by Patricia Fry
"Oh my gosh," Savannah said. She grabbed Michael's arm. "All of us ate stuff out of that bakery box."
Blake's eyes pierced Savannah's. "You didn't tell me that."
"It just occurred to me," she said. "There was only one piece of baklava in there and all these other goodies."
"Is there anything left?" Blake asked, looking from the Iveys to the Sledges.
"Maybe a few cookies and a cupcake," Savannah said.
"We can have the other things analyzed, but if you're all feeling okay, I'm sure they weren't touched."
"Yeah, I'm fine—how about you, hon?" Savannah asked Michael. She looked at Craig and Iris. "And you guys?"
Craig grabbed his throat and began to make choking sounds. He then smiled and said, "I'm okay."
"I feel great," Michael said. He then frowned. "What about you, Peter?"
"I'm okay. I took a small bite of the baklava before I got that phone call. It tasted a little funny. I decided I wasn't in the mood for it and tossed it."
"Where did you get the pastries?" Blake asked.
Peter answered promptly. "At the office. We take turns bringing things in to share. Everyone knows baklava is my favorite."
"Who brings these things in?" Blake persisted.
"I do, Kara does, a couple of our neighboring gallery and shop owners stop in with goodies sometimes. Occasionally, a customer will bring something by. Just this week, while I was gone, Dawna said our customers Gerald and Tina brought in some homemade cookies."
"Does Dawna contribute?"
"Oh yes," Peter said, "Dawna picks up treats once in a while."
"So who brought that box in that you took to the Iveys today?" Blake asked.
"Uh, I'm not sure. I'll have to ask."
"It was probably Dawna," Savannah said. "I had coffee with her this morning and she bought a box of pastries."
Chapter 6
That evening after a light dinner, Savannah, Michael, and Gladys entertained their guests on the deck. The five of them were wrapped in blankets next to the fire pit, sipping wine, and discussing the type of creatures they'd seen in the tide pools that afternoon, when Michael received a text.
Rochelle and I are just getting home from an early dinner. Got wine?
Michael made eye contact momentarily with each of the others. "Want to share the rest of our evening with Peter and Rochelle?" he asked.
Savannah yawned and said, "Why not? I'm on vacation."
Within a few minutes, the couple appeared, coming up the steps onto the deck. "Hi," Peter called. "Enjoying the cool evening?"
"Yes, it did turn a bit chilly tonight," Savannah said. "This is the first time since we've been here that I've worn a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. All we need is a rainstorm and I'll feel right at home," she said, laughing. She looked at Peter and Rochelle. "Hey, do you want blankets?"
"No, I'm fine," Peter said, settling into a deck chair. "…but I will have a glass of that wine. What about you, Rochelle?"
Gladys stood up from her chair. "Here, take mine. I think I'll join Lillianna in slumber. Being at the beach wears me out."
Rochelle said, "Thanks." She took the blanket and laid it over the chair Gladys had vacated and then asked Savannah, "Can I help you?"
"Sure, come on," Savannah invited.
When the women returned with two glasses of wine and a new bottle, they heard Michael ask Peter, "Where'd you go for dinner?"
"An Italian place across town. They have great lasagna, just like Mama Maria makes."
Savannah tilted her head. "I thought Mama Maria was Mexican. She's Italian?"
"No, but she can cook like she is."
"By the way," Savannah said, "the other pastries tested clean."
"Good," Peter said. "I figured so, since no one got sick—only the poor dog. Is she okay?"
"What happened?" Rochelle asked, looking from one to the other.
"Oh, I almost ate a spoiled baklava. The dog found it and got sick. Blake had it analyzed and it appears that someone messed with it—someone wanted to hurt me," he said, thinning his lips.
"Oh," she said, frowning. "I was afraid of that. But I thought I'd dispensed enough protective light to squelch it."
"Apparently you did," Savannah said, grinning. "Everyone's just fine."
She smiled and looked at Peter. "Well, that's true. Just be careful, Peter, will you?" she said, leaning close to him. She cocked her head and asked, "Did they ever determine what happened that night you found your gallery manager—what's her name—Dawna, injured and bleeding?"
