Shards of Murder

by Cheryl Hollon

  Megan was gone.

  Chapter 6

  Monday Morning

  Savannah spent a little over an hour describing how she found Megan Loyola’s body to Detective Parker. He let her leave Vinoy Park, but told her to stop by his office later in the week to sign a formal statement. She scurried home, showered, changed, and took Rooney for a super quick walk before finally heading in to Webb’s.

  It was going on 9:45 A.M. as Savannah finally parked in one of the owner parking slots in the alley behind the row of business buildings facing the main drag on Central Avenue. Entering through the back door, Savannah tossed her backpack in the oak desk chair and her keys on the worn surface of her dad’s ancient rolltop desk. Both had been in the family forever, and she was the fourth generation to use the desk to run a business.

  The backpack was a strong reminder of good times spent exploring nearby parks with her dad. He had insisted that she always carry water, snacks, a first-aid kit, binoculars, and a rain poncho, along with a Swiss army knife in her pocket. That way they could always leave on a moment’s notice.

  “Hey, Amanda,” she squeaked out as she tried to catch her breath while walking through the door into the classroom. “I’m sorry to be late. Something terrible happened on our training run this morning. Did you get my text?”

  As the newly appointed office manager of Webb’s Glass Shop, Amanda had taken a dress-for-success approach that combined a hint of Goth and Project Runway. Confident in her size, she had chosen for today’s outfit a bright marine blue silk shirt over black satin jeans with a row of studs down the sides. Her spiked yellow hair had newly dyed tips of the same shade of marine blue. Converse sneakers in teal completed Amanda’s look. “You just missed Edward. He left you a coffee and a blueberry scone in the office. I haven’t checked my phone. What text?”

  “Darn, I wanted to talk to him.” Savannah looked around the classroom. Each of the six student workstations had been set up for the workshop with a stack of glass on top of an 8 x 10 brown envelope. The glass pieces were in three colors along with a clear pane of practice glass. “Oh, you’ve got everything already set out. That’s fantastic, Amanda. It looks like we’re ready for class. It was great that we prepared everything last night.”

  “But what did the text say?”

  Walking over to the instructor’s worktable, she picked up the sample piece and held it up to reflect the light. She put it down as quickly as she noticed that her hands were trembling. It was one of her father’s early attempts at fused glass bowls, and she would be devastated if she dropped it. It usually sat on the kitchen counter filled with snack bars, dog treats, and the occasional concert ticket.

  Savannah leaned against the worktable and sighed before answering Amanda’s question. “On Rooney’s training run this morning, he stopped in his tracks along the seawall where the festival’s portable trailer was still set up from yesterday. He had sniffed out a body.”

  “What?” Amanda’s eyes widened and her brows dived.

  “Yes, and it gets worse. I climbed down to keep it from drifting away and it was Megan, the winner for Best of Show. She didn’t arrive for the award ceremony on Sunday morning.”

  “So, did she fall in somehow?”

  “No, there was a shard embedded in the side of her head that looked like it was from the winning artwork in her booth. I can’t get my head around so much destruction. A priceless artist is dead, and her priceless piece of art is destroyed.”

  “Who did it?”

  “I have no clue. But that’s not even close to the main problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After I called nine-one-one, the EMT fellow knocked me into the water and he hit his head. They took him away to the hospital. He’s the only one who saw the body.”

  “But you had hold of her.”

  “I had to release Megan to keep Rooney safe. Now she’s nowhere to be found, but Detective Parker was at the scene and I have to sign a statement downtown.”

  “Calm down and don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll find her, won’t they?” Amanda asked while rubbing Savannah’s back. “Try not to worry. At least now we know why she didn’t show up for the award.”

  “Larry, the EMT specialist, fell in trying to rescue me and Rooney. I hope his head injury is not too serious, I think he and I are the only ones who have seen Megan’s body.”

  “I can see you’re upset, but you didn’t know her, did you?”

