Etched in Tears

by Cheryl Hollon

  Amanda jumped in. “But that couldn’t be happening without someone knowing that they’re staying there all the time.”

  Savannah snapped her fingers. “That’s why Lucas was so nervous about us searching the area. He must be letting them stay.”

  “I’ll bet that the museum’s director doesn’t know anything about it.” Edward steepled his fingers in front of him. “I would think that Lucas would be vulnerable to a bit of blackmail should anyone find out about it.”

  “Maybe that’s what has happened,” said Amanda. “Maybe Dennis found out about the overnight visitors and threatened Lucas that he was about to tell the director.”

  “There might be some social media evidence about that.” Savannah looked at Amanda. “Could you look into her online presence and get what information you can out of that.”

  “Of course. Even the homeless have social media access through basic pay-as-you-go phones. They also have access to public PCs at the Mirror Lake Library. That’s about a twenty-minute walk from here.”

  “Thanks.” Savannah rose from her seat. “I’ve got to get over to Lakeland to see the kiln manufacturer for coil parts. Fingers crossed that I can fix it.”

  * * *

  In a little more than an hour, Savannah pulled into a packed dirt parking lot of a low concrete building that looked like it had sprouted additions like a cactus. When she entered the doorway, she was convinced that no planning went into determining what each room should be used for. Mostly everything was scattered randomly in powder-covered piles throughout the large warehouse.

  A dark-haired woman in a droopy T-shirt over dusty ripped jeans waved a hand from the far end of the open space. “Hi, sweetie. Are you Savannah Webb?” she called as she walked over to the entrance door.

  “Yes, ma’am. I called earlier about replacing a heating coil for one of your kilns.”

  “I’ve been expecting you.” The woman walked over to a steel rack and grabbed a small Amazon box that had seen quite a bit of reuse. “Here are the coils you need. You said you’ve never replaced one?”

  “No. Do you have some instructions?”

  “No written instructions. It’s easier to show you the tricks rather than having you try to make sense out of the installation directions.” She took Savannah back to another part of the warehouse and proceeded to give her a wealth of tricks and tips for quickly removing and replacing a defective coil.

  Savannah had scribbled everything into a small notebook. She stowed it in her backpack. “I’m very grateful for all this help. You’ve gone way beyond what anyone could expect for customer support.”

  “Small businesses have to support each other. It’s the only way we’ll survive. Here’s my private cell number if you run into trouble. Good luck, sweetie.”

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday afternoon

  While Savannah and Jacob were at the Dali, Detective Parker had called Officer Williams and said he needed to talk to her right away. As soon as she hung up the phone, a familiar worry spun through her thoughts. Am I being called in to be reprimanded? No matter how much success she achieved, that was always her first thought when being summoned.

  As soon as she appeared at his door, he asked, “Did you pick up Director Wilkins?”

  “Yes, I have her waiting in the interview room. She’s steaming.”

  “Very good. Let’s let her steam for just a few more minutes. She may get careless.” He waved Joy into his office.

  After she sat in the guest chair in front of his desk, he handed her a copy of the final autopsy report. “I would like your opinion on the state of this case, based on the information that the coroner documented. You’ve read the report, right?”

  “Yes, sir. What is your concern?”

  “Concern?”

  “Well, if there was nothing to interpret from the file, you wouldn’t be asking for an interpretation.”

  “Good logic,” Parker said, then grinned. “Perceptive even, but how can this information be interpreted differently?”

  She paused and pressed her lips together.

  He lifted his hands up to show the palms. “I won’t hold this first assessment against you. Let’s treat this as a learning experience in exploring every available avenue in a suspicious death investigation.”

  “Okay. I was thinking as I read the report that perhaps this might not be a murder.”

  Detective Parker smiled and steepled his hands on the desk. “Go on.”

  “If his breathing condition was out of control . . . say, he forgot to take his evening medication because of the excitement of the event. Then what if he had too much to drink and leaning over the bench compressed his chest too much?”

  “How would that present in the report?”

  “It could be worked to fit the results. There would be bruising around the midsection from the arm or the back of the bench . . . if that’s how he got into breathing difficulties.”

  “How would that account for the body being moved to the bench sculpture?”

  “Oh, that’s a complication,” she said slowly and pulled at a braid in her hair. “Then, possibly, he had his breathing episode somewhere else close by and someone who didn’t want to call for help placed the body on the bench.” She finished with a rising voice of satisfaction.

  Detective Parked nodded. “Good thinking. I’ve been running a similar scenario in my head. It could very well have been an accidental death. What would you recommend as the next steps? Tell me what you would do if you were investigating on your own?”

  Officer Williams’s eyes widened and she swallowed before speaking. “That’s a good question, sir.”

  “Excellent stalling technique, but there’s something I need to get straight with you.” He tilted his head slightly and looked her straight in the eye. “Unless you blatantly screw up, you are safe in this job. The last officer I had to work with was so bad, you look like Sherlock Holmes himself in comparison. I’m impressed with your work so you can relax and start polishing your investigating skills.”

