“What do you mean?” Savannah narrowed her eyes.
“Detective Parker came by the shop yesterday to question me about Martin’s death.”
“You? Whatever for?”
Amanda looked down at the floor.
“Stop stalling and tell me what’s going on.”
Amanda’s lips quivered. “I knew Martin before he showed up for the class. Detective Parker found our text messages on Martin’s phone. He asked for an alibi, but I don’t have one.”
“There’s nothing wrong with knowing a student. This isn’t like a university. We’re not professors with the power to give good grades. We can have friendships with our students.” She patted Amanda on the shoulder. “You must be upset. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been a shock.” Amanda turned back to the computer and sat quietly for a few moments. She cleared her throat. “Regrettably, Martin used the Internet only for e-mails and limited them to one account. There are tons and tons of images of him with his steampunk creations, but there’s nothing personal posted at all.”
Savannah wrinkled her brow. “I thought when you used social media, you were supposed to try to make a meaningful connection with your prospective buyers on a personal level.”
“That’s the theory. Isn’t that what we should be doing?” Amanda looked back over her shoulder. “Webb’s has to start from square one, with a company Web site as the highest priority.”
“Yes, yes, I know you’re right. We need to start soon.”
“Savannah, you’ve been saying that forever.”
“Next week.”
There are so many things yet to be done for the studio. The parking lot, clearing the shrubbery, preparing more student work spaces. So many things.
“There are no classes next week, so we can start then. I promise.” Savannah crossed her heart. “Now, what about his friends?”
“Well, it appears that he had a partner in selling the artworks. She apparently handled the promotional stuff and all the preparation tasks for getting the work ready for sale.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“It looks like it might be another artist. Look here.” Amanda clicked on an image of one of Martin’s art pieces. “This one is a joint effort with another artist named Vicki Lilith. He complained about her a lot. She was the one who dropped him off on Monday. He was trying to figure out how to split up their partnership, but I think there was more to it than merely her skills at online selling.”
“Do you mean they were . . .”
“Yes.” Amanda nodded her head. “I think they were lovers, and he was trying to extract himself from her clutches. He referred to her as a drama queen, and a lot of outward stress came with her creative designer skills.”
How long could she keep her relationship with Edward a secret? How did he feel about her? A single overnight does not a relationship make. It’s too early, Savannah thought.
“What about their shared sales?”
“According to his e-mails, that was the biggest problem. She apparently was demanding a percentage from the sale of his recently created works. Vicki claimed their joint work had influenced his solo pieces so much so that she should get a percentage of his future sales.”
“I’ll bet that went over like a lead balloon. Do you have any contact information?”
Amanda clicked on a few more links. “Yes. Her cell phone number is here on her Web site. Hmmm . . .”
“What do you mean by hmmm?”
“I’m looking at some of the pieces she’s advertising here.” She leaned into the screen to peer closer. “These belong to Martin. He sent her photographs of them for her to post in the online store. She’s selling them as her own.” Amanda stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “This is wrong . . . just wrong!”
Savannah leaned over to the screen. “You think she took them after finding out he was the diver on the beach?”
“No, I think she knew he was dead, and she cleaned out his trailer.” Amanda reached for the landline and dialed Vicki’s number. “Let’s find out now.”
The phone was immediately answered. “Hello. Vicki’s Treasures. May I help you?”
Amanda put her hand over the telephone receiver. “How do I get this on speaker? I want you to hear this.”
Savannah raised her shoulders in a shrug. “The phone at Webb’s is too old for that feature,” she whispered. “Let’s call back on a cell.”
“Uh, sorry. Wrong number.” Amanda replaced the handset and dialed the number again on her cell.
“Hello. Vicki’s Treasures. May I help you?”
“Hi, Vicki. My name is Amanda.” She pressed the speaker button on her cell and placed the phone on the surface of the old rolltop desk. “You know, Martin’s instructor at the glass shop.”
“Martin didn’t have an instructor. He didn’t need one. I would know. He was my business partner.”
“Yes, I know. My name is Amanda Blake. Surely, he told you that he was taking an upcycling glass class from me at Webb’s Glass Shop. You drove him here on Monday.”
“Oh, you’re that Amanda. I remember him talking about you. He did talk a lot, you know. It was a typical Martin trait.”
“He wasn’t like that at all. He promised to announce our relationship right after the workshop.”
Savannah waved at Amanda, as if to say “Get on with it.”
“He did tell me he was learning some new techniques that would change the look of his new creations,” said Vicki.
“Oh?” said Amanda. “Did he mean he didn’t want to work in partnership with you anymore?”
“No, that was never the case. He’d been getting lots of new clients through our partnership. He hated social media promotion. He wouldn’t change direction over a few new techniques. We were a good team, and he was on the brink of making lots of money on commissions.”
“I don’t recall him talking about the partnership in that way. But regardless, I wanted to ask you about Martin’s family. The owner of the glass shop I work for has been consulting with the police about the bottle that Martin had in his dive bag. She thinks his family might know more about it, so I want to get in touch with them. He also left some items here at the shop, and I would like to return them to his family.”
