She nodded. “She’s very focused, you can tell. And she had the biggest smile up there.”
While they waited for Mollie to come back to them in the auditorium after the ballet dance was over, Savanna scanned the instructors in the front row for Marcus Valentine. Maybe he was running late? According to the program, Mollie’s tap rehearsal was another six songs—or about a half hour—from now.
When Miss Priscilla took center stage a few numbers later to announce that Mr. Marcus had had an emergency come up and all remaining tap numbers would be postponed to Wednesday instead of today, Savanna was only mildly surprised. The parents in the row ahead of her put their heads together and consulted the program with the light from their phones.
Savanna leaned forward. “Excuse me. What happened to Mr. Marcus, do you know?”
The woman who always sat across from Savanna in the lobby during tap classes turned to reply. Her little boy, Andy or Alex or something like that, was in Mollie’s class. “No,” the woman said. “He was here earlier, but he left a few numbers ago.”
Outside the high school in the cool evening air, Savanna congratulated Mollie on a beautiful job well done. She parted ways with Aidan and his daughter, with the plan to meet them here tomorrow to watch Mollie’s tap number.
It was dark by the time Savanna pulled into her driveway. Coming through her front door, she found it was unlocked. She must’ve forgotten to lock it. Her dad would be so upset with her if he knew.
She whistled for Fonzie. Then she hung her sweater and car keys on their hooks, dropped the tote of projects she had to grade, and sank into her plush couch by the front window. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until just now. When she called Fonzie’s name again, she heard yelping and scratching coming from the bathroom.
Had she accidentally closed him in there after work today, when she’d been rushing to get to the auditorium? Poor dog! “Fonzie, I’m so sorry, buddy,” she called. She hurried down the hallway and flung the bathroom door open. The little dog catapulted out onto the hardwood, his feet skittering and clacking as he barked and whined at her, pawing at her legs. Savanna bent and scooped him up, hugging him. “It’s okay! I can’t believe I locked you in there!” He leaped out of her arms and raced toward the kitchen. Sheesh. He must need to go out.
She moved down the hallway and halted abruptly in the doorway to her kitchen. Every cabinet and drawer stood open.
A quick glance over at the dining room confirmed someone had been—or was still—in her house.
Chapter Twenty-One
Panicked and wide-eyed, Savanna grabbed the closest thing to her—a metal soup ladle. Fonzie was barking at the back door off the kitchen. Savanna darted to the knife block by the sink and swapped her soup ladle for a butcher’s knife, though she didn’t know what she thought she’d do with it if it came to that. She was terrified.
She stood for a second in the double doorway between her kitchen and dining room, her heart pounding, and looked around, taking in as much of her small house as possible from that vantage point. The stairs to the bedrooms, the hallway where she’d just been, the door to the basement. What if the person—or persons—were still in here?
Fonzie slid into her legs. He’d run over to her, barking, and now scurried back through the kitchen to the back door, where he dug at the tile, whining. Sucking in air, her heart racing, Savanna followed him. She was accosted by a strong scent right by the back door and shook her head, bringing the back of her hand with the knife in it up to her nose.
When she opened the door, the little Boston Terrier took off across the yard, barking. Savanna chased him in the dark, around the corner of her house, and spotted a figure running toward a truck she hadn’t noticed parked down the street from her driveway.
“Fonzie!” Her frantic scream to get her dog out of the way of the truck hurt her own ears. The dog reversed and came back, and Savanna sprinted back inside through the open back door, snatched her keys from the hook, and went out the front. Fonzie was on the passenger seat the moment she yanked her car door open. She threw the car in reverse and hit Detective Jordan’s name on her phone as she pulled out of her driveway. She could barely glimpse one dim red taillight way down the road. He picked up on the second ring.
“Someone was in my house!”
The detective’s voice came through her Bluetooth. “Right now? Stay on with me.” She heard him talking to someone else but couldn’t hear what he was saying.
