As Savannah leaned back in her chair, she was welcomed by Wanda’s chatter, which had not stopped even while Savannah was helping someone.
“. . . scooping up awards all over the South. In fact, she’s unstoppable. She’s won top awards at every show she’s entered.”
“Oh, that’s unusual,” said Savannah.
“Unusual? It’s impossible. Even at shows that are historically biased toward their organizers, she’s won them flat out and should have quite a nice little bankroll by now.”
Wanda continued without a break, “Isn’t it strange that she has literally pulled up stakes and left without a word to anyone? I just don’t understand why she has disappeared.” Wanda stood with her hands on her hips surveying the organized stacks of promotional products for the festival. “I think I had better get down to the children’s tent now. They’re always in need of some organization. Bye now.”
Feeling a bit sorry for the volunteer in charge of the children’s tent, she turned back to the bartender and extended her hand. “Hi there. My name is Savannah Webb.”
“Hi, again. I thought I was going to have to use dynamite to get a gap in the running deluge of chatter from Wanda.”
“Well, I hear she is a tireless organizer and the committee loves her.”
“Not everyone loves her. I heard that she and Megan had a very public spat at the Friday night reception. I wasn’t surprised that those two big personalities wouldn’t see eye to eye.”
“Do you know what it was about?”
Sam squinted hard. “I think it was something about her booth.” He waved a hand. “A lot of them came in for a drink after the open bar closed. It was insanely noisy.”
“I’ve seen you behind the bar at . . .” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Don’t tell me, you just said where. How could I forget?” She opened her eyes bright and said, “Moon Under Water.”
“Who hasn’t? St. Pete is still a small town—for the locals, anyway.”
“It’s nice to put a name to the face. A bartender interested in art?”
“Yep, I confess. I’m a stealth artist along with my waitress wife. We’ve got a booth near the entrance in the miserable hidden aisle. It’s doing a booming business now that Megan’s disappearance is the source of so much gossip. My wife says we’ve sold all our small prints and have several corporate clients interested in the large one.”
“Have you been exhibitors before?”
“No, this is our first year. I’m jazzed about it because the committee this year raised the quality of the show by throwing out the grandfathered exhibitors and making them submit an application along with everyone else.”
“What?”
“Yeah, if you were accepted one year, it was essentially a free pass and a guaranteed entry for all succeeding years. That is, as long as you didn’t miss a year. This year was a clean slate. That’s why we thought we might have a chance. Some of them were furious. They depended on their sales here to help them survive the slow summer.”
“Did you win anything?”
“Yes! We won in our category and took third place overall. That was very exciting. Really, though, getting access to this kind of crowd to show off our work is an extraordinary opportunity by itself. It makes our crazy shifts and crazy hours worth the grief. Say, aren’t you the judge for the glass category? I saw you at the awards breakfast.”
“Yes.” Savannah could predict the next question by now.
“What happened to Megan? Why didn’t she collect her prize?”
A couple with an Australian accent interrupted to ask for directions to the nearest loo, and Savannah pointed them to the row of Port-O-Lets next to the seawall.
Turning back to Sam, she replied, “I don’t understand. It looks like she left in the middle of the night and took everything with her. Today would have been a big day for sales—especially since she won Best of Show.”
“She packed up and left? That’s unheard of—she won’t be invited back.”
Savannah frowned. “I hadn’t considered that. Even worse. Honestly, I don’t get her behavior at all. Did you see her yesterday?”
“Yeah, she seemed wound up.”
“Right.” Savannah sat up in her chair. “Other than the fight with Wanda, did anything else happen?”
“Now that you mention it, there was one more thing. She had an argument with some man right before closing.”
“Were you close enough to hear it?”
“Everyone along the entire aisle heard it. They were yelling loud enough to wake the dead.”
“What about?”
“Whatever it was about was mentioned before the cursing started, and, believe me, that young lady’s cursing would make a sailor blush. Anyway, by the time I stepped into the aisle to listen to them, they were well into the name-calling stage, so I have no idea what the argument was all about.”
“What happened next?”
“They stopped just short of hitting each other. Fists were actually clenched and drawn. I think that was what seemed to shake them out of themselves. They realized that customers were standing around them gawking. They both froze. Megan went back to her booth and the man walked out of the festival exit gate.”
“Do you know the man?”
“Nope, never saw him before.”
“What did he look like? Maybe I know him.”
“He was a short man with an elaborate comb-over that didn’t move in the breeze. That was scary.”
“That sounds a lot like Frank Lattimer. He owns the downtown glass studio. He’s been a festival committee member for ages.”
Is that why she was upset yesterday? Frank can be rudely single-minded when he’s trying to make a point. Why would he be arguing with Megan? That’s what I would like to know.
Chapter 5
Monday Morning
The sun was softly rising over the rippling waves of Tampa Bay when Savannah and her quickly growing Weimaraner, Rooney, jogged down the sidewalk edging the Coffee Pot Boulevard seawall. It was one of the pleasures of the day for them to get their training run done before Webb’s Glass Shop needed to be opened at 10 A.M.