  “Not directly. She was the next star student at Pilchuck after I left. I was on the same track for launching my career.” She looked into Amanda’s eyes. “If I hadn’t left Seattle to run this shop, that body this morning could have been mine. I’d better call Keith. He’ll want to know.”

  Savannah called Keith’s cell, but it went straight to voice mail. She left a message to call her as soon as he could.

  The old-fashioned hanging bell on the front door of the shop rang to let them know that the students for the workshop were beginning to arrive.

  “Already?” Savannah looked at Amanda with a “what gives?” gesture. The first in were the Rosenberg twins, elderly but spry, reliably perennial students. They took every class and workshop offered by Webb’s Glass Shop. Today, they dressed in yellow. Canary yellow tops over canary yellow slacks over canary yellow sneakers tied with canary yellow shoelaces.

  “Hi, Savannah, we’re ready,” said Rachel, the eldest twin.

  “For your class,” said Faith, the younger twin.

  “Good morning to you, ladies. You look different. Have you—you’re not wearing glasses.”

  “That’s your artist’s eye,” said Rachel.

  “Yes, we both had cataract surgery and we don’t need our glasses,” said Faith. “Look, I can wear eye shadow now.” She batted her eyes like the heroine in a bad silent film.

  “That’s trashy,” said Rachel. “You look like a hoochy mama.”

  “No, I don’t. You’re just jealous.” Faith posed like a movie star, putting one hand behind her head and the other on her jutting hip.

  Savannah struggled to keep a straight face but lost the battle. “What on earth is a hoochy mama?”

  “You don’t know?” Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “Well, it’s quite clear that you were raised up without a mother. It’s a lady of loose morals, if you know what I mean.”

  Savannah felt the rush of blood to her temples. “Well, I’m sure neither of you qualify.”

  “You’re wrong again,” taunted Faith. “She doesn’t know what a hoochy mama is because she was raised right.”

  They went into the classroom and settled themselves in the back row still bickering as they perched on their work stools.

  The bell jangled again and a petite woman with closely cropped white hair entered the shop. “Hello? Am I at the right place for the fused glass workshop?”

  “Yes, yes, come right in.” Savannah extended her hand to a crisp grip. “My name is Savannah Webb. Welcome to Webb’s Glass Shop.”

  “Good morning, I’m Miss Helen Carter and I should be registered.”

  Checking her name on the list, Savannah replied, “Yes, I have you. Have you taken any art classes?”

  “No, Miss Webb. This is my first. I am about to retire and want to explore new ways to fill my time.”

  “Good, fusing glass is a great way to start. Let me show you through to the classroom.” Savannah led Miss Carter into the next room. “This is where we’ll work on our fused glass pieces this week.”

  Miss Carter stood in the doorway and surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Someone who cared about teaching set up this room.” She turned to Savannah. “You seem a little young for that kind of wisdom, Miss Webb.”

  “Please call me Savannah. My dad designed this layout and perfected the class size. He insisted that three rows with only two workstations per row was the optimum size for serious instruction.”

  “How delightful.” Miss Carter selected the first-row seat nearest the whiteboard and ins
tructor worktable. “Is he still teaching?”

  “No, he passed away earlier this year. I’ve taken over the shop.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. My condolences.”

  “Thank you, Miss Carter. Settle in and we’ll start the class soon.” Savannah left the classroom and returned to the display and retail room. She opened her eyes wide to prevent the tears that overtook her calmness. I still miss him so much, I’m not sure it will ever get better.

  A young couple stood outside on the sidewalk peering up at the store sign, checking the address numbers with a scrap of paper and looking lost. Savannah opened the door. “Are you looking for the art class?”

  They looked at each other and in a practiced silence signaled that the girl should speak. “Yes, we’re enrolled in the fused glass workshop. Is this the place?” Her voice was soft and round with an unmistakable Canadian accent.

  “Yes, it is. You must be Janice and Gary Hill.” Savannah held the door open wide and they stepped in. They were dressed alike from head to toe wearing T-shirts from McGill College in Montreal, Canada, with tan safari shorts and bright white sneakers.