  Officer Williams leaned back in the guest chair. “Thank you, sir. I’ll try to do that.”

  “I’m not asking for try. I’m asking for you to start.”

  “Sir?”

  “This is not a question of you trying to do your job. This is a situation where you absolutely perform this job without reservations. There is no ‘try.’” He finger-quoted the word try.

  “Yes, sir. I understand.” Officer Joy smiled with confidence.

  “Great, now let’s hear your first idea about this case.”

  “Well, the first thought would be to find the location of the actual death. We should widen our search of the museum grounds.”

  “Good.” He paused. “As far as it goes.”

  “We should expand our search even farther to include short distances from the Dali Museum. Maybe even ask the public for information about Dennis’s whereabouts in those few hours between the end of his event and the time his body was discovered.”

  “Excellent. Those are right in line with what I was considering.” He stood. “Make them happen, Officer Williams, but do your interview first. Well done. We’ll review the video afterwards.”

  She left his office with a pleased look on her face and walked straight into the small plain interview room.

  Gina Wilkins sat on the industrial gray steel chair with her arms folded and her legs crossed. Her right foot bounced a staccato. The look on her face reminded Joy of an angry cat ready to strike out at the next thing that moved. Gina held a crumpled tissue in her right hand.

  “Thank you for coming down to talk with us, Ms. Wilkins.” Joy sat in the chair across the sturdy stainless table. “Would you care for some coffee from our break room? It would only take a minute.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m particular about my coffee. I don’t understand why I’m here. I told that detective everything I knew yesterday morning. This is extremely inconvenient. I have a museum to run.”

  “W
e’re wondering why the tapes that Detective Parker requested by the end of the day yesterday haven’t been delivered.”

  “Humph! Is that all? You could have called.” She dabbed her eye with the tissue. “We’re having some trouble with the computer. They tell me that there’s something wrong with the application that makes CVs, or DCDs, or whatever it is.”

  “Ms. Wilkins, you could have called us about that. Do you know when the problem will be fixed?”

  “We’ve called our service. They’re arriving today. For all I know it could be fixed by now.”

  “Good idea. Make that call.”

  Gina unfolded and dived into her large purse sitting on the floor. She rumbled around in its depths and came up empty. “Where’s my phone? I had it just—”

  “We can use mine. Joy handed over her cell and watched calmly as Gina glared at her.

  She dialed. “Lucas. What’s the status of the server?” Gina listened and her lips thinned into a slim streak of scarlet. “That’s not good enough. I’m here at the police station simply because we can’t get those tapes delivered. Find another service, immediately.” She handed the phone back to Joy.

  “That sounds bad.”

  “You heard that we’re doing everything we can. Can I go now?”

  “I would like to know more about Dennis. How did he seem during the installation? Was he nervous or anxious about anything in particular?”

  “If you don’t let me leave now, I’m calling my lawyer.”

  “Very well. I’m disappointed that we can’t discuss his behavior during the time you were with him, but yes, you may go.”

  In her stilettos, Gina made tracks that could be heard around the entire floor.

  * * *

  Back at her desk, Joy picked up the phone and called the public relations office. They gave her the number of the form she needed to fill out in order to make a public appeal on both radio and television news programs. She wasn’t surprised that the bulk of the announcement text needed to be written by herself.

  She pulled up the correct form and filled out information blanks and began to type into the announcement block.

  The St. Petersburg Police Department is requesting the assistance of the community in determining the movements of Dennis Lansing, featured artist at the Dali Museum, from the hours of midnight to seven a.m. on Monday morning of this week.

  Anyone with information pertaining to his whereabouts or who can identify the male in the attached photograph is asked to contact the St. Petersburg Police Department at 727-555-4321 or the St. Petersburg Police Department’s Crime Tip Line at 727-555-1234. Information can be left anonymously.

  Officer Williams filled out the remaining blanks in the form, printed it out for her records, and pressed the SEND button at the bottom of the form. She waited for the confirmation e-mail.

  Nothing.

  She refreshed her inbox.

  Nothing.

  Another refresh of her inbox.

  Nothing.

  Joy sighed and let her head fall to her chest. I’ll have to start all over again.

  Her e-mail pinged the notification receipt from the public relations office. She smiled, then decided her next best action would be to meet the search team at the Dali Museum while the light was still good. She was in Detective Parker’s good graces right now and was determined to shine.

  Chapter 13

  Tuesday evening

  Savannah felt groggy after the long drive from Lakeland and across the Howard Franklin Bridge after the peak Tampa commuter rush. She parked behind Webb’s Glass Shop. Instead of going into the shop, she walked over to Queen’s Head Pub.

  As soon as she perched on one of the barstools, Nicole Barowski, longtime manager of the pub, smiled hello, and started up the espresso machine. “Hi, Savannah. Give me a minute here.” With a few deft movements with the commercial grade espresso machine behind the bar, she placed a large glass of iced café mocha in front of Savannah.

  “How are earth did you know that’s what I needed?”

