Still Life and Death

by Tracy Gardner

On Monday afternoon, Savanna waited in the lobby of Priscilla’s Dance Academy until Mollie went into her tap class. Mr. Marcus had already been in the classroom today when they’d arrived at the dance school, and his black eye was completely gone. Seeing Marcus Valentine interact with the kids the few minutes before class began, Savanna had to agree with Mollie’s assessment of him; he was a fun teacher. With just over a week left until the recital, the energy in the studio was palpable, older kids rehearsing wherever they could find a few feet of floor space and younger ones trying to get headpieces and accessories fitted correctly. Today, Savanna had a plan to execute while Mollie was in class. She dropped her knitting into her oversized purse and went out the door to the parking lot.

  A concrete walkway spanned the back of the building, with wooden benches and a few potted flowering plants. Savanna took a seat on the bench outside Priscilla’s, opening a book on her lap but ignoring it. Now that Uncle Max had drawn her attention to it, she saw that the marked parking areas for each establishment—Priscilla’s Dance Academy, Libby’s Blooms, and Kate’s Yoga—weren’t divided at all equally. In Priscilla’s section, every single space was full, and two cars were illegally parked on the edge of the lawn. Libby’s designated parking area had exactly three cars in it. All ten spaces in the area for Kate’s yoga studio were full, which was odd, because the classes Savanna had attended there had been pretty small.

  A minivan pulled into the lot and crawled up and down the rows on Priscilla’s side, finally pulling into one of Libby’s. A mom Savanna recognized from school unloaded two young kids, and the trio trudged toward her.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at the back door to Libby’s, and then spoke to Savanna on the bench. “I swear, if the Blakes don’t do something about their stupid parking problem, we’re not taking dance here next year.”

  “No!” The younger girl looked up at her mom.

  The woman held the door to the lobby open for them. “I’m not kidding. I’d better not get another parking ticket. Ms. Shepherd, are you going to be out here for a little while? If you see anyone around my car, could you give me a holler?”

  “Sure,” Savanna agreed, her eyes wide. The Carson Village police department was really giving out tickets? How would they even know which cars were parked in the right spots and which weren’t?

  They couldn’t possibly know. If Miss Priscilla’s customers were parking in forbidden spaces and finding tickets on their cars as a result, it had to be due to someone from Libby’s getting the Carson police to come over here and ticket them. The idea of it was ridiculous.

  She checked the time on her phone. Mollie would be out of tap in five minutes, and she’d be looking for Savanna. She stood to head back in just as two teenagers exited from Priscilla’s lobby. Each girl had an armload of five or six costumes, and between them they lugged two duffel bags, two backpacks, two purses, and one black fedora. They were loaded up like pack mules. They made their way across the parking lot and the street beyond, then turned and headed down the side street another block to get to their car. It was painful to watch and obviously was due to the girls not wanting to park illegally in Libby’s or Kate’s spaces.

  Although...Kate’s spaces were full. Savanna nonchalantly wove her way up and down the two rows of parking spaces, trying not to look suspicious peeking into each vehicle she passed. At least half these cars had various dance accessories, tutus, or costume pieces in the back seats.

  On a whim, she stepped into the yoga studio, encountering Kate herself folding clean white hand towels. The scent of lavender hung in the air, the establishment’s atmosphere warm and welcoming with various peace-and-enlightenment-themed tapestries on the walls.

  “Savanna! Hi! I’m so sorry, my next class isn’t until six tonight.”

  Kate was Sydney’s friend. With her perpetually sunny demeanor and constantly changing hairstyles, she’d always reminded Savanna of Phoebe from Friends. “That’s okay! I have a weird question I’m hoping I can ask.”

  “I love weird. What have you got?”

  “What’s the deal with the parking in this building? Your spots are all full, but you’re between classes right now.” She tilted her head, making her tone higher-pitched as she feigned confusion. “Are people allowed to just park anywhere?”

  “Oh, no. There’s designated parking. I never need all the spots I have, so people at Miss Priscilla’s know they can use mine. But not Libby’s. Are you here bringing Dr. Gallager’s daughter to dance? You didn’t park at Libby’s, did you?”