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Someone broke in through an open window and stabbed her."
Rochelle looked at Savannah and sighed before saying, "I think she did this to herself."
Peter looked shocked. "What?" he asked.
"She has issues, Peter," Rochelle explained. "Nothing was missing, right?"
Michael broke in, "…except the jewelry Rags took."
"Wounds were shallow."
"But she bled a lot. She almost died," Peter insisted.
"Yes, because she hit a fairly large vessel," Rochelle said. "She's depressed, can't you see that?"
Peter thought about her comment before saying, "Unhappy, kinda confused, stressed-out, she may have a personality disorder of some sort, but I don't think she'd do something as bizarre as that to herself." He fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket. "Can we change the topic?"
"Sure," Rochelle said. "What would you like to talk about?"
"Um…how about you?" he said, smiling.
"Yes, I'm interested in knowing more about you," Savannah said.
"Me, too," Iris said.
Rochelle smiled. "I have few secrets."
"Yeah, that's what I want to know about—the secrets," Peter said, grinning. "And I want to know if you can foresee any more damage at the gallery, or any danger. Is all that stuff over?" She shook her head. "Sadly, I see bull's-eyes all over you, Peter. No. I'm sorry, but you are not out of the crosshairs, yet."
Savannah and Iris exchanged glances.
After a little while, Peter sat upright and asked, "Hey, is everyone ready to go?"
"Go where?" Savannah asked.
He squirmed in his seat. "Didn't I tell you about the art walk tonight? It's a tour of the galleries. Everyone brings their wares out onto the sidewalk, there's music. It's rather festive. I don't know about you guys, but I'd like to be in a festive atmosphere."
Savannah and Michael looked at each other and then at the others.
Iris sat up straight. "Sounds like fun to me," she said. "Want to go, Craig?"
He groaned and frowned. "And leave all this comfort?"
"Come on, you party-pooper. Let's get out and have some fun."
Craig looked at Michael. "Are you going?"
Michael glanced at Savannah. "I'm pretty sure I am."
"Then I guess I'd better, too," Craig said.
Savannah stood. "Great! Let's go freshen up. I can be ready in ten minutes…what about you, Iris?"
Craig looked at Iris and laughed out loud. "Well, we'll catch up with you guys sometime tomorrow morning, if I know my wife."
"Oh Craig, stop," Iris said, heading for the sliding doors into the house. "I'll get my walking shoes and mad money and I'll be right out." She looked back at Craig, who appeared stunned. "Well, come on, old man," she said. "Whatsa matter, can't keep up?"
****
"This is festive," Iris said. "Look at all the twinkling lights everywhere and the art along the sidewalk. Makes me want to buy something."
"Well that's the idea," Peter said, smiling.
"I knew I should have left my wallet home," Craig complained.
"Hey, isn't that Kara?" Savannah said, pointing.
"Where?" Peter and Michael asked. Then Peter said, "Oh, I see. Looks like Charlynn with her." He laughed. "Those two are like conjoined twins. They're always together." He squinted a little. "Who's that they're talking to?" he wondered out loud.
"Looks like…" S
avannah started. Oh my gosh, Peter, that's the man who keeps scaring me!"
"Scaring you?" Rochelle asked.
"Yes, I saw him looking at me through the window in Peter's office. Then I saw Dawna arguing with him." She turned to Peter. "He scared Dawna the other day when we were having coffee."
"What was he doing?" he asked.
"Staring at her through the vines on the patio at the coffee house."
As the group drew closer to Peter's gallery, they noticed that a transaction was taking place. "Did I just see Charlynn hand that guy an armload of paintings?" Peter asked. "What is she doing?" he hastened his pace. By the time he'd made his way through the sidewalk-clogging crowd, the man was gone. "What's going on?" he asked the two young women, sounding slightly out of breath.
"Oh, hi Peter," Kara said, smiling.
Charlynn greeted him, as well.
"Who was that man?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Kara frowned. "Man? What man?"
