Cracked to Death (6 page)

Chapter 8

 

“Martin hasn't shown up.” Savannah heard the sharp tone in her voice and immediately softened it. “Didn't he let you know he wouldn't be here?”

Amanda stood quietly. Her pale skin turned ashen at the neck, and this color slowly began to rise into her face. “Sure. He said last night that he might be a little late.... A little late for him might be an hour.” Her voice rose to a high tremor. “Even so, he should be here pretty soon.”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Savannah said to the class and then took Amanda by the arm and led her through the door to her office. “Why don't you get a cup of coffee and calm yourself. I'll take everyone over to the kiln.” She took Amanda and sat her down in the oak desk chair. After pouring a cup of coffee, she asked, “What's wrong? Is your mother ill?”

Amanda shook her head yes but didn't speak. She sat there, looking down at the floor, the tears in her eyes ready to spill down her cheeks.

“I'll get everyone started on cleaning up their pieces, and I'll be back in a jiffy. Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

Amanda looked up. “I'll be fine in a few minutes. I'm feeling a bit disoriented. I didn't get much sleep.”

“Your mom?”

“Um, yes. It's getting bad.” Amanda took a drink of the coffee.

“Okay. I'll be right back.”

Savannah walked back into the classroom. “Amanda's a little tired. She was up most of the night, watching over her sick mother, and she's a little distracted. She'll be fine after a hit of coffee. Meanwhile, let's go open the kiln and see what happened to our bottles last night.”

There was a quick burst of chatter as everyone made their way to the supply room. Savannah stood beside the largest kiln, which was about the size and shape of a small bathtub, and raised the lid with the rigged pulley-and-cable system. She used a mountain climber's clip to secure the lid in the open position.

“I'll lift the pieces out and hand them to each of you. Once you have your piece, you need to take it over to the sink and wash the kiln paper residue off it. Also, wash the plaster mold, if you used one.”

She reached into the depths of the kiln and picked out a Belvedere Vodka bottle that had been slumped in a cracker tray mold. “Which one of you is the owner of this one?” She looked at Rachel, then at Faith.

“That's mine!” Rachel pushed to the front. “I'll take it.”

Savannah found another Belvedere Vodka bottle, which had been fused flat. “So this must be yours, then, Faith.”

Faith smiled and took the ash-covered bottle over to the sink to wash it.

“Who has the light green bottle?” Savannah lifted a flattened bottle.

“That's mine, darlin'. I'll take it.” SueAnn stepped in front of the Akron girls and took the dusty cheese tray from Savannah with pinched fingers. “I should have brought an apron. I didn't realize we'd get dirty.” SueAnn held the flattened bottle away from her clothes, her fingers touching it as little as possible.

“This is not a particularly dirty craft. But you might get fairly dusty. The kiln work can be a bit messy with all the flying ash.”

Savannah looked at the young cousins and then gazed into the kiln. “There are only three left. Which ones are yours?”

“The clear wine bottle is mine,” Patty said, pointing, “and the dark yellow one is Yvonne's.”

Handing over their bottles, Savannah assumed that the remaining bottle must belong to Martin. It wasn't one of the unique cobalt blue bottles he had brought in. She picked up the flattened Van Gogh Raspberry Vodka bottle. She recognized it as one from Amanda's collection.

Savannah lifted her voice over the chattering and splashing at the sink. “When you have your pieces completely clean and dry, we'll have a little critique session, and then we'll start today's project back in the classroom.”

“Miss Vanna,” said SueAnn, “I allow, as we are a group of art students, that I should expect to work on various types of material. But I, I mean we, shouldn't expect to get filthy in the process. I can't abide this dust.”

“But it's a natural part of the firing process, SueAnn.”

“I'm positively sure it will bring on an asthma attack.” She looked down at the ash-coated bottle in her hands. “I regret to inform you I have to leave.”

“Oh no, SueAnn.” Savannah quickly calculated the cost of a refund. “Don't worry. We'll wash the kiln pieces for you. I wouldn't want you to get sick.”

SueAnn's eyes softened, and she tilted her head. “Bless your heart, Vanna.” SueAnn handed the wine bottle over to Savannah, then held her hands away from her body, as if she had contracted the black death. “Doesn't that young fella, Martin, got sumthin' in there?”

“Sure he does. He used one of Amanda's backup vodka bottles. She was smart to bring them in.”

Walking with her hands out to her sides like a zombie, SueAnn hurried through the classroom and into the office bathroom.

Savannah shook her head.
You meet all kinds.

When Savannah walked back into the classroom, Amanda was standing behind the podium, with her teaching notebook open. After SueAnn returned from the bathroom, she proceeded to use three sanitizing sheets on the surface of her worktable. She bent down to examine the results and then followed this with three more. The class looked on, as if this was an avant-garde performance.

Clearing her throat and breaking the spell, Savannah touched Amanda lightly on the arm. “You look so much better. Are you okay to continue?”

“I'm good. The coffee helped like a magic tonic. I've got this.”

The front door bell jangled.

“I'll get it. Carry on,” Savannah said.

Savannah went to the front of the shop and found Detective Parker standing by the counter in the display room. He had placed a small brown paper bag with the flap folded on top of the counter. It was labeled
EVIDENCE
. Next to it was a printed list that documented the particulars of the evidence bag and also the chain of custody. Savannah knew this from her experience with her father's investigation.

“Good morning, Savannah. Is this a bad time?”

“Nope. Amanda is teaching now. That leaves me time to work on more custom commissions at the new location I've opened in the Warehouse Arts District.”

“A bit risky, isn't it? You've been running Webb's for only about six months.”