  Savanna quickly shook her head. “I’m legal, don’t worry. Do they actually enforce the designated parking areas?”

  Kate sighed. “I’ve never understood why it’s worth everyone getting so upset. It’s just parking, for goodness’ sake. But I was at Libby’s once when Anthony called to make a complaint. An officer was already out there putting tickets on windshields by the time I walked back over here. That’s when I told Miss Priscilla to put a note in her newsletter letting people know they can use my spaces, except for the handicapped ones.”

  “That’s nice of you,” Savanna said. “It is kind of crazy. The flower shop never has more than a few customers at a time. Can’t the Blakes do something? Like, request a change through city council or something?”

  Kate shrugged. “Dylan says they’ve tried that. It’s...whatever. I don’t mind sharing my spots. If my patrons come for a class and there’s no parking, they just go a few blocks down and walk. Live and let live, right?”

  “Absolutely. Oh shoot! I’ve got to run—I’m sorry.”

  Savanna sprinted back to the dance studio, coming into the lobby breathless. Mollie was sitting with her dance bag on the floor by the cubbies, pulling out her ballet shoes and repeatedly swiping at the hair hanging in her eyes.

  “Hey,” Savanna said, crouching down beside her. “Need any help?”

  The girl donned her ballet shoes and forcefully flung her tap shoes into the bag. “Grandma cut my hair and now it won’t stay in the bun,” she said, frustration in her tone.

  “That happens. Let me see.” Savanna dug around in the zippered pocket of her purse, producing a few bobby pins. She quickly had the loose, shorter strands tucked neatly in place, and Mollie took off to Studio B, where Miss Priscilla was ushering children in with impatient swipes in the air. Priscilla Blake’s stern, dissatisfied expression was etched permanently into her features.

  With Mollie occupied in ballet, Savanna walked next door to Libby’s Blooms. She really hoped Anthony was here today. If Uncle Max was working alone at the moment, she wouldn’t be able to execute the second half of her plan, but it wouldn’t be a loss. She always loved seeing her uncle.

  Uncle Max greeted her from one of the displays, smiling widely. “Savanna! Come to talk to Anthony about your still life classes?”

  She hadn’t, but that was a great cover idea. She’d wanted to encounter Anthony Kent here and casually mention that she’d run into Rachel on Friday. If she could work her way around to the nursing school topic, she hoped to be able to gauge his reaction to Rachel fearing she wouldn’t have enough tuition money to continue. If there truly was a life insurance payoff coming, neither Anthony nor Rachel should be stressed about money. But a murder investigation would definitely cause a delay in the process. “

  Yes,” she answered. “I was hoping to catch him.”

  “He’s in the office,” Max said. “I’ll tell him you’re here.” He went behind the counter and through the door, and then opened it again and motioned Savanna over. “Go ahead in.”

  Anthony was at Libby’s desk surrounded by papers and ledgers, an upside-down pencil in one hand poised over the desk calculator. Other than the desk, the office was neat and tidy—almost compulsively neat. The file cabinet drawers all bore labels, the large bulletin board on the wall listed promotions for the upcoming month, and the titles in the two tall, narrow bookcases were alph
abetically arranged. Savanna’s gaze drifted about the room, her art authenticator’s brain telling her something, some minor detail, was out of place. But in her quick perusal she only saw order.

  Anthony Kent set his pencil down and sat back, taking his glasses off to look at Savanna. “I’m due for a break. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you. How are you doing? I can’t even imagine how hard this all must be.” Her tone of concern was genuine. Libby’s husband was older than Libby had been by a handful of years, but he looked much older than that today.

  He nodded. “It’s been difficult.”

  “I’m so sorry. How’s your daughter holding up? The whole thing is so awful, for both of you.”

  “I lost my own mom in my twenties,” he said. “You’re never ready for that.”

  “I’m sure,” Savanna said, then took her shot. “I ran into Rachel the other day as she was leaving work. She’s such a sweet girl. She seemed quite stressed about nursing school...”

