Shards of Murder

by Cheryl Hollon

  Whoosh! A dark hoodie-clad figure oozing a familiar scent bolted out of nowhere and grabbed Savannah by the right arm. Rooney responded with panicked barking while the attacker shoved her roughly toward the seawall. In the corner of her eye, she could see the water glinting with the morning sun.

  Fearing that she would bash her head on the concrete seawall and then drown, she could feel the sound of her heartbeat thrashing a rapid pulse.

  Letting loose with an ear-splitting scream, Savannah slumped down into a tuck position and rolled away from her assailant. That left him facing a bristling Rooney, who had turned into a snarling mass of anger. As the attacker turned to run away, Rooney snagged the black trousers and the attacker fell onto his knee with a painful yelp. It was over in a second. When Savannah struggled to her feet, all she had left to prove she had been attacked was a deep scrape on her leg and a small scrap of dark material that Rooney was holding in his mouth as she shook like a rag doll.

  Trembling from head to foot, Savannah limped over to plop breathless on the nearest park bench, then examined the bleeding scrape.

  I’m safe.

  She looked at Rooney, who, puppy-like, had moved to sit beside her and looked ready to continue their run.

  No experienced mugger would have attacked her with Rooney running by her side. This must have had a greater purpose—maybe she had finally stepped on someone’s toes with her investigation. Progress at last, but at what cost?

  She realized she had to tell Detective Parker about the latest developments. She took out her cell phone, which she carried with her during Rooney’s walks, and dialed his direct extension.

  “Homicide, Detective Parker.”

  “Hi, this is Savannah Webb. I’ve been—”

  “I’m not available just now. My office hours are from eight A.M. to five P.M., Monday through Friday. If this is an emergency, please dial nine-one-one; otherwise, leave a message. Beep.”

  “Good morning, Detective Parker. This is Savannah Webb and I want to report an incident that may relate to Megan Loyola’s murder. Someone tried to pitch me over the seawall on my training run this morning. I’m not really hurt, only a scrape, so this isn’t an emergency. Anyway, he was wearing a black hoodie and jeans, so I have no description other than I thought it was a man. Please call me on my cell. You have the number from my statement. Bye.”

  Savannah pressed the END CALL button and slipped the phone back into her running shorts pocket and pulled the zipper shut. “I forgot it was so early, Rooney boy.” She reached for the scrap that Rooney held. He playfully twirled away like a game of tag. “No, Rooney, this is not a game. Stay!”

  Rooney stopped in his tracks, then sat with his forepaws extended waiting for her next move.

  Savannah tried to calm the fluttering feeling in her belly. She must be unintentionally telling Rooney that this was a play game.

  “Good boy. Good boy, Rooney.” She crept up to him and slowly reached for the leash. Just as her hands were within an inch of grabbing it, he danced away tossing the scrap and catching it in midair. “Rooney, stay!”

  He froze into a sitting position. “Stay, Rooney. Good boy.” This time she put her hand out in front of his nose and looked him in the eyes with a frightening glare. It worked. She picked up his leash and gently removed the sopping wet scrap of fabric from his mouth. “Good Rooney,” she baby-talked. “He’s a good boy! Yes, such a good boy!”

  Rooney squirmed puppy delight from his nose to the tip of his tail. She placed the torn scrap in one of Rooney’s scooper bags and tied it to the leash handle.

  She breathed in a few long, slow breaths and felt the calmness making a small stand against the aftermath of the attack. One thing she was certain about: she wasn’t going to tell her posse. They would insist on her stopping the investigation. Not that they wouldn’t be right, but she really wanted to find the killer.

  She looked down at her leg and the scrape had bled a half-inch red streak down into her white running sock but hadn’t reached her new white Skechers. She kicked off her shoes, removed the clean sock, and pressed it against the scrape to stop the bleeding.

  At least I’ve ruined a matching pair.

