Behind the Frame

by Tracy Gardner

  She would hate to be an art event judge. There was no way she could narrow down the amazing pieces of art they’d admitted into the event. Talia DeVries had answered her latest email first thing this morning, and they now had a lunch date arranged for Tuesday.

  Savanna spooned the beef-and-vegetable filling into each pastry shell, pinching the edges closed and then pressing them lightly with the back of a fork. When she was finished, she had twelve of them on two baking sheets loaded into the oven. Fonzie sat patiently by her feet the entire time she worked, cleaning up little scraps of anything she dropped. Once the oven door snapped shut, he ambled over and curled up in the sun near Charlotte, seated at the round kitchen table by the window.

  “I’ve got to grab the berries,” she called over her shoulder to her mother, heading out the kitchen door. Carson had the best fresh produce market on this side of the state. Halle’s Berries had been in business since Savanna was in grade school; back then, it’d been a handmade wooden booth across the street from the village park. Now it was a real popup market, a large red-and-white food-truck style trailer with an awning and shelves of farm-fresh fruit and vegetables. The family who ran it owned a huge farm east of town. Halle herself, the girl the market had been named for when she was a baby, was now in her twenties and often helped her parents behind the counter. They greeted Savanna by name every time she went, and she loved it.

  Savanna rounded the corner of her parents’ house, heading toward the frontyard and driveway, and was startled by squealing tires. She whipped her head in both directions, up and down the street. A gray SUV was speeding away, leaving behind black skid marks on the pavement. It looked a lot like the vehicle that had raced down John’s street yesterday. Was it the same one? She squinted after it, but couldn’t read the license plate number. She hoped she was just feeling paranoid. It was probably kids.

  She carried cartons of blackberries, raspberries and strawberries into the kitchen, and Charlotte jumped up to help, taking the top two cartons off the stack between her arms and her chin.

  Her mom set them on the counter and popped a blackberry in her mouth. “Mmm.” Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. “My favorite. You got them from Halle’s?”

  “Where else?” She pulled packages of shortcake shells from the paper bag over her arm. She’d already stowed the ice cream in the freezer earlier. “Shortcut. I’m cheating a little. The pasty dough is homemade; I lost the will to bake the shortbread from scratch too.”

  Charlotte grinned. “‘Shortcut’ is my middle name when it comes to cooking.”

  “Shall I assemble them, or let everyone make their own?”

  “Oh, let them make their own. Nolan will love that. I’ll help you clean the berries.”

  Savanna stood side by side with her mother at the sink, rinsing berries and halving the strawberries.

  “Tell me about your date.”

  She glanced at her mother. “Sydney told you.”

  “Of course. Tell me about Aidan. And who’s the mystery man you all had ice cream with at Lickety Split?”

  She laughed. “Oh my gosh. Now who was that from?” She bit her lip, trying to remember who exactly had been at the ice cream parlor whom Charlotte would’ve spoken to.

  “Apparently Rose Munsinger sent her daughter out for a banana split last night. When your ninety-two-year-old mother wants ice cream, you get her ice cream. Rose’s daughter told Mia that my daughter was enjoying sundaes with not one but two handsome men.”

  Savanna rolled her eyes. “Rose’s daughter knows who Dr. Gallager is, I’m sure. So Mia called you to ask about your daughter’s scandalous behavior?”

  “No, Mia’s not that bold.” Charlotte laughed. “I actually called her—I had to call all the ladies in my euchre group to reschedule our game night to Thursday. Mia asked me about what Rose’s daughter told her before we hung up. She said she ran into you girls at Giuseppe’s the other day.”

  “Oops. I was supposed to give you her regards. She was there talking to her son—did you know the new sous chef there is Mia’s son? With John Bellamy.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Sure. You didn’t?”

  “How would I? It sounds like his relationship with John was complicated.” She was treading lightly. She really didn’t know how close Charlotte and Mia were, or what Charlotte thought of Remy James.

  “That’s a nice word for it. You don’t even have time for that story.” She glanced up at the wall clock over the sink. “Everyone will be here soon.”