“The only family I ever heard him admit to was a sister he never spoke to.”
“Do you have her name or an address?”
“I think her name is Tracy. That’s right. Tracy Patterson. She works at the University of South Florida in Tampa.”
“Thanks. By the way, I’ve looked at your online store, and it looks like some of the items posted there were uniquely Martin’s. Have you taken more than just his designs? Are you selling his—”
The sound of the dial tone indicated that Vicki had ended the call.
Savannah leaned back in the small chair. “I think this deserves another line of investigation.” She stood up and grabbed her backpack. “I’ll bet anything that Detective Parker is already working on the sister. Anyway, you might be able to find out more about Vicki. Since she used social media so much, you should have more success.”
“Good. I don’t understand her. She always takes things differently than what I would expect. Anyway, I’m good to track down whatever I can dig up on that minx.”
Savannah scrunched her forehead. That seems a little harsh. “Come over to the studio after class. I’ll round up Edward, and we’ll discuss what we’ve all found out and our next steps.”
Chapter 16
Thursday Morning
Parker relished the early morning hours. This quiet time before the throng arrived was when he reviewed complicated issues and sorted them down to a list of tasks. Tasks that could be dealt with quickly by investigators to make progress on a case. The routine was simple. Get coffee and sit with a yellow pad in the conference room. Make notes.
Before Parker wrote a single word on his yellow pad, the phone rang. It was Officer Williams.
“Sir, there’s
a lady who has come in about the dead diver case. Shall I send her in to you, or would you prefer for me to handle this?” She cleared her throat. “It’s an artist friend of the victim.”
“I’ll take it. Send her through.”
In a few minutes a sturdy young woman with short red hair marched into the coference room. “Are you Detective Parker? Are you in charge of Martin’s murder?”
Parker looked up. “The Martin Lane case? Yes, I’m the investigating officer, miss. What is your name?”
“I want to report harassment by your consultant.”
“Interesting. Give me your name. Last name first, please.”
“She called me this morning and threatened to charge me with murder. She was being perfectly ridiculous. I was Martin’s partner—in business and in his bed.”
Parker raised his eyebrows and noted the shrill edge to her voice. He tried to maintain a low, calm tone. “Ma’am, if you sincerely want to report this, you are required to give me your name and the name of the consultant.”
“Oh,” she said, then stopped talking.
Parker stood and raised his voice. “Ma’am, if you want to file a complaint, you must give me your name.”
“Her name is Amanda Blake. She works as an instructor at Webb’s Glass Shop. I think she killed Martin. She had the nerve to accuse me of stealing Martin’s artworks to sell online. That’s a lie. Martin and I had an agreement. I inspired his work and gave it a fresh spin. That’s when his pieces began to sell. Sold like hotcakes.”
“Ma’am—”
“I don’t believe her when she says Martin was trying to dissolve our partnership. Martin wouldn’t have done that to me. She was jealous of my influence. I was Martin’s muse, not her. You need to arrest her for Martin’s murder. She killed him. I want to make this an anonymous complaint, but you need to take action.” She quickly turned and left the conference room.
He looked down at his yellow lined pad. He had written, “Amanda as consultant?” Knowing that Amanda was indeed connected to Martin Lane, since there was plenty of evidence of their texts in Martin’s phone records, he dialed the extension for Officer Williams.
Parker was thrilled with this new recruit, Officer Joy Williams. She was a breath of fresh air compared to the officer she would hopefully replace in a few days. A small, trim young woman with long dark hair, she was Officer Boulli’s opposite in every way. Her parents had fled Cuba during the intellectual exodus a few months before she was born. Boulli was being transferred to Jacksonville. It was a win for everyone.
“Officer Williams, have the complete phone records been extracted from Martin Lane’s cell phone? The one we found in his truck? I know we have a copy of the texts, but what about the full record?”
“I’ll check. One moment.”
Parker could tell she had tucked the phone receiver between her ear and shoulder. The fast clicking of her keyboard was a skill he envied. He was a “one finger on each hand” typist. More and more data was shared on secure servers, and he was beginning to feel like a Luddite, asking for hard copies of critical reports.
“It’s been posted to the investigation folder. Would you like for me to print a copy for you?”
Blessing her thoughtfulness and acknowledging that she was a quick study, he said, “Yes, please. Put it on my desk. Thanks. And could you check the visitors’ log for this morning? I would like to identify our reluctant visitor. She had to show ID to get up here. I think we may have another person of interest.”
He picked up the yellow pad and his coffee cup. After pouring his third cup of the morning, he walked into his office, sat, and eyed the stack of morning reports piled on top of his basket labeled IN. Much more caffeine would be needed for him to trudge through the reports that were piling up.
No sooner had he gotten comfortable than Williams flew in and placed the phone records in his hand.
“Thanks. Very fast.” He smiled. He flipped to the back of the stapled list of Martin’s calls. At the bottom of the page, in her neat hand, was a small note. “Most frequent number called is registered to Amanda Blake. The next two most frequent numbers called are registered to Vicki Lilith and Larry Collins.”
