“You have a student in the show?”
“Yes, he was admitted in good time so that we could arrange the intern position with the Chihuly Museum. Another of my former students, Megan Loyola, has also been accepted into the festival. She reminds me very much of you.” Keith nodded toward Savannah.
“How so?”
“She’s wicked smart and has a genius for inventing glass techniques to form something completely different and spectacular. I can’t wait for you to see her work.”
“Hey, you’re not trying to influence a judge are you?”
Keith shook his head. “No chance. You are your father’s daughter; he was unbelievably ethical. The interns are Vincent O’Neil and Leon Price. Vincent is a good craftsman with broad technical and mechanical knowledge. Leon, however, is a bit of an uptight urbanite and that rigidly controlled approach comes out in his work. They’re sharing living and travel expenses. Leon is the one who has an exhibit booth at the Spinnaker Art Festival. Vincent applied, but didn’t make the cut.”
Edward shifted a bit and signaled the bartender for another round. He turned to Savannah. “Have you told Keith about your new project?”
“Not yet.” She looked crossly at Edward. “I’m still in the investigation stage.”
“What new project?” Keith drained the last of his beer.
“I’m going to open a new glass studio in this area. It will be the largest in the South once I’ve got it up and running.”
“Wow, that’s the kind of success we hope our students will achieve after they leave. Will it be in this area of town?”
“Only a few blocks south of here in an up-and-coming new industrial park district. It will be an artist’s loft space with reasonable rental rates on a month-by-month plan. As an incentive to the eternally cash-strapped prospective client, I’m offering the space without a long-term lease.”
“How much square footage?”
“I’m thinking over ten thousand square feet. Part of that will be an exhibit space. That will give my students a transition phase between student and professional artist. There will also be a media room for presentations and tutorials.”
Edward shifted in his seat. “But you’re keeping the original Webb’s as well?”
“Absolutely.” She sipped her beer. “That building has been in the family forever and is the anchor store in that block. It’s absolutely perfect for beginners—but not for the intermediate- to advanced-level artists.”
“Wow, Savannah,” said Keith with emotion cracking his voice. “I predicted great things from your skill and talent, but this fantastic news is beyond my expectations. What are you going to call it? Where is it going to be?”
“Webb’s Studio is the working title I’m using until I register it as a business name and have my accountant file the corporation paperwork. He’ll organize a name search to make sure it’s unique, but I think it is.” She smiled. “I’ve been looking at some available warehouse properties a little south of where we’re sitting. I think I’ve found a candidate location.”
Edward lifted his glass. “A toast to the success of Webb’s Studio.” The three glasses clinked in perfect harmony.
Chapter 2
Saturday Morning
The glass art entries in the Spinnaker Art Festival defined excellence. Savannah followed Keith’s advice by walking through the entire breadth of the festival grounds from one end to the other. It was a warmish spring day, with barely enough cloud cover to keep the sun from baking the ground while she trawled the aisles. Her big, floppy straw hat kept her head cool when the sun peeked out in fits and starts. It matched her comfortable jute sandals that set off her only summer dress to perfection. Dressed up for judging in a floral cotton print, she felt very much like it was the first day of school—a little exposed, but excited to see what the day would bring.
The Spinnaker Art Festival juried show was the highlight of the winter season competitions on the art show circuit, and the selection committee admitted only a small percentage of the applicants. This vibrant event featured over 200 artists chosen from more than 2,000 applicants. As a result, the caliber of the art was original, evocative, curious, and beautiful.
As the festival’s popularity had increased in recent years, the festival site had moved to a larger waterfront park, Vinoy Park, located north of the traditional Straub Park on the downtown main drag of Beach Drive. The new location accommodated approximately fifty additional exhibit booths, and there was plenty of room for a large food court populated with local restaurants. The wine and beer offerings acted as an effective fundraiser for the festival and were doing a brisk business.
The festival map helpfully listed each glass artist with a location symbol next to the artist’s name. As she walked by each booth, Savannah ticked off the name on the list. Every known discipline of glass was represented by at least one booth. The most popular type was stained glass, which ranged from lusciously designed Tiffany windows to sparsely elegant pieces in the Frank Lloyd Wright style. These were closely followed in popularity by fused glass pieces of gigantic puzzle piece platters down to complete service sets for sushi. There was even an entry featuring life-sized bird sculptures based on the drawings from the original Audubon watercolors. The artist had cleverly used prints of the paintings as a backdrop for each glass creation.
When she reached the last booth, Savannah checked the list of names and discovered that she had missed two exhibits.
How did that happen?
Studying the map, she saw that she had overlooked a short aisle just left of the festival entrance. She crossed the park to add them to her initial survey. The small sector was definitely a bit out of the way and a tree blocked the line of sight to the rest of the festival.
That’s going to annoy the artists. If I missed them, many paying customers will as well.
Traveling down the aisle, she looked for the missing artists’ booths and finally reached the end to discover two glass artists directly across from each other. Their work was the most exciting that she had seen so far. One was a display of life-sized hollow body forms hanging from oversized industrial j-hooks and chains; the other exhibitor displayed huge glass vessels that had been hand blown and then etched in a Romanesque fashion. She stood and stared at one booth, then turned and stared at the other.