“No! Someone was in my house and they ran out and they’re speeding down my street and I’m behind them but I can’t see the plate yet and it looks like they’ve got a burned-out taillight—”
“Savanna, no!” His typically calm tone was gone. “Pull over. I don’t want you involved in a chase. Cars are on the way to you right now. So am I.”
Then it hit her. The smell, it was still in her nostrils; that stinging, overly strong evergreen-and-musk combination. “It was Dylan Blake. Just him, or maybe both of them, I don’t know. They broke into my house and went through my things. I can still see the truck—it’s turning onto the highway now.”
“Which direction?” His police radio crackled in the background.
“South.”
“All right, pull over. Now.” He issued the order again. “How do you know it was the Blakes?”
“Dylan Blake was in the house. His cologne. I’ve noticed it before in the dance school. Maybe you have too—Oh!” Fonzie tumbled onto the passenger side floor as she took the same turn the truck just had. “Come on, boy, I’m sorry!” Once he’d climbed back up, she fumbled around one-handed and attached his safety harness on the front seat. She was relieved she could still see the single taillight far ahead of her on the two-lane highway.
“Why does it still sound like you’re moving?” Jordan’s voice came through the speaker.
“I can’t stop now. Your guys will never find him! What happens if you don’t catch him fleeing from my house? He can just deny he was there!”
“That’s not necessarily true. I’m a mile from your street, and the patrol cars I sent are a little ahead of me. You’ll see us in a minute.”
The truck disappeared from sight. “No! What—” Savanna squinted into the darkness and flipped on her high beams. It had to have turned. She slowed, head whipping to the right as she passed Sandpiper Avenue, Warbler Way, Lighthouse Lane...a single taillight was visible in the distance on Lighthouse Lane. Savanna pulled onto the shoulder and reversed all the way back to the street, gravel kicking up as she took that turn.
“Lighthouse Lane. They turned again.” She heard sirens in the distance. Lighthouse Lane was the long, winding dirt road that ran right along the water, curving around areas of century-old trees and through hilly ups and downs. The sirens quieted the farther she followed the truck, and then the red taillight in front of her blinked out. “I lost it again! What the heck?” She kept going, squinting into the dark.
In her rearview mirror, she saw the truck pull out from a stand of trees and take off the way she’d just come, tires squealing.
“They’re coming back toward the highway!” She took the scenic pullout on her right and turned around, getting back on the road.
“Savanna, stop pursuing now!” Nick Jordan barked. She heard the crackle of his police radio and then him citing some numbers.
She couldn’t see the taillight anymore from the curving portion of road she was on. She wasn’t purposely disobeying Jordan. She wasn’t exactly pursuing, was she? She had no way of pulling anyone over, and in her little car, it was no wonder she kept almost losing the truck.
She came around the next bend in the road and stomped on her brakes, wrestling with the steering wheel to keep control on the dirt road. The truck was blocking the road a hundred yards ahead. She heard the gunshot at the same time she registered the dark figure in the driver’s seat sticking his arm out his window and aimin
g at her. Dirt and rocks just outside her door exploded in a cloud around her, and she screamed and threw her car in reverse, slamming her foot down on the gas pedal.
“Savanna! Are you okay? What was that?” More police radio crackling just behind Jordan’s questions to her.
The back end of her car fishtailed, and she worked to stay on the road. Driving backward was awful! Why did it always look so easy in the movies? Another gunshot sounded, and then a deafening metal clang as the speed limit sign she’d just passed went down, and she shrieked again, picking up speed and trying to avoid skidding toward the ravine. There was a side street fast approaching; she could attempt to turn around to get away from him, but it’d slow her down. Through her windshield, the Blakes’ truck barreled toward her.
Red and blue lights were right behind it, sirens wailing. Savanna made the snap decision to keep going backward rather than chance turning around. The truck would catch her if she tried. More gunshots broke the siren-filled air. Savanna ducked down as much as possible and saw the truck go into a wild spin, three of its four tires shredded, and two police cruisers plus Jordan’s sedan surrounding it as it rocked over on one side and then finally slid to a stop.
