“How much is the trust fund worth?” asked Savannah.
“Five million dollars.” He dropped his head back and closed his eyes.
Arnold instantly appeared at Savannah’s side, pushing a wheelchair. “I’m afraid that the interview is over. He’s exhausted himself.”
Officer Williams immediately stowed her notepad and pencil while she rose from her chair. “Thank you for your time, sir.” She looked over to Savannah then spoke to Arnold. “We can find our way out.”
Arnold smiled his thanks and he began what sounded like a familiar argument in coaxing Uncle Bert into the wheelchair.
Uncle Bert took a long shuddering breath and looked up. “I’m so tired, Arnold. Very, very tired.”
Savannah and Joy found their way back to guest parking and Joy unlocked the cruiser. They buckled up and drove down Central Avenue.
“Why do you think the trust fund is so tricky?” asked Savannah.
“I believe there are more secrets lurking within this family,” answered Officer Williams.
Chapter 21
Wednesday evening,
on a street south of Central Avenue
Savannah and Edward left the house in her Mini with Rooney snuggled in his crate in the cargo area. “You know we’re going to have to get a bigger crate, don’t you?” Savannah said as she glanced in her rearview mirror.
“He’s large for a puppy.” Edward looked back as well.
“The bigger issue is that the current crate is the largest that will fit in the Mini. We’re going to need a doggy car seat.”
Edward pulled out his phone. “There are car seats for dogs?” He googled and turned his head to look at the back seat. “Brilliant! I’m putting one on order.” He punched in the information. Then his phone pinged. “Great! It will be here on Friday. He’s growing so fast this has got to be the last time we put him in a crate.” He turned around again. “Right, Rooney?”
Rooney looked at Edward, whined for a moment, then tucked his head down between his huge paws. Even so he somehow managed to keep those betrayed puppy eyes on Edward.
“So why are we doing this at night?” asked Edward. “It would be a thousand times easier in the daytime.”
Savannah expelled a deep, frustrated sigh. “I know it would. But with running both the shop and the studio, Amanda at hospice and Jacob not well enough to run either place, I’m out of options. If we don’t do it now, I’ll have to wait until Sunday. That’s too long to wait.” She patted Edward on his thigh. “You’re my buddy on this adventure.”
“It’s lucky that Wednesday night is a bit slow. Samuel has been coming up to speed quickly, but I need to get back so I can teach him how to do the closing. I think I’m going to offer him a permanent job. He’s a good sous chef and I’m sure it would simplify his life to have one full-time job with benefits rather than three part-time ones.”
They pulled into an alley that the SHINE organizer told Savannah was the entry-level wall for beginning graffiti artists. Although technically the images could be considered defacing public property, the arts council had encouraged the SPPD to turn a blind eye. It was a chaotic jumble of images dimly lit by a street light.
They parked, got Rooney out on his leash, and Edward held him in close control. Savannah used a flashlight to illuminate the images. She scanned them carefully, looking for Nicole’s signature bubble-gum pink with black paint in a triangle.
“Look!” Savannah pointed her flashlight to a lower section of the wall. “The color palette is right.” She held the light steady on the image.
LOVE
IS
LOVE
The letters were a typical bubble-gum-balloon font with a thick black outline. Next to the last E was a little triangle with the stylized initials NB inside.
Savannah took a picture with her phone. “That’s it, all right. It matches the little triangle image we found in her locker.”
Rooney stiffened, then produced a low, rumbling growl. A small hooded figure dressed from head to toe in black was standing next to the wall. She pulled back the hood to reveal a shock of purple crew-cut hair.
“This wall is almost full. All the good spots are gone, but since I’m short, I take the low stuff anyway.” The voice was soft but raspy, as if recovering from a screaming match.
Rooney stopped growling as soon as the artist began to speak.
“Do you mind if we watch?” asked Savannah.