  What is this dressing alike thing? The twins and now the Canadians? Yikes.

  “The classroom is through this door and there should be an empty row available. If you want to sit next to each other, I mean.”

  They looked at each other, and this time it was the boy’s turn. “That will be perfect.”

  As they were settling into the middle row, the door jangled again. Savannah rushed out to see a young slender man with a long thin ponytail entering Webb’s. “Good morning. Are you Dale Yates?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m here for the fused glass workshop.” Through his thin wire-rim glasses, he had the sensitive look of a misunderstood genius. He looked around calmly at everything in the room but didn’t make eye contact with Savannah.

  There’s that “ma’am” thing again. I need to get more sleep. I must look tired.

  She walked to the classroom talking over her shoulder. “The class is about to start. Settle in and we’ll begin in a minute.”

  Dale took the last remaining seat in the front row and Savannah walked over to the instructor’s station. On her small worktable, angled to look out at all her students, sat a laptop with a tiny projector no bigger than a deck of cards.

  “Good morning. If I haven’t already said, my name is Savannah Webb and I am the owner of Webb’s Glass Shop. I’m excited to provide this new class. I have two new assistants to help me. The first is my office manager, Amanda Blake.” She waved a hand to Amanda, who had entered the classroom and placed a work stool in the back corner.

  “Morning.” Amanda nodded and wiggled up on the stool. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Amanda will soon be teaching classes of her own. My second assistant is some new technology for this class that should help me give better instruction and far more examples of fused glass works than I could hope to provide with in-house pieces. It’s a combination laptop, whiteboard, and projector sometimes called a smartboard. We’ll have some examples for you to touch and feel as well, but having access to the most popular social media sites is a powerful teaching aid as well.”

  She picked up a small fused plate that was displayed on a brass stand. “This is what we’re going to make this week. It’s simple, but we’ll learn the most common techniques and skills you’ll need for creating fused glass works. Namely, cutting, assembling, firing, coldworking, and a lot of information about the types of glass you’ll be using.

  “But first, a little housekeeping. Our class this week runs from ten in the morning until one in the afternoon. The restroom is on the left as you go into the office. You need to wear short-sleeved shirts, long slacks, and closed-toe shoes. Make sure they’re comfortable. If you have long hair, tie it back.

  “No eating or smoking in your work area—there are lead and chemical products here. You are free to bring drinks, but they must have a closed top, as we’ll be working around flying shards of glass. All the safety equipment you’ll need is furnished. The general format is a short lecture along with a demonstration video. This is followed by a bit of supervised practice. Then you’ll create your piece using the skills you’ve learned. After that we place your work in the kiln and fire it to a high temperature overnight.”

  A waving yellow arm signaled an urgent question from Rachel. “How many pieces can we make every day?”

  “Good question. The limit is one per day per student. We’ll be loading up the large kiln with at least six pieces and that will take some pretty creative arranging each night. Any other questions?”

  Miss Carter raised her hand in a small, queenly wave. “What if we don’t like the colors of our practice piece?”

  “It’s not a problem if you want to substitute for other colors. Just let Amanda know which colors you want to replace and she’ll get you another one. After you have created today’s exercise, you get to select your own glass. Is that good for you?”

  “Yes, Miss Webb. That’s a perfect solution. Thank you.”

  Savannah rubbed her hands together and looked over the class. “Now, before I go any further, let’s get the introductions going. Just your name, occupation, and reason for signing up for this class.” She directed her hand to the first row.

  Turning slightly to stand beside the work stool, the first student started her introduction. “I’m Miss Carter, language arts teacher from Northwest High School.” She looked over the top of her tortoiseshell half-glasses and added, “I prefer to be called Miss Carter, please. I’m retiring very soon and wish to investigate artistic avenues for supplementing my pension.” She sat and primly folded her hands.

