Cracked to Death (21 page)

Read Cracked to Death Online

Authors: Cheryl Hollon

BOOK: Cracked to Death
10.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Chapter 36
Sunday Evening
 
The afternoon sun was still blazing white heat through the heavily tinted windows of the Queen's Head dining room. The large ceiling fans helped the struggling air conditioner keep the blistering heat at bay, but it was the company that was cool. Edward had reconfigured the two tables on the east side of the pub to accommodate those Savannah had invited to celebrate Amanda's release as a murder suspect.
Edward entered from behind the bar with a flight of new draft brews to try. He stood next to Savannah and placed the small box filled with four small glasses in front of her. “I've been experimenting with different beers lately, so I have a full selection, from a light wheat ale to the boldest stout. I have a box like this for everyone—except Jacob, of course. This will be fun.”
Bartender Nicole helped him place a box of beer samples at every setting.
“I borrowed these from 3 Daughters Brewing. I think I counted correctly, but we'll see,” Edward noted.
A quiet Jacob arrived with Suzy. He sat across from Savannah. He smiled hello to Nicole and ordered a root beer.
The Rosenberg sisters arrived in eye-piercing head-to-toe silver garb. “We're here!” they said in unison.
Rachel smiled at Faith, then said, “Mrs. Blake is recovering so nicely that the hospital—”
“Scooted us away earlier this afternoon,” Faith said, finishing her sister's statement. “They've taken her back to the Abbey, and she's all settled by now.”
Savannah leapt up and gave them each a big hug. “You two were absolutely fabulous with Mrs. Blake. I'm sure Amanda is immensely grateful.” She guided them to a pair of seats, and Edward tried to give them each a beer sampler.
“Oh no, Edward. We are cosmopolitan girls,” said Rachel.
“Yes. Nicole knows what we like,” said Faith.
“Coming right up. Two cosmopolitans—shaken, not stirred.” Nicole reached for the large Belvedere Vodka bottle behind the bar and started to make their cocktails.
Paul and Julie arrived just then.
“We have something to show you,” Paul said as he placed a shiny coin down on the surface of the table. “It's from the right time period, but not unique in any way. It's the bottles that identify the treasure as belonging to José Gaspar, but it's not yet a verified discovery. I've started the horrendous paperwork to claim it.” He nodded at Jacob and Suzy. “We're including Jacob as a principle. Without his analysis . . . Well, it would still be undiscovered. Even so, it may take years of scholarly research.”
Nicole placed their sampler boxes in front of them after they sat.
Julie turned to the group. “We were disappointed at first, but then we realized this would be valuable for attracting funding for our robotic bottom-mapping project. A little pirate mystique will put us at the top of the allocation lists.” She smiled at Paul, lifted one of her beer samples. “Here's to grant funding. May it never end.”
Paul clinked her glass, sipped deeply, and followed that with an enthusiastic kiss. “I agree completely.”
Julie blushed, then raised up a finger. “But here's the even better news. It has already gotten out that we found the treasure with Red Rover. We've been getting e-mails from serious treasure hunters, asking to buy our system. We may not even need grant money if even ten percent of these orders come through.”
Tracy stood at the door. Halfway in and halfway out. “Is this the party for Amanda?”
Savannah walked over to her. “Yes, Tracy. I'm so glad you could come. I'm so sorry that we barged in on you at the university. That was not one of my better decisions this week.”
“No. Don't apologize. I'm glad. This has shaken me out of my shell. I made a terrible mistake by not getting in touch with Martin. Now it's too late.”
“Don't be so harsh. Families don't always make sense. He should have tried harder to stay connected. You're welcome here.”
She smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
Savannah turned at the sound of the door opening. “Here's our guest of honor.”
Amanda walked through the door, dressed for a celebration in a pink paisley midi dress and rhinestone flip-flops, her hair tinged violet. She and Savannah hugged for a long moment.
Savannah waved her hand. “Sit here at the head of the table, next to me.”
Lindsey followed Amanda and smiled at everyone at the table. She sat next to Amanda and thanked Edward for the beer sampler.
The door opened again, and Captain Collins entered. He sat at the far end and waved a friendly hand. “Hey, guys. Thanks for inviting me. I'm very happy things are set straight.”
Later Amanda ordered her favorite pint. “It wasn't obvious, to me at least, that Vicki was incensed by my relationship with Martin. When he began talking about meeting his sister and getting married, Vicki must have stalked him to his favorite dive spot and killed him with one of their creations. She put a bottle in Martin's dive bag to lead the murder investigation to me, because she knew he took the bottles to the workshop. When that wasn't effective enough, she planted the bottle used to murder Martin in my mother's room at the Abbey. She just walked in there, bold as brass, and no one even glanced her way. I'm afraid that's the way with most nursing homes. There are so many visitors and so little staff. If you walk in like you belong there, no one will bat an eye.”
“That one worked,” Jacob said in a clear voice. “I'm glad you're out of jail.” He leaned over and gave Amanda a side hug.
She froze during the hug. “Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate it very much. I missed everyone a lot.” A big tear ran down her cheek. “I've checked out a support group recommended by my mom's nursing staff. They have convinced me it will help with the stress of being a caregiver and will boost my self-confidence, as well. I've been a terrible person to the best friends in the world. I'm truly sorry. Anyway, I'm going to give it a try.”
Jacob straightened up in his chair. “I am going to assist with more map locations for Red Rover.”
Paul nodded. “Oh yes! He's our newest consultant in the ROV business.”
Edward stood and waved a hand at Nicole. She approached their table with a tray laden with fresh pints of golden ale. “What our server is placing in front of each of you, except Jacob, of course, is a new ale I helped the brewer create for this special occasion. I've named it Tall Trouble, and I dedicate it to Savannah.” He turned to her, and they all lifted their pints and saluted her.
Savannah blushed but tasted the brew. “Oh, my goodness. This is perfect! Everything I like in a craft beer is in this delicious brew.” She looked around the table. “In light of our experience over the past few days, I have a new appreciation for the terrible effect that secrets can have on friendships and also relationships.” She looked over at Edward. “This is the perfect time to tell you that Edward and I are well and truly friends . . .” She let a long moment pass. “And lovers.” She lifted her glass. “Cheers to Edward, the new man in my life.”
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
Kiln
A kiln is a thermally insulated chamber, a type of oven, that produces temperatures sufficient to process a substance, such as by hardening, drying, or altering it chemically. Various industries and trades use kilns to harden clay objects and transform them into pottery, tiles, and bricks. The earliest known kiln dates to around 6000 BC and was found at the Yarim Tepe site in modern Iraq. Neolithic kilns were able to produce temperatures greater than 1600 degrees Fahrenheit. Their uses include annealing, fusing and deforming glass, and fusing metallic oxide paints with the surface of glass. Kilns operated by electricity were developed in the twentieth century, primarily for smaller-scale use, such as in schools, universities, and hobby centers.
 
