Etched in Tears

by Cheryl Hollon

Edward frowned. “We’re going to have to address this sooner rather than later.” He stood there looking at her for a full minute. When Savannah didn’t respond, he turned around. “I’ll start cooking. You have about thirty minutes to feed Rooney and take him for a walk.”

  Savannah stood scratching Rooney behind his ears as she watched Edward start making their dinner. Will this ever work? He’s a good man. I’m the one who has to change, but how do I start?

  Savannah busied herself by feeding Rooney, then stood by his bowl. As usual, his dinner disappeared in a few minutes. She got Rooney’s leash, but before she could clip it to him, the doorbell rang.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” said Edward over Rooney’s barking.

  “No.” She commanded Rooney to be quiet and looked through the peephole. A small woman with dark hair stood there shifting her weight from foot to foot. Dennis’s mom was wearing a light blue shirtwaist with tan pumps and a straw handbag. Everything well-worn but clean. Savannah opened the door. “Mrs. Lansing, what a—”

  “I’m so sorry to bother you at home, Savannah. I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Dennis’s death. I remembered that I spoke to you at the reception and thought of you a little while ago. I need to ask you a question.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Please come in.” She led Mrs. Lansing into the living room. “I remember you from when Dennis was an apprentice and you came to the shop to talk with Dad about his progress. Would you like a glass of iced tea or water?”

  “No thank you. I’ll only be here a minute.” Mrs. Lansing stopped and looked around the living room. “This is such a lovely house. It’s so cozy.”

  Edward appeared at the kitchen door for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly ducked back into the kitchen.

  Savannah motioned Mrs. Lansing to the couch. “Thank you. It’s one of the first houses built in the neighborhood.”

  After they sat down, a silence grew and Savannah felt uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lansing. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

  “Please call me Betty. Everyone does.” She reached into her straw handbag for a tissue and crumpled it in her hand. “He never stopped being a good son. Never. He called every week. He sent me cards and flowers. I’m going to be so lonely without him.” She stared beyond Savannah’s eyes. “It was just the two of us, you see, after his brother died. My idiot husband took off the moment I told him I was expecting Dennis. In truth, I expected that. He wasn’t interested in family life.” Her head lowered to look at her lap.

  “Mrs. Lansing . . . I mean, Betty . . . why are you here?”

  Betty startled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight.” She sat up tall. “I heard about your involvement in solving your dad’s murder and the other cases you’ve worked on with the police. I need you to use your skills to find out why my dearest Dennis was murdered.”

  “Murdered? Why do you think that? The police think it was a suspicious death. Something to do with an overdose.”

  “The police are wrong.”

  “The police don’t have the autopsy results back yet, but I’m sure they’re doing everything in their power to help you get closure. They have been in contact with you, haven’t they?”

  “Yes, but I’m convinced they think he was just a typical wacky artist with a drug problem. I think you’re the only one who can find out what happened and who killed Dennis. I heard about your successful investigations from my friends. It was in the newspaper about how you are helping the police as an art consultant.”

  “Yes, I have been doing a little consulting work. But there is the fact that Dennis was in trouble when he was young. He might have turned back to drugs.”

  “That’s not possible. Dennis hadn’t used any drugs since he went into the apprentice program for your father. In fact, after his brother’s death, he would never touch anything or talk to anyone involved with drugs. I know that. He adored working with glass and wouldn’t risk being suspended from the program.” She looked down and a tear slipped down her cheek unchecked and fell onto the front of her dress.

  Savannah reached over to hold her hand. “I know he was troubled as a teen, but I don’t understand how I can help.”

  “He was in some trouble when he was young, but he turned his life around completely. I want you to find his killer. It has to be something connected with the time when he was running with that horrible gang.”

  “But you say he wasn’t involved with drugs.”

  “I’m sure of that, but he still had plenty of money to support his art. I think that originated from the drug source.” She opened her purse and pulled out a checkbook. “I can pay.”

  Savannah shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. I’m already working with the police as an expert consultant, not as a private investigator. You need to find a professional.”

  “But they won’t care like you do.” Betty replaced the checkbook and pulled out a tissue. “He was your first boyfriend. He really loved you.”

  Savannah frowned. “But he broke up with me.” I was heartbroken for months. I sulked like only a teenager can. I forgave him barely in time to attend his graduation.

  “That’s how much he cared. He knew that he was the wrong type for John Webb’s precious daughter.” Betty used the tissue to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. “He never stopped talking about you over the years. He followed your career and was determined to make you and your dad proud of him. This exhibit accomplished that dream for him.”

  “I didn’t know that. He seemed genuinely happy at the reception last night.”

  “The success of that exhibit represented his art—he was elated. Having his work in the Dali Museum put him in the prestigious company of Walt Disney, M. C. Escher, and Picasso. He was honored to be invited to exhibit.”

  “So, what do you think went so wrong that the police can’t investigate?”

  “Savannah, you know his character, you know the art community, and you can look for connections in his young life that they are certain to miss. You can also look behind his public face. As far as his personal life, that was a well-practiced piece of fiction. He was unhappy in his marriage.”

  “He was?” Savannah felt a tinge of satisfaction.

