Chapter 12
Tuesday Evening
The shop was dark except for the light in the display and retail room that burned continuously as a cursory deterrent to break-ins. Savannah unlocked the custom workshop door and turned on the large eight-by-ten-foot light box. She had a work in progress lying on top, but it didn’t cover the entire surface. She rearranged the work to one side so that there was a clear area at the foot of the table.
Next, she went to her dad’s worktable and grabbed his large magnifying glass and also the set of magnifiers that you wear over your head like a baseball cap. As soon as she placed them on the light table, she heard a series of taps at the front door.
“Perfect timing,” she said as she unlocked the door for Keith and pulled it wide. “I’ve got everything set up.”
Keith stepped into the display and retail room. “Wow, you’ve got a fantastic shop. How long has it been here?”
“It’s been in the family since the twenties, when Grandfather Roy started designing and restoring pieces for the local churches. It was already well established when my dad took it over in nineteen fifty-seven. I’ve been running it for only a couple of months, and, believe me, I didn’t give my dad enough credit for how effortlessly he appeared to keep everything going.”
Savannah walked him into the custom workshop. He walked over to the light box worktable and stared down at the work in progress. “Is this typical?”
“Yes, it’s a restoration project. My client found the panel in a large wooden box at an auction in Tampa. It was part of a lot of three matched works. The smaller panels were still intact and only needed a little cleanup and repair. This one was severely damaged, and a lot of the individual pieces are incredibly dirty and broken.”
Keith walked down to the other end of the worktable. “How are you cleaning it up?”
“Carefully.” Savannah adjusted a few of the newly cleaned parts. “Amanda is my main volunteer and we first started by washing the glass. That didn’t make a dent because this window was obviously installed on the bad weather side of a building.”
“Of course”—he picked up one of the pieces—“but it looks like this might have been victim to a roof runoff as well. This is encrusted with layers of dirt.”
“I tried soaking the pieces in a strong cleaner in longer and longer periods of time all the way up to twenty-four hours. That made the cleaning process a little better, but we were still spending hours and hours scrubbing, rinsing, and cleaning.”
“Tedious.”
“Very, so we started using a cloth buffing wheel on a tiny handheld drill.”
“What on earth made you think of that?”
“One of our long-term students saw us struggling and suggested that we try the cloth buffer method. He does a lot of woodworking as well and uses the buffer drill for final polishing of the wooden pens that he makes. It’s cut the work down by ninety percent, and we’ll be done with the cleaning in about three weeks, instead of three months. My clients are fabulous about waiting as long as it takes to restore a panel to perfection.”
Savannah reached into her backpack and pulled out the baggie that she had used for collecting the shards. “Here are the shards that Edward and I found behind the area where Megan’s exhibit booth was installed,” she said as she spilled them onto the surface of the light table.
Keith drew up a work stool and bent over the shards. “These are pretty small.” He picked up the magnifying glass and examined them as they lay on the light table.
“Do you have a pair of tweezers?”
“Sure.” She got a pair from her workbench and placed them in his right hand.
He grunted. Then he picked up the largest shard with the tweezers and held it closer to the lens. He placed it back on the light table and pulled the eyeglass magnifiers over his head and adjusted the fit using the screw in the back.
Leaning over to examine the tiny slivers, he said, “Hmm, interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” Savannah leaned over, too.
He picked up the magnifying glass again. “Very interesting.”
“Stop with the Sherlock Holmes shtick. What’s interesting?”
He straightened up and his face turned a pale shade of yellow. “This is not good at all.”
“Tell me.”
“Here, let me show you what’s bothering me. Put on the magnifying glasses.”
Savannah pulled the magnifiers over her head and adjusted them tight around her head. She leaned over the light table. “I see the shards, but what am I looking for?”
“Do you see the red running through the clear glass?”
“No, just red glass.”
Keith handed her the magnifying glass. “Now, can you see?”
Savannah looked through the double magnifiers and exhaled a long, low whistle. “This is a type of glass that I have never seen before.” She stood up straight and removed the glasses. “Where did this come from? Not the Seattle studio.”
“Nope, we don’t have this kind of glass. That doesn’t mean that it isn’t a new process that I haven’t seen.” Keith crossed his arms and began to pace the small workroom.
“This is why her pieces are so vibrant,” Savannah said. “She was using a process that intensified the red throughout the molten glass. It looks like she didn’t start with clear glass, like in every other hot shop I’ve ever been to.”
“So where did she create the pieces in the exhibit?”
Savannah sat on the stool that Keith had abandoned. “I was told that she and her team had been using McCloud’s hot shop after hours.”
“So, no one was around when she created these pieces.”
“Apparently not.”