Savanna hit her brakes, breathing hard, her pulse pounding in her throat and her hands suddenly damp and clammy on the wheel. She sat, unmoving, as five officers converged on the truck and pulled the figure out of the driver’s side. Shouts joined the sirens, and then Dylan Blake, hands cuffed behind his back, was escorted into the back of a police cruiser.
Savanna became aware of Fonzie’s cold nose on her arm, nudging her and whining. She started to turn toward him, and the car lurched backward, still in reverse. She slammed it into park, then unwrapped her fingers from the death grip she’d had on the steering wheel and tried to take slow, deep breaths. She rolled her window down for Nick Jordan.
He bent and peered in at her. “You’re not hit?”
She shook her head, but then looked down, patting herself, making sure she was fine. She ran her hands over Fonzie’s wiggling frame too just to make sure. “No, I’m all right. Oh my God.” She burst into tears. Her effort at calm and slow, steady deep breaths was futile. Adrenaline still coursed through her; it had to be why she was still so shaky and breathless and now sobbing after the fact. Embarrassed in front of the detective, she swiped at her eyes with a trembling hand. “Sheesh. I’m fine. For real. I’m fine,” she said, the last time to herself. She really was, despite all that had just happened.
Jordan opened her car door as an ambulance pulled onto the scene. The vehicle stopped near the cluster of police cruisers and Blake’s truck, and paramedics walked over to her car. Detective Jordan waited with her. She looked up at him.
“I’m really okay. You didn’t need to call them.”
“They were already on the way—standard procedure with shots fired. Let ’em check you out. Then I’ll drive you home in your car.” He frowned at her, his jaw set, almost like a challenge.
She didn’t argue. “Thank you.”
Miraculously, Savanna’s car was unharmed, and Savanna checked out well too. Her blood pressure was close enough to normal that the two medics were comfortable letting her leave, rather than advising a trip to Anderson Memorial. Fonzie had settled down by the time she and Jordan rolled past Dylan Blake in the back of one of the police cruisers. His head was bent down but he glanced up, glaring at her in the brief moment they made eye contact. Her stomach lurched and she bent forward, squeezing her eyes shut. He’d nearly killed her.
The detective put a hand on her shoulder, not speaking. She waited until the sudden wave of nausea had passed and sat back in her seat, trying again at deep breaths.
“Okay, Savanna?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
He handed his car keys through Savanna’s window to an officer, who would take his car to Savanna’s home for him. They were back on the highway before he spoke again. “Do you see now why I told you to stop pursuing?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t. Do you know how close you came to being shot tonight? What if you had been? Or if your dog had been?”
As much as she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she could’ve been shot, the thought of Fonzie being struck with a bullet got through to her. Blake’s bullets had hit the dirt right outside her window, and then the sign only seconds after she’d passed it. She could’ve easily been shot.
“You could’ve been killed.” He scowled at her. “Do you get that, Savanna?”
“Yes,” she said, tears threatening again. She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth. “Yes. I get it now. I’m really sorry.” Her voice broke. She turned away, staring out the window. She hadn’t been thinking. The whole time she’d been behind the truck, she’d only been focused on keeping it in her sights until Jordan and his team got there. But it’d never even crossed her mind he could have a gun, could try to kill her. “It was reckless and stupid and incredibly irresponsible,” she said, mad at herself now.
“Yes, it was.” He softened. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Savanna. Your idea for our act at the coffee shop this morning flushed Blake out. I’m sure he thought he was about to be arrested for Libby’s murder when he took the risk of going to your house. I’d thought we made it obvious that I was keeping the files, but I guess he didn’t hear that part. I never would’ve gone along with it if I thought you’d be in danger.”
“I know that. Don’t worry.”