  “I overheard them fighting about their finances. He needed money to promote his work. She didn’t want him to spend any money on his art . . . only sell it for high prices.” Betty looked down at her worn hands. “He married too quickly, you know. That needs looking into as well. He told me she was probably going to file for a divorce very soon because she didn’t want to share her trust fund with him. What a petty thing to do. I never liked her.”

  “Seriously, Betty, I can’t promise anything, but I am working with Detective Parker by taking a look into Dennis’s records while he was in the apprentice program. You have been questioned by Detective Parker, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, he came over right away on Monday. He was clever about trying to make sure I had an alibi, which I didn’t have, of course. I needed to meet a client early on Monday, so I left the reception early to go to bed. I live alone. Realizing that I was a suspect was a bit of a shock, but then he also gave me information about support programs for parents of murdered children.”

  “That sounds like him.” Savannah held both of Betty’s hands in hers again and looked her in the eyes. “I give you my promise that I’ll do everything I can to make sure the police have all the information I can provide. They’re good people, but I will help.”

  Betty stood, straightened her dress. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I would expect from John’s daughter.” She wiped her eyes again, then put the tissue back in her purse and snapped it shut. “Oh, wait.” She opened her purse again and pulled out a business card listing her occupation as a local real estate agent. “Call me at this number when you find out who killed Dennis.” She walked out the front door without a backward glance.

  Edward appeared and leaned against the kitchen doorway. “What was that all a
bout?”

  “That was Dennis’s mother. She wants me to prove that Dennis was murdered.”

  “I gather that she confirmed that Dennis carried a torch for you all these years.”

  Savannah nodded. “I didn’t have a clue, but I have thought of something we know about that the police don’t know.”

  Edward waved his hand in a “gimme” motion. “And it is . . .”

  “That hamburger wrapper that I tripped on that night at the museum. What if it was evidence? I threw the wrapper away.”

  “Evidence of what?”

  “That someone could have been a witness to what happened to Dennis. I’m going to get Jacob to look at the outside spaces behind the museum.”

  She reached for Rooney’s leash, clipped it to his collar, and slipped out the front door. Edward was right to feel uncomfortable with her inability to move forward. In fact, she was surprised that he wasn’t complaining more. Investigating her first boyfriend’s death would be another complication. What on earth was she waiting for? Edward was a wonderful partner, loyal friend, and inventive lover. Her dad would have been overjoyed to learn that the two of them were in a relationship.

  I need to overcome my fear of losing him. First, I lost my dad, now I’ve lost my first boyfriend. I need to get over this or risk losing Edward altogether. He’s the marrying kind, but even he won’t wait for me forever. Get on with it, girl.

  Rooney enjoyed his routine sniff and trot around the oak lined streets of the Historic Kenwood area. She had grown up on the redbrick-lined streets and knew most of the residents in the traditional Craftsman bungalows. It was good to see younger families beginning to move in. She waved to her neighbor, Barbara Taylor, across the street.

  Barbara was out watering the plants in her front yard. “Hi, Savannah. That’s a lovely dress. Are you having company? Is it Edward?”

  Savannah smiled, then started across the street for a quick chat. Then she stopped in her tracks. I’m not ready to talk about our relationship with her. Not ready at all. But that’s not Mrs. Taylor’s fault. It’s my fault. I need to leave the past behind me. She plastered a big smile on her face and led Rooney across so he could greet his favorite pet sitter.

  Barbara dropped the hose, stooped down, and gave Rooney a big hug. She stood and tilted her head. “Is that pretty dress for your young man? I’ve been seeing that motorcycle parked in your driveway quite frequently. Do you have anything to share?” Barbara’s eyes twinkled.

  Savannah smiled in return and received a generous hug as well. “No, no, Miss Taylor. Nothing yet. You know I would tell you first.” Barbara had been Savannah’s honorary auntie while growing up. Her late mother had asked Barbara to keep an eye on the ten-year-old Savannah and Barbara had more than kept that promise. “I’m probably being too cautious, but I have a lot going just now.”

  Barbara smiled, “You always do. Bye.”

  She and Rooney crossed the street, then stepped back into the house.

  After a quiet dinner and clearing up, Savannah leaned against the kitchen sink and turned to catch Edward sneaking another treat. “Stop trying to convince Rooney that he’s going to get a treat every time you walk over to the counter. You’re making him anxious.”

  “Agreed.” He sighed and refilled Rooney’s water bowl, then stood in front of Savannah. “Where is that attic that you want me to climb into?”

  “It’s in an access panel in Dad’s office. You can only get up there with a ladder. That’s in the shed out back.”

  “No worries.” He slipped out the back door and returned with a giant aluminum extensible and reconfigurable ladder. “Where on earth did you get this monster? Can you even use it?”

  “Certainly. It’s lightweight, so I can carry it, but you know how I feel about heights. I’m still terrified stiff. This is the most stable ladder on the planet. That’s the best I can do . . . other than talk you into using it.” She smiled a saccharine grin and batted her eyelashes.

  He laughed. “Well played. Let’s get this done.”

