Cracked to Death

Savannah dropped Edward off at Queen’s Head and parked behind Webb’s Glass Shop. She entered through the back door.

“I’m here in the supply room, loading the kiln.”

“Good job.” Savannah peered into the large, deep fusing kiln. “It looks great. You’ve got enough kiln paper. You’ve placed blocks against the pieces so that nothing rolls during the fuse. You’ve even got a two-layer deal going with some small pieces.” She raised her head to look at Amanda. “Perfect. You’ve graduated to journeyman—no longer an amateur.”

Amanda’s face flushed. “Thanks. That means a lot to me. I love this job.”

“You’re good at this. I’m grateful to have you.”

As Amanda lowered the large lid on the kiln, Savannah asked, “What did you find out about Martin’s sister?”

After pressing the START button on the control panel, Amanda stood. “Oh, I wrote it all down in the office. Let’s sit down for a minute. I’m bushed. I had no clue teaching could be so draining. Really, why didn’t you warn me? Oh, wait . . .” She laughed. “You did warn me.”

When they arrived in the back office, Amanda picked up from the center of the desk a manila folder with “Martin’s Sister” written on the tab. Savannah grinned at the childlike script, with hearts for dotting all the i’s and curlicues for crossing the t’s.

Savannah sank into the creaky oak office chair and opened the folder. On yellow ruled paper, Amanda had compiled the information she had gleaned from her research. Martin’s sister lived in Tampa, near her job at the University of South Florida, where she was an associate professor of marine biology. A printout from USF’s staff Web site included a picture of Tracy Patterson and a brief description of her teaching qualifications. The family resemblance to Martin was strong. Amanda had researched the course catalog and had noted that Tracy taught a lab on Thursday nights.

“Very thorough. I think we need to talk to her. Do you have any idea why Tracy and Martin didn’t talk to each other?”

Amanda flushed at her pale neck. “I don’t have a clue. I’m as surprised as anyone that he had any family at all. He always said he was alone in the world.”

Savannah stood up. “Well, anyway, we need to see her face-to-face. I’d like to pay her a visit right now. Are you able to come with me? If you need to see your mom instead, I’m good with that.”

“Mom’s doing better physically, but she’s in a phase where she doesn’t know who I am. It helps me to stay away for a few days. I can go.”

* * *

It took about twenty minutes to close up Webb’s and get on the road to Tampa. When they pulled onto I-275 to cross the bridge over Tampa Bay, Amanda looked over. “It looks like we’ve timed this perfectly to be stuck in the rush-hour traffic.”

The traffic inched along at about twenty miles an hour. Savannah moved over into the rightmost lane. “It’s been a long time since I drove over to USF, but let’s take North Dale Mabry to Fletcher and bypass all this. It will only get worse when we get to the I-Four turnoff. Agreed?”

“Yep.”

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Savannah pulled into a university parking spot clearly marked for visitors. They found the building that housed the biological sciences and the office number that was listed in the catalog. The door was closed, but there was a row of chairs in the hallway, with a student obviously waiting to talk to Professor Patterson.

As one, Savannah and Amanda sat down and tried to look like students. It was a failure. Compared to the waiting student, who was wearing shorts, sandals, and a tank top, they appeared to be modestly covered up like religious initiates.

Savannah whispered, “When did tiny, short shorts come back into style?”

“Forever ago. You’ve been buried in glassmaking.”

“I guess I have.”

They had barely settled when the office door opened to release a tall young man, who headed down the hallway at a fast clip. Without waiting to be called, the student waiting to see Professor Patterson slipped through the open door and closed it behind her. They got the briefest glimpse of the cluttered office, which had a couple of chairs ready for student counseling.

“This seems to be a practiced ritual,” Savannah whispered. “What time does class actually start?”

Amanda opened the manila folder and flipped through the research material. “We have about forty-five minutes.”

“Be ready when this student leaves.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, and when the door opened, they barely let the student squeeze by before entering Professor Patterson’s office. Amanda sat against the wall near the door, and Savannah sat in the chair in front of the piled-up desk. In fact, everything had piles of papers and stacks of books on it, and only a space large enough for a table was clear in front of Professor Patterson.