  Remaining seated, the next student said, in a barely audible voice, “Dale Yates. Student at Eckerd College. I’m taking this for course credit.”

  Savannah looked at the second row and the Canadian man stood up.

  “Hello, I’m Gary Hill and this is my sister, Janice. We’re Canadians from Three Pines, Quebec. That’s about forty miles south of Montreal. We’re staying in our parents’ condo downtown and wanted to take some art classes while we’re here. We’re both students at McGill College.” He smiled at his sister and sat.

  Savannah pointed to the last row in the classroom. The elderly twins wiggled up. In their struggle to rise one of the stools fell over with a huge bang. “Faith, you clumsy old bat, watch what you’re doing.”

  “It was an accident,” said Faith on the verge of tears.

  “That’s what you always say. You have too many accidents,” Rachel said.

  Amanda hurried over to place the stool upright. “Hush, hush, ladies. It’s no big deal.” She hugged Faith. “Not a big deal at all.” Amanda moved between the two and put an arm around each. “I’ll do this. These cherished ladies are our most loyal clients. They are Faith and Rachel Rosenberg from this neighborhood. They attend every workshop that Webb’s Glass Shop offers. It’s pretty amazing that they walk from their house every day. Especially when you consider that they are eighty-seven years old.”

  At that, the class gave them a round of applause. They blushed and found their seats again, basking in the special tribute.

  Savannah winked at Amanda and mouthed Great save to her.

  “Now, let’s get going. First, we’re going to practice cutting glass on the clear pane that’s sitting on top of each stack of glass.”

  Just as Savannah lifted her sample the front-door bell rang in a customer. She nodded to Amanda to answer it. Amanda returned in barely five seconds.

  “Savannah, sorry, but it’s Detective Parker. He says he has something for you to sign.”

  “Thanks. Say, Amanda. You’ve taken this class—” Amanda nodded like a puppet. Savannah chuckled. “Thanks, please go ahead and start the glass-cutting demonstration. It’s the normal beginner’s lesson. I’ll be right back.”

  Detective Parker stood tall in the display and retail room of Webb’s Glass Shop, slapping his small black notebook agai
nst the palm of his other hand. “Good morning, Miss Webb. I’m on my way back to the station, and before I have your statement typed up for signature, I need to confirm a few more details.”

  “No problem. How can I help?” Savannah frowned at the cool greeting and stiff posture. Why is he being so formal?

  “It’s a coincidence that I can’t ignore.” He stopped tapping the notebook.

  “What is?”

  “You were one of the last people to be seen with Megan at the festival on Saturday afternoon.”

  “I was? I didn’t know that.”

  “You were also the one to discover her body.” The notebook slapping resumed. “Statistically, that doubles the probability that you killed her. Plus, we found your business card in her pocket with your personal cell phone number scribbled on the back.”

  A cold sweat broke out at the top of Savannah’s scalp and raced down the back of her neck. “You found her?”

  “Yes, not long after you left.”

  “But, you must know that I wouldn’t have killed her. I have no motive.”

  “Means and opportunity weigh more than motive in an investigation.” He lowered his voice. “Motive usually strengthens an effective prosecution, but it’s not a deal breaker for making an arrest. As long as the evidence supports the suspect’s actions, we’ll go forward.”

  Savannah pressed her lips tight to hold back the indignation that rose in her throat. “You can’t seriously support that view.”

  “I know what kind of person you are, Miss Webb, but statistics and process must be taken seriously.”

  “But this is just—”

  “We don’t have the resources to investigate lines of inquiry that have little chance of payoff. You are a suspect for Megan’s death.”

  “This is just insane.”

  “Miss Webb, please make this easy for all of us. Do you have an alibi for Saturday night after midnight?”

  She scraped a hand through her hair. “No. I was home alone with Rooney. I was exhausted after judging the festival.” Her fingers began to tingle, so she rubbed them. “I went to bed early because I needed to be back at the festival for the artists’ breakfast and awards ceremony. I didn’t know Megan was missing until Sunday morning.”