As a high-energy breed, Rooney needed exercise every day that incorporated both physical and mental challenges. In their agility training class for beginners, the instructor had suggested that at least a three-mile run on the day of class would be beneficial for Rooney’s attention span. In other words, he was too easily distracted when not tired.
It was a great place to run because the cars along Coffee Pot were unable to go fast over the uneven and occasionally wobbly brick streets. There was also plenty of warning because the tires made heaps of racket on the road.
Rooney had finally stopped trying to smell every bench, tree, and gate and they had settled into a comfortable jog. He was behaving beautifully, running along on pace with Savannah even with his leash loose. They skirted the municipal pool facility, where early morning swimming practice was in full splash. They passed by the deserted playground. It was too early for the stroller brigade to gather. They approached the lonely tents standing silent and patiently awaiting packers to take them down.
She stopped to take a picture with her phone, thinking it would make a haunting and powerful black-and-white photograph.
When they approached the beige portable trailer that served as the office for the festival committee, Rooney stopped so suddenly in front of Savannah that she tripped over him and landed on her knees in the grass.
“Rooney, what on earth is wrong with you?” She sat up, looked back at him, and was shocked. The hair all along his back was sticking up and he was staring at the trailer with eyes in pointing focus. She followed his gaze, but there was nothing around the trailer. “What is it, boy?” She smoothed down his hair and scratched him behind the ears. Neither of these actions moved him an inch.
“What is it, Rooney?” He sometimes didn’t trust her. Rooney had been her father’s puppy, and she’d adopted him afte
r her dad’s death. He sometimes regressed into a lonely mood. “Show me, Rooney.”
Rooney’s toenails scrabbled a running start across the sidewalk then into the grass in front of the trailer. He pulled Savannah around the back and stood looking down into the water from the seawall ledge. He let out a small, throaty whine and then tipped his head back and howled his heart out.
“What is up with you, Rooney?”
She looked down into the water and gasped a silent shriek. Bumping into the rocks below in rhythm with the outgoing tidal wavelets was the body of Megan Loyola.
Her hands flew up and she backed up a step. She pulled at her collar, then covered her mouth to convince the rising bile not to explode. She stood stiff until Rooney’s howl registered with her consciousness.
“Rooney, shush now. Quiet, boy. Be quiet.” He stopped his mournful yowling.
“Sit. Stay.” He sat alert, but his gaze locked onto the wavering body below.
Savannah scrambled down to the small ledge of slippery rocks that were at the base of the seawall and stood there for a moment. It was obvious from the olive putty color of her skin that Megan had been dead for quite some time. Savannah didn’t want the tide-driven waves to pull her out into the bay, so she carefully tugged on Megan’s cold, wet arm to guide the body up onto the rocks.
Holding on to Megan’s sodden sleeve, Savannah reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
A sour taste bulged at the back of her throat interfering with her voice.
“Hello, this is nine-one-one. What is your emergency, please?”
Savannah quickly swallowed. “I’ve discovered a body floating in Tampa Bay.”
“Yes, ma’am. May I have your name and location?”
“My name is Savannah Webb. My location?” She looked around quickly. “I’m standing on the seawall that’s part of Vinoy Park. I’m behind the portable trailer that was used for the Spinnaker Art Festival yesterday.”
“Please stay on the line until an emergency vehicle reaches you, ma’am.”
“Tell them that I’m here with my dog. He’s not yet full grown, but very protective. I’m holding on to the body so it won’t wash out into the bay. Please hurry.”
“We will, ma’am. It should only be a couple of minutes. Just hang on.”
Savannah muttered to herself, I am hanging on, literally.
Turning a little toward Megan’s body, she caught the glint of something embedded in the wet hair on the side of Megan’s head. It was a large glass shard. From the vivid orange red, Savannah recognized it and guessed that it had broken off of Megan’s exhibit piece. Megan’s Best of Show piece had been used to kill her.
Although it was probably only a few minutes, the wait for the emergency vehicle seemed longer than waiting for water to boil in her big red enamel pasta pot. The 911 operator kept telling her that it would be just another minute—every minute. Her arm was beginning to ache, and she was considering whether she should change hands by setting the phone down when she heard the first siren. The emergency medical vehicle ran up the curb, drove onto the grass, and parked beside the trailer.
At the slamming of the doors, Rooney howled like his world was ending. Savannah tried to shush him. “Quiet, Rooney. Lie down. Down, Rooney.”
Savannah felt grateful when Rooney stopped, looked at her, and lay down on the seawall beside her. “Good boy,” she said, resisting the urge to cuddle him, and put the phone back to her ear. “The EMT is here now, so I’m hanging up. Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Savannah slipped the phone in her back pocket and switched the grip on Megan to her other hand. She shook the numb hand like a rag doll to get back some circulation. Even in that short swap, she felt the tug of the tide. Her grip was the only thing that was preventing Megan from disappearing out into Tampa Bay.
Two emergency responders came over to stand on the edge of the seawall. “Savannah Webb?”
Savannah nodded and peered up at a young man and even younger-looking woman. “It’s really slippery down here and the tide is going out. Find something that will keep her from floating away.”