Slumping
This process involves heating glass in a kiln from room temperature to a temperature high enough to cause it to soften and slump (sag) into or over a mold. The finished item takes the shape of the mold.
 
Upcycling
Also known as creative reuse, upcycling is the process of transforming by-products, waste materials, and useless and/or unwanted products into new materials or products of a better quality or a better environmental value. Upcycling is the opposite of downcycling, which is another aspect of the recycling process. Downcycling involves converting useless materials and products into new materials of greater quality. Most recycling involves converting useless material into reusable material or extracting useful materials from a product and creating a different, useful product. Upcycling has been increasing due to its current marketability and the lower cost of reused materials.
INFORMATION ABOUT STAINED GLASS INSTRUCTION
Signing up for a class that teaches you how to recycle your excess bottles is an excellent way to save the environment. Webb's Glass Shop is based on Grand Central Stained Glass & Graphics, a business owned by our friends Eloyne and Bradley Erickson. The Web site for the business is
www.grandcentralstainedglass.com
. I'm very lucky to live in St. Petersburg, Florida, where there are multiple instructional glass shops all within a short driving time.
Find a class by searching the Internet for “stained glass classes” within your town, city, or state. Most classes have six to eight sessions and meet for a few hours each week. There are usually also various classes geared toward single-session or short-term projects specially designed to help you create a specific item or try your hand at a particular glass method. Many upcycle/DIY projects can be undertaken in this type of class.
If you have no glass shops near you, there are Web-based tutorials available that can teach some of the basics necessary to complete a simple project. I find these most helpful when I need to review a technique that I haven't used for a while. The instructions are usually step-by-step, with pictures and videos with an accompanying narrative. The best online classes offer a trial period, so you pay for the class only when you commit to it.
Don't miss the first book
in the Webb's Glass Shop Mystery series,
 
