Chapter 27
Thursday evening,
Webb’s Glass Shop
Savannah went home, changed her clothes, and took Rooney for a nice long run. It was a way to let her subconscious think. Frequently, simple answers to complicated questions appeared to her while her mind floated during the run.
Instead of their normal path, she headed south and crossed Central Avenue into the area that she now knew displayed the paint-slinging of the graffiti artists in training. Her eye was tuned to catch out any new images as well as spot the artists.
The graffiti artists were easy for her to spot with their unofficial uniforms of black hoodies and bulky black backpacks. They were a contrast to the business casual wearing day workers walking unknowingly past the new breed of night workers. It was a new mix highlighting the changing demographics in her hometown. No longer a retiree’s winter respite, it was an urban cultural village.
In her dad’s time, St. Petersburg had been a haven for middle-class Northerners wishing for a few warm weeks in the middle of the harsh winters. The town’s famous green benches used to be filled with the leisured elderly. Now, the predominant group was around her age and the art culture had boomed along with it.
When she returned home she called the office of a local temp agency and left a detailed message. Edward had a history with the agency and they would call him tomorrow for times and types of staff he needed.
Savannah sat in her Mini and rang Samuel’s cell phone. There was no answer and a message informed her that the customer had elected to decline voicemail. She frowned.
I didn’t know you could even buy phones without that feature. Of course, I would never get a phone without it.
She drove to the three-story run-down apartment building and parked in the one visitors’ spot off the alley. She entered the main hallway, found Samuel’s apartment on the top floor, and knocked.
There was no answer. She knocked much harder and she heard the chain rattle on the door behind her. “He’s not here anymore.” A single eye peeked out of the crack in the door. “Stop making a ruckus.”
Savannah turned in time for the door to slam shut. She headed downstairs and knocked on the door labeled RESIDENT MANAGER.
“Coming,” was followed by a horrific bubbly cough that made Savannah’s lungs hurt in sympathy. The door opened and a gentleman in his late seventies stood in sandals, cargo shorts, and a plaid shirt that was worn so thin that his white undershirt was plainly visible.
“Good evening, I’m looking for Samuel Joven. This is the address he gave to his workplace.”
“He cleared out a little while ago. You just missed him.”
“Cleared out?”
“Yep, he slipped an envelope under the door with a note and the key. Before I could get up he was gone.”
“Did it say why?”
“Nope. With no notice, I get to keep his security deposit.” The manager started to close the door.
“Wait.” Savannah put her foot in the door. “Did he say where he was going?”
The manager looked down at Savannah’s foot. He kept staring at it until she moved it out of the way. Then he looked up at her.
“The note didn’t say. That young man has worn a worried look since the first time I saw him. He still had it.”
“Thanks. If he comes back or if you hear from another resident that someone else sees him, tell him to come back to Queen’s Head Pub. He’s not in trouble. The owner wants him to come back as a full-time cook. He’s good.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” The manager quickly closed the door.
Darkness had fallen—she had taken too long. Before stepping out onto the broad porch that ran the length of the building, Savannah got her keys out of the side pocket of her backpack and held her car key tightly in her fist like a small wine screw.
Although this section of town wasn’t far from her house and Webb’s Glass Shop, it had a sketchy reputation—not a particularly good place to be alone after dark. She skipped down the front steps and hustled around the corner into the alley toward her parked Mini Cooper. She clicked the car door open and was reaching for the handle when she heard a roaring engine behind her.
Using all the strength in her well-trained muscles, she leaped onto the hood of her Mini and scrambled up to the roof on hands and knees. She felt the whoosh of a white car speeding along the side of her Mini and a spray of gravel hit her cheek.
She looked at the retreating car and tried to pick out the license plate, but it had been obscured by what looked like reflective duct tape. She pulled out her phone, fumbled with trembling fingers for the phone app, and managed to take a picture of the car before it careened onto the next street. It was a long shot, but maybe the forensics experts could enhance the image. Phone cameras were amazing nowadays. She had to try.
Even with her heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, all Savannah could think was that Edward was going to fuss—and he had every right.