Tilting her head to look at Jacob, she asked, “What?”
“I found an error in the collection of the entry money from the applicants. The money sent in doesn’t add up to the prize money documented in the database and given out at the ceremony.”
“How big is this error?” Keith asked.
“The difference between the money collected and the money awarded is ten thousand dollars.”
“What?” said Edward. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money on just the entry fees.” He turned to Savannah. “How much is the entry fee?”
Savannah drained her ale. “The jury submission fee is a hundred dollars, and if you are selected, the entry fee is five hundred dollars.”
Edward gave a low whistle. “That’s a pile of money. That adds up to over a hundred grand in entry fees. How many applicants were there, Jacob?”
“There were 2,053 applications.”
Savannah also whistled low. “But almost anyone could have taken the money. There are so many volunteers associated with the running of the Spinnaker Art Festival.”
“I have a list.” Jacob stretched tall and pulled out a precisely folded sheet of notebook paper from the front pocket of his skinny jeans. “See, I have a list of all the people who could have taken the money. But one of them scores much higher than any of the other volunteers for probability of skimming cash from the festival. I analyzed them and listed them here—all weighted and prioritized with this one at the top of the list.”
He gave Savannah the list. “Well, this is a fine mess. The first name on the list is Wanda Quitman.”
Amanda slapped her hand on the table. “That’s it then. Maybe Megan found out about the skimming and Wanda had to take her out.”
“If that’s true,” Keith said, “she’s quite an actress. During the awards ceremony, I thought her reaction to announcing that Megan was awarded the Best in Show was perfectly genuine. She really looked annoyed. Not the kind of reaction a murderer would have if their victim suddenly ended up in the spotlight.”
Savannah frowned. “I agree. I heard her yelp at the announcement. I didn’t feel that she was acting at all. Anyway, we need to find out where she was on Saturday night. Edward, are you up for another meeting with Wanda?”
“Really?” His lip curled in an Elvis pout.
A playful smirk tickled Savannah’s lips. “It should be easier now that you’re under her spell. Please? I’m afraid I’m running out of time with Detective Parker.”
Edward grumbled, “I am not a happy bunny.”
She batted her eyelashes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“As always, I fall for your womanly wiles. I’ll see Wanda.”
Savannah turned to Amanda. “Did you find out who was part of Megan’s glass team for creating those huge torso pieces?”
“I sorted through more than a hundred pictures on the Duncan McCloud Gallery website and found a shot of the studio with Megan executing one of her pieces. The photos were planned for a lecture to be given at the Museum of Fine Arts next week.”
“I’ll bet he’s scrambling for a replacement,” said Keith.
Amanda elbowed him. “Not nice, professor.”
Keith rubbed his nudged side. “Sorry, it’s just that I feel for him. It’s so difficult for these young artists to become as focused on the business side of their craft as they are on the creative side.”
“Well, anyway, in the promotional photograph, you can barely see one of the assistants while they’re working. Here, I have it right here.” She dove an arm into the giant patchwork hobo bag she carried with her. “It’s not that clear, but you can see that there are two assistants helping Megan with the torso.”
Amanda spread the crumpled computer printout on the wooden surface. “You can only see the side of one of her assistants’ faces.” She pointed to the image. “It’s difficult to tell. It could be Vincent, but it could just as well be Leon.”
Savannah turned the print several different directions. “There is only a view of the second assistant’s feet. Nothing else.”
“Not even enough to identify him or her through unique shoes or clothes. All you can see is a pair of black sneakers and long black jeans. Nothing special.”
Jacob piped up, “Leon will know.”
“Out of the mouths of babes.” Savannah looked at Keith. “We simply must talk to Leon for more information. Good?”
“Yep, I’m good with that.”
“Well, I think we’ve covered all our assignments.” Savannah tipped her glass to finish the ale. “Let’s review our progress at Webb’s tomorrow afternoon. That should give us some time to make things happen. That’s all I have. Does anyone else have any further information?”
“I have a question.” Jacob bent down to pick up Suzy. “If there are money issues with the collection of artist fees, what about other money that was collected during the festival?”
“Well done, Jacob.” Savannah scratched Suzy behind the ears. “A lot of the transactions at the festival were cash. That would be easy to skim.”
Edward frowned. “Into the breach with more Wanda schmoozing.” He drained his beer in one long swig. “Perfect. Bloody perfect. I’m looking forward to my reward, which I’m declaring right now to be an introduction to my parents. They’re arriving on Saturday. Deal?”
“Hmmm . . .” Savannah smiled. “On second thought, I’ll go with you. There’s no need for you to make such a sacrifice alone.” She formed a soft fist and punched him on the shoulder. “No need at all.”
* * *
Savannah stopped by Webb’s before going home. She entered through the back and looked at the whiteboard. Based on the results of everyone so far, she updated the line for Wanda Quitman to indicate a shortage in the entry fees:
The Case of Megan Loyola’s Murder
Suspect/Leads Investigation Assigned To
Frank Lattimer (S) Subject of argument at festival Savannah
Vincent O’Neil (S) Megan’s team member Savannah
Wanda Quitman (S) Shortage in entry fees Edward/ Savannah
Glass shards (L) Identify origin Savannah
Registration forms (L) Find connection patterns in application database Jacob
Leon Price (S) Megan’s ex-boyfriends Savannah
Relatives (L) Research Megan’s family Keith
Standing there in the cozy office, she also thought she needed to do some serious thinking about her feelings toward Edward. He was becoming important to her. Maybe meeting his parents was a good thing. Maybe.