  Savannah led Edward toward her dad’s office, then stopped abruptly, not quite ready to enter. Edward bumped her in the back with the ladder.

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh. Sorry, luv. I didn’t expect you to stop there.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Savannah stepped into the office. As Edward set up the ladder, she looked down at the worn surface of the gray metal desk that he had salvaged from a used-office-furniture consignment shop. When he’d quit his government job, he’d said he missed having a sturdy surface so he bought the desk, a black rolling office chair, and some lockable file cabinets for filing paperwork. She moved beside the desk and looked at the ceiling.

  She stepped out into the hallway, let Edward into the room, then returned.

  Edward placed the ladder under the wooden hatch in the ceiling, climbed up a step, and opened the hinged door. He looked down at Savannah. “If you haven’t been in here since John died, how do you know what’s up here?”

  “I don’t. Dad said he had the oldest papers from the shop up here. I’ve never looked.” She wrung her hands unconsciously, then noticed it and stopped.

  He climbed up a couple of steps so that he was standing on the next to the top step.

  “Blimey, this is a large attic. Did you know there are about fifty office storage boxes up here?” He ducked down to look at Savannah, who had moved to the ladder and held a death grip on the sides. Her pale face was lifted a little and her eyes fixated on his shoes.

  She cleared her throat. “Rats. This is going to take a long time. How are they labeled?”

  “It’s some sort of weird numbering system. I’ll climb up and take snapshots with my phone so you can see what’s up here.”

  His feet disappeared and his footsteps echoed down through the ceiling as he stepped and stopped and stepped and stopped.

  The silence lengthened to Savannah’s breaking point. She yelled up into the access opening, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he yelled back. “I’ve found something curious. I’m going to bring it down. Ugh, it’s heavy!” He walked back to the opening, placed something near the entry opening, then his foot landed on the top of the ladder.

  “I want you to be careful!” said Savannah as she held tighter to the legs of the ladder.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He came down two steps and paused to lift something from the attic floor. “Oufff.” His foot searched for the next step and missed. Edward slipped off the side of the ladder and crashed into Savannah, pitching them both into a heap on the wooden floor.

  “Are you hurt?” His voice was high in tension. He placed the box on the floor without pinching his fingers beneath the dusty box. When he let it down, it plunked on the floor with a bump that puffed up a little gray cloud of dust. Then he turned and pulled Savannah out from in between the legs of the ladder. “Tell me where it hurts?”

  Savannah gave her head a quick shake and rubbed the back of her head. “I’m fine. It’s just a little knock against the floor.”

  He folded her into his arms and kissed the top of her hand. He helped her up, then held her at arm’s length. “Let me see your eyes. You could be concussed.”

  Savannah backed up a step and stared at Edward. “No, I’m fine. I had mostly caught my balance so it was a light tap.”

  “Woo, that was tricky. I’m sorry. I know that stresses you out. I think you might have left finger impressions in the sides of the ladder.” He took each hand and kissed her palms until the blood returned.

  “Thanks,” Savannah whispered. “Yes, it still freaks me out even when you’re doing the climbing.” She pointed to the wooden box about the size of a color printer. “What on earth is that?”

  They stood over the wooden box. “I brought this down because it was stacked right on top of the last pile of boxes. I thought it might be important. Here’s what it looks like upstairs.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket and flipped to the current pictures. �
��Look at all the file boxes. They’re stacked three high and two deep, so that makes . . . thirty-six boxes.”

  Savannah took the phone and swiped through all the photographs. “The boxes are dated in sequence back to my Granddad’s time. Okay, I see the wooden box. Yep, I agree that he thought it was important. Let’s clean it up and see what’s in there.”

  Edward carried the box back into the kitchen and placed it on the counter. Savannah took a soft dish towel from one of the small drawers and grabbed a bottle of wood polish from underneath the sink. “It looks like this is oak. I think I know what it is.”

  “What? What? Tell me.”

  “Patience, Grasshopper.” She smiled. “It’s not going anywhere and it might be fragile.”

  She sprayed the cloth lightly and cleared the dust from the entire outer box. “Look at the craftsmanship. This is beautifully miter joined. You don’t see that much these days.”

  The front of the box had a leather handle attached with brackets. Below that was a small serial number plate. Savannah opened the lid. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. This is incredible. How did Dad get hold of one of these? It’s an—”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know my country’s history. This is an actual Enigma machine from World War II, isn’t it?”

  Savannah looked at Edward and nodded slowly. “Yes, and I’m sure this machine isn’t for looks. Dad wouldn’t have saved this without using the code generating capability. The amount of work for decoding the files has taken a huge jump in difficulty.”

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday morning

  Savannah yawned for the sixth time. “I’m so sorry,” she said to her etching students. “I’m not used to getting up at four—five is not unheard of, but four, not yet. Rooney isn’t keen on such an early morning run, either. Luckily, it’s only for this week.”

  In unconscious unison, Rachel and Faith said, “We get up at five—”

  “—every morning to read our papers,” Faith finished.

  “Mostly to make sure we get our papers.” Rachel pursed her lips tightly. “We’re having a lot of trouble with the deliveries. Combining the Tampa Tribune with the St. Petersburg Times is making problems.”