"It looked like you gave him several of my paintings just now."
The women looked at each other and then Kara laughed and said, "Oh, John? He does odd jobs for us. He's delivering some framed originals to a customer."
"You hire a homeless guy to deliver my art?" he asked, scolding.
"Oh," Kara said, "I thought you knew about him. Dawna said…"
"Yeah," Charlynn said, "he told us…"
Just then a woman's voice could be heard above the hum of the crowd. She was talking to a group of friends. "This is it! Look at this art. Just look at it. Isn't it fabulous? But you can't give it a quick look. You must spend time with it. This man has a lot to say and he says it brilliantly through his art. Let's go inside. I want to show you my favorite pieces," she said, pushing her way through to the gallery entrance.
Once they small group had walked past, Kara said quietly, "I'm sorry, Peter. I thought he worked for us."
"Where'd he go to…deliver the art?" he asked.
The two women looked at each other. Charlynn said, "Um, I think one of the office buildings around the corner."
He grimaced. "This time of night? What offices are open now? Did he pay for the art?"
"No, he said he'd give the checks and cash to Dawna after he collects."
Peter threw his hand up to his head and turned away. He spun back toward the two women. "And you believed him?" he said, trying to keep his voice down.
"Like I said, I thought you knew about him. I thought he worked for us," Kara repeated. She appeared to be near tears.
"Well, let's do this," Peter said. "Don't let anyone walk off with any of the art unless they've paid for it." He glared at the two women. "I can't even believe this," he said.
Charlynn frowned. "He was so convincing. Like Kara said, he's done jobs for us before. I thought that was how he earned his money."
****
As the group headed back toward the beach house an hour or so later, Iris said, "That was fun. I got a lot of ideas for home decorating."
"You enjoy home decorating?" Rochelle asked.
"Yes, other people's homes," she said. "Can't afford to do much to my own place."
"Yeah, she's too busy decorating her body with all those cool designer clothes she wears," Savannah said. "She helped me decorate our old turn-of-the-century home."
"Nice," Rochelle said. "I was into home decorating once."
"Is there any profession you haven't tried during your rather short time on this planet?" Savannah asked, chuckling.
Rochelle thought for a moment. "Yes, I've never been a hooker—the crocheting kind or the street kind."
Everyone laughed.
In the meantime, Craig caught up to Peter, who was walking alone since Rochelle had joined the women in conversation. "Hey Peter, I caught wind of something you might be interested in."
"Oh?" he glanced at Craig.
"Yeah, I overheard two guys talking about you…saying something about how someone is selling you out. One of them had evidently heard through what he considered a reliable source that you are going down."
Peter ran his hand through his hair. "Damn," he said. "Can you describe these men? Did they say anything more?"
"Naw, someone else walked up to them and they changed the subject. Yeah, I can describe them. Long hair, beards; one was turning grey. He wore shades, one was darker, wore a baseball cap. That one had some tats. One on his hand resembled Popeye."
"Popeye?" he questioned.
"Yeah, you know, the muscle-bound sailor who eats spinach? Or are you too young to know that character?"
"Where were these dudes?" Peter asked.
"On the beach side of a wall I was leaning against while Iris was looking at some of the trinkets along the promenade."
"Well, one of them might be the guy Charlynn gave those paintings to this evening, but I don't recall that he was wearing a baseball cap."
"What?" Craig asked.
Peter looked at the detective. "Oh nothing, really. Just thinking out loud. Hey, thanks for the heads-up. Sure isn't good to hear, but I need to know about it if I'm going to have to fight it. Just wish I knew what or who I'm fighting."
****
"I'll get her," Savannah said when she heard Lily fuss early the following morning.
"No, let me," Michael said, leaping out of the bed and heading toward the alcove.
"But I haven't gotten her up all week," she whispered, loudly.
"Neither have I," he said.
"Yes, you did. It's my turn," she complained.
Just then the door on the other side of the alcove opened a crack and Gladys asked, "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, Mom, we're just arguing over who gets to get Lily up this morning. You go back to bed and sleep in."
