Chapter 10
Tuesday Morning
 
Opening up the back door of Webb’s Glass Shop, Savannah could tell that someone was already there. The office’s overhead lights were flipped on. It couldn’t have been Amanda; she would have turned on the classroom lights as well. Savannah gently placed her backpack and keys on the desk and walked into the dark classroom.
She turned on the lights as she went from the classroom into the display and retail room. Beside the front door was a comfy dog basket filled with Suzy, Jacob’s beagle service dog, wearing her blue vest, matching booties, and eyes bright in welcome. The door to the custom workshop stood wide open and Savannah let out the deep breath that she didn’t know she was holding.
Of course, it’s Jacob.
Walking into the custom workshop, she found Jacob circling the large workshop table stacked with the Spinnaker Art Festival artist applications. He was sorting them into perfectly aligned piles.
“Good morning, Jacob.”
He lifted his head and nodded slightly, not missing a beat in his sorting.
“Any news?”
He shook his head no and continued sorting.
“Good luck, then.”
She left him to his sorting process. Jacob had an affinity for recognizing patterns in disparate bits of data. If anything could be gleaned from the applicant database about Megan’s death, Jacob was going to isolate that data.
She rubbed the back of her neck to loosen the knot of tension. I’m jumpy because of Megan, but there really isn’t any reason for me to be spooked. This wasn’t like last time, when employees at Webb’s were killed.
Returning to the office, she yawned and reached into her backpack and took out the small shards she and Edward had collected from the grass behind Megan’s exhibit space. Taking them back into the custom workshop, she turned on the light table and placed the shards on the bright white surface. Lit from underneath, the shards looked like glistening bits of fire. They were even more luminous than when Savannah had seen them in Megan’s central glass figure.
She grabbed a magnifying glass and looked closer at the shards. The glass looked different, but she didn’t know why. After several more minutes of close examination, there was nothing more for her to do. She wrapped up the shards and returned them to her backpack.
I need to have Keith look at these.
Since Amanda had closed the shop last night, Savannah didn’t expect her until right before the start of the workshop at ten. She returned to the display and retail room, quickly stepping through the opening-of-the-shop routine. Savannah was pleased to see Edward coming through the front door with a French press, cups, and a pile of cranberry scones.
“Hey, luv. Hungry?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m more interested in coffee, but those scones smell delicious.”
“Good. Back in the office?”
“Do you want to share some with Jacob?” She glanced at the opening of the custom workshop.
“You know his food issues.”
“Of course, nothing with berries, which, oddly, includes raisins; I forgot for a second. Sometimes my Southern Lady training works on autopilot.”
“I thought your mother died when you were only ten. Who gave you Southern Lady training?”
She tilted her head and grinned. “See, you don’t know everything. I spent summer vacations with my mother’s parents in Kentucky. Gran and Gramps owned a small horse farm near Lexington. She taught me how to cook, how to sew, and how to flirt. Gramps taught me how to fish and how to ride a horse. It was wonderful. I don’t think I could have survived without them.”
“So, they’re gone now?”
“Oh no, they’re still up in Lexington. They don’t travel much anymore, but I usually spend some time with them in the summer each year. I’ll be doing more of that now that I’m living in the same time zone. In fact, I think there’s a direct flight from Tampa.”
“I know a bit about horses. I learned to ride when I was about six.”
“Something else we have in common.” Savannah smiled, then frowned. “Did you get in touch with Wanda?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t hard. I approached her about being an organizer over the food vendors for next year’s Grand Central Chili Cook-off. We’re meeting for drinks tonight at the Birchwood rooftop lounge downtown. Remind me again of what I’m trying to get out of her?”
“It’s there on the whiteboard.” She pointed to the third line. “See, you need to investigate ‘upset Megan at reception.’” Savannah frowned. “I think we should add a column for assignments, don’t you?”
“Brilliant.” Edward nodded.
She stood and said, “Done,” then added an “Assigned To” column to the whiteboard. She wrote in who was investigating in each line.
“Yes, I seem to have Swiss cheese for memory these days.” He stood close behind Savannah until she felt his presence and turned around. He smiled and looked down into her eyes. “I think I know why.”
Savannah cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, this makes it easier for us to keep track of the investigation.” She finished filling out the assignments and placed the marker back on the whiteboard shelf.
“What about the shards we found behind Megan’s booth?” Edward pointed to the entry.
“Good point.” Savannah wiped out “Festival grounds” and replaced it with “Glass shards,” then wiped out “Search for evidence” and replaced that with “Identify origin.”
Edward took the eraser out of her hand and removed his name from the “Glass shards” row. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with that one.”
“Okay, fair enough. Are we all good?” She stood back and folded her arms, looking at the grid quite satisfied.
