Also by Cheryl Hollon
WEBB’S GLASS SHOP MYSTERY SERIES
Pane and Suffering
Shards of Murder
Cracked to Death
Etched in Tears
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Shattered at Sea
Cheryl Hollon
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
COMMON GLASSBLOWING TERMS
GLASSBLOWING INSTRUCTION
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 Cheryl Hollon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
KENSINGTON BOOKS and the K logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1177-9
First electronic edition: September 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1178-6
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1178-5
To
Lujoye Barnes, muse extraordinaire
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A writer needs a mountain of encouragement because there are few reasons to write and a million reasons not to write. The dedication required seems unsurmountable at the beginning of every new mystery. I spend many months writing, revising, editing, promoting, and marketing each book. My support group is the reason this book exists.
Many thanks to my publisher, Kensington Books, for continuing to publish and support the cozy mystery genre. Some of my friends were caught in the cruel crosshairs of merging and downsizing publishers. Most were picked up and dusted off by generous professionals in the business. Some decided it was time to strike out alone. Some have decided to leave publishing forever. May success reward those who had to make those tough decisions.
This book is wildly better because of the editing skills of Selena James and Rebecca Raskin. My publicist, Lulu Martinez, continues to support this crafty little cozy series with off-the-wall promotional ideas. As I’ve met more and more of the large Kensington family, I feel lucky to have such a supportive publishing home.
My literary agent Beth Campbell inspires me to reach higher and dig deeper to make each book better than the last. I am grateful for her guidance. Her success with new clients fills my heart with pride. Congratulations on her recent promotion to full literary agent. She has a great career in front of her.
Bradley and Eloyne Erickson own the glass shop that continues to inspire this series. Their website is www.grandcentralstainedglass.com and they would be happy to introduce you to the fascinating world of making your own family treasures. Check out their class and workshop schedule.
In today’s world, children are denied the casual freedoms I took for granted. We played outside every evening after supper and stayed out until the streetlights came on. It was our signal to scramble home. My parents also took us on outdoor adventures like hiking, fishing, canoeing, archery, and camping. We basically ran as free as squirrels. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for such a great start. You instilled in me a lifelong search for new adventures.
I am indebted to a real cruise ship glassblower I met on the Celebrity cruise ship Eclipse during research for this book. Jamie Perian was delightfully open about her experiences aboard the cruise ship and behind the scenes. She and her teammates work incredibly hard to educate and entertain the passengers. Some of those passengers book cruises with the sole purpose of buying the glass pieces put up for auction. It was an honor to talk to her. I have taken quite a bit of literary license in imagining this make-believe cruise. If there are inconsistencies in the glassblowing sections, the fault is entirely mine.
I peeked at the archives from my critique group. We have been meeting at my little bungalow once a month for more than eight years. I’m grateful for the pointed guidance I receive in the early stages of a new book. Sam Falco and Christa Rickard are my vigilant guardians, telling me that I can always add more emotion and more tension. Thanks, guys—see you next month.
Having a genuinely supportive family is not as common as one would think. My heart breaks for those writers who must toil alone. My family encourages my writing. They happily attend my events with some evidence of pride and pleasure. I am blessed.
The world’s most dedicated writer’s champion continues to be my husband, George. He’s my first reader, trusted adviser, taskmaster, and long-suffering spouse of an obsessive writer. I love you a bushel and a peck.
Prologue
At sea, cruise ship Obscura, security office
“There’s no way he’s dead,” Savannah shouted at the security guard. “No one saw it. You haven’t found a body.”
“Miss, that’s often the way it is for these cases,” said the security guard. “We are proceeding with the investigation. You have no authority here. You’re not even related to the passenger.”
“But . . .”
“Leave it to us. We’re the only authority out here in international waters.”
Savannah turned away with her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed to small slits.
Leave it to you? There’s no way.
Chapter 1
Friday morning, Webb’s Glass Shop
“It’s a terrible time,” said Savannah Webb. “I can’t take a week off and leave everything to Amanda and Jacob. It feels wrong.”
“It’s the chance of a lifetime.” Edward Morris folded his arms over his chest to reflect Savannah’s stance. “The offer is a seven-day cruise in the Mediterranean that begins and ends in Barcelona, Spain. What’s a little scheduling sacrifice compared to this opportunity?”
They stood eye to eye and toe to toe for a few moments. Savannah once again appreciated that Edward felt unthreatened by her six-foot height and unusual strength built by years of glassblowing large objects using heavy molten glass.