  “Mom, I do have time. I need to know.”

  Charlotte frowned at her. “Skylar told me you’re helping her with her case, trying to learn who framed Joe Fratelli. I’m not sure I like any of this, Savanna.”

  “I’m fine. No one needs to worry, really. I’m just working on figuring out connections. And everything I’m hearing lately about John contradicts what I thought I knew about him. Did he really turn against Remy when he got in trouble for whatever happened at Mitten Inn?”

  “Yes, he did.” She sighed. “The whole affair was awful. I’ll tell you. I will, I promise. But your sisters and Travis will be here in twenty minutes, I’ve still got to pack for my flight tonight, and I think you’re trying to avoid my original question.”

  Savanna hugged her mom around the shoulders with one arm, trying not to touch her with her dripping-wet hand. “I’m not.”

  “Let’s chat this week. I’m back from Denver on Tuesday, and you’re out of school now. You choose when and where, and I promise I’ll fill you in. Now please. Tell me something, anything, about you.” Charlotte turned off the faucet. “Tell me about your date on Friday.” She dried her hands on a dish towel and handed it to Savanna.

  Oh, good grief. Why were mothers so good at guilt trips? “You don’t have to pry anything from me! Our date was great. Aidan is…” Savanna bit her lip. How to describe him? How to explain how he made her feel without worrying she was going to jinx the whole thing? It was all so new and tenuous.

  Charlotte set the large glass bowl of plump berries in the center of the island and moved to the coffee maker, pouring two cups. She added a small spoonful of sugar to each.

  Patience and guilt, a powerful combination, Savanna thought. She couldn’t help smiling, knowing exactly what her mother was doing. She didn’t mind. She’d missed this in Chicago; the familiarity of family, even when it meant she couldn’t hide from her feelings.

  Charlotte moved to the table in the sun with her coffee and began packing up her laptop. She was silent. Waiting.

  “Aidan’s like no one I’ve ever met.” Savanna sat at the table and helped gather up the few pens and papers scattered around the laptop.

  Her mother packed the laptop cord into the case and took a sip of her coffee.

  “He’s generous and caring and smart, and it’s terrifying. He’s—What’s his story? Has he dated much since his wife died? I can’t be the first person to see how great he is.” Savanna had been wondering, but she didn’t want to ask Aidan.

  “I’ve never heard of him dating at all, until you.”

  “Not at all? His wife passed away three years ago. That’s surprising. Maybe he was just low-key with it, with dating? Because of Mollie.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I guess that’s possible, but I don’t think so. Oh, he’s had opportunity, believe me. Barb from my yoga class works at his clinic, and she says several of his office staff have tried. All I know is he seems to be very focused on his work and his daughter. Until you.” She tapped Savanna’s hand.

  She was quiet. She hadn’t wanted to hear that Aidan dated tons of women…but she wasn’t sure how to feel, knowing she was the first woman he’d gone out with since his wife died. Maybe he was testing the waters. He’d been with Olivia since med school. Maybe he finally wanted to get back out there, and Savanna seemed as good a prospect as any; better in some ways, low risk since s
he didn’t work at his clinic or the hospital, and she wasn’t tangled up in the interwoven relationships in town, after being gone for ten years.

  “I think he wasn’t ready before.” Charlotte was watching Savanna. “Maybe you’ve made him realize he is now.”

  “Ready for what?” Savanna met her mother’s gaze. “To start dating people again? What if I don’t want to be part of his recovery?”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows went up. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes! I mean, no. I know I can’t even imagine what he’s been through. I don’t want to be a stepping stone as he works through everything. I don’t know if I want to be the very first person he’s dated after losing Olivia. What are the odds that’d even work out?”

  “Oh, honey.” Charlotte squeezed her hand. “What do odds have to do with love?”

  Savanna swallowed hard around a lump that appeared in her throat at that word. Love? What was that? Was it what she’d thought she’d shared with Rob in Chicago? Because whatever that was had left her feeling more alone when she’d been with him than she’d ever felt on her own.