There was a hesitation. “That would actually be helpful. I’m not very good yet, but I’m hoping to apply for one of the SHINE murals next year, and part of the event is to watch the paint-slingers work their magic. I need to get used to people watching me. So far, no one has been interested.”
“Thanks. My name is Savannah.” She waved a hand. “This is my fiancé, Edward.” She bent to ruffle Rooney behind the ears. “And this amazing puppy is Rooney.”
Rooney yipped and tentatively moved toward the artist.
“I’m Morgan. Who is this big hulk of adorableness?” Morgan slid the backpack to the ground and bent to give Rooney an experienced scratching behind his floppy ears. Rooney replied by licking a great wet path all down Morgan’s face.
“Say hello to Rooney, the one-hundred-twenty-pound face-washing machine.” Savannah hooked a finger under Rooney’s collar. “Let the artist be.” Rooney sat.
“Do you have a plan, or do you just wing it?” Edward stepped closer to the backpack.
“Normally, I just paint whatever comes to mind. But tonight, I’m trying out a new image, so I’m painting with a plan.” Morgan unzipped the backpack and pulled out an index card and handed it to Edward.
“Wow. That’s good.” Edward showed the card to Savannah, who lit it with her flashlight. It was a colored pencil sketch of a realistic flamingo in flight.
“Thanks, but I may have bitten off more than I can chew.” Morgan took the card back and began setting up her materials to paint the image. Then out came a small portable lamp and Morgan set it up to shine on a small blank space near the bottom of the wall.
Next came a wide range of spray-paint cans and a packet of stencils cut in meaningless shapes. Some had never been used. Some were covered in multiple colors. After laying out all the cans and stencils as if it were a personal ritual, Morgan put on latex gloves and slipped on a mask.
“This is the fun part for me. I love the process of getting ready to paint. It’s my yoga.”
She first sprayed the wall with a white base. Then Morgan worked efficiently and quickly using the stencils and shaping cards to build the flamingo, layer upon layer, starting from the broadest shapes and finishing up with details that brought the image to life. Stepping back to see the effect, Morgan stopped and added a few touch-ups.
“That’s it. Now for the final step.” In a few little sprays, Morgan left a signature in the right-hand corner of the image at the very bottom of the wall.
“That’s gorgeous,” said Savannah. “I thought you said you were a beginner. This looks very practiced to me.”
Morgan shrugged and began gathering up her tools and materials and returning them to the backpack. “The more times you work with an image, the better it gets. This isn’t my first time with the flamingo.”
“I’m a little surprised. It’s a bit cliché, isn’t it?” Savannah raised her eyebrows. “Florida. Pink flamingoes can be viewed as kitschy.”
“That’s my signature image. I make sure they look like an Audubon image, not a cartoon.”
“You’ve done that, all right. It looks like it will start preening any second. Thanks for letting us watch. Before you go, I was wondering if you ever met the artist who painted that?” Savannah pointed to Nicole’s graffiti.
“Oh, sure. She was a rank beginner, but I was able to give her a few pointers. She picked up a lot of stuff from the locals. She had a job somewhere near here as a bartender.”
“Yes, I was her boss,” said Edward. “She worked for me at the Queen’s Head Pub.”
; Edward thought those words sounded hollow. How could it be true that she would never come to the pub again? Nicole had been such a large part of the pub’s quirky sense of fun and comradery. How would they be able to recreate the magic her big personality inspired?
“Apparently this was her main outside interest. In fact, her only interest outside the pub. Is there anything that you could tell us about her graffiti work?”
“Not much, she was just starting.” Morgan turned away and then looked at them. “Wait a minute. She was obsessed with SNARK. Somehow, she almost always showed up when he was creating a new piece. I don’t know how she did that. Maybe he told her. I only ever ran into him by accident.”
“Do you know where we can find SNARK?” asked Savannah. “We’d like to talk to him.”