These two booths displayed skill and creativity yards above the rest. They belonged to Megan Loyola and Leon Price, the ex-student and one of the interns from Keith’s studio in Seattle.
You were right, Keith, you know it when you see it. But you didn’t mention that I might see more than one winner.
Determined to live up to her dad’s reputation for fairness and his finely tuned eye for talent, Savannah walked by each glass exhibit booth and meticulously filled out the judge’s evaluation form for each entrant. She didn’t chat with the exhibitors, but tried smiling as often as she could to ease their fears. She remembered how terrified she felt while being judged for the first time—she had shaken so badly she momentarily feared she’d make the ground tremor.
The evaluation form was a new element in the judging process. It was supposed to give the exhibitors feedback for improving their chances of winning the coveted Best of Show prize in future competitions. In Savannah’s experience, winning an art competition was pretty much a random chance event. So many of them were either rigged by a “reward my buddies” approach or, worse, a “pay it forward to get favors” approach. The number of competitions that awarded prizes in an ad hoc fashion was also a source of frustration.
Savannah had entered shows only where she was sure to sell her works. That was really the only merited award. Did you reach people strongly enough for them to pull out their wallet and take that piece home? Ultimately, that was the grand prize.
“How’s it going?”
Looking up from her clipboard of forms, Savannah was delighted to greet Keith, standing in front of her with his arms folded as if waiting for the answer to a question he had aske
d in a workshop. She smiled.
“It’s wonderful, terrible, exciting, and terrifying. Did I get them all?”
“You might also throw in exhausting, but it’s still early.”
“I’m too excited to be tired.” Savannah took off her hat and drew a hand through her hair. “Yet.”
“You certainly look the part of sophisticated business owner judging an art show.” He tipped his genuine Panama hat, worn in concert with a Hawaiian shirt along with khaki shorts, and the final touch was Key West Kino sandals. Only the local Floridians would appreciate his authenticity.
Savannah waved a hand from his head to his feet. “You look like an ad for the Key West Chamber of Commerce. I think you’ve been down there before.”
Keith looked down and grinned. “Your artist’s eye serves you well. I have a small condo down there that I mostly turn over to a resort to manage for rental. I squeeze in a couple of trips a year during school breaks. I need the occasional top-up in sunshine and I’m not likely to ever get enough sun in Seattle.”
“It still appears to be rolling out some excellent glass artists. I’ve seen the exhibition pieces that your students brought. They are simply amazing. I don’t know how I’m going to choose between them.”
“I understand, but choose you must.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “It will make an enormous impact on the career of one of them.”
Savannah pushed aside a feeling of inadequate preparation for this job. Why did everything happen at once and only when she wasn’t ready?
Keith gripped her arm and looked her square in the eyes. “Savannah, you can do this. Trust yourself.”
She smiled tightly. “I’m not sure about that, but you’ve never been wrong. I’m feeling the pressure of how important this win would be for a struggling artist. I remember what a difference it made to me when I won Best of Show. It was the start of so many good things.”
Keith released her arm and smiled. “You’ve got this. Let’s get together tomorrow after the awards ceremony. I really shouldn’t be seen fraternizing with the judge.”
“Tomorrow seems an eternity away. Thanks, I’ll want to dump on someone—it may as well be someone who understands. I’m volunteering at the information booth until four P.M. Sometime after that?”
“Yep, that’s good. See you later.” He tapped two fingers to the brim of his Panama and strolled away from her.
Savannah adjusted her hat and began the painstaking analysis of the next glass exhibit. She was determined to be a credit to her dad and to Keith.
It took more than three hours to complete the evaluation forms. The professionalism of most exhibits made it challenging to provide useful feedback to the artists, but Savannah was determined to go the extra mile.
Grabbing a quick coffee and pastry, Savannah found a seat in the food court.
“Hey, Madam Judge. Mind if I join you? My feet are killing me.”
Savannah looked up to find her office manager standing in front of her table. Amanda Blake was a sizeable young woman topped by yellow and pink spiked hair. She wore an ankle-length native-inspired dress of geometric patterns predominately in pale green and turquoise. Her problem footwear was a pair of too small white beaded moccasins. The crazy combination worked for her.
“Hey, Amanda. Well done—you look amazing. Sit right down. I’m reviewing what I’ve written for evaluations.”
Easing her sturdy bulk into the plastic white chair, Amanda used a neighboring chair to stow her enormous well-used green net shopping bag.
“How are you coping with the judging, Judge?”
“Awesome. The exhibitors are top notch.”
“Have you chosen the winner yet?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about this with anyone—you know that.”
“Yep, I know that.” Amanda smiled with a twinkle in her eye. “Have you?”
Savannah removed her straw hat and tussled her curly black hair. “No. It’s frustrating. I’m torn between two artists. They’re both so clearly in a category of extreme merit. But I have to choose and it’s killing me.”
“I know which ones they are.” Amanda opened the net bag and pulled out a tightly wrapped burrito, a bag of chips, and a can of Diet Coke.
“Honestly, your curiosity is relentless. I can’t talk about this.”