  Looking to her left, she didn’t see anyone suspicious. Whoever attacked her either had a car nearby or parked near one of the manicured backyards of the mansions close by. That was the safer bet as most of their unimaginably rich owners spent only the winter months of January through March indulging in the mild climate. Now that it was well into April they had flown back north. That was why the locals called them snowbirds. Their tourist dollars supported the city’s economy and provided desperately needed funding for the city’s charities.

  On her right, however, was a more likely escape route through the thick foliage of the Gizella Kopsick Palm Arboretum. Although a fascinating collection of every type of palm capable of growing in the climate, it was typically deserted and provided lots of cover for an escaping assailant.

  Her pulse had finally returned to a resting rate. “Rooney, I’ve been silly. I hate that. This was probably a normal snatch and grab from someone who thought I was an easy mark. It has nothing to do with Megan.”

  It’s not all about you, Savannah. I wish I hadn’t called Parker.

  Lifting the sock away from the scrape, she confirmed that the bleeding had stopped. She removed the blood-soaked sock and placed both in another of Rooney’s scooper bags.

  She stood and tested the injured leg. A little pain, but no muscle strain or fresh bleeding. Savannah and Rooney walked at a limping pace back to the Mini.

  “Okay, Rooney, let’s get home so I can dress this scrape. I don’t think it will stop us from entering you in the agility competition on Saturday, but I’d better take care of it sooner rather than later. It is pretty ugly.”

  She removed the leash and its little evidence parcel, then clipped Rooney into his car seat on the passenger side of the Mini. As he did every single time, he whined and looked at her as if she were condemning him to life in prison, but finally curled up and she drove home.

  Once inside, she refreshed his water bowl, showered, bandaged her scrape properly, and got changed for work in her normal workday outfit of jeans and a collared golf shirt with the Webb’s Glass Shop logo. As she was picking up her keys, her cell phone rang. The caller ID announced PARKER SPPD.

  “Hello.”

  “Savannah, this is Detective Parker. I got your message. What is this about an attack?”

  “Yes, this morning near the place where I found Megan’s body.”

  “Why didn’t you call nine-one-one?”

  “It wasn’t an emergency. I don’t need medical assistance. I don’t even have a decent description except that he was wearing black jeans and a black hoodie. Not too helpful.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. I still need a statement, so I’ll come by the shop this morning. Next time, call nine-one-one or an on-duty officer. Don’t just leave a message on my machine.”

  “I apologize. You’re absolutely right. I’ll be at the shop in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Good.”

  During the short drive to the shop, Savannah considered her actions regarding the attack. Should she be concerned that it might be connected with the investigation or was it an ordinary mugging? It seemed an odd time for a mugging and, in any case, most joggers don’t carry wallets. Even more frightening, muggers don’t usually attack joggers with dogs.

  If he knew I would be jogging there, has he been following me? Maybe that’s who Mrs. Webberly saw in the strange car.

  She pulled around to the back of the shop and found Detective Parker waiting for her with a takeaway tray holding two coffees and a bag of Krispy Kreme donuts.

  “Detective, I thought I was supposed to bribe you with coffee and donuts,” she said as she locked the Mini. “I’m pleased to be on the receiving end of such a stereotypical graft.”

  He laughed in a deep, rich tone that sounded practiced. She unlocked the door, tapp
ed the code into the alarm system, and motioned Detective Parker into a side chair. “I need to make a quick call and then we’ll talk about the attack.”

  Savannah speed dialed Edward and left a voice mail: “Morning, Edward, I’ve already got my early coffee. I’ll see you later on when the posse gets together, okay? Great.”

  “Posse?”

  “Um . . . that’s what I call my little investigation team.”

  Detective Parker shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can’t condone this, Savannah. I caution you that you’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “Do you think that’s why I was attacked this morning? Someone who may be worried that I’m getting too close for their safety? Isn’t that a sign of progress?”

  “I want you to stop investigating, especially if it’s putting you in danger.”

