Something nagged at Savanna. Everything added up—it all made sense. But it was that sensation of a small detail out of place, similar to last year when she’d noticed the discrepancy in Caroline Carson’s Laurant painting. She tried to shake off the feeling and at least put it away for the moment. “Can I do anything? Are we safe then, as soon as your men make the arrests?”
He nodded. “I’ll check in with you the moment I have word they’re both in custody. All right? But until then, my friend Officer Zapelli will be with you. She’s going to follow you home and stay outside until I give her the all-clear.”
“Thank you,” Sydney said. “We appreciate that.”
“Talk to you soon.” Detective Jordan moved to leave, stopping at the curtain and looking back. “I’m glad you’re both all right. Thank you.”
With Nick Jordan gone, Savanna stood, antsy to go home. Her left arm was sheathed in a pink cast, Sydney had her bulky gray walking cast and crutches, and all they needed was the doctor to sign them out.
Finn cleared his throat, and Savanna thought he was going to tell her to be patient, but he stepped out of the room, coming back in under a minute with their doctor.
“Ready to get out of here, are we? You’re both all set. I’ll sign for your discharge, and the nurse will bring in the papers. Follow up with your own doctors, eight weeks for the cast, and—” he looked at Sydney, “—I need you to make sure you limit how much you’re on that foot during the next two weeks. The boot is meant to protect your ankle, not to get you right back to a normal activity level.”
“Yes sir,” Sydney said, nodding. She waited until he left, then said, “That’s what the crutches are for. I can’t leave Willow on her own; I’ll just be careful.”
Finn shook his head, and Savanna protested. “Nope,” Savanna said. “You can sit your butt on a chair at Fancy Tails and supervise. You’ve got plenty of help with Willow, Dad, and my one good arm.”
“And both of mine,” Finn added.
“You have a flight out on Saturday,” Syd said.
He shrugged. “Cancelled it. I’m not leaving yet.”
Sydney’s cheeks flushed. “Oh. Good.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Savanna woke up in the middle of the night, that nagging feeling of something being out place still with her. She shuffled out to the kitchen, Fonzie following her. She stood in the dark, staring at the refrigerator for a moment. She rubbed her eyes, looking into the living room. Both her parents were set up on the sofa bed, and her dad was snoring. Loudly. They’d been here when Finn had brought her and Sydney home last night. Charlotte had been upset, peppering them with questions. Harlan had been very, very quiet. When she’d hugged him goodnight and tried to let go, he’d held on. Even after she and her sister had been settled in comfortably, with Officer Zapelli outside, they’d refused to leave.
Savanna pulled a bowl from the cupboard, careful not to make any noise when she set it on the counter. Sydney only kept ultra-healthy cereals in the house, but Savanna needed something other than flax-seed fortified triple-grain oat flakes. One-handed, she filled her bowl from the box of Captain Crunch she kept behind the cake pans, added milk, and sat on a stool at the counter.
While she ate, she carefully used the free fingers of her casted left arm and scrolled on Sydney’s iPad through Mia James’ social media posts, taking care not to turn her hand sideways or palm up. The pain medication from the hospital must still be working, as she wasn’t too uncomfortable, considering. She stopped scrolling; she’d found exactly what she’d hoped she would. It didn’t necessarily prove anything, but it helped support the idea she’d woken up with.
She opened the map app and typed in Mitten Inn, Carson, Michigan. When a map of the inn and surrounding area populated the screen, she switched to Google earth view and zoomed in. Ugh. While she could make out a fuzzy view of the property, it wasn’t what she needed. She didn’t have the tools to find what she was looking for.
The police did. But she’d have to wait until morning. There wasn’t a thing she could do to confirm her theory at 2:52 a.m…or was there?
She moved to the sink and ran a splash of water into her empty bowl, got Fonzie a bone from his cookie jar to keep him busy for a minute, and tiptoed to the front door. She carefully, quietly, unlocked the deadbolt. She turned and peered wide-eyed behind her into the dark, holding her breath in case her parents heard her, but there was no change in her dad’s snoring, no movement from the sofa bed.