Chapter 17
Wednesday Night
Savannah parked her Mini in the carport of the family’s craftsman bungalow. She still considered it to be her dad’s home and was happily using her little-girl bedroom with the Jenny Lind spindle twin bed until she decided what to do next. She heard Rooney’s “you’re home” woof/howl as she walked up the wide porch, with its comfy chairs and porch swing.
“Yoo-hoo, Savannah!” hollered her neighbor across the street, Barbara Webberly. “I’m glad you’re finally home.”
Savannah flinched at the “finally” but knew that Barbara was absolutely right to comment on her late arrival. Walking over to Mrs. Webberly’s front porch, she knew she needed to spend some time with her.
“I took Rooney for a quick walk about an hour ago. I felt so sorry for him.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Webberly. I don’t know how Rooney and I would manage without you watching over us.” It annoys me sometimes, but she’s got a big heart.
“I’ve never minded one whit, honey. Your mother and I were great friends and we had an understanding before she died. I’m keeping my promise. No need to stop now that your dad is gone as well.”
What am I thinking? I love Mrs. Webberly.
“You’ve been a wonderful mother to me, since forever. I’m so grateful.” She hugged the yoga-slender form of her surrogate mother and smiled at the warmth of the embrace. Over her shoulder, Savannah noticed that the paint on
the front windows was beginning to peel. I need to give her son a call and tell him about that.
“Rooney spotted a dark car parked across the street from us and wanted to see who it was. But as soon as they heard him bark, they drove away.”
“Strange. Did you see who was in the car?”
“No, it was too dark. Couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Of course, these days I can’t tell that in broad daylight walking down Beach Drive. Anyway, the car was black or navy and looked like every other car on the road. I thought it was strange—thought maybe they were afraid of dogs.”
Savannah felt a prickling at the back of her neck. “Maybe. In any case, if the car turns up again, give me a call. I’ll let Detective Parker know that there’s a suspicious car in my neighborhood. Thanks.” She turned to cross the narrow brick street.
“Oh, just one more thing—Rooney seemed hungry as well, so I fed him his dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course I don’t mind. I appreciate it very much.” She watched Mrs. Webberly shuffle next door.
She’s getting on in years—soon it will be my turn to take care of her.
She unlocked the door to find Rooney sitting at eager attention to begin their nighttime routine. He bounded into the kitchen and sat by his dinner bowl.
“So you were going to act like you were starving to death and let me feed you a second supper?” He responded by pushing the empty bowl toward her feet.
Rooney tilted his head and gave her puppy eyes. She melted and indulged in a rough-and-tumble followed by belly rubs that left her giggling at Rooney’s pleasure growls. “You have me wrapped around your giant paws.”
She let him out the back door and they concentrated on agility drills for the next half hour. When his attention started to wander, they went back into the kitchen for a reward of dog biscuits followed by another hug and tickle fest.
Curious about the car Mrs. Webberly mentioned, Savannah peeked out the front window and saw a dark car parked across the street a few houses down the block. “Come, Rooney.” She grabbed his leash and snapped it to his collar; then they stepped out onto the porch. As soon as Rooney got a good whiff of the evening air, he howled bloody murder. The car pulled out sharply and spun tires down the street.
“Stay, Rooney.” She struggled to keep him from chasing the car down the street. “No, no, no. No chasing cars for you.” Since they were already out and leashed, she took Rooney up and down the street on the chance that the car might come back. Without a license plate number there was nothing to tell anyone. After three circuits of the block, they stood on the front porch for a few minutes. “Okay, Rooney, we’re done. Bad guys are gone.”
* * *
She went back inside, locked the front door, unleashed Rooney, and walked into the kitchen. She opened the freezer door and stood in front of her selection of frozen meals. The single servings reminded her that she had promised to do some serious thinking to sort out her feelings about Edward. She knew she wasn’t the single-serving type. Family was important to her, even here alone in her family home.
Edward was so different from her ex-boyfriend back in Seattle. So different that it was possibly too good to be true. Her ex-boyfriend had turned out to be needy, whiney, and in the end completely incapable of seeing her as anything but an extension of his wants and needs. That he turned out to be such a disaster rocked her confidence.
Just as she was pulling out a somewhat healthy frozen meal for the microwave, the doorbell rang and Rooney barked a warning.
Looking through the peephole, she saw Keith standing on her porch with both hands holding reusable grocery bags. She unlocked the door. “Keith, what are you doing here?”
Rooney stopped barking and stood quietly by Savannah’s side.
“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Keith bolted through the door and stood looking at her with a wide, mischievous grin.
“No, but I was about to—”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Frozen dinner, right?”