  “That’s why I’m the best bartender in the Grand Central District. Long drive. Lots of traffic. Still a lot to do at the shop. You need a tall cool glass of ambition. Chocolate is almost always the answer to any question.”

  Savannah took a long sip and could feel her energy respond to the taste. “Thanks, you’re right on target. That’s perfect.”

  “Did you get the part you needed?” Edward came out from the kitchen.

  “Even better, they taught me how to repair the kiln and I even bought a spare coil.” She took another long sip of her mocha coffee. “I love having spares. I need to set aside a bit of space and money to stockpile critical parts before we risk a delivery again.”

  “Can you still make the deadline for the Vinoy Hotel order?” He grabbed a glass and pulled the tap handle for a lager.

  “If I can get this new coil installed and I can borrow the use of a kiln, we’ll be good. However, if anything goes wrong . . .” Savannah shook her head from side to side. “Remind me to stop taking last-minute commissions.”

  Edward looked down at her through the black eyelashes that framed his green eyes. He held that look until he finished drawing his beer. “Honestly, luv, if you think I’m going to step one toe in your approach to making money at Webb’s? No way, pilgrim.”

  Savannah laughed. “Don’t say that! You are not a cowboy, no matter how worn your western boots are.”

  He looked sheepish. “Well spotted.”

  “That kiln isn’t going to fix itself. It’s a good thing I built an extra day into the delivery schedule. Now that I’ve got an extra twenty-five charger plates to deliver, I’m going to have to call Frank Lattimer and arrange to use his industrial kiln as an emergency backup.”

  Nicole wrinkled up her nose. “He owns that glass shop downtown, doesn’t he?”

  Savannah drained the last of her coffee “Yes. He’s a sleaze bag and wants me out of business, but at this point, he’s a sleaze bag with a large kiln. All I have to do is flatter him. Works every single time.” She batted her eyelashes like a Disney princess. Using a princess wave, she left by the front door and entered through the street side door of Webb’s Glass Shop. Waving another queenly hand to Amanda, she immediately went into the supply room and started work.

  After an hour, more than a few scraped knuckles, and a half dozen curses, Savannah stood and stretched her aching back. The coil was replaced. She punched the test firing numbers into the control panel and went out into the display room. Everything was shut down and in overnight mode. Amanda knew well enough not to interrupt her during a delicate job.

  Savannah trudged back to the office and plopped down in the oak office chair. She sat for a few minutes until the ache in her back dissolved, then glanced over at the ancient file cabinet. She imagined that it looked at her with irritated sulkiness. That old file cabinet mocked her.

  Maybe there’s an easy pattern I can figure out for the encrypted file names. She opened the drawers and gazed down at the labels. They were handwritten, placed in two rows, and the first row was consistently just eight characters. She grabbed a pen and pad, and copied down about twenty labels and returned to the desk.

  She started by writing down all the things she could represent in eight characters. She finally determined that the most sensible would be a form of a calendar date. She started with the most common format: MMDDYYYY.

  She started plugging in numbers in substitution for the letters, but she couldn’t crack a single letter. Her feeling was that the codes were based on the results of using the Enigma machine. She tried again to match the letters with individual Arabic digits, but again, no luck.

  When the office phone rang, she started and lifted her head from the desk. How long have I been asleep? Her watch said eight p.m. Clearing her dry throat, she said, “Webb’s Glass Shop. This is Savannah.”

  “Are you ever going home? Snowy and I miss you.” She could hear the kitten mewling in the background. Snowy
must have heard her voice.

  “Hi. I miss you both, too.”

  “Did you get the kiln fixed?”

  “I think so. I need to check that both coils are heating properly. I’m walking back into the supply room now to check.”

  She looked at the control panel. It was normal. She used her left hand to lift the kiln lid a few inches and peeked in to find that both lid coils were a beautiful cherry-red. “Fantastic! The coils are fixed. Jacob can load this up tomorrow and with Frank’s help, we’re right on track to deliver to the Vinoy Hotel on time.”

  “That’s brilliant,” said Edward. “In celebration, I’ll come over and cook tonight. I know you’re tired. But did you remember to get dog food? I think you fed Rooney the last bit this morning.”

  Savannah palmed her forehead, then grabbed her keys. So much for the glamorous life of the small business owner.

  Chapter 14

  Tuesday evening

  Savannah arrived home with a bag of Rooney’s favorite dry food and met Edward with a huge kiss on the front porch.

  He held one hand behind his back and smiled. “I’m liking this Tuesday night routine. It is a slow night at Queen’s Head Pub. Tonight, however, I’ve brought another guest.” He pulled his hand out and little Snowy meowed her welcome. Her little white paws reached out for Savannah and began kneading dough in anticipation of Savannah’s cuddles.

  “What?” Savannah grabbed Snowy and tucked her into the curve of her elbow. “This is supposed to be our night . . . just the two of us. Really, Edward.”

  He smiled wide and took the bag of dog food from her other hand. “This is bonding. We need to bond as an entire family. I’ve brought Snowy with me for tonight. I thought it was time to see if our fur babies get along.”