Savanna padded down the sidewalk in bare feet to where Officer Zapelli still sat in the police cruiser in front of the house. Savanna halted, hands up, her arm in the pink cast starting to throb, as the officer caught sight of her and whipped around in the front seat, one hand at her side holster.
She hit the window button, looking up at Savanna. “What are you doing, Ms. Shepherd?” Her tone was low and authoritarian.
Savanna instantly remembered the officer from Caroline Carson’s house last fall; she’d been there the day of the break-in. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I can’t sleep. I need help with something.”
The officer turned her radio down. “What happened?”
Savanna moved closer to the window, leaning down a little. “Nothing at all. But… Okay, you know all about this case, right? Detective Jordan filled you in?”
“Of course.”
“I’m really hoping you can look something up for me. Please. If you don’t mind.”
“This isn’t how this works, Ms. Shepherd. I’m here to keep you safe. If your family finds you gone, they’ll call it in, and Jordan will have a conniption.”
She nodded. “They won’t, I swear. I’m not gone—I’m thirty feet away in the front yard. It’ll only take a minute, please?”
Zapelli looked irritated. Her gaze went to Savanna’s pink cast. Savanna could feel her assessing her, the cast, the messy hair piled on top of her head, her ancient T-shirt bearing the Phantom of the Opera logo. Zapelli reached across the front seat. “Get in. Two minutes.”
“Thank you!”
Savanna was back inside, snuggled into her bed, less than five minutes later. She slept more soundly than she had in days.
Harlan had a smorgasbord of breakfast foods waiting when Savanna emerged in the morning. Sydney was already at the table eating, and Charlotte had gone to work. Her dad set a plate in front of her with a strawberry-and-whipped-cream-topped waffle, already cut neatly into small squares.
She laughed, spearing one with a fork. “I could’ve cut it, Dad. But thank you.”
“Skylar says you two have to go in and give a statement to Detective Jordan. She’ll meet us there whenever you want to go later.”
“Now.” She took two quick bites, turning to Sydney. “I figured out what was nagging at me last night. When will you be ready?”
“Anytime. I’m not the one who slept in till almost eleven.”
She gasped, looking up at the clock. “No. That’s impossible. Ugh.” She stabbed three more pieces of waffle, trying to eat faster. There was no way her dad was driving them to the police station without breakfast.
Within the hour, she and Sydney were at the front desk of the precinct, waiting for Detective Jordan. Harlan promised to wait in the parking lot for them.
Skylar pushed through the double front doors, giving them each a hug. “You two are a sight. Does it hurt? Did you take something?” She looked pointedly at Sydney.
“It’s not even broken. It’s ridiculous how much it hurts,” Sydney said. “Any time I bump it. Yes, we took our Tylenol this morning, boss.” She rolled her eyes at Skylar. “And we’ll take our ibuprofen as soon as it’s due.”
Nick Jordan came around a corner, motioning them over. Sydney went first, maneuvering carefully with the crutches. He led them down a long hallway, turning back now and then as he spoke. “We’ve got Greenwood and King both in custody, as you know.
They’ve been read their rights, and both have called their lawyers. Greenwood has made every threat you can think of. According to him, I’ll never work again. Oh.” He stopped walking, letting them catch up. “Sorry. I’m on my fourth cup of coffee. Joe Fratelli is clear. They removed his ankle bracelet about an hour ago.”
The sisters exchanged relieved glances. Finally, their old friend could go back to living his life.
Detective Jordan started walking again, more slowly, and stopped at a window in the middle of the wall that was clearly a two-way mirror. Through it sat Landon King, alone in an interrogation room. He sat straight-backed, elbows on the table in front of him, one leg jittering up and down as he stared intently at the wall. Jordan resumed his pace, pausing again two windows down. Roger Greenwood leaned forward across his table, face beet red, jabbing at the air as he yelled something at the woman who must be his lawyer.