“You and about a million fans and reporters. According to social media posts, he isn’t in the area right now, but he is expected to return tomorrow. Rumor has it that he’s painting his statement piece tomorrow night before he hops onto a train to the next mural festival in Montreal.”
“Where does he stay?”
Morgan reached into the backpack for a thermos. “It varies. If it’s a new town to him, he roughs it in the local homeless camps. But he’s well-known around here, so I’ll bet he is staying with some friends who have an actual house.”
Savannah softened her voice. “Morgan, did you hear that Nicole was killed in a hit-and-run on Monday?”
Morgan’s mouth flew open, but nothing escaped. “Killed?” The backpack dropped to the ground out of Morgan’s limp, trembling hands.
Savannah stepped forward and grabbed Morgan by the arm. “Are you all right? Do you feel faint?”
Morgan jerked away from Savannah and stuttered, “N-n-n-no. I can’t b-b-believe it. I don’t have a television and I rarely hear the news.” Morgan bent down and picked up the fallen backpack.
“It wasn’t an accident,” said Savannah. “We’re trying to find out from her friends who might have wanted to harm Nicole. Was she involved in something dangerous? Do you have any information that might help us track down her killer?”
“I didn’t know her all that well, but she was a regular in the late-night crowd.”
Savannah pulled out a business card. “Could you give me a call if something occurs to you or one of your graffiti crowd?”
Morgan took the card and fingered the raised lettering. “Nicole was a kind and caring person. I’ll find out what I can and give you a call.”
In the next moment, Morgan was gone, leaving Savannah, Edward, and Rooney to stare at the delicate image of the flying flamingo.
Chapter 22
Thursday morning,
Webb’s Glass Shop
Savannah unlocked the shop and logged into the retail PC up front. When that was up and operating, she pulled out the wineglasses from the kiln and placed them at each student’s workstation.
Her phone pinged. Jacob texted her that he was at Webb’s Studio and would be working on the large stained-glass restoration project.
HOW DO YOU FEEL?
He answered: FINE
I’ve got to get over there and check on him. “FINE” means absolutely nothing.
Amanda came into the shop through the back door. She stowed her velvet patchwork hobo handbag under the sales counter. “Mom had a very good day yesterday.” Her eyes shone, and she inhaled a quivering breath. “I was so happy. She was talking and laughing with the nurses. It was a wonderful afternoon. I stayed with her for supper. She didn’t eat, but she was in such good spirits. So much like her normal self.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Hey, did you see the paper this morning?”
“No, Edward takes it into work with him. I don’t even pick it up from the sidewalk in front of the house anymore.” She frowned. “Why?”
“It appears that Nicole’s will and testament was revealed by her lawyer to her heirs yesterday. It names Elizabeth as the sole beneficiary of her trust fund.”
“That’s what I would expect,” said Savannah. “She is the surviving spouse.”
“Here’s the surprise. The value of the fund is five million dollars. Five. Million. Dollars. Can you believe that?”
“Yes. I knew that. Sorry that I didn’t fill you in. I didn’t want to disturb you at hospice.”
“Oh, that’s all right, but anyway, the reporter could have been given the value of her estate by someone in the family.”
“Or close to the family.”
“What about the lawyer?” asked Amanda.
“Not likely. This is all purely speculation, but if the lawyer did this, he’s not a very ethical lawyer. The lawyer represents the family, so if there is discord about a will he drew up, he is not serving the family by publicizing it.” Savannah folded her arms.
“Also, not a good recommendation for the quality of his services if he is caught violating the confidentiality a will.”
“Agreed. No one had any idea that Nicole had a fairy-tale rich uncle. He stepped in after her family disowned her when she announced her intention to marry Elizabeth.”
“Oh yuk. Poor Nicole.”
“That puts a new perspective on Elizabeth’s motives, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh yes, the paper said that she appeared shocked,” said Amanda.
“That could be false. We already know about Nicole’s brother. Do you think he was mad that he gets no share of the trust?”