Williams smiled and quickly left Parker’s office.
Parker nodded. As he flipped through the preceding pages, the records indicated that Amanda and Martin had been calling each other five or six times a day for a little over three weeks. He also noted the next two most popular numbers on Martin’s cell. One was a local number Martin had called every morning, at around 1:00 a.m. That was Collins. Definitely worth investigating, so he took a yellow highlighter and ran it over those calls. The next one was called at random times throughout the month. He highlighted that one, as well. Must be Lilith, he thought.
Finally, Officer Williams entered at a trot and presented Parker with a copy of all the texts Martin had sent and received over the week prior to his death. As Parker scanned the messages, he could see her reading them upside down. A dusky flush began to work its way up from her neck to her hairline.
Parker chuckled. “I’m guessing you know what all these text shortcuts mean. True?”
Officer Williams nodded. “Yes. Would you like for me to explain them?”
“You could confirm that I’m interpreting them correctly, how’s that?”
She took a deep breath, aware of the fact that she had implied that her new boss was unaware of the insular language of texting—more specifically, sexting. The flush began to lighten by the time she had translated the tenth acronym into explicitly graphic language.
“Good enough. I certainly get the gist.” Detective Parker adjusted his collar. “Would you interpret from these texts that the couple was in an intimate relationship?”
She nodded her agreement. “Oh yes, sir. They were definitely lovers in the first stages of a relationship.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
She grinned and handed him a yellow sticky note. “Yes, sir. Here’s the name of this morning’s visitor.”
“Vicki Lilith,” he read. “Okay, she appears to be Martin’s partner and knew him well. I would like you to arrange an interview with her and see what you can add to our investigation. Are you good?”
Her cocoa-brown eyes lit up. “Yes, sir. I’d be happy to set it up.”
“Good. Meanwhile, I’m going to personally investigate her complaint about Amanda Blake.” He stood.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sure our visitor would be pleased with an immediate response. If you have any questions or need assistance of any kind, give me a call.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Officer Williams, I would expect you to need some advice, and it would be a good indication of your potential if you took advantage of the vast experience of your peers and superiors.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Excellent, Officer Williams. Report to me when you return.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Officer Williams, a few ‘Yes, sirs’ indicate respect. Dozens of ‘Yes, sirs’ get annoying.”
“Yes—” Officer Williams quickly cut herself off. She didn’t want to be annoying.
Chapter 17
Thursday Afternoon
Savannah kicked the bottom of the studio door with her toe, trying to attract the attention of anyone inside. Her arms were full with a stack of pizzas from Cappy’s Pizza, and the bottom box was seeping hot grease on her bare arms. “Hey, guys! Can you let me in?” She kicked the door with her toe a little harder.
The door opened, and Edward stepped aside. “Looks like you need a doorbell of some sort. Do you want me to install one?”
“What a great idea. Thanks.”
She set the stack of four pizza boxes in the center of the conference table and arranged them side by side, with their lids flipped open. She also lined up paper plates and napkins at the end of the conference table. Amanda and Jacob gathered around to see what kind of pizza
was on offer.
“Let’s get Arthur and Helen to join us. I think Pizza Thursday is a good idea for the clients of this place. What do you think?” Savannah said.
“Good marketing tool.” Edward grabbed a large slice of pepperoni and bit off the tip.
Amanda piped up. “I’ll get them.”
Savannah spied the sweating pitcher wrapped in a bar towel, along with the red plastic cups. “Thanks for bringing the iced tea, Edward. It’s so nice.”
Arthur and Helen joined them, and soon everyone was munching and chatting about current projects, plans for new works, local eateries, and upcoming craft shows. Savannah felt a deep, satisfying warmth in her chest. This was exactly the kind of supportive environment she had dreamed of providing to amateur glass artists. The studio provided a creative space for beginners to grow into professionals.
After everyone had had their fill of pizza, Arthur and Helen returned to their work spaces. Jacob and Edward cleared the boxes, paper plates, and napkins, and took them to the Dumpster outside, and then the posse settled back in their positions around the conference table.
Savannah cleared her throat. “Let’s share what we know. First, I have gotten quite a bit of information about the bottles. It’s clear that they’re old and could be worth somewhere around twenty-five hundred to three thousand dollars each, in good condition. Robin believes that if they can be traced to Gaspar the Pirate’s treasure, the value will increase to ten times that, at a minimum.”
Edward whistled. “That’s a lot of dosh.”
Savannah looked directly at Amanda. “Do you want to tell everyone what you told me earlier?”
Amanda looked down at the conference-room table. “I knew Martin as a friend before the class. Detective Parker stopped by to ask me some questions because he found the texts that Martin and I had exchanged. I know I should have told you sooner, but the more time passed by, the harder it became for me to admit this.”
Edward leaned toward Amanda. “Why? What kept you from telling us?”
Amanda paused for a few seconds. “I just don’t know. I’m—”
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