Etched in Tears

by Cheryl Hollon

  “It’s not called the St. Petersburg Times anymore,” said Faith. “It’s been the Tampa Bay Times for years, now.”

  “That’s not the problem. It’s this business of two separate delivery people. It is not working right. Why don’t they use a single delivery person instead of two?”

  “They haven’t got that figured out yet. It’s complicated. Don’t you think they would if they could?”

  “Ladies, ladies.” Savannah held up her hand. “Attention, please. I’m going to cover the steps for the artwork you need for etching your piece of glass.” They were seated around the large table in the conference room. “We’re going to start with one of these basic designs that I printed onto ordinary paper with the printer settings adjusted to give a dark image.”

  “This isn’t going to work for us,” said Rachel. “Faith and I have the same design. We won’t be able to tell them apart.”

  Faith nodded. “I’m pretty sure mine will be more beautiful, but it would make it easier if they were completely different.”

  “Not to worry, ladies.” Savannah took back Faith’s artwork of a star and handed her a sheet of paper with a heart in the center. “Is that better?”

  Faith looked over to Rachel. “Definitely.”

  “Does anyone else want a different practice design?”

  No one responded.

  “Great. Now, tape your artwork to the square piece of wood in front of you. Also tape this piece of stencil paper over your design.” Savannah handed them out. “You need to cut out the design with your X-ACTO knives. Make sure there are no jagged edges or errors. Those will be replicated exactly on your etched sample. A smooth image is what we’re trying to make. That will create the best etching.”

  “Miss Savannah!” Jacob walked into Webb’s Studio through the front door. His voice sounded strained and he was holding Suzy high and tight in his arms. “Miss Savannah, there’s something terribly wrong with the kiln.”

  A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean? What happened?”

  Jacob opened his mouth and froze. Suzy wiggled violently in his arms and Jacob managed to let her down carefully to the floor and open a little pocket in her service vest. He pulled out an inhaler, sat down on the floor, and quickly breathed in a dose of medicine.

  Faith pushed her way around Savannah. “Jacob, dear, do you need us to call your mom?”

  Rachel squeezed in beside Faith. “We know her number.” She pulled out a flip phone from her pocket. “It’s on speed dial.”

  Jacob shook his head.

  Savannah sat down on the floor and put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” She looked at Suzy who stood still and looked intently at Jacob’s face for a few seconds. Then her tail wagged and she licked Jacob on the face.

  Jacob nodded yes and replaced the inhaler back into Suzy’s vest. “I’m fine, now.” He took a few calming breaths and picked up Suzy. His voice sounded calm and strong. “I was upset.” He looked at Rachel and then looked at Faith. “I’m okay now. There is no need to call my mother.”

  Savannah stood and took the twins by their arms. “Go back to the class. He says he’s fine and he’s never been wrong about that.”

  They reluctantly returned to the conference room and sat at the worktable to finish their etching artwork.

  “What did you want to tell me?” Savannah asked Jacob.

  “When I stopped by Webb’s Glass Shop to unload the kiln, I noticed that the fused charger plates weren’t alike. Some were perfect and some were not fused completely. Something must have happened during the overnight programmed heating cycle.”

  “Hmmm.” Savannah scratched Suzy behind her ear. “Uneven fusing wouldn’t be associated with the programming. There must be something wrong with the actual heating elements. I’ll go over and look after class.” She placed a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “Try not to worry so much. Things do happen in our business, but it’s not worth getting sick about. The world won’t collapse because of a few plates.” So says the person whose reputation hinges on this high-profile delivery.

  Jacob nodded, but looked unconvinced.

  “We’ll go over together.” She bent down, turned her back to the class, and whispered into his ear. “Then I can show you what the file identifier codes look like. If you can’t load the kiln today, you might as well work on the encryption puzzle. Oh, there’s one other thing. I want you to stop by with me after class to search the area behind the museum for clues. I found a hamburger wrapper in the maze the night of the exhibit reception. There might be more information for us back there.”

  She resumed her normal voice. “This will give you a chance to make some progress with that restoration panel. Our client has been patient, but we need to show where we are next week.”

  Jacob straightened his shoulders, kissed Suzy on top of her head, and headed toward his workroom. “I’ll be ready.”

  A large panel from a local church was awaiting restoration. As a direct result of his highly publicized work on The Last Supper panels at the United Methodist Church downtown, Jacob was known as the best stained glass refurbishment expert in town.

  Savannah turned back to her students and caught the twins placing their artwork on the light table ready to expose the film. “Wait!”

  They looked up in all innocence.

  “We’re ready for this,” said Rachel.

  “This is the next step, isn’t it?” said Faith.

  “Yes, but I haven’t gone over the timing of the exposure. Let me set it and we’ll let it burn.”

  Savannah continued with the lesson and soon each student had artwork ready for sand etching. “We’ll get these images etched tomorrow and gear up for a final piece on Friday. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As she was cleaning up, her phone pinged. She answered, “Webb’s Studio, this is Savannah.”

  “Good morning, this is Matthew Nicholas. I’m the Events Manager at the Vinoy Hotel. My colleague was the one who ordered the glass chargers for the banquet on Saturday.”

  “Hi, how can I help you?”

  “We’ve had a last-minute increase in the number of invited guests, so I would like to also increase the number of plates. I sincerely hope it isn’t too late, yes?”

  “Well, it depends. How many extras would you need?”

  “Another twenty-five would be the absolute minimum.”

  “Wow. That’s a significant increase. Can I confirm that for you tomorrow? I need to check about ordering more glass and account for the extra kiln time.”

  “Sure, sure. If you can’t manage the extras, we’ll probably need to redesign the table décor to eliminate your chargers. That might be a reason to cancel the order. The contract does say that we can adjust the final quantity by plus or minus ten percent.”

  Savannah pinched the bridge of her nose. “I really hope that won’t be necessary, Mr. Nicholas. I’ll call back tomorrow as soon as I know about the availability of that color of glass.” I need to pay more attention to small print in the paperwork.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday morning

  Detective Parker looked up from the opened autopsy report that had just hit his email inbox. He didn’t think he would get far into it before the coroner, Sandra Gray, dropped into his office.

  “Knock, knock,” said Sandra as she tapped on the doorjamb to his office. “Want to discuss the details?”

  He smiled and nodded to one of the guest chairs facing his desk. “I believe this is a record. You’ve arrived almost before the electronic report.”

  She moved the chair closer to the desk so that she could cross her arms and lean forward. “I’d tell you how I do that, but it would destroy the illusion.”

  “Speaking of magic, what was our victim’s cause of death?”

  “He died of suffocation.”

  “But there were no marks around his throat.”

  “Agreed.” Sandra leaned back in the chair. “Nevertheless, that was the cause. Somehow,
he was convinced to stop breathing.”

  Detective Parker shook his head. “You’re not helping.”

  Sandra stood and walked around Detective Parker to use