Pane and Suffering
 
On sale now
wherever books and ebooks are sold!
Chapter 1
Monday Morning
 
Savannah fingered the key ring her late father had used only a week ago. She knew each key by memory, having used them from babyhood up through borrowing his car with her newly issued driver's license. She clenched them in her fist and took a deep shaky breath.
Dad will never twirl them barely out of my reach again
.
Paint flaked off the heavy, fireproofed and double-bolted back door.
It's like Dad,
she thought,
well-worn, but strong and solid
.
How could her smart, funny, marathon running dad die of a heart attack?
Savannah unlocked the shop, stepped into his office, and keyed the alarm code. With walls built of salvaged barn wood, the tiny space awakened a vision of his shoulders hunched over a mountain of paperwork. The sharp smoky scent of his aftershave clutched her heart.
Stop thinking about him. The students will be here soon
.
Forcing a slow breath, she dropped the keys onto the rolltop desk that had once been her grandfather's. Small pilings of papers, files, bills, and Post-it notes covered every available flat surface and all the pigeon holes were stuffed like magpie nests. Grandpa Roy had used the sturdy desk for the motorcycle business he'd started after World War I. In continuous use by her family since the 1920s, it looked at her with serious expectations.
I guess you're mine now. I'll do my best.
She ran her hand over the top and smiled when her fingers reached the dent caused by a wildly thrown toy rocket when she was five. Her dad had yelled at her.
He seldom yelled.
Startled by the ringing of the black wall-mounted phone, she cleared her throat and picked up the receiver. “Webb's Glass Shop. May I help you?”
“Oh my. I wasn't expecting a real person. I meant to leave a message.”
Good guess. I don't feel like a real person today.
“It's okay. I'm opening up. May I help you?”
“I wanted to know if class has been cancelled. I would completely understand, you know, because the funeral was on Saturday. It was so awesome—all those young men in military uniforms.”
Savannah flinched, recalling the haunting echo of
Taps
floating behind the gravestone that marked the final rejoining of her parents. She swallowed quickly. “Classes are being held as scheduled beginning today. Which one are you taking?”
“I'm in Beginning Stained Glass.”
“It starts in half an hour. What's your name?”
“Amanda Blake. I signed up for more classes with John, I mean with Mr. Webb, last month, but I thought the shop might close.”
“Hugh Trevor is taking over the classes for Dad. I mean Mr. Webb. I'll see you in—”
“Oh my goodness. Are you Savannah?”
“Yes, I'm—”
“I am so, so sorry. I saw you at the funeral. You must be devastated. Mr. Webb was so proud of you. He talked about you all the time.”
“Thank you. I have to—”
“He was so proud that you were studying at Pilchuck Glass School on a special scholarship. He told every class about how you won the Spinnaker Art Festival on your first entry when you were only seventeen.”
“How embarrassing. Every class?”
“Yes, it was always in his first lecture.”
Savannah struggled to keep her voice from breaking. “It's going to be difficult to—”
“Your dad looked so strong, so healthy, and so positively vital . . . if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, it was a shock.”
“He was such an excellent teacher and mentor. How are you going to manage everything?”
“I'm not sure yet.” Savannah's stomach fluttered. “Sorry, but I've got to go. I'll see you in class.” Savannah clicked the receiver down before Amanda could continue.
You're not the only one who is confused about why he died.
Savannah finger combed her short black hair, tugged up the waistband of her skinny jeans, and rolled up the cuffs of her classic white shirt. It was her basic teaching uniform. Calm, she focused on getting the shop ready for the day's business.
Shoving the key ring into her back pocket and picking up the waiting stack of student handouts, she walked into the classroom. Situated between the office and the retail area, the large classroom contained six sturdy worktables for students, each with a tall wooden stool. As she placed a large brown manila envelope on each of the worktables, she remembered how her dad had experimented with various table sizes, table heights, stool types, and the number of students per table.