The Case of Megan Loyola’s Murder
Suspect Investigation Assigned To
Frank Lattimer Subject of argument at festival Savannah
Megan’s team Identify Amanda
Wanda Quitman Upset Megan at reception Edward
Glass shards Identify Origin Savannah
Registration forms Find connection patterns in application database Jacob
Leon Price Megan’s ex-boyfriend Savannah
The front-door bell jangled madly as Amanda bustled into the shop. “I’m sorry to be so late.” She hurried into the classroom and then stood in the doorway to the office. “Did you check to see if I have all the materials the students will need for today’s class? Oh, hi, Edward. Are those your cranberry scones?” She wedged between Edward and Savannah to snatch a scone from the tray. “Oh my goodness, thanks. These are my absolute, all-time, until-the-end-of-the-world favorite scones.”
Savannah winked a “later” at Edward.
“I haven’t checked the classroom yet. We were about ready to talk about the investigation. How did you get on with Duncan McCloud Gallery?”
“Super! The managing director, Duncan McCloud himself, was working with three helpers. They were creating one of Duncan’s signature large etched vessels and it was a treat to watch the team coordinate their tasks. Unfortunately, the vessel got just a wee bit unbalanced and it broke into a million shards.”
“Ouch, that is a heartbreaking sound.” Savannah recalled that sickening feeling when the same thing happened to her while developing vital skills in hot glass.
“Yeah, they were upset. McCloud was great, though. He just laughed and said they would try again after everyone rested a bit.”
Savannah grabbed the French press cafetière and poured more coffee into her cup and Edward’s, too. “What about Megan’s production team?”
“Yep, I got the names of her team from the team that McCloud is currently using. Apparently they’re the best ones around. Even better, one of them was standing there as part of McCloud’s crew.”
“That’s great. What luck!”
“Yeah, it’s luck all right, but not great news. The one who was there was Vincent O’Neil. He was working with McCloud the night Megan was killed.”
“Was there another assistant? It was a complicated piece.”
“That’s where the good luck comes in. The other team member is Leon Price. He wasn’t at McCloud’s Saturday night with the others. They complained that it was a very difficult shift without him.”
“That name is appearing with scary frequency,” said Savannah, scrubbing her forehead with her knuckles. “He was the artist that I was debating awarding first place to, but I went along with Megan. Their booths were directly across the aisle from each other. He was also late to the festival on Sunday morning. As her ex-boyfriend and rival, we need to focus on him. Great job, Amanda.”
“Thanks, boss. I thought you might want to do that.” She handed Savannah a small slip of paper. “I copied his address from McCloud’s contact list. He didn’t have any information on Vincent.”
Savannah looked at the slip. It was an address in a neighborhood of small studio motels north of downtown. “Great. I’ll talk to him when we finish class.” She tucked the address into her pocket. “Are you ready to check the kiln?”
“Nope. I want you with me when I open the kiln.” Amanda looked at a puzzled Edward. “If one of their pieces is broken, major student disaster.” She waved her hands like a muppet. “First, I’ll double-check today’s materials.” Amanda left toward the classroom.
Edward watched her leave and gave Savannah a quick hug. “Let’s get together after I talk to Leon and compare notes,” said Savannah. “Maybe Jacob will have news by then.”
Edward gathered up the cups and tray and left the shop with a bright, “Cheers, then.”
Looking at the whiteboard, Savannah erased the words in Amanda’s row and wrote in “Vincent O’Neil, Megan’s team member, and Savannah” into the empty spaces. She stood there for a long moment, then walked into the classroom and smiled wide at Amanda. “The setup is perfect, absolutely perfect. You’ll soon be teaching this class.” She moved among the worktables and each station had another small stack of glass squares placed on top of today’s fused glass pattern. “Okay, time to face the music. Let’s see how yesterday’s pieces fared in the kiln.”
They went into the custom workshop and opened the large kiln lid to reveal six finished works.
“Oh,” Amanda cooed, “they’re lovely. Not one of them broken.” She clapped her hands together like a small child being told she could have cake.
“It just gets better and better.” Savannah patted Amanda on the back. “This is definitely your medium.”
Savannah lifted her chin. She’s going to be a wonderful teacher.
“Should I take them out and clean them up?”
“No, that’s part of the learning process for this first fusing lesson.” Savannah and Amanda lifted each piece from the kiln and placed them on each student’s workbench.
Savannah said, “Today we’ll teach them about kiln paper and cleaning their pieces after they’ve been fired. If you’re careless with either of those steps”—she clapped her hands sharply—“shards.”
The front-door bell jangled. “The students are here. That’s the start of the day.”
The second day of class started with a rush to see how the students’ first fused glass pieces turned out.
“This looks awful,” Miss Carter cried. “What’s all this powdery stuff all over it?”