They fell silent for a moment, and then Keith sighed. “I’m stumped. I can’t figure out how she made this glass. Red is really tricky to work with and a consistent process would be worth a fortune to the big glass manufacturers.” He stopped pacing. “This could be the motive you’re looking for. This could be what is worth killing Megan.”
“Her team would know. Her pieces would demand a team of two or three to execute.” Savannah placed the magnifying glass back on her dad’s workbench.
“We’ll have to ask her studio partner. He’s one of the interns that I sent from Seattle.”
“Which one, Leon or Vincent?”
“Leon Price, the one who had a booth across from Megan’s.”
“Yes, I loved his booth—his work was really powerful. How well do you know him?” Savannah pulled up another work stool and rested one foot on the bottom rung.
“Not that well. He has a wild temper and works on his art by himself.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good candidate for teamwork.”
“It’s complicated. His temper is usually directed at his own failures or mistakes. When he’s part of a team, he becomes invisible. The best type of work partner when making a hot glass project is the one who basically becomes an extension of you during the creation process. He could do that, so he was in high demand and could afford to be selective with who he worked with.”
“Why did he want to come to St. Petersburg?”
“I don’t know.” Keith rubbed the back of his neck. “Motivation for artists is not a reliable tool for selecting intern candidates. Most are looking for inspiration or a change in scenery. Either is usually effective to start a new thread of productivity.”
Savannah remembered what Keith had said about Megan only opening up to those she took to bed. If she and Leon had been close, maybe he had more information on her.
“When did they part?”
“I think they were lovers quite recently, but since Leon is cranky, I figured Megan had moved on.”
“Do you know her current boyfriend—if she had one?”
Keith shook his head. “It could be anybody in her circle. She was a serial destroyer of hearts. It had been the cause of quite a few team shuffles.” He sighed deeply, then looked down. “It was the driving inspiration behind her works. She called it the flame of new love and the ashes of broken love.”
“I wish I could have known her.” Savannah turned off the light table. “She sounds like one of those amazing bigger-than-life personalities.”
“A pretty dangerous way to find a muse, if you ask me.”
“Who might know about her current love?” Savannah asked.
“No clue. It could be anyone.”
“Do you know where she was staying? Maybe her neighbors will know more about her personal life.”
“Good idea.” He patted his pockets and delved into the right-hand one. “Here’s her address. I wrote it on the back of my card. She wanted me to stop by tomorrow before I headed back to Seattle.”
“Thanks, I’ll add that to our list. I know you talked to Leon, but what about Vincent?” Savannah asked.
“I haven’t been able to find him anywhere. I’ve called his cell, but he’s not answering, which is very unusual. My students are typically very responsive to my calls.”
“What about her family?”
“Just like everything else I’ve known about Megan, her family life was complicated and volatile.”
“How?” Savannah took a small envelope from the bottom drawer of one of the workbenches.
“Megan was from Seattle and had an older sister who was the darling of her parents. You know the story—honor student, valedictorian, full scholarship to Harvard Law School, and now she’s a famous legal thriller author with a television show that she produces. Megan was the unruly, wild-child dropout with emotional issues.”
“Are her parents still living?” Savannah used a pair of tweezers to pick up the glass shards and put them in the small envelope.
“Yes, but from what I gather, they hadn’t spoken in years. Her sister had recently married the director of her television series and then followed that up with a baby boy. The first grandchild and a boy to boot. Tough act to follow.”
“But Megan was beginning to enjoy some success. Her recent streak of Best of Show wins and prize money awards must have impressed.” Savannah tucked in the flap to the envelope and placed it on the light table.
“I’m not sure, but I got the feeling that Megan thought she was about to be validated for choosing to be a glass artist.”
“She was well on her way to becoming an important emerging artist. She would have been the newest young thing at the galleries next year. She could have made it. That’s what is so sad. All that talent and drive gone.”
“I’m not looking forward to talking to her parents.” Keith lowered his eyes and shook his head slowly. “They’re arriving late tonight. I’m going to help them with making funeral arrangements.”
“Oh, then you’re not leaving tomorrow?”
“No, I’m staying until this is resolved. I can’t leave with a former student dead. I’m ready to help you in any way I can.”
“I would be grateful if you could join my investigation team. You can be a huge help at the Duncan McCloud Gallery. Amanda’s already been there, but she’s merely a student. Since you’re a visiting professor from the famous Pilchuck Glass School, they would be delighted to have you tour their facilities.”
“That shouldn’t make a difference. This is murder we’re talking about.”
“Right, but I’m not the police. You actually know her family. I think that is going to be an important point. If you don’t mind, we’ll go over together after class tomorrow. Is that good?”
“It’s good for me. I was originally scheduled to fly back to Seattle tomorrow afternoon, but I canceled my return ticket, so my schedule is open. Sadly, not the best way to get some extra time in St. Petersburg.”