Gladys shook her head and grinned at her daughter and son-in-law.
An hour later, she joined them in the kitchen. "So, who won the argument?" Gladys asked, chuckling.
Savannah laughed. "We both did."
"How's that?" her mother asked.
Savannah said, "Michael got the first cuddle. I changed her and we took turns playing with her before breakfast."
"Yeah, watch this," Michael said. "She likes airplane kitty."
"Airplane kitty?" Gladys questioned.
Michael nodded. "Watch." He waved the baby's chenille cat in the air and made airplane noises, then crashed the kitty into her tummy and she giggled.
"Cute," Gladys said, laughing.
"But she likes tickle kitty more," Savannah said. "Wait 'til you see this." She took the stuffed cat from Michael and wriggled it against Lily's neck saying, "Tickle, tickle kitty."
Lily giggled.
"You two are silly," Gladys said, laughing. She walked past Lily, softly rubbing one hand over the baby's head, then poured herself a cup of coffee. "You're awake awfully early for people who've been staying up late every night."
"Yes, we kinda are, aren't we?" Savannah said. "Well, Iris and Craig have to leave this morning." She then suggested, "Hey Mom, how about taking a walk with me and Lily before the traffic gets heavy. Want to? Craig and Iris probably won't be up for another hour or so."
"On the beach?" she asked
"No, on the sidewalks. The stroller doesn't roll on the sand. You mentioned some of the gardens you've noticed. I'd like to take a closer look at them."
"That would be nice. Yes, let's do that." She turned to Michael. "Want to join us?"
"No, I think I'll walk up along the beach and get a paper, then read it out on the deck."
"Okay. I'll fix us some pancakes with blueberries when we get back." Savannah said, kissing Michael on the side of the head.
"Which way shall we go?" Savannah asked her mother as they stepped out to the sidewalk on the east side of the house.
"Let's go to the right. I think there's more to see that way."
After examining some of the most beautiful landscaping in the neighborhood, Mother and daughter were just about ready to head back to the beach house when Sava
nnah said, "That's where Peter's gallery manager lives—in the apartment up there."
"What's that noise, Vannie?" Gladys asked, as they got closer.
"Gosh, I don't know—like a motor running in the garage there." As they rounded the corner, Savannah began fanning her face. "Whew. There are fumes are coming from something. What is that?" she asked out loud, frowning.
"I don't know, but let's get the baby out of here," Gladys insisted.
Savannah wheeled past the apartment building as fast as she could toward Seahorse Street. Once they were half block away, Savannah stopped. She turned and looked back at the small apartment building. "Mom, I think something's wrong."
"Why, honey?"
"Well, it sounds to me like a car running in that garage. It's right below Dawna's apartment, so I imagine that's her garage. Even if it's not, you don't leave a car running in a closed up garage." She pushed the stroller toward Gladys. "Here, stay with Lily. I'd better check this out," she said, heading back up the street toward the apartments.
"Vannie, no. It could be dangerous," Gladys called after her. "No Vannie. Stay here, please."
Sorry, Mom, Savannah said to herself. Something's terribly wrong and I have to find out what it is. Dawna could be in danger. She sprinted to the large garage door and attempted to lift it. Damn, must be automatic. Then there's another door," she reasoned, rushing toward the stairs leading to Dawna's apartment. She stopped near the bottom of the staircase, Good, a door with a window. She peered in through the window. It's dark. But I can see that there's a car in there and it looks like it's running. Good God.
She tried the door knob. Locked. She looked around, hoping to see someone on the street who could help. That's when she spotted a flower pot sitting near the bottom step. She grabbed it and smashed it against the window; shards of glass scattered in all directions. The fumes are awful, she thought. She used the pot to remove the shards from the bottom of the window opening and reached in to unlock the door. There's Dawna in the car. Dammit, what is she thinking? "Dawna, Dawna—get out of there!" Savannah called. She then ripped off the sweatshirt she'd tied around her waist and wrapped it around her face. She started to dash into the garage, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Stand back, ma'am," a man said, pulling her away from the door.