Down in Flames

by Cheryl Hollon

  “I’m concerned about our ability to manage two businesses within one relationship. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken on the consulting job.”

  Edward shook his head and folded Savannah into his arms. “That was never going to happen. We need to know what happened and this is the way to find out.”

  Savannah leaned into his body and nuzzled into his neck. “Maybe we should see a relationship therapist. I don’t want to end up in trouble over this.”

  “Let’s not panic yet. I don’t think we need outside help to solve our very minor problems. We’re not crazy. Well, at least not in that way. We’re just overwhelmed, and I don’t need outsiders poking their noses into my business.”

  “One way to help is have Amanda limber up her IT superpowers and do a bit more social media investigation. Her mother seems to be making another miraculous recovery.”

  “That’s incredible. That lady is tough.”

  “Another way I can help is to contact a staffing agency to help with the rush in the pub. But you need to stop experimenting in the kitchen. I know it’s keeping you calm but not really helping anything else.”

  “You’re right. No more new recipes until this investigation is done.”

  Savannah backed out of his embrace. “Thanks, honey. Now we need to figure out what frightened Samuel. I’m going to check out his place and talk to the building manager.”

  “Hang on, I need to go with you. I’m his boss and I could legitimately be checking up on an absent employee.”

  “True, but you need to stay here and run Queen’s Head Pub until we get you some replacement staff. Outside of classroom hours, I can simply close my shop and customers will come back for their supplies later. You simply can’t leave. It’s still daylight—I’ll be fine.”

  Edward rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t like this.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll be fine.”

  Chapter 26

  Thursday afternoon,

  new police headquarters

  Officer Williams took the single box of her personal property from the trunk of the patrol car. She had been carrying it around with her for several days. She usually got the same patrol car when she needed one, but since there was no way to count on that—she simply carried the box around with her. It didn’t weigh much.

  She walked into the new lobby. The smell of drywall, paint, and floor cleaner grabbed her by the throat. She coughed, sputtered, and nearly fell in front of the new revolving door. The entrance hall wasn’t even close to being finished.

  One of the antiquated badge scanners had been salvaged from the old building and put into service. She placed her ID on the scanning screen, but it didn’t register. The security officer, also from the old building, grinned and his crinkly eyes lit up when he saw her.

  “Hey, Joy. I’m back to work! This newfangled scanner needs a reboot followed by a restart every five minutes. So, I’m going back to the old-fashioned way to sign people into the department. All I need is coffee.”

  “Coffee is my favorite payment system.”

  She signed his chipped and worn clipboard with the pen attached by a scruffy bit of string. Both had seen better days.

  Joy handed it back.

  “Old-school always works.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Go forth and save the day.”

  The farther she made her way into the new building, the more chaos infested the hallways. There were scissor lifts for the electricians wiring the fluorescent light fixtures. There were crumpled drop cloths beneath the white-spattered boots of the painters. There were several colors of fiber optic cable being unwound from enormous spools in the ceilings.

  She finally found the open-plan area where she was assigned. Her desk was near the back with a brand-new ergonomic office chair in front of a new desk that had her name scribbled on a piece of plain copy paper taped to the surface. She was the only one there. She placed her box on the desk. The first thing she took out was her coffee cup, followed by a simple name plate in a small stand.

  The name plate traveled with her wherever she was assigned. Her father had given it to her when she graduated from the police academy. The next personal item was her diploma, but there was nowhere to hang it in this open bullpen, so she put it in the bottom drawer of the desk. The box also held a good supply of notebooks, a pottery cup to hold her pencils and pens, and a colorful stock of Post-it notes. The last two items had belonged to her mother—a gray Swingline stapler and its matching tape dispenser.

  She flattened the box, stored it in the bottom drawer of the desk, and then considered herself moved in.

  Now to find Detective Parker.

  She phoned him rather than run around the building.

  “Officer Williams,” said Detective Parker, “I certainly hope you have some progress to report. I could use some good news.”

  “Sir, where’s your office? This place is a total mess down here.”

  “It’s not much better up here, but I’m on the fourth floor overlooking Second Avenue. It’s left as you get off the elevator. Then follow your nose for the strongest odor of noxious paint, and that will be my office.”

  Officer Williams followed his instructions precisely and was rewarded with a back view of Detective Parker looking out over the street. His office had been freshly painted and was incredibly small with barely room for a desk, an office chair, and a side chair. However, the window was a floor-to-ceiling treasure of light.

  She knocked on the doorjamb. “Sir, your new office is very small.”

  “Good detecting, Officer Williams, but I’m lucky to have a window view.” He turned and motioned for her to sit in the side chair while he sat in his new ergonomic office chair. “How are your digs?”

  “The new bull pen is huge. There are no sound dampeners like carpet or individual partitions. It’s going to be a noisy nightmare and I won’t be able to have a cogent thought. Luckily, I don’t spend a lot of time at my desk. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere quiet as soon as the construction is finished.” Officer Williams stood, stepped into the doorway, and looked up and down the hall. “Are we anywhere near the conference rooms?”

  “I’ll show you where they’re going to be.” He hopped up and marched down to the end of the hallway and turned left. “I’m told there will be four of them here, but so far—definitely not ready.” He opened a door and let her look inside. The room wasn’t there yet. All the studs were in place and the electrical conduits weaved in and out of the upright two-by-fours like a clothesline. The subfloor was still the fiberboard panels. The ceiling was completely exposed, with the air-conditioning ductwork snaking through the framework that would hold the squares of acoustic tiling. No walls, no floor, no ceiling, no work space.