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Larry and this is Sheila. I’ll be right back.”
“That’s the fifth time someone has called me ‘ma’am’ in the last ten minutes.” She glared up at the young woman and said through gritted teeth, “Don’t even think about calling me anything but Savannah.”
“Yes, ma—, Savannah.” When Sheila saw Rooney sitting there tilting his head in concert with her movements, the young EMT’s eyes widened and she stiffened. “How . . . how beautiful.” She cleared her throat. “They said he was a puppy. He’s a big puppy—really, really big. Is he yours?”
“Yes, he’s still learning his obedience commands. I’m not sure how much longer he’s going to be able to hold to his training.”
“Will he bite?”
“No, no, he’s not aggressive, just very enthusiastic about helping me and he has no clue about how big he is.”
The young man came back from the emergency vehicle with a long length of rope. He looked at his partner. “Sheila, stand lookout in case the police squad arrives. Direct them this way so that they can get the coroner down here as soon as practical. Hopefully, we won’t get yelled at for touching the body to keep it from drifting away.”
“Right.” Sheila scooted off to stand on the street side of the truck.
“I’m coming down there now, ma’am.”
Savannah rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly.
Larry made a loop at the end of the rope and lay flat on the seawall. “I’m coming down there beside you; then I’ll slip this over her arm so you can let go.”
“Watch your step, it’s deadly—”
She had a blurred vision of big boots and a dark uniform right before she felt a sharp thud against her shoulder. She flew sideways, making a great splash and dragging the sleeve of Megan with her as she tumbled into the water. Bobbing up to the surface, she heard Rooney’s panic-stricken howling, then saw a gray streak leaping over the rocks, hitting the surface, and swimming in a straight line for her.
She kicked her feet and felt her hand being pulled down by a great sluggish weight. Looking around, she realized she had somehow traveled a few yards from the seawall and could feel the tug of the tide pulling her and Megan out to the middle of Tampa Bay.
Larry surfaced in a great white swoosh and gasped for air. There was a bloody gash over his eyebrow. Sheila tossed him a life preserver, and he grabbed it before it hit the water.
Rooney was paddling like mad toward her and then she heard a great splash behind her. Looking around, she saw that Sheila had tossed a life preserver circle that had landed over her head barely within reach. Savannah knew she had to get to it before either Megan or Rooney dragged her under again. Slipping her arm around the life preserver, she held on to Megan and pushed the floating circle toward Rooney. His eyes were so wide she thought she could see the wheels in his brain spinning with the thought that he wasn’t about to let another human die on him.
Savannah was going to have to make a choice between letting Megan go or helping Rooney. It wasn’t really a choice. Rooney was alive. She held on as long as she could, but when Rooney’s front paw hit the life preserver, she released her death grip and helped Rooney get into the buoyant ring from the inside. They both dog-paddled to the seawall and pitched up against the slippery rocks.
A second EMT vehicle had pulled up next to the trailer and several hands reached down. “Get Rooney first,” she spluttered up at them. “I won’t come out until he’s safe.”
Sheila gently stepped down onto the slimy green rocks and put her hand through Rooney’s collar. “I have him, Savannah. Let the officers help you. I’ve got him.”
Confident in the young woman’s calm sensibility, Savannah took one of the hands reaching down to her and scrambled up over the seawall and col
lapsed on her back in the grass coughing. One of the EMTs immediately covered her with a blanket, which she threw off with the next coughing fit. Propped on her elbow, she finally got her breath.
“I’m fine. Larry has hit his head and needs help. Help him first.”
“I think you’re going to be all right, ma’am. Stay right here for a few minutes.” The EMT turned to Sheila and said, “Make sure she’s okay.” Then he sprinted over to the seawall, where they were trying to get Larry out of the water.
Rooney escaped from Sheila and his front paws threw Savannah back to the ground. He licked her face so furiously she had neither chance nor desire to sit up. After he calmed down a fraction Savannah snuggled him close and sat up to see the second set of EMTs bundling up Larry for his trip to the emergency room. Sheila marched over with her medical kit and knelt in the grass.
“How do you feel, Savannah?” Sheila grinned and scratched Rooney behind the ears. She wrapped a red blanket around Savannah’s shivering shoulders. Sheila also used a small towel on Rooney. Of course he adored the rubdown, but as soon as the towel was removed, he shook the extra drips everywhere and plopped onto Savannah.
“I’m fine. Just wet.” She struggled to push Rooney off her lap and get up. “I need to get to work.”
“You’re not going anywhere right now, Savannah,” said Detective Parker as he bent down to help pull Savannah upright. “I need a statement from you on what has happened here.”
Savannah smiled at the sight of Detective Parker. He had been the investigating detective involved in solving the murder of her father earlier in the year. It was very nice to see a familiar face.
“I told the nine-one-one operator that I found Megan Loyola’s body in the bay, and I got down over the seawall to hold her so I could keep her from drifting away.”
“Where was this?”
“Over here.” Savannah took Rooney by his leash and shifted the blanket tighter around her wet clothing. They walked behind the portable trailer and looked down into the mossy rocks and murky water.
Shards of Murder Page 4