  “Now that I’ve started, I’m going to continue until Megan’s killer is revealed.”

  “But why? You know I don’t think it’s you.”

  “It’s a little hard to explain, but she was living the life I would have had if my dad hadn’t died and I had stayed in Seattle. I feel close to her.”

  “Can you at least share your progress with me?”

  “Of course.” Savannah sipped her coffee and looked beyond Detective Parker’s shoulder at the whiteboard.

  Following her gaze, Detective Parker twisted in his chair. He stood and laughed. “You are something. If you were my assistant instead of Officer Boulli, I have the feeling that this murderer would have been found already.” He squinted at the board. “Why is Frank’s name up there? What argument?”

  “Several of the artists on the same row with Megan’s booth said that she and Frank had an intense argument right before the festival ended on Saturday. It was right before I came by and she was still upset. She wouldn’t tell me what upset her, but we’re trying to find out. I told Frank to call you. He’s supposed to be your technical adviser.”

  “And you can see how well that is working out. Having another expert end up on the suspect list would be a major blow to the investigation.”

  “Anyway, Frank says it has nothing to do with Megan’s death.”

  He turned around. “Seriously now. What do you remember about the attack this morning?”

  “Not much. I was thinking about Megan and trying to figure out why someone would want to kill her when someone grabbed my arm and tried to shove me over the seawall.” She rubbed her left arm and looked at the darkening bruise. “Great, that’s going to turn ugly. Anyway, Rooney grabbed his jeans and scared him away.”

  “I’m surprised he tried to attack you while Rooney was running with you.”

  Savannah shrugged her shoulders. “Why would he attack me in the first place?”

  “You keep referring to your attacker as male. What is making you think that?”

  “Good question. I think it was the strength of the push. There’s something else, but I can’t remember. It will come to me.”

  “Call me when it does.” He took out one of his business cards and wrote on the back. “Next time you don’t think you’re having an emergency, call my private cell.” He handed it to Savannah. “This is probably not the last time he will try to discourage you from the investigation.”

  She tucked the card into her back jeans pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out Rooney’s scooper bag. “Rooney tore a hunk of material from the attacker’s pants. I had to touch it to get it away from Rooney, so that scrap should have the attacker’s DNA along with mine and Rooney’s, of course. Do you need a DNA sample from Rooney?”

  Detective Parker chuckled. “No, the forensics lab will be able to tell the difference.”

  Chapter 19

  Thursday Morning

  After seeing Detective Parker pull away, Savannah went back to her office and stood in front of the board with both hands on her hips. Why had he laughed when he looked at it? Had she written something stupid up there?

  She made her way through the classroom and into the display and retail room to boot up the register, unlock the front door, and then turn her sign from CLOSED to OPEN. No sooner had she returned to the display counter to confirm that the computer was ready than Jacob hustled inside the door out of breath.

  “Miss Savannah, I found the missing student.”

  “What?”

  Jacob shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I found the missing student.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “I listed the addresses of the applicants who filled out the form as students. They pay a reduced fee, so they have to fill in the name of the school and send in a scan of their picture identification.

  “I found that the out-of-area students find lodging at eight different places that rent by the week. I asked my mother to call them and ask to speak to Vincent O’Neil.”

  Of course, he doesn’t use the phone. I’m glad his mother and I talked about his research.

  “That was clever.” She smiled. “Go on, then what?”

  “No one was registered by that name, so I had my father call again and ask for a variation using his middle name, Vincent Henry.” Jacob smiled wide.

  “So, what happened?”

  “We found him working as a maintenance man at The Pier Hotel, which has given him an employee weekly rate and is within walking distance of the festival.”

  “That is super awesome.” Savannah reached out to hug him and remembered in time not to touch him. She awkwardly waved her arms in a big circle. “Edward and I will talk to him today.”

  “I had another plan for my mother to call and ask for Henry O’Neil. I didn’t have to use that plan.”