“What opportunity?” asked Amanda Blake, assistant manager and part-time stained-glass instructor. Savannah and Edward broke apart quickly.
Amanda stood next to them at the checkout counter of Webb’s Glass Shop. “I’m always a little suspect of the word opportunity.” She finger-quoted. “It can mean many things.”
“In this case,” said Savannah, “the opportunity is to work as the substitute glassblower on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean.”
“That’s awesome! When do you leave?” She adjusted the large statement necklace on her generous ches
t. It was made of saucer-sized glass medallions that clinked when she moved. Amanda was always moving. “How long will you be gone?”
“The problem is that the cruise is for a week, and since it leaves out of Barcelona, Edward wants to go a day early so I can meet his family in England. Then we’ll fly out to board the ship on Sunday.”
Amanda clapped her hands together. “So, what’s the problem? I can handle Webb’s Glass Shop and the beginner’s stained-glass class by myself. Jacob is perfectly happy over at Webb’s Studio. It’s only a few blocks away, so I’m not too far if he needs something.”
Jacob Underwood, Savannah’s apprentice, had recently moved to her expanded business site in the Warehouse District of town.
Edward spoke up. “He’s been handling things very well. Your student clients know about his Asperger’s syndrome. He knows everyone who rents a studio. If a new student wants to rent space, he can send them over for Amanda to handle the paperwork and payments.”
Savannah momentarily tried suppressing a giant grin, but it forced its way out into a hearty laugh.
“You’re absolutely right.” She gave Edward a big hug. “This opportunity will not come around again. There’s a bazillion things to get organized, but I really want to go.”
* * *
Savannah Webb checked her watch, then looked out the rental car window for the sixth time in thirty seconds. “Are you sure they open this early?” She looked over to Edward who sat beside her on their way to the Miami passport office. They had taken the 7:30 A.M. flight from Tampa Airport, which had meant a 4:30 A.M. wake-up call.
“Our appointment is at 10:45. It’s only 9:30. We’re in good time.” Edward looked back at Savannah. “I still can’t believe you don’t have a passport.”
“Not as many Americans travel outside the U.S. as you Brits; you guys are always looking for holiday trips abroad.”
“If you spent one dreary winter in England, you would go mad. You take the sunshine for granted.”
“True. Anyway, Dad did so much traveling when he was working for the government. He always said that there was so much to see in this country, why go to foreign parts while we still have so much to enjoy right here? You have wanderlust—not me.”
Savannah enjoyed the occasional weekend trip, but most of the time she was perfectly content to kick back in her little Craftsman cottage with Edward and their dog and cat fur babies, Rooney and Snowy.
“It’s not only about seeing more sites. It’s about experiencing different cultures in a way you can’t appreciate without walking around on their streets, eating their food, and facing their weather. You grew up in St. Petersburg, then spent a few years in Seattle at the Pilchuck Studio. Quite a narrow view.”
Savannah tilted her head and turned toward Edward. “But I read a lot of books—more than any of the kids I grew up with. All the librarians knew me.”
“Doesn’t count. You can’t smell the spice market in New Delhi without standing there.”
Savannah reached over and held his hand. “Okay. I’ll give you that point. But you must agree I’m certainly changing my outlook today. This is an incredible opportunity for me. Thanks for helping.”
“I only helped with the passport—stuff I know. My travel agent did the rest. Jan is a miracle worker with travel challenges. You’re the one that’s done the impossible to get everything arranged so you can spend ten days away from the shop.” He looked at her slip of paper. “Thirteen? Really?”
“Shush up,” Savannah whispered as they sat. “It’s my lucky number.”
“Number thirteen,” the receptionist announced to the waiting room in a strong voice that hinted she had a musical background.
Savannah jumped up so abruptly that she dropped the folder containing her documents all over the floor. She stooped to gather them up and bumped heads with Edward. “Ouch!” She plopped down on her behind and rubbed her forehead. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to help.” Edward gathered the papers and slid them into Savannah’s bright green folder, then pulled her up by the hand. “You seem flustered.”
“Good guess.” Savannah felt a flush rising in her cheeks. She looked over to the receptionist who was frowning like a judge sentencing a convicted drug dealer. Savannah resisted the urge to step forward at once. She first straightened her papers. Then she put on her brightest smile and walked up to the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, I’m appointment number thirteen.”