“Bleh, you can’t even tell what color it is.” Faith leaned over to Rachel and said, “At least yours looks as bad as mine.”
“Patience, patience,” said Savannah. “Let me explain what has happened.” Lifting up Miss Carter’s fused piece, she went on, “This is part of the process when using a kiln. As Amanda loaded the kiln, she used support blocks, dam strips, and lots of kiln paper to prevent each piece from sticking to the bottom of the kiln or fusing into each other. Right, Amanda?”
From the back of the room, Amanda replied, “Yep, it’s a bit like loading the dishwasher, except that you have to remember that everything melts. You have to leave room for that.”
“Thanks. Now, let’s learn how to clean this.” Savannah led the way into the industrial sink in the back office and held Miss Carter’s chalky piece under the running water and scrubbed it with a plastic scouring pad. “Now, it’s ready to dry with one of the T-shirt rags in this basket.” She chose one and quickly buffed away the water. “Look how lovely.”
“It is lovely.” Miss Carter took possession of her artwork. “Thank you,” she said with a nod.
Savannah backed away from the sink. “It’s all yours now. Please remember that it’s glass and can break. There are a few rubber bumpers in the sink, but if you drop it, well, it’s gone.”
After a critique session that covered the cleaned pieces, Savannah and Amanda led the class through the proper use of kiln paper, tips for loading the kiln, and preparing to fuse a second piece. The time evaporated, and before she knew it they all had their work in the kiln and were busying themselves packing up their tools and waving good-bye.
“If you’re okay with buttoning things up and preparing for tomorrow, I’m going to see if I can track down Leon for a little chat,” said Savannah.
“No worries, I can do everything but start the kiln.” Amanda put her hands on her hips. “I’ll leave that for you.”
It took less than ten minutes to find Leon’s studio, but she spent another ten minutes finding a place to park. The place hadn’t been painted in quite a few years and the landscaping suffered from neglect. There was a rickety black and yellow bicycle chained to a metal support column right beside the studio door.
She knocked on the door and waited for about ten seconds, then knocked again. After another ten seconds, she rapped sharply on the door. “Leon. This is Savannah Webb. Please answer—I’m not going away. I want to talk to you about Megan.”
The door cracked a couple of inches and she could see Leon beyond the latch chain. “Why are you here? I don’t want to talk about Megan.”
Savannah slipped her foot into the door crack. “I found her body, Leon. The police are investigating me. I need to know more about her. Please let me in. It will only take a few minutes. I know you have to go to work soon. I’ll stay out here until you do. You know she’s been killed, don’t you?”
The eyes beyond the chain squinted and blinked for a second. “Yes. I know. Keith called to tell me.” There was a long pause. “Move your foot and I’ll come out.”
Savannah moved her foot and backed up. Leon came outside to stand beside his bicycle. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you see anything suspicious going on with Megan at the festival on Saturday?”
“Nope.”
“Keith Irving says that you were involved in a relationship with Megan before the festival. Is that true?”
A rosy flush spread over Leon’s face and then turned dark. “She was using me. Apparently it’s what she does to charge up her creative juices. We broke up.”
“When?”
“Before the festival—right after she finished the centerpiece.”
“Do you know if she was in a relationship with someone else?”
“I think she was, but I don’t know who. I don’t want to know. Is that all?”
“Have the police asked you about Megan yet?”
“No, why?”
“They’ll want to know where you were on Saturday night. You know, for an alibi. Do you have one?”
“Sure, I was working with the hot glass team at Duncan McCloud Gallery. I was there practically all night.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie! Duncan McCloud said that you didn’t show up at all that night.”
Her response was met with Leon slamming the door in her face. Even after knocking and calling his name, Leon refused to respond or open the door again.
* * *
No sooner had Savannah gone back to the office to check e-mail when the front-door bell jangled and she could hear Edward telling Amanda, “Time for tea and talk.”
He placed a tray on the side table in the office. “Where’s Jacob?”
Amanda silently pointed a “one moment” and fetched Jacob from the custom workshop.
As soon as Jacob found a stool to sit on, Edward handed him a mug. “It’s your favorite. Hot chocolate made with almond milk with a vegan gingersnap to accompany it. I’ve got sweet peppermint tea for us. It’s a good match with the regular gingerbread muffins.”
“Mmmmmm, this is fabulous.” Amanda smacked her lips. “You must keep that baker of yours happy. You must. He’s the real secret behind the success of Queen’s Head.”
“Yes, that and an enormous amount of work.” Edward perched on a stool, and Amanda settled into the side chair next to Savannah’s antique rolltop desk.
Ignoring the squeak from her matching antique oak chair, Savannah asked, “Let’s figure out where we are in the investigation. Edward, you’ve got your meeting with Wanda?”