  Charlotte let go of her daughter’s hand and zipped her laptop into its case, studying Savanna’s disturbed expression. “All right. Listen to me. You’re putting way too much thought into this. You enjoy being with Aidan. He clearly enjoys being with you. As you said, he’s caring and smart. I don’t believe for a minute that he’s callous or has ulterior motives. And you, my dear, can’t let your past experiences dictate your future happiness.”

  She blinked at her mom. “Sydney’s been sharing her self-help books again, hasn’t she?”

  Charlotte burst out laughing. She shook her head. “How did I raise such a snarky daughter? Punk.” She slung her computer bag over one shoulder and moved toward the doorway and the staircase beyond to the bedrooms.

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re not. How do you feel when you’re with him, Savanna?”

  She thought about it, unconsciously wrapping her arms across her chest. She felt too many things for words. “I feel seen.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Perfect. I’m going to pack. Can you let your dad know we’re eating soon?”

  Harlan was the only one at the table to finish off two entire Yooper Pasties, complete with gravy. Savanna was surprised that even Nolan ate most of his—for a four-year-old, he was good about trying almost anything at least once.

  Savanna carried the large bowl of strawberries, raspberries and blackberries to the long dining room table, followed by French vanilla ice cream, strawberry syrup, shortcakes, and Nolan’s favorite, whipped cream topping in a can.

  He stood up in his chair and clapped, reaching for the can. “I can do it!”

  “Okay, buddy,” Skylar said. “That’s your job. We’ll pass our berry shortcakes to you for the final touch. But no sampling until you’re finished!”

  Nolan proved to be skilled at doling out ample swirls of whipped cream. Savanna suspected he’d had plenty of practice.

  “Skylar,” she said as they dug in. “Have you heard anything at all from Detective Jordan?”

  “Not since the arraignment last week. Why?”

  Savanna filled her sisters in on the discovery behind the painting, and then about John’s apparent discovery of a relationship between Judge DeVries and one of the applicants. She and Britt had agreed that if Talia DeVries graciously stepped down as a judge, they’d grant Nina McCullen entrance to Art in the Park; her talent wasn’t the issue. That scene in the ballroom vestibule nagged at Savanna. In light of that sticky note in John’s handwriting, it now seemed DeVries had likely been pleading with Bellamy to keep the information to himself.

  “And the weird thing about that crooked painting is, I’m positive it wasn’t like that the night John was—” She interrupted herself abruptly, glancing at Nolan, whose face was completely covered in whipped cream and reddish purple berry goo. “The night he fell asleep. But I can’t figure out why whoever…helped him fall asleep…would’ve come back to the house afterward. That seems so risky.”

  “Did Jordan have any ideas?” Skylar asked, leaning over and swiping at Nolan’s face with a baby wipe.

  Travis stood and scooped him out of his chair. “You got more berries on your face than in your tummy, big guy. We’re going outside to play with Fonzie,” he told Skylar, carrying the little boy at arm’s length toward the kitchen sink.

  “I think Detective Jordan assumes I probably missed it that night. I know I didn’t; the Mondrian wasn’t crooked when I was in the house last Sunday. I was trying so hard not to look at John, and the blood.” She lowered her voice, even though Travis was making Nolan shriek with laughter at the sink now. “I got a good look at his home office that night. Someone came back for something in that safe—and knew the safe was hidden there.”

  “Or, someone was searching for something and looked in an obvious spot,” Sydney said, playing devil’s advocate.

  “Right,” Skylar said. “I can see that. Or else they made John give up the information the night they killed him, but then had to get out of there when Savanna rang the doorbell. It could be that the killer came back later last week when the coast was clear, to get whatever was in the safe.”

  “If they find fingerprints on the safe and they aren’t Chef Joe’s, that’ll help clear him, won’t it?” Savanna set her spoon down and leaned forward, looking at Skylar.

  “Not necessarily,” Skylar answered. “The prints from the cellar door aren’t Chef Joe’s, but it doesn’t change the fact that his fingerprints are the only identifiable ones on the murder weapon.”