“It's a risk, but the volume of commissions and restorations in our glass business has outgrown this location, and there's no room to expand here. So buying the studio was my best solution.”

Detective Parker nodded his head. “Well, I've got a curious object I hope you can help me identify.” He opened the evidence bag and pulled out the neck and shoulder portion of a broken cobalt blue bottle. He placed the fragment on the sales counter, then stepped back.

“A bottle? I've been hip deep in bottles lately. We're in the middle of a recycling workshop right now.” She picked up the fragment and held it up to the light. “In fact, this looks like it could be a match to a set of bottles one of our students brought in yesterday. He wanted to know if it was valuable.”

“Where did he get them?”

“I don't know exactly. He said it was at a beach where he was diving, but he didn't say which one.”

“Is he here now?”

“No, but he texted Amanda that he should be coming in any minute. I have his contact information, if you need it. He could be a useful resource for you. Should I get it now?”

“No. E-mail it sometime today.”

Savannah scrunched her brow and looked at the splotchy coating of black material that covered most of the fragment. “What's this black stuff?”

“Fingerprint powder. We didn't find any prints, so you can wash it off if you need to.”

“Hmmm. That might help.” She held the fragment up to the light again. “This appears to be part of the neck.” She felt along the shoulder of the bottle, where the neck joined the body of the bottle. “I can't tell much. It's been underwater for a long time. I need to clean it off to get an opinion about it. Is the rest of the bottle in here?” She leaned over to look inside the evidence bag.

“We think all the pieces are there, but I haven't a clue.” He tipped the bag, and the remaining fragments spilled out on the counter, along with some dried sea debris. “Would you be able to clean the pieces up and reconstruct the bottle so it could be identified?”

Fingering the pile of glass fragments, she replied, “It doesn't look like there are many small pieces.” She looked up quickly. “Are you hiring me as a consultant for this?” She held her breath. A consulting fee right now would help her financial situation. “How much does it pay?”

“If you think you can get to it quickly, I can request express services. That should work out to about seventy-five dollars per hour.” He glanced at the pile of glass fragments. “In order to qualify for express status, I'll need an answer within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Absolutely. Why? What's happened? Is this about the body I heard about on the news this morning?”

“It is. We're trying everything to identify the victim. He had this bottle in a small mesh bag tied to his weight belt. Can you help?”

“Absolutely. I'll ask Martin to get in touch when he shows up. They must know each other. I'll start on it right away.”

“Keep track of your hours. Let me know the moment you have any information.”

“No problem. See you later.”

“Bye.”

The bell rang as he left Webb's. Savannah placed the bottle fragments back in the bag and took it with her back to the classroom. Amanda was leading the students through today's craft project. Savannah eyed her carefully. Her color was back, and her voice was calm and confident. As an afterthought, she grabbed the brown gift bag containing the wrapped bottle, and she also tucked into the bag the other bottle Martin had brought in, so that she now had both of Martin's bottles to use as comparisons to the evidence bottle. Moving quickly through the classroom, she waved so long to Amanda and went out the back door.

An unpleasant thought played havoc in her mind. Could Martin be the diver on the news? No, it couldn't be. He'd texted Amanda. Where did that idea come from? She pushed the thought away.

* * *

In her workshop at the new studio, Savannah laid out the bottle fragments and then spread them out. The volume of fragments looked about right for a small bottle. She aligned a few of the larger fragments to see if they fit together. After several dozen attempts, two fragments finally mated perfectly. She smiled.
Yes!

This consulting fee was going to be a slam dunk and a complete plus in her financial plan. Maybe her accountant would even smile at this month's meeting.

She placed the fragments in a plastic bin and took them over to the washing-up station. The sea growth and debris was stubborn to remove, but a stiff brush driven by elbow grease was free and readily available. She began to hum while cleaning.

A knock on the front door interrupted her song.

“It's open,” she yelled, then regretted it immediately. That was rude, and she could hear her mother saying, “Were you raised in a barn?” when she was a little girl and made mistakes with her manners.

She perched the plastic bin on one hip, walked to the door, and opened it with her free hand. “Welcome to Webb's Studio.”

Standing in the bright sun, holding a two-by-two-foot stained glass mounting board, was Arthur Young, a student from the first class she had taught after her father's death. Unchanged from that first class, he was deeply tanned and had brown hair and brown eyes. That he still dressed in a plain golf shirt with khaki trousers didn't surprise her one bit.

“Arthur, it's so good to see you. Come in. I've got your space ready for you.”

They walked over to the work space at the end of the row.

“It is close to the facilities?”

Savannah nodded. “It's the closest one in the building. I was concerned I wouldn't be able to rent this particular one because it is so close. Do you mind—”

“Nope. In fact, I'm blatantly outspoken about it. I have Crohn's. It is an inflammatory bowel disease that causes my intestines to become inflamed. Part of it is physical, and another part is phychological. My doctor prescribed some supereffective pills for the medical issues, and I've found that if I know where the facilities are, I'm a lot calmer mentally.”

“So, this is a win-win for you, then?”

“Yep.”

He gingerly laid his mounting board on the surface of the worktable and turned a complete circle to look at the small desk, the shelves, and the wall of windows. “This is grand. I'm going to love this.”

“How's your wife? Her name is Nancy, right?”

“She's great, but not thrilled about my taking this studio space. She's disappointed I can't play in the orchestra anymore. At least not until I get the symptoms under control. She adored being a musician's wife.”

“Wow. What a big adjustment.”

“She's rallied. This disease has given her a crusade to champion, with me as the poster child. But honestly, I need somewhere to be alone and do something with my hands.”

Savannah felt her grin grow into a wide smile. “I'm glad. Make yourself at home and have a good wander around the studio. I'll be back in a second.”