  Savannah grinned. “Asking a judge to lie—you might have gotten into trouble with that plan.”

  “My dad asked if he was home. The desk manager said he had very odd hours. He works at the Chihuly Museum. After it closes he goes to work at a studio late at night until dawn.”

  “Okay, that’s going to make things harder. Thanks for tracking him down.”

  The front door jangled as Amanda entered the shop. “Hey, guys. You look cheery. What’s up?”

  Savannah folded her arms. “Jacob found our missing student, Vincent. That means you are going to be teaching class this morning.”

  “But—” Amanda’s naturally pale face turned a shade whiter. “I’m not ready to teach yet. I’m supposed to shadow you this whole week.”

  “Murder changes everyone’s plans. Don’t worry, you are ready.” Savannah gave her a big hug. “I wouldn’t leave you in charge of Webb’s if I wasn’t completely confident in your abilities, would I? You know how much I treasure its reputation.”

  “That’s true.” Amanda’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Today’s pretty easy; it’s emptying the kiln and getting things ready for loading it up again for tonight’s fusing.”

  “See, you’re completely ready for this. Everything you need to know is in my lesson plan on the podium. You’re going to be great.”

  Savannah pulled out her cell phone and dialed Edward. “Hey! Are you able to get away for a bit? Jacob located Vincent, and he’s at The Pier Hotel downtown.”

  “Now?”

  “Yep, now. Meet me out back. I’ll drive.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes to call in an additional server.”

  “Of course.”

  Savannah waved bye to Amanda and Jacob, then grabbed her backpack and went out and unlocked the Mini in time for Edward to slip into the passenger seat. “I want to get to Vincent before he disappears again. He’s registered by using his middle name as his last name.” She drove the Mini downtown and found a space in The Pier Hotel’s parking lot.

  Edward hopped out of the car. “Who brought your coffee this morning? It couldn’t have been as good as mine.”

  “Hmmm, it wasn’t. But I’m not silly enough to annoy Detective Parker. Especially when he’s trying to keep me out of jail.”

  “Why did he stop by
the shop himself? He could have sent Officer Boulli.”

  “Apparently Boulli is holding a grudge against me for causing his suspension. He might not report the actual facts in my favor.”

  Savannah turned to Edward, knowing that she should tell him about the attack this morning. She thought about how he might react. Would he get possessive? Would he try to control her? Would he get angry?

  I’m not willing to find out.

  They looked up at the façade of the turn-of-the-century traditional Florida tourist hotel.

  “This has been here a long time.” Savannah and Edward walked under the long white awning that covered the length of the entry sidewalk to the salmon pink hotel. They walked up the chipped concrete steps and stepped onto a broad old-fashioned veranda filled with white wicker chairs and greenery hanging from the porch ceiling and in white wicker planters. Edward opened the front door and let Savannah through to the lobby. “My house was built at about the same time as this.” She looked at the lobby/sitting room furnished with comfort inducing plush carpeting, oak-colored grand piano, and a large fireplace.

  Walking up to the registration counter, Savannah asked the elderly clerk, “Would you please tell Vincent Henry that his visitors are in the lobby?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.”

  Smiling at the genuine southern drawl, Savannah dragged Edward over to a seating area to the side of the lobby that was not immediately visible to a guest coming down to the area. “Let’s wait over here.” They plopped down onto a comfortable velvet settee.

  A slim, wiry young man with sandy hair tied into a short ponytail walked into the lobby and leaned over the registration counter. “You said I had visitors?”

  The clerk used his black pen to point at Savannah and Edward at the other end of the lobby. He walked over to them with his brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

  Savannah stood and extended her hand. “No, Vincent, but we’re here to help you. I’m Savannah Webb, owner of Webb’s Glass Shop and recent judge of the Spinnaker Art Festival.” She turned slightly to Edward. “This is my good friend, Edward Morris. He’s the owner of Queen’s Head Pub.”