He'd tried to rope in Hugh to help, but his longtime assistant had no empathy for a student's environment. However, the crusty Hugh could teach a mule about the beauty, art, and mystic nature of always-liquid glass. Her dad's meticulous research had resulted in the current configuration of three rows of two worktables facing a whiteboard on the front wall and an instructor worktable facing the class. He'd practically wiggled with joy after he'd found the perfect environment for his students to create great glass art.
She switched on the overhead natural lighting that illuminated the projects of former students displayed around the walls. Her heart wrenched when she noticed her dad had placed her first piece, the traditional green turtle sun catcher panel, on the narrow shelf of the whiteboard. He had been planning to use it for the first demonstration project. Tears immediately formed and she pulled a tissue from her back pocket to press them away.
In her mind's eye, she saw her nail-bitten child's fingers struggling with the pieces of green glass. She had desperately willed them to be nimble and sure as she assembled the little turtle under her dad's watchful guidance. It must have pleased him to no end to use it as an example for the class.
After switching on the task lighting lamp for each worktable, she walked to the room at the front of the shop facing the street. It served as the student display gallery and retail section. It was neat and orderly as he'd always kept it.
Off to her right, she looked at the closed door of her dad's custom workshop. They had spent many, many hours working on delicate restorations, complicated repairs, and amazing consignments from almost every church in the city.
Deliberately delaying opening up the workspace that held her oldest and strongest memories, she found the right key and unlocked the front door.
If I don't open the workshop door, I can imagine that he's still in there working on his latest project. I know it's childish, but I don't have to be a grown up all the time.
At twenty minutes before ten, it was a little early to open the shop, but some students preferred to arrive early so they could lay claim to their work area. She looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of the storefront to see a short man with an elaborate comb-over getting out of a red BMW then striding up to the door.
“Rats,” she muttered. It was the owner of Lattimer's Glass Shop, her dad's competitor. She pushed down a rush of panic and put on her face reserved for welcoming customers. Savannah opened the door. “Hi Frank. What brings you down here to the Grand Central District? Your shop is still downtown, right?”
Frank pursed his soft lips into a thin line. “Good morning, Savannah. I see you're opening up. I thought we could talk about my offer to buy Webb's Glass Shop.” He stepped closer, but she blocked him from entering.
“I'm not ready.”
“What's to get ready? Why are you torturing yourself when you could accept my offer and be on your way back to Seattle?”
Not slamming the door in his face took willpower. “I'm on bereavement leave. My scholarship will still be there when I get back. Besides, I haven't worked out all the finances yet.”
“You can trust me on this. It's a generous offer.”
Savannah started closing the door, “Yours is not the only offer, you know.
“Oh sure, that land shark Smythe can mention a tempting figure,” he said, putting a name to the corporate real estate tycoon who wanted to buy the block to build a Big Value Store. “But he has to work through his corporate office
and
get the other stores to sell along with you. I'm only trying to save you time and trouble. Come on, Vanna. Your dad would have signed in a heartbeat.”
Savannah snapped, “That's a bald-faced lie. The two of you hadn't spoken in ten years.”
“You know he was a good businessman. That doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't approve.”
“Approve? You didn't even come to the funeral. He would expect me to have thrown you out on your ear.”
Frank was quiet and the silence between them grew large and heavy. He looked down. “I'm sorry. I was busy. We did have some pretty wide differences. But that's only natural between teacher and student. He really was a wonderful teacher. I never thanked him for all he taught me. Now it's too late.”
Savannah looked at the floor and took a calming breath. “Look. I need to check the books. I'm not turning it down. Quite the opposite. I need to make sure everything is ready and that there are no financial surprises.”