Detective Jordan reached for the switch on the wall that would allow them to listen in, then pulled his hand back. “Nah. No one needs to hear that. But we’re working on them both. Still waiting for King’s lawyer to show up, so we’re stalled for a bit with him. Even if we can’t get a confession out of Greenwood, once the fingerprint results come in today, we’ll have enough proof for premeditated murder. So far he’s denying everything.” He couldn’t hide the hint of frustration in his tone.
“That’s because he didn’t do it,” Savanna spoke.
Her sisters and Detective Jordan stared at her like she was insane.
“Can he hear us at all? Can any of them?” Savanna peered into the little room.
“No. But hold on. Follow me.”
In the last interrogation room on the right, Savanna leaned earnestly across the table toward Detective Jordan as she explained. “I don’t think you’ll find Roger Greenwood’s fingerprints on that cellar door. They won’t be a match for the unidentified partial prints on the knife. Or on my brake lines. He knows nothing about cars. And I don’t believe he’d get his hands dirty. He didn’t crawl around under my car, stabbing a hole in my brake line, because he was totally in the dark about those papers Yvonne had.”
The detective shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Do you still have her phone?”
“It’s in evidence.” He hesitated a moment as he met her gaze. “I’ll get it.”
“Tell me,” Sydney elbowed her when he’d left the room. “What are you thinking?”
She shook her head. “It’s easier to explain with the phone.”
When Nick Jordan returned, handing Savanna the cell, she opened the text message screen and scrolled down. She clicked on a thread, and then pulled out her own phone, going to her phone book. She turned both phones around and slid them across the table to the detective.
“The text messages from Greenwood to Yvonne asking her if she could bring John’s files in,” he acknowledged. “He asked her a couple of days in a row.”
“Right. But they’re not from Greenwood. Look at the number. It’s obviously not a saved contact in Yvonne’s phone. Compare the phone number to this number in my contact list.” She pointed.
“Landon King. This is Landon King’s number. In Yvonne’s phone. Saying he’s Greenwood.”
She nodded. “And…” she moved a finger across the screen, scrolling the text message thread toward the end, “…telling Yvonne to just leave the files in his mailbox in the parks and rec office. There’s no way Mayor Greenwood would’ve told Yvonne to leave documents he suspected contained incriminating information in a mailbox out in the open where anyone could find it. This wasn’t Greenwood. This was King, using the only method he could to get his hands on information he knew would expose both him and the mayor.”
“Greenwood keeps saying he has no idea what we’re talking about with Yvonne having those files. So maybe he’s not lying,” Jordan mused.
“There’s more. Mia James is dating Landon King.”
“What?” Both of her sisters reacted at once.
“All right,” Jordan said slowly. “Officer Zapelli told me about your late-night antics when she came in this morning. You convinced her to look something up? She said she promised to let you explain first. But we’ve been through this. Mia James wasn’t involved in Bellamy’s death.”
She nodded. “I know.” She tapped her phone screen a few times, bringing up several photos of Mia with Landon King. “But. Landon King is dating Mia who, I might remind you, is John Bellamy’s ex. We obviously have the money trail right, with Better Living paying off Greenwood to make the boardwalk development happen, and Greenwood putting money in King’s pocket to help push the proposal through; they’d both continue benefitting, as long as the plan came to fruition. Everyone knows there was no love lost between John and Mia. If John went public with what Landon King and Roger Greenwood were doing, with proof, he’d have destroyed King’s relationship with Mia on top of ruining both men.”
She rushed on, glancing at her sisters and then back at Detective Jordan. “I believe John used that—the threat that he’d start by going to Mia with the information. Landon King killed John Bellamy. He had no choice. I’m guessing it was kind of a win-win for him, knowing how much Mia hated John for everything he’d done. And then he had to clean up his tracks. He slashed my tires, trying to scare me off looking into things. And he cut my brake lines yesterday so he could get the files he neglected to find last week, when he shoved Yvonne down her stairs. I think he’d hoped she’d just cluelessly bring them to the parks and rec office, but she kept forgetting. He ransacked her house but never thought to check her car.” She paused, shaking her head. “I really thought he was so helpful at first. He was an open book. But only about the details he wanted me to have.”