Savannah frowned. “What’s wrong with that? They are simple and perfect for—”
“Someone who lives alone. I know that all too well. Anyway, I’m here to cook us a fabulous meal in minutes.”
“But—”
“Nothing doing. I’ll only be fifteen minutes. I found fresh flounder at that new market downtown and I have a great recipe. You have an oven, right?”
“Yes, of course there’s an oven.” Thank goodness I got a cleaning service. Everything is reasonably clean and tidy thanks to their weekly visits. “The kitchen is right through here.”
“Wow, I didn’t expect such a modern kitchen.” He looked around at the industrial six-burner stove, the deep white farm sink, a sizable worktable with a butcher-block surface, and the hanging rack of stainless steel pots along with well-used iron skillets that were seasoned to a glistening black. “Your dad must have loved to cook.”
“He did,” said Savannah. “I don’t cook much, but I know how to make excellent reservations.”
Keith laughed. “I thought as much.” He looked out the back door at the agility course. “What’s that? Are you doing one of those athletic team competitions?”
“No, that’s for Rooney. We practice a little in the backyard every day. It’s good for him and burns off his energy.”
He looked at the magnetic rack of knives mounted over the stove. “Oh, fantastic. Knives, real-quality knives. I’m in love.” He put the groceries down on the butcher-block worktable. “If you’ll set up the dining table for us, I’ll get cracking. Oh, send in the dinner plates. I want to preheat them.”
“I’ve got a Pinot Grigio that might go well with the flounder.” She showed the bottle to Keith. “Good?”
“Perfect. Now out. I can find whatever I need. Out.”
Savannah removed her mother’s china and silverware from the antique oak cabinet in the dining room, wiped them with a dish towel, and then gave Keith the plates. By the time she arranged two place settings, put four white candles in her grandmother’s cut-glass candelabra, opened the white wine, and poured two glasses, Keith was ready with their grilled fish, a side of roasted broccolini, and toasted garlic bread. She lit the candles and enjoyed the idea of a relaxing evening.
The fish was perfect. The bread and broccolini were perfect. Rooney was behaving nicely under the table. The wine and especially the company were perfect.
It’s very nice to be looked after. Is that what I’m looking for? Maybe it’s time to look to the future.
“That certainly passed the silence test.” Keith downed the last sip of his wine.
“Silence test?”
“It’s a compliment to the food that no one spoke a word during the meal.” She looked down and was shocked to see a clean plate. He poured more wine into her glass and the rest of the bottle went into his.
“It was fantastic and I was simply famished. Thanks for cooking for me.”
“Well, now that you are no longer my student. . .”
Savannah looked down into her wineglass and swirled its contents. This is getting a little too cozy for me. She cut him off. “What did you think of Megan’s talent?”
Keith drank more wine and sat back in his chair. He took a great long breath. “I thought she was a bright girl trying very, very hard to impress her unimpressible parents by blazing a fast track through the art world.”
“What were her earlier pieces like?”
He rubbed his face and leaned back. “Sadly, unremarkable. But each of her relationships seemed to make a difference in her work—passion followed by agony followed by a new passion. There’s no use trying to make art through someone else’s vision—you must have your own heart in your work.”
“I think with this last exhibit she found her heart, literally and figuratively,” said Savannah.
“I agree with you about the works she exhibited at the festival—they were undeniably the work of a passionate heart.”
“Do you think it repres
ents a heart that finally found true love?”
Keith swirled the last of his wine and drained the glass. “That is possible, but it would be more likely that she rekindled a prior love. Remember one of my adages about behavior?”
“Yes, yes. ‘The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior.’ I remember that too well. But I don’t think her new work is based on her typical string of exploited lovers. I think this is something new. I think she found someone she loved and the centerpiece was the image of that love. Do you know who it was?”
Keith stood. “No, no clue at all. Well, due to lack of wine and the late hour, I’m going to call an end to this lovely evening.” He gave Savannah a chaste peck on the cheek and was out the door.
Watching his car pull away, Savannah felt a little abandoned. Not that she wanted to encourage anything with her former mentor, but he was a good-looking man with a track record for launching careers.
Rooney nuzzled her knee and looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “Okay, luv. I’ll take you for a quick walk. Luv? Where did that come from? I’m beginning to sound like Edward.”
Chapter 18
Thursday Morning
At dawn, Savannah and Rooney hurried through their morning routine of wolfing down a hearty breakfast, slipping into running clothes, putting on his running leash, then driving down to Coffee Pot Bayou Park in the Northeast section of St. Petersburg. They started out at the boat ramp at the top end of Coffee Pot Boulevard NE. Rooney wriggled pure joy as they began running down the sidewalk bordered by Tampa Bay on one side and the elitist Old Northeast mansions on the other.
“It’s good to be back to a normal routine, isn’t it, Rooney?”
Rooney was loping along, eyes alert and ears perked, not yet even breathing with his mouth open. They covered the first two miles easily and began the stretch that runs parallel to where the Spinnaker Art Festival committee’s mobile office trailer had been. Only a set of deep wheel ruts gave any hint of its former location.
Looking down at Rooney she said, “You’re very serious this morning. What has gotten your—”
Shards of Murder Page 14