  This was Anthony’s opening. Anything he said would help her get a feel for what was going on—yes, she’s got tough classes? The tuition’s expensive? It’s a challenging profession?

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Savanna hadn’t planned for that response.

  His scowl drew deep creases between his eyebrows. “I never see her. Maybe if she took a break from all the time she spends with that hoodlum next door, she wouldn’t be stressed about school.”

  Who? “Oh. Wow, I’m sorry.” Savanna truly was. The man had a lot on his plate. Was there a tactful way to ask who the hoodlum was? Next door had to mean Miss Priscilla’s. Could she be dating Marcus Valentine? All the other teachers were older women, and none of them seemed like a hoodlum to her. Neither did Mr. Marcus.

  “Well, she’s young,” Savanna said. “I’m sure she’ll figure things out. Have they been, uh, dating long?”

  “Just since Dylan and Priscilla recruited him from God knows where to replace that teacher they fired. I hope you’re right, Savanna. He’s no good.” Anthony cleared his throat. “Listen to me. None of this is what you stopped by for. Max says you wondered about starting your art classes back up?”

  Savanna made it back to the dance studio with time to spare until Mollie’s ballet class let out. Aidan had a new resident starting today and had offered to have his mother-in-law pick up Mollie from Miss Priscilla’s, since he knew he’d run late, but Savanna had told him she’d drop Mollie off at her grandma’s house after they grabbed a snack—the cheese stick and apple juice eaten on the way to dance were long gone. They zipped into Fancy Tails and picked up Fonzie, giving Mollie an opportunity to peek and giggle at the wildly fluffy Newfoundland pup on the grooming table in the back, and then got Grandma Jean’s permission to stop at Lickety Split for ice cream.

  Savanna got a hot fudge parfait and Mollie a strawberry sundae. Fonzie polished off his free Pup Sundae and then sat underneath the picnic table, catching bits of dripping ice cream from Mollie. While she chattered about the summer camp her dad had just signed her up for, Savanna’s mind spun through all she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours.

  Rachel was dating Marcus Valentine. Marcus hadn’t shown up for work the Saturday Libby’s body had been found, and he’d come to work the Monday after that with a black eye. Rachel might drop out of nursing school due to no funds for tuition. Anthony could be cashing in on Libby’s large life insurance policy any day now, but it was likely on hold pending the completion of the murder investigation. If Anthony was found to be the killer, would the policy be completely voided, or would it go to Rachel? She’d have to pick Skylar’s brain about how that worked. Did Rachel know about the policy increase?

  She knew too much, and not nearly enough. On top of everything, as Savanna had been leaving Anthony’s office after he’d agreed to let her resume her still life class, he’d cautioned her not to get too invested in holding the classes there.

  “I’m no florist,” Anthony had said. “This shop was always Libby’s passion. It might be time to sell.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Savanna didn’t usually wish away her time at Carson Elementary, but Tuesday seemed excessively long. She had plans to stop by and see her friend Yvonne after school, and then her still life class resumed at five today in Libby’s greenhouse. She’d stowed her paint supplies for the class in her car so she wouldn’t have to run home first.

  Savanna and Yvonne had become close the year before, when Yvonne had ended up in the hospital after becoming an unwitting part of the mystery surrounding who killed a local councilman. It had been a very close call, but she’d recovered well. The visit Savanna planned for today wasn’t entirely social, but she hadn’t mentioned her ulterior motive to Yvonne yet. She hoped her friend wouldn’t mind.

  As soon as the last bell rang and she’d quickly cleaned up, she made a stop at Main Street Sweets before heading to the Carson Village Offices to meet Yvonne. After perusing the dizzying array of scrumptious desserts in the display case, she finally decided on a chocolate pecan brownie for Yvonne for now, and a package of raspberry kolacky cookies for her to take home, both her favorites. She couldn’t leave without adding a dozen chocolate chip cookies for herself.

  Just past Skylar’s law office at the east end of Main Street, the two brown brick buildings that comprised Carson’s government offices were connected by a curving sidewalk through a small courtyard between them. The rear building held Carson’s public works and law enforcement departments. The smaller, more attractive building in front had gabled windows and an arched entryway and comprised Carson’s Parks and Recreation department and the new mayor’s office.