  Officer Williams whistled. “This is going to take some time. What can we use?”

  “I’ve gotten hold of the maintenance fellow from the old building and he’s gotten us two standalone whiteboards and an old-fashioned corkboard. He says he can deliver them tomorrow morning.”

  “But where will we put them? Your office isn’t big enough to change your mind.”

  “No problem. We’re going to use your open-plan office.” He finger-quoted the words open plan.

  She shook her head and wondered why everyone had regressed into finger quoting. She grinned. “Unconventional, but I’m guessing that that is your point.”

  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.

  Chapter 28

  Thursday evening,

  Savannah’s home

  After she pulled into her carport, Savannah sat in the car for a few minutes taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. She didn’t want to worry Edward with her act of bad judgment, but she had chosen to ignore his advice and the attack had happened. He deserved to know about it.

  “Where did you get those cuts?” Edward asked her as soon as she walked into the living room. “What happened?”

  Savannah lifted a hand to feel her cheek, and her hand came away spotted with blood. “It must have been the gravel.”

  “What gravel? Tell me how, luv.” Edward motioned for her to follow him down the hallway to the single bathroom. He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and took out the small first aid kit. “I thought you were only going to talk to some of the local business owners.”

  “That’s exactly right. But just as I was leaving, it occurred to me to see if Samuel was hiding out in his rented room. His situation sounds a little Dickensian to me.”

  “Good plan, then what?” He pulled out a small tube of cream and a packet of cotton balls and put them on the counter. He grabbed a clean washcloth, wet it in the sink, and lathered up with antibacterial soap.

  “Ugh! You know I hate that stuff.”

  “You might, but I’m going to clean up this little mess. When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “Sometime last year after one of my more serious glassblowing burns.”

  “Okay, that’s recent enough.” He gently washed her cheek and used her hairdryer to blow her face dry. “Go on. Tell me the rest of the story.” He opened the tube of antiseptic cream.

  “Ouch!” Savannah yelped. “That stings!”

  “Oh, don’t be a baby. You’re tougher than this. Get on with it.”

  “I crossed the sidewalk into the adjacent alley and our famous white car came barreling down the street and turned into the little alleyway. The only way to save myself was to scramble onto the hood of the Mini Cooper. That’s where I got the peppering of gravel. I scrambled up on the roof as quick as I could.”

  “As soon as I finish here, you have to call Officer Williams and report this as a threat on your life.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts. She needs to know what happened. It’s not right to keep information from her that could help the investigation.”

  “I know, I know!” Savannah could hear herself yelling. She swallowed and dropped her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just embarrassed. After all that blustering that I can manage a simple interview, I blew it big-time.”

  Edward kissed the top of her head. “It’s a wise investigator who learns from her mistakes.”

  “If I hadn’t been keeping up with my tai chi classes, I don’t think I would have made the leap so quickly. Those classes saved me.”

  Even though it was late, and she wanted nothing more than Edward’s best comforting embrace, Savannah called in the incident to Officer Williams.

  Chapter 29

  Friday morning,

  Webb’s Glass Shop

  Savannah sat at the oak desk in the back office, catching up on tax paperwork. She loathed this task, but if she didn’t keep her reports up-to-date, the consequences were severe. She could lose her license if she failed to file her taxes on time each month. Luckily, her accountant’s operations manager, Stefanie Brinkley, was relentless with timely reminders.

  Amanda bustled through the back door. She was wearing a lime-green cold-shoulder blouse paired with white jeans and lime Converse sneakers, although her hair was still a plain color. Savannah was glad to see her cheerful w
ardrobe choices.

  “Guess what?” Amanda announced. “My mom is one hundred percent better. I think she’s having one of her miraculous recoveries. She was awesome last night. I haven’t seen her act this chatty and engaged in a long time. She still needs to be in hospice, of course, but it was a fantastic evening.”

  “That is remarkable. I’ll be able to come over for a little while tonight and read to her if she’s awake.”

  “Well, she did fall rather deeply asleep just before I left.” She fluttered her hands like bird wings. “But here’s the good news on the investigation front. Officer Williams has shared her information about Nicole’s phone, and I was able to discover her password. Anyone could have figured it out easily anyway, since it uses a variation of Nicole’s birthday. I downloaded the folder where she stored the photos she had taken of SNARK’s graffiti as well as her own.”

  “Wonderful.” Savannah got out of the office chair. “Use your best judgment to print out the ones that you think show the most diversity in painting techniques. As soon as Phillip arrives with the forged painting, I’m going to have Jacob do a comparison. He has the best chance of spotting telltale patterns that would indicate that SNARK created the painting.”

  Amanda fired up the color printer with eight examples of SNARK’s graffiti. She placed them in a folder and handed them to Savannah.

  They heard knocking at the front door. “Oops, sorry, I haven’t opened up.” Amanda sprinted for the front of Webb’s Glass Shop and unlocked the door.

  Phillip Borawski stood on the sidewalk with a deep furrow in his brow. “I thought you wanted this painting as soon as possible.” He stepped through the doorway. “I thought you open at nine.” He looked at the large schoolhouse clock on the wall. “It’s nearly half past.”

  “I’m sorry. I completely forgot to unlock the door. We were working in the back and I lost track of time.” Amanda blushed.