“The two booths in the hideaway section near the entrance. Right? Those guys are spectacular, and one of them is a girl. How you are going to choose between them beats the heck out of me,” she stated as she wolfed down her burrito.
Savannah felt warmth spread from her chest deep into her heart. Amanda has not the slightest doubt about my ability to judge these artists.
“Right now”—Savannah leaned back in her chair—“I don’t know either.”
Amanda scraped the scraps of her burrito into one last bite and pulled another Diet Coke from the net bag. “So, if I remember right, the plan is to meet you at Webb’s tomorrow morning to get ready for Monday’s workshop. How long do you think it will take to set things up?”
“Not more than two hours, probably less. I appreciate your help. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Amanda launched around the table and folded Savannah into an enormous hug. “You merely have to ask. Compared to my other jobs, this is like getting paid to eat chocolate. I’m loving it, loving it, loving it. Bye now. Good luck with the big choice.”
Savannah watched as Amanda trundled across the grass, stopping at a booth every now and again. She left a trail of happy vendors in her wake. Looking down at the stack of papers, she saw that only two remained blank for documenting her feedback.
Buckle down and get this done.
She gathered up her papers and walked over to the hideaway section and stood in the middle of the aisle. It was now the most crowded part of the show and this section had most certainly been discovered.
Standing off to the side, she was determined to find a difference between the two stars that would decide their fate. The large vessels created by Leon were resting on tall, rough-cut tree trunk pedestals painted white. The panels of the booth were a light ice blue, allowing his work to stand out against the neutral display.
In dramatic contrast, the inside panels of Megan’s booth were covered in long gauze strips of red, orange, and yellow fading up to white. The effect was a riotous movement like a raging fire. Lit from above and below the full-body sculpture seemed to breathe in passionate lust for the fire of life. Keith was right. It was like a flame in the darkness.
Savannah stood quiet and unmoving, letting her curiosity turn her first to the vessels in Leon’s booth and then back to Megan’s. What could she use to determine the winner? Staring at the fiery torso, she felt the artist’s piercing eyes before she saw Megan stalk out to meet her in the aisle. “Can I help you?” The words were clipped and aggressive.
Megan wore a clinging white cotton dress with Moroccan leather sandals that sported little metal bells that announced each step.
Aware now of how much time she had stood there staring, Savannah spluttered, “Oh, well I was admiring your centerpiece. What was your inspiration?”
Megan’s face brightened to the intensity of a desert sun. “Oh”—her face relaxed as she eyed Savannah’s clipboard—“you’re the judge.”
“Yes, I’m Savannah Webb.” She fumbled for one of her business cards and handed it to Megan. “Is something wrong? Why are you upset?”
“Another senseless argument with yet another senseless man.” She stamped her foot and the bells jingled. “It’s nothing. I’m inspired by my passion for the now. I believe that everything I do is embedded in the pieces I create. Since I want those pieces to be incredible, I strive to live a life of excess emotion and expose my senses to wild experiences.”
Savannah raised her eyebrows and stepped back a few paces.
“Oh, finding a willing partner is not that hard.” Megan looked pointedly at Leon’s vessels. “It might be a bit hard on others.” She tilted
her head in a little shrug. “You know, unbridled passion can be misunderstood for actually caring. It’s an unfortunate side effect that when I’m spent of creative energy, I’m also done with that relationship.”
“I think we share a common tutor in our approach to art.” Savannah pulled her business card out of Megan’s hand and scribbled her cell phone number on the back. “I’d love to have a long chat after this is over. Please call me.”
Megan looked at the card, then wrinkled her brow. “I don’t think we have much in common at all.” She inhaled a quick breath and turned to nearly sprint back to her booth.
“Hey, Megan!” An angry voice boomed across the aisle. “You can’t do that! She’s a judge.” A short, stocky young man who hadn’t grown into his ginger beard marched over to Savannah. From her height, she couldn’t help but think “teen dwarf,” although she did try.
“Not a problem. I’m Savannah.” She stretched out her hand.
He shook her hand quickly. “I’m Leon Price. You’re not going to let her influence you, are you?” His voice rose an entire octave as it dawned on him that he was making an inappropriate accusation. “Of course not. Sorry.” He lowered his head to look at his feet.
“Don’t worry. It’s the work that counts, isn’t it?” Savannah tried to sound calm and judicial.
He looked up at her. “That’s hard to remember when everything you want to accomplish swings in the balance.” He looked over to Megan’s booth with sad eyes. “Everything.”
He abruptly did an about-face and went to the back of his booth.
Savannah stood in the middle of the aisle feeling a little abandoned, but determined to do the job that her father would wish her to do. Go back to what is right.
The choice of fire over ice finally became clear to Savannah: fire.
Chapter 3
Sunday Morning
Sunday morning dawned gray and overcast, and a rare haze of fog obscured the sunrise over Tampa Bay. The humidity was higher than Savannah could remember for Florida in May. She and her puppy, Rooney, a smoky blue Weimaraner, had finished their morning run around Crescent Lake, and she had guided him through a training session on the mini agility course set up in the backyard.
Shards of Murder Page 2