The professor wore a starched white lab coat over black polyester trousers and sensible black tie-up shoes. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut in a short chop, and her reading glasses hung in a ring on a small chain around her thin neck.

The professor wrinkled her brows at them. “What are you doing here? You’re not students.”

Savannah leaned forward. “We’re not students. My name is Savannah Webb, and this is Amanda Blake. We’re here to—”

“Sorry, ladies. I don’t need any more interns or lab assistants. You’re a bit too late for this semester, but I’ll happily give you an application for this fall.” She turned in her chair toward the large table behind her and snatched two application forms from a neat stack next to the wall.

“No. We’re not here for enrollment.” Savannah waved her hand to prevent Professor Patterson from handing the forms to her. “Let me explain. I’m a consultant for the St. Petersburg Police Department, and I need information about your brother, Martin Lane.”

“My brother? We don’t see each other. I haven’t seen him face-to-face in years. Not since our parents’ funeral. What’s this about?”

Amanda cleared her throat. “How long ago?”

Professor Patterson leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. “Let me think. That was the year I was accepted as a doctoral candidate here at USF. I used my inheritance to pay off my student loans and buy a condo near the university. Why do you want to know this?”

Savannah hesitated. “Do you know where Martin is now?”

“No. I told you. We haven’t seen each other in more than three years. Look, I need to know why you’re here. What is your connection with the police?”

Oh no. She doesn’t know about Martin’s death. How can that be? Why hasn’t Parker been here?

“Have you heard anything from the St. Petersburg Police Department?”

“No, but I was out of touch for the past few days at a yoga retreat, and I came straight to campus for my student consults an hour ago. I haven’t even checked my messages yet. What are you trying to say?”

Realizing there was no way they could not tell her, Savannah cleared her throat and spoke in a low, soft tone. “Professor Patterson, I’m very sad to tell you that your brother, Martin, was found washed ashore Tuesday morning. It appears he was murdered.”

There was a long silence. Professor Patterson sat behind the desk with her eyes down, looking at the cleared spot on the surface before her. Finally, she lifted her head. “You’re right. That is incredibly sad.”

Savannah waited for some sort of emotional reaction, but the professor sat quietly for a few more moments and then looked at both of them in turn. “Do you have any questions? I need to prepare for my class.”

Amanda and Savannah looked at each other with eyebrows raised at the complete lack of emotion.

Savannah recovered and replied, “Yes, please. Could you tell us if there are any other relations?”

“No close relations. Our parents were killed in a boating accident when we were living in Key West. That was about twenty years ago. My mother’s aunt raised us, but she died last year, and she was a childless widow.” Professor Patterson recited these facts as a well-rehearsed spiel. “I left to study for my master’s degree here in Tampa as soon as I graduated from college, and I’ve been here since.”

“So you’re his only relation?” Savannah asked.

“I’ve been on my own for a long time now.”

“Did you know that he was a talented artist?” Amanda asked, piping up. “He made some amazing works out of found materials from the beaches and from salvage diving.”

“It doesn’t sound lucrative to me. Did he have a house or property? I’ll have to deal with it all again. I did my parents’ place with my aunt. This time I’ll be alone.”

“Um, not that we know of,” said Savannah. “But I’m sure the investigating detective will want to get in touch with you. His name is Detective Parker.”

Professor Patterson wrinkled her brow. “Oh, great. He should have been here already. This will cause more interruptions. I’ll have to reschedule my Ph.D. dissertation defense. Well, anyway, I want to thank you for letting me know. We were not close, but it is sad to know I have no family now. I should have made an effort.” She stood up. “If you’ll excuse me now. I have a class to teach in a few minutes, and I have to review the lecture before it starts.” She came out from behind her desk and gestured with her arm that they needed to leave.

As soon as Savannah and Amanda were out in the hallway, the door closed behind them with a sharp click, and then they heard the lock turn.

Amanda puffed out a pent-up breath. “That’s the coldest woman I have ever met.”