class to eight or even ten students. Still, not a huge profit, but if each workshop introduced flameworking to a new hobbyist, that would be wonderful. A new hobbyist who would purchase their materials from Webb’s Glass Shop.

  After performing all the tasks for clearing out the classroom and closing the shop, Savannah nearly collapsed into the oak chair in the office. The chair squeaked at a screaming pitch.

  “Sorry,” said Savannah. She paused for a second, then sighed. “Great—I’m so tired, I’m apologizing to a chair.”

  Her phone pinged. It was a text from Jacob.

  FINISHED ANALYSIS

  She replied: DID YOU FIND ANYTHING?

  He replied YES

  I’LL BE RIGHT OVER.

  Now fully awake, Savannah plowed through her remaining tasks and closed up the shop. She hopped into her Mini and in five minutes walked into the conference room at Webb’s Studio.

  Jacob sat in his usual chair at the far end of the conference table with Suzy in his lap. A slight smile played on his lips. The graffiti pictures had been spread out on the conference table in an exact grid. On the other side of the painting was a ruled tablet with pages and pages of writing.

  “What did you find?”

  Jacob pointed to the tablet. He picked up his phone and showed it to her, then started typing away.

  Her phone pinged for each message.

  MULTIPLE ARTIFACTS

  “Point them out to me,” said Savannah. Jacob pointed to a small flower in the upper right-hand corner of the painting. Then he pointed to a bright red bird in the lower left-hand corner.

  ALSO IN GRAFFITI

  Jacob pointed to an identical flower and an identical bird in one of SNARK’s larger mural paintings.

  USED MANY TIMES.

  Jacob flipped through a stack of SNARK’s graffiti images and pointed out many variations of both flowers and birds.

  SAME ARTIST DID BOTH.

  Savannah picked up the ruled tablet and began to read the detailed analysis. If Jacob hadn’t discovered his talent for glass, he would have made the best art investigator ever. His eye was incredible. After she scanned the analysis, she gave a thumbs-up to Jacob.

  Next to the ruled tablet was a stack of books that did not have binder labels to indicate that they were from the library. Each book had more than half a dozen bookmarks in it.

  “Jacob, how did you get these?”

  He reached for his phone.

  LIBRARIAN HAS PRIVATE COLLECTION

  Savannah raised her eyebrows. “She gave these to you from her personal library?”

  ON LOAN UNTIL TOMORROW

  “Thanks. I’ll have them back, no problem.” She gathered them up, along with the ruled tablet. “I’ll see what comes from your research. Thank you, Jacob. I have no clue how this might be connected to Nicole’s murder. In fact, it could be totally unrelated, but we need all the information we can get.” She smiled brightly. “Let’s close up shop here and I’ll drive you home.”

  He deliberately looked her in the eyes and grinned from ear to ear.

  Chapter 30

  Friday afternoon,

  police headquarters

  Detective Parker and Officer Williams stood before the whiteboard in their temporary staging room for the murder room. A single whiteboard had been delivered to Detective Parker. He rolled it into an empty cubicle near Officer Williams’s open-plan office. He had researched the personnel records to determine who was on vacation and appropriated use of that office.

  “I thought you had found another whiteboard and had your eye on a corkboard,” said Officer Williams.

  “I did. It appears that other clever officers have cottoned on to this trick. This was the only one I could get.”

  A picture of Nicole’s smiling face was at the center top of the first whiteboard. Beneath Nicole’s image was a printed copy of the trust fund that their uncle had written up to protect Nicole’s share of his fortune. In the same row on the far left was a picture of her parents, her brother Phillip, and next to him her brother Alan. To the far right was a picture of her wife, Elizabeth, and next to her was a social media picture of the graffiti artist SNARK, the face shrouded by a black hoodie.

  Officer Williams shuffled the second row of pictures over to the right to add a picture of Samuel Joven.

  “Who’s that?” asked Detective Parker.