“I also heard through the grapevine about the odd visit Marcus Valentine received this morning.” He glanced sideways at her. “You didn’t mention your plan had a phase two.”
“Oh. How did you hear?”
“I brought him in for questioning this afternoon. He did explain his incriminating black eye and why he missed dance class the Saturday Libby was killed.”
“Ooh. You’re really going to tell me what the missing pieces are this time?”
“It was relevant to the case before, so I couldn’t. Now we know he didn’t do it, so it doesn’t matter. He came clean today with me and Taylor. When Priscilla Blake accepted his overqualified application to be the new tap instructor, Valentine probably dodged a much worse fate than a simple black eye. He’d run up some significant gambling debt in New York. Cards. He says he got in over his head and the only way out was to get as far away as possible. He’d met with one of the people he owes money to the night before Libby was killed—he says he made a partial payment on his debt, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Rachel lied for him. He didn’t get back into Carson until Sunday.”
“Why would Rachel lie for him? Oh. I think I know. She lied because if you found out about the kind of people he dealt with, it’d just make him look more guilty? She must’ve been positive he didn’t kill her mom.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, when Rachel talked about getting her mom’s plant to that show, it seemed highly unlikely that she was involved in the murder. And more unlikely that her boyfriend would go behind her back and kill her mom, even for all that money.”
“So, Anthony will get his life insurance payout. Anthony and Rachel both will. Right? She can finish school, and he can keep the shop going. That’s got to be a relief for them.”
Jordan nodded. “I’m sure it is. Anthony Kent’s timing with the life insurance policy change was pure coincidence.” They rode in silence the rest of the way until he turned onto her street. “Listen, just so we’re clear,” he said. “I do appreciate you leading us to Blake. But I swear to God, if you ever willfully disregard what I’m telling you when you know it’s about keeping you safe, I’m never speaking to you again.”
A little laugh escaped her, and she pressed her lips together. They pulled into her driveway.
“I’m serious.” He put the car in park and turned to look at her.
“I know you are. I’m sorry. It just sounded funny. I know it’s not
,” she added.
“I’m glad you’re all right. You’re going to let someone know what happened? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
She nodded. “Good point.”
Detective Jordan walked her in so he could check doors and windows for signs of the breach. When he discovered Savanna’s alarm pad at both doors had darkened screens, and the deck and porch lights wouldn’t come on, they checked the circuit breaker box in the utility room. One had been switched off. Savanna threw the breaker, getting full power back. Jordan found Dylan Blake’s point of entry at the kitchen window over the sink, where the screen had been cut to allow the window to be unlatched and raised. Going through the high-tech alarm system keypad in her foyer, Jordan showed Savanna how he’d done it.
“Your system allows sixty seconds to turn off the alarm after a window or door is opened when it’s set. You did set the alarm when you left today. This memory function shows that. It also shows the kitchen window was accessed tonight at eight fifty-two p.m., and then there’s a power outage. Blake must’ve disconnected the battery first, and then cut the power. Your circuit breaker panel looks brand new; I’m assuming your dad installed that for you?”
She nodded. “Yes, he had to bring the electric and plumbing up to code. I labeled the circuit breakers in case the power goes out,” she said, pointing to the panel.
“With everything so neatly labeled, it was probably easy to only kill the power to the alarm, so he’d still be able to rifle through your house looking for those files. Might be a good idea to have your dad rewire it so it has an independent circuit or another backup. And then don’t label the circuit that has the alarm.”
“We’ll do that tomorrow.” She was thinking. “You said eight fifty-two? He was at dress rehearsal tonight. I saw him talking to Miss Priscilla...but that would’ve been earlier. Because I think he was still in my house when I got home.” She was running the evening backward in her head, to when she’d arrived at the high school auditorium and what time Mollie had gone on stage. “I saw him an hour before he was here. What about Miss Priscilla? Do you think she was part of this?”
Still Life and Death Page 26