“No one was a better businessman. John would have approved.”
“He sounded stressed the last few . . . Never mind. Let's meet downtown for lunch, say Wednesday at the Casita Taqueria just down the street. I promise I'll give you either an answer or a counteroffer.”
“Fair enough.” Frank nodded his head. “I'll see you then. Vanna, trust me. John would have approved.”
She leaned out the door. “Don't call me Vanna,” she yelled as an afterthought, watching him scrunch back into his sleek status symbol, screeching tires as he drove away.
She had been lying. She had no intention of selling to Frank. If all went well, she would leave for Seattle the next day and let Hugh handle everything else.
I should have told Frank,
she mused.
A little suffering would do him good.
Closing the door gently enough not to jangle the bell at the top, Savannah slipped behind the retail counter facing the entry door and tentatively pushed the power ON button to the point-of-sale PC. She watched it nervously, her fingers crossed that it would start up. Pushing the button was all she knew how to do.
I hope Hugh is on his way. It's more than strange for him not to be here already. I better call again. We need to finalize the transition plan of ownership of Webb's. I also need him to teach this class.
Savannah picked up the phone beside the screen and ran her finger down the tattered list of contacts taped to the counter top, stopping at
Hugh Trevor
. She dialed the number and heard his answering machine message. “I'm out. You know the drill.”
Beep.
“Hugh, are you there? It's Savannah. I need your help to open the shop. I hope you're on the way. Please be on the way. Please. See you soon.”
As she spoke, the doorbell jangled fiercely and a tall man dressed in black western boots, black jeans, and a French blue oxford shirt topped with a black string tie bolted through. “Don't touch it,” he cautioned in a BBC-newscaster accent. “If the cash register starts up wonky, it'll be ages before it sorts itself out.”
Savannah looked into his seriously green eyes and caught a faint whiff of Polo Black. He crowded her to the side and peered at the PC screen. As she was six-foot in stocking feet, not many men looked down on her.
She stretched around his back to hang up the phone. “I didn't want to start it, but I couldn't wait for Hugh any longer. Who are you?”
He peered into the monitor. “Good. Coming online and”—he looked for a certain sign from the monitor—“brilliant. It's happy.” He pulled back then turned to her. “I have the same system next door and I had a meltdown with mine this morning.”
“Right, but who—”
The tinkle of the door opening interrupted Savannah's question. A plump young woman with wildly spiked pink and yellow hair entered the shop. Wearing a white peasant blouse and patchwork midi skirt, she shouldered through the door balancing a huge purse, a canvas bag of tools, a briefcase overfilled with glass remnants, and a large plywood square for mounting stained glass work.
Green-eyed man lunged to hold open the door. “Amanda, you shouldn't try to carry everything at once.”
Savannah's eyebrows lifted.
Puffing like an espresso machine, Amanda said, “It's all right. Two trips would take too much energy. My aura has been weak since I heard the terrible news about Mr. Webb.” She made a beeline for the classroom.
Savannah scurried over to push the classroom door out of the way. She nudged a doorstop in place to keep it open.
Amanda grunted and plopped her bundles on the worktable in the first row. “I want to sit where I can see.” She nudged her bold orange glasses back onto her nose. “Savannah! Oh my goodness. You're just as beautiful as John said.” She clamped Savannah in a round tight tug, stepped back, and looked into her face. “And you have his cobalt blue eyes. I'm so happy to meet you.”
“Thank you, Amanda. Welcome to class.”
Savannah turned to stare pointedly at the green-eyed man.
Again, the doorbell jangled and two slender elderly women entered, wearing matching gray ruffled blouses with gray polyester pants over gray ballet flat shoes. They carried large gray tote bags. One carried hers over the left shoulder. The other twin carried hers over the right shoulder. Even their round black glasses were identical.
Savannah gulped.
I'll never be able to tell these two apart.

Other books

Healed by Fire by Catherine Banks
Surrender by Amanda Quick
Actually by Mia Watts
The Mask of Apollo by Mary Renault
The Floating Body by Kel Richards
Once a Knight by Christina Dodd