  “He’s a server who works part time at Queen’s Head Pub. I ran a background check, but he has no priors. While I was getting an update from Savannah, Edward, and Amanda, this guy dropped a tray of glasses and ran out the back door. He was driving a white car.”

  “That’s not particularly suspicious. There are masses of white cars.”

  “According to Savannah, he’s skipped town. She went to his apartment to follow up on why he fled the restaurant. It appears that he left without collecting his security deposit, not to mention his wages.”

  “Still not overly suspicious. Honestly, he could be undocumented and nervous around police—not a thing to do with Nicole.”

  “Savannah called me last night and said that a white car tried to run her down while she was leaving Samuel’s apartment building.”

  “Now, that might be something. Did you add that to the case file?”

  “I tried. I got half done and the server kicked me off and wouldn’t accept my password. I’ve applied for a new password through the IT department, but I rather think they’re a little busy.”

  “I would hope so.”

  Standing back from the whiteboard, Detective Parker folded his arms across his chest. He stared at the board. “The two most promising leads are still with Nicole’s wife and possibly her brother Alan. Alan has that rescue farm that is failing. Have you confirmed an alibi?”

  “Not for Alan, but I’ve verified that Phillip was at home in Zephyrhills. His phone recorded his location when he received the call from Elizabeth about the accident. Also, Savannah says that he’s been helping her obtain a forged painting from Nicole’s uncle that may be relevant to the case.”

  “How is a forgery pertinent?”

  Officer Williams paused a moment. “I’m not quite sure, but Savannah insists that it is a significant lead.”

  Detective Parker removed Phillip’s picture. “Trust Savannah to stretch her authority as a consultant into the thinnest thread possible.”

  “But she’s proved herself useful in the past.”

  Detective Parker turned to Officer Williams. “I’m concerned about the hit-and-run. Her curiosity and knowledge may be causing the killer to feel threatened. Warn her to keep her nose out of the investigation side of the business.”

  Officer Williams rolled her eyes. “I’ll repeat my memorized warning to Savannah the next time I see her.”

  “What’s new on this SNARK character?”

  “Savannah has tracked down a correlation between a little-known forged masterpiece that Nicole gave to her uncle, and some contemporary murals. The murals are by SNARK. She’s letting Jacob take a closer look at both the murals and the painting. She says he has several pages of notes that indicate that SNARK is the forger.”

  “That’s promising. Any progress on identifying SNARK?”

  “None. It seems unbelievable that he could remai
n unidentified. It not like he’s an international spy—or double agent. He could be keeping his identity a secret out of habit, or to generate an air of mystery. There are precedents, however, of famous graffiti artists who just plain don’t want to be known.”

  Chapter 31

  Friday evening,

  Queen’s Head Pub

  After feeding Rooney and Snowy, Savannah skipped her evening run and returned to the pub to help Edward with the last Friday night of the Best Burger in the Burg competition. It was one of the busiest nights. Traditionally, the very busiest night was always the last day of the contest, which would be tomorrow. But tonight’s crowd threatened to break all prior records.

  Savannah wore a Queen’s Head Pub polo shirt and a long black apron over her jeans. She was helping to cut down the time required to serve the burger orders by staging the cheese, bacon, raspberry sauce, lettuce, tomato, and fried eggs. Edward was working the grill. The regular chef was preparing the remaining standard menu dishes.

  Now Savannah remembered why she had avoided food service jobs while she was in high school. She hated the repetitive preparation tasks that were absolutely mandatory if one expected a signature dish to taste exactly the same every day. It was different for a dish on the daily special menu. That one could end up however the chef felt like doing it, using whatever ingredients were handy. It was vital that the burger recipe be prepared the same way every time. She could see how some felt the mind-numbing drudgery to be soothing—an antidote for the constant demands of a stressful life—but not for her. For her, it was torture.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Samuel walk in the back door, go straight to his locker, and put his backpack away. He put on an apron and headed to the prep table and started chopping the red onions that were obviously running low.