“Right, originally I was going to meet her tonight, but she called and now we’re meeting for coffee at the Museum of Fine Arts Tea Shop. She’s very busy, or so she said. But it seemed to me that she was very busy telling me how busy she was, but still found time to meet me for coffee on literally no notice.”
“Amanda?”
“Nothing new for me.”
“Of course, we just finished class. Jacob, have you found anything in the records?”
“I’m finding many things. There are 2,053 applications for the Spinnaker Art Festival. The farthest applicant is from Sydney, Australia, and the nearest applicant is only blocks away from us. She is a student at the Diazzo Warehouse in the next block. Eight hundred twenty-nine applicants are from Florida and a further 317 are from Georgia. Of the remaining 907 applications, 723 are spread across the United States, and the remaining 184 applicants are from the Caribbean, South America, Mexico, and Canada.”
“Thanks,” Savannah said slowly, “but I’m not exactly sure how that helps us.”
“Almost half of the applications are from Florida, but when I compare it to the number of applications approved, there were only ten percent actually able to enter the Spinnaker Art Festival. That’s not right.”
“That does seems low”—Amanda frowned—“but I still don’t see how that gets us anywhere.”
“Wait, wait,” Savannah said. “One of the volunteers at the information booth was telling me about an issue with the applications this year.” She frowned in concentration.
“Well?” Edward reached into the tray for another scone.
“He said that there was a change in the entry rules for returning exhibitors. They eliminated the guaranteed entry for artists who had been granted booths year after year as long as they didn’t skip a year. Instead, they needed to reapply, just like any other applicant. He said that there were a lot of longtime exhibitors who didn’t make the selection and there were quite a few very angry artists. Some of them depended on the sales of this show to get them through the long, slow Florida summer. It gets too hot for outdoor festivals.”
Amanda sat straight up. “So one of them took it out on the new kid on the block?”
Jacob nodded, “I created a list of the artists most likely to be angry about their loss of sales. They’re weighted by priority and probability of alternate income sources.” He handed her a page of notebook paper with seven names listed.
Shaking her head slowly, Savannah looked at the names. “That seems pretty far-fetched. Regardless, it’s an anomaly and that’s what we have asked Jacob to find. Good job!” Savannah smiled. “Right. What else?”
“I’ve compared Megan Loyola’s application to other successful applications and hers is quite different. It is very short. The average length of the applications is six pages, with an average of five photographs of art. The specified maximum was ten photographs, not including the three photographs required of the entrant’s exhibition booth. Megan attached one photograph of her art and one photograph of her booth. She left most of the application blank.”
“That is unusual,” said Savannah. “I was obsessed with maximizing any opportunity to convince the selection committee that I was a worthy exhibitor. I always submitted the maximum number of photographs permitted.”
“But she was selected anyway. Can we see her application?” Amanda asked.
Jacob nodded. “I have it here. It is the shortest one of the 2,053 entries.”
“Let me take a look.” Savannah reached for it. She flipped through the slim document. “There’s hardly any information here at all. No address, no artist’s vision paragraph, no gallery references—it’s bare bones. The picture isn’t even of the red torso, this is a variation in blue. The only means of contacting her is a local cell phone.” She flipped another page. “Here’s something interesting. Her only personal reference is my former professor, Keith Irving.” She looked up at the others. “What could this mean?”
“Who was on the selection committee?” asked Amanda.
“I don’t know, but I can find out,” Savannah said. “I’ve been invited to a party-type meeting to discuss any issues that came up from the festival. It’s called a lessons learned meeting. All the organizers, judges, sponsors, donors, and some of the award winners will be there. It’s being held at the St. Petersburg Yacht Club tonight.”
“That’s a partying bunch, these Spinnaker folk,” said Edward. “Good idea.”
“Edward, I talked to Leon Price after lunch. He had the booth across from Megan and he was the runner-up contestant. I asked if he saw anything at the Spinnaker Art Festival that would be helpful. He said, ‘Nope,’ and he also said he was working at McCloud’s on Saturday night with a hot glass team. When I told him that Duncan McCloud said he wasn’t there, he slammed the door shut in my face and refused to talk to me.” She chewed at the corner of her mouth. “I also still need to talk to the vile Frank Lattimer and find out what he and Megan were shouting about.” She stared at the list and the assignments, absently twirling the marker.
“What about the shards of glass we found?” Edward took the marker from Savannah and pointed to her name. “Maybe your mentor would be able to help.”
“Possibly, I’ve looked at them with my magnifying glasses but maybe Keith can suggest something after he’s studied them.” She took the marker back from Edward, wiped out her name and assigned the shards task to Keith.
“We’re making progress, but nothing solid enough to report to Detective Parker.”