  When Savanna pushed through the double glass doors, Yvonne hopped up from her desk outside Councilwoman Linda Rae’s office and gave her a big hug. “How are you? How’s your uncle doing? I heard he was the one who found Libby.” Her large brown eyes were wide and full of concern.

  “He’s fine. He was a little shaken up. It’s just so awful for her husband and daughter. How are you doing?”

  With the large space empty besides the two of them, the mayor’s assistant having already gone home for the day, Savanna sat across from Yvonne at her desk while they caught up. Yvonne brought two coffees over and a plate and plastic knife. She was thrilled at Savanna’s chocolate pecan brownie gift and shared it, pushing the plate toward Savanna until she gave in and took her half.

  “Oh my,” Yvonne said after taking a bite of hers. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “So good. Everything they make is amazing!”

  “I know!”

  “I do feel a little like I’m being buttered up.” Yvonne narrowed her eyes at Savanna. “Not that I mind.” She untied the string on the box of powdered sugar raspberry cookies, peeking in the box. “Oh! My favorites! So. Am I being plied with sweets for a reason?”

  Savanna laughed. “You know me too well. But in my defense, I almost always bring food when I come see you at work.”

  “But usually it’s sandwiches and pop,” Yvonne reasoned.

  “You got me.” Savanna scooted her chair closer to the desk and leaned on her elbows, lowering her voice even though it was just them. “I have a small favor to ask.”

  “Anything.”

  “You’ve worked here a long time. I’m hoping you might know something about the bad feelings between Priscilla Blake and Libby Kent.”

  Yvonne gasped. “Do you think Miss Priscilla shot Libby?”

  “I can’t even imagine who could’ve done that to Libby. But between Sydney being good friends with Libby and then our Uncle Max having to be cleared as a suspect, we’ve started looking into who might’ve had motive and access. Syd and I are meeting with Detective Jordan tomorrow to let him know what we’ve learned,” she said, deciding at that exact moment to do so. She’d been trying to avoid making things worse for her sister by involving her too much. Sydney had already b
een deeply affected by the loss of her friend, and now on top of it she was a mess because of Finn. But maybe getting more involved would make Sydney feel like she was doing something for Libby.

  “Good,” Yvonne said. “The detective should listen to you, especially after you cracked John’s case last year. You know, I remember the Kents coming in here in person to file a complaint against the dance school a while back. Businesses and consumers can fill out the township’s online complaint form for just about anything, so I wouldn’t necessarily know if there were more. But Libby and Anthony came in. Let me check something.” She frowned and turned to her computer screen, typing and clicking away.

  After a minute, she sat back abruptly, her hands hovering over the keyboard and eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well.” She pushed her chair back from her desk and looked at Savanna. “I’m supposed to pick up my prescription today. I’m worried I might not make it before they close.”

  Savanna checked the clock on the desk. “I think they close at six. You get off at five, right?”

  “Yes, but I’m still worried,” she said, and gave Savanna an exaggerated wink. “Would you mind just answering the phones for a few minutes? Here.” She stood and motioned Savanna over. “Sit in my chair, and if the phone rings, say, ‘Councilwoman Rae’s office—how may I help you?’”

  Savanna sat, looking up at Yvonne and then at the computer. The entire screen was populated with the online files the search had brought up: line after line after line, each one labeled either Libby’s Blooms or Priscilla’s Dance Academy.

  Yvonne pushed the blue mouse over to Savanna, then grabbed her purse and marched across the lobby.

  “Um, hey!” Savanna was half whispering now, grateful but a little nervous.

  Her friend turned and looked at her, one hand on the door. “Thank you so much, Savanna. If a call goes into my voicemail, that’s fine—don’t worry about it. Linda Rae is gone for the day, anyway, though there are still a few staff in the back. Oh shoot, I didn’t mean to leave my printer on,” she said, pointing to it against the wall beyond her desk. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” She nearly sprinted through the door without looking back.