“No, he’s been rescued by the same rich uncle, so you would have to assume that he knew about the trust from the start.” Amanda tilted her head and smiled. “What are you going to do about it?”
Savannah shrugged her shoulders and thought for a few moments. “I think we need to know even more about Nicole’s family. Uncle Bert appears to be a true savior to both Nicole and Alan. Maybe we can find out if there’s more to the story.”
“Easier said than done,” said Savannah. “Elizabeth wasn’t very cooperative the last time Edward and I talked to her. We have no real reason to talk to her about anything. She’s not connected with the SHINE Festival or anything else associated with the art community.”
“That leaves us with no opening,” said Amanda.
Savannah ran a hand through her tight curls. “Maybe not, but if she’s not involved in Nicole’s murder, she might be very happy to help us prove that she’s not the killer. Right?”
Amanda nodded.
Savannah picked up her cell. “Let’s find out. I’m calling her.”
When Elizabeth answered, Savannah put the phone down on the sales counter and set it to speaker. “Hi, Elizabeth. This is Savannah Webb and I’ve got Amanda Blake here with me. I’ve been hired by the St. Petersburg Police Department to help with the investigation into Nicole’s hit-and-run. Do you have time for a few questions?”
“Isn’t that unusual? I mean, you are a civilian, right? I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“Yes, but I’ve been helpful to the police in the past and they sometimes need expert advice in cases involving special topics—like graffiti artists.”
“Oh, you mean Nicole’s obsession with SNARK.”
“Do you have any idea why Nicole was interested in him?”
“I have a suspicion, but no real evidence—just an opinion.”
Savannah looked over to Amanda and winked. “I’ll gladly listen to your opinion.”
Elizabeth’s voice dropped into a monotone that gave the impression of boredom but was more likely to protect herself from becoming emotional. “Nicole bought a painting for her uncle, which looked exceptionally well done. She wouldn’t tell anyone where she got it, even under pressure. She thought Uncle Bert would appreciate the quality of the aspiring artist.”
“That doesn’t sound suspicious.”
“Well, Uncle Bert became very suspicious. He recognized it as the image of an obscure canvas by the famous Dutch artist, Johannes Vermeer. Uncle Bert thought the painting was a copy of the famous forger, Han van Meegeren, a f
amous character during the World War II criminal trials. The canvas might be of value in itself for a blatant con of forging a forgery. The painting is especially fine in its own right, but even more interesting for its checkered history. He appreciated the skill of the artist and wanted Nicole to contact the artist for him.”
“How does that involve SNARK?”
“Nicole looked closely at the painting and saw some correlation between the painting and some of SNARK’s graffiti. She was embarrassed that she had been taken in, and by giving that painting to her uncle—she was doubly embarrassed. I knew she was trying to find SNARK, but I didn’t know how far she was willing to take it. If she believed SNARK was a forger, what would she do?”
“Could you possibly bring me the painting in question? I would like to follow the trail of Nicole’s reasoning for thinking that SNARK was the forger. Painting styles can be deceptive. I want a much closer look.”
“Sure. I’m deep into estate paperwork, but I can have Phillip drop it by sometime this afternoon. I’m sure Uncle would be happy to lend it to you if it will help find Nicole’s killer. Oh, by the way. Nicole’s final wishes were for her body to be harvested for organ transplant and to science. She wanted it that way. But there’s also a celebration of her life scheduled for the middle of next month. I hope you can be there. You guys meant a lot to her.”
“Thanks, Elizabeth.” Savannah ended the call. She looked over to Amanda. “I’m not sure why she was so chatty. But at least we have a more substantial justification that SNARK could be the hit-and-run driver.”
Amanda folded her arms in front of her generous chest. “It’s still weak, but so far—he’s all we have.”
Savannah blew out an exasperated puff of breath. “You’re right, but I’m very anxious to look at the painting.”
“You know who an even better expert might be?”
Down in Flames Page 13