Savanna had the rapt attention of everyone in the little room. “The partial prints on the chef’s knife are Landon King’s, I’m positive. They’re also on my car. Roger Greenwood wouldn’t have a clue how to find a brake line. He can’t even refill his own windshield washer fluid. I know, because Yvonne mentioned it once. And,” she finished, sitting back, “I’m betting that gray SUV I kept seeing, first speeding by John’s house with Britt that day, then when my tires were slashed, is the same gray SUV registered to Landon King. Officer Zapelli was able to look up the plate and confirm that’s what he drives.”
Detective Jordan sat completely still across from Savanna. His fingers were steepled under his chin as he stared through her, considering. A minute passed. Then two.
Savanna shifted in her chair, holding her cast above her head and wincing; her arm was throbbing. She should’ve brought the ibuprofen with her.
Skylar finally broke the silence. “Jordan? What do you think?”
He looked down at the two now-black phone screens on the table, and then up at Savanna. “Yes. All right.” He pushed off the table with both hands, his chair sliding backward and hitting the wall. “All right,” he said again, more to himself. “We can use this. I’ve got some work to do. Can I?” He pointed at her phone. “I don’t need to keep it, but let me take it to evidence downstairs and bring it back to you later today, in case King’s got more than one phone number. I’ll walk you out.” The detective’s usual calm demeanor was now amped way up; Savanna could almost see him mentally ticking through each detail.
Skylar put a hand on his arm. “Jordan. I’ll walk them out, it’s fine. Will you please keep us updated? And let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“I will. Thanks.” He walked with them out of the room, looking at Savanna. “I’m going to check on the prints right now. But this makes each piece fit. I’ll be in touch.”
When the sisters emerged from the precinct, Harlan was leaning against his truck, talking with Aidan.
“Fresh out of heart surgery in another state, and here he is,” Skylar said quietly, smiling at Savanna. “Doesn’t surprise me at all.”
Savanna’s heart leaped. She’d wished him here, and it had worked. “He’s pretty awesome,” she agreed. She walked into Aidan’s arms, resting her head on his chest and hugging him back. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said into his suit lapel.
“I’ve got to get to work,” Harlan spoke. “Sydney, hop in, and I’ll run you home. Dr. Gallager says he can take Savanna.”
“I’m not going home,” Sydney protested. “I’m fine, Dad. I promised Willow I’d be in today. I’ll just walk,” she said, stubborn streak showing as she started off across the parking lot on crutches.
Harlan grumbled under his breath. “Sydney Marie, get in the truck. I’ll drop you at the shop.”
“Thanks Dad,” she said sweetly, hobbling past him around to the passenger side.
“I’m out,” Skylar called, walking toward her law office. “Syd, I pushed all my meetings today. Text me if you need help, and I’ll run across the street.”
Aidan drew back enough to look at Savanna as everyone left. “Are you really okay? You didn’t hit your head or hurt anything but the arm? Let me see.”
She presented her arm to him.
He cupped the bright-pink cast, looking at her fingers and then her upper arm where the skin was visible. “No trouble moving your hand? Any pain when you rotate your arm?” He demonstrated with his own hand.
“You just can’t not be a doctor, can you?” She looked up at him. She wiggled her fingers, which didn’t hurt too much, and then tried to rotate her arm. She winced, pulling the arm back in to her body. “That hurts.”
“Okay. It’s probably a scaphoid fracture. Is that what they said? When’s the last time you took something for pain?”
“I don’t know, a while ago.” She made a face and raised her arm up in the air like she was hailing a taxi. “It didn’t hurt this bad this morning. It feels better elevated.”
“Which is why you should be home, elevating it,” Aidan said. “Come on, I’ll take you. I’ll write out a medicine schedule too—the pain’s getting away from you.” He took a few steps to his car, holding the passenger door open for her.
Behind the Frame Page 27