  “Oh.”

  “The sheriff’s department did get video footage from two of the councilman’s neighbors, and I’m told they’re going through those. And I requisitioned any video we can get from the intersection cam outside the Carson Ballroom the night of the banquet, so I should have that tomorrow morning. Chef Joe thinks that’s when his knife was stolen. He doesn’t remember having it after that.”

  “There’s an intersection camera?” Sydney asked.

  “Just at the four corners in town. I’m not sure if anything was captured—maybe someone who didn’t belong there, or anything suspicious; the angle won’t be great, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “Oh!” Savanna slapped the table. “What about the photographer at the banquet? The Allegan county reporter had a photographer with him. Maybe he accidentally caught something in one of his shots.”

  “Even better! He’d have shots inside the ballroom,” Skylar said. “Can you get in touch and ask him?”

  “Sure, I’ve got the reporter’s card somewhere. I’ll look for it tonight. And listen, I’m driving up to Grand Pier tomorrow to talk to that hotel owner John was arguing with.” She put a hand up as both her sisters started to protest. “Aidan’s coming with me.”

  “I’m off,” Charlotte spoke up from the doorway. “Flight to catch. Be careful. All of you.” She looked pointedly from Savanna to Sydney to Skylar. “Lunch Wednesday when I’m back, girls. Let me know what time works.”

  Harlan put the last dish in the dishwasher and dried his hands on a towel, taking Charlotte’s suitcase from her. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Tuesday we’re going to Grand Rapids to find out what’s up with that art critic judge, right?” Sydney asked. “I’ve got Willow lined up to run the shop for the day.”

  “Awesome,” Savanna said.

  “We’re having lunch with Mom?” Skylar tapped her phone and then her calendar app. “Wednesday?”

  “She promised to fill us in on the big scandal years ago at Mitten Inn with Remy James and Mia. She says it’s a long story.” Savanna summed up what she’d learned so far from Caroline and Aidan.

  Skylar frowned. “That was right after I had Nolan. I was off on maternity leave. I know Mia hired my firm to defend Remy, but he was released and cleared afte
r just a few days. Those records will be sealed—I don’t have access, since I wasn’t part of the defense team.”

  “I’ll pick up sandwiches for us Wednesday from the deli,” Sydney said. “By then, we should have some answers. I’m just glad to know Chef Joe is back home, even if he’s stuck there for now.”

  “We’ve got a problem.” Harlan stood in the dining room doorway, his face somber. “Follow me.”

  Savanna exchanged curious glances with her sisters as they followed their dad out the front door to the driveway.

  Savanna’s car, parked in the driveway behind Harlan’s truck and in front of the SUV Travis drove and Sydney’s hybrid, had four flat tires. One hand over her mouth, she walked in a circle around her little car, now resting much lower to the ground than it had when she’d arrived. The other vehicles in the driveway were untouched. She made it around to the front driver’s side and gasped. A stainless steel knife jutted out, still stuck in the rubber tire treads.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harlan put a hand on Savanna’s arm as she instinctively reached out to remove the knife from her tire. “Don’t touch it.”

  She stared at him. “What happened?” It was a stupid question; she knew that the moment the words left her lips. “What does this mean? Who did this?”

  “We’ll find out. Don’t worry.” Harlan’s calm, low tone was betrayed by his expression; fury furrowed his brow. “Do you have your phone?”

  She handed it to him, her hand shaking.

  He scrolled through her contacts and tapped one, putting the phone to his ear. “Detective Jordan. Harlan Shepherd here. Someone’s taken a knife to my daughter’s tires.”

  Savanna saw Sydney hurrying toward the side of the house, where Skylar and Nolan were coming around the corner. They turned abruptly and retreated toward the backyard, redirecting Nolan’s attention with a quick Frisbee tossed to Fonzie.

  “Jordan will be here in a minute. Let’s sit.” His hand was still on her upper arm and he led her to the front porch, where they sat on the wide steps.