“If you’re ready, step through the aisle over to cubicle number eight.”
Number eight—hmmm. That’s lucky in China and unlucky in India. I think I’ll lean toward China’s belief.
Savannah stepped into the tiny space that held a desk barely wide enough for a computer monitor and a mouse. There was enough room for a guest chair and the passport administrator—nothing else.
“Hi, my name is Margie Adams. Please have a seat, Miss Webb.” Savannah smiled and sat. Margie must have been the oldest civil servant in the world. She looked to be nearing ninety, if not already there. However, she was meticulously groomed and had curly white hair, a smooth ivory complexion, and maroon eyeshadow that accented her piercing eyes. “Good, it looks like you have your documents. Hand them over and I’ll fire up the application program. We’ll get this passport process steaming along so you can go to”—she looked at Savannah’s passport request form—“London, England.”
“Yes, we have tickets to leave on this evening’s eight-o’clock flight from Miami.”
Miss Adams was flipping through Savannah’s papers and her fingers were flying over the submission form entries. “Everything looks good, Savannah. I always appreciate an orderly mind.” She paused. “Wait. Here’s your driver’s license, but where’s your birth certificate?”
“It should be right there.” Savannah reached out for the folder. “May I check?”
“Sure.” Margie closed the folder and handed it over.
Savannah flipped through the documents and sure enough, the birth certificate wasn’t where she had placed it. Her heart jumped two beats. Without that, there was no way she was getting a passport, flying to London, or boarding that cruise ship. She flipped through the papers one more time. It was gone.
“Excuse me,” said Edward from the narrow hallway. “Are you looking for this?” He held up her birth certificate. “The receptionist said I could bring it down.”
Savannah gave him cow eyes in relief, took the paper, and put it where it belonged.
Margie stretched out her hand for the folder. “Louise must like the looks of you. She would normally have let this explode into a massive issue, then play the martyr.” She grinned at Edward, then turned back to her computer screen. “You can go back to the waiting room. It won’t be long.”
Edward left and Margie peered at the justification section. “It says that you’re going to work on a cruise ship?” She scanned Savannah from top to bottom. “You don’t seem like a cabin porter type. What are you going to do? Are you an entertainer?”
“More like an educator.” Savannah smiled and leaned forward. “I’m taking the place of an injured glass artist on a cruise ship leaving out of Barcelona. I’ll be doing glassblowing demonstrations on one of the larger ships for their seven-day Mediterranean cruise. The poor girl will be released from the hospital in a few days, so I’m only filling in until she returns.”
“Glassblowing? On a cruise ship?” She lifted a single eyebrow. “You can’t even have candles in your cabin on a cruise ship. How can they have glass-blowing demonstrations?”
“It’s a special setup. The Hot Shop was designed by Crystal Glass Works to run on electricity instead of gas fires. The techniques are a little different, but they heat the glass in electric furnaces—no fire at all. It will be tricky for me to learn how to work the glass without using a blowtorch, but what a wonderful opportunity to see the Mediterranean!”
All the while, Margie was tapping away into the application form template. It was disconc
erting that she could hold a conversation and simultaneously type at lightning speed. Margie filled in the last field and pressed the enter key with a flourish. “There, now let me check one last time for accuracy.” She sped through each field delicately flicking the tab key. “Fantastic. Everything looks perfect. I’ll submit this to the back-room clerks who will create your brand-new passport. All you have to do is come back here at two today and it will be ready.”
“Thank you very much.” Savannah grinned like a Cheshire cat. It appears that thirteen and eight are my lucky numbers.
She returned to the reception area. Edward stood and splayed both hands palms up. “So? You look happy.”
“Yes, we can pick up my shiny new passport this afternoon. I’m hungry.”
“Of course, you are. When there are issues, you can’t eat. As soon as the issues are resolved, you’re starving. I’ve sussed out the pattern.”
They arrived back in plenty of time. Margie nodded and waved to them. They only had to wait a few minutes until Savannah’s passport was ready. Then they drove to the Miami International Airport to turn in the rental and check in for the flight to Heathrow Airport. They received special treatment because Edward’s parents had upgraded their economy class tickets to business class as soon as Edward told them they were coming to visit. Jan had used her insider contacts to make it happen.
“They must be anxious to make you welcome,” said Edward.
“What do you mean?”
“The two of them travel business class across the pond each and every time, but when they send me a ticket? It’s crunch class both ways,” said Edward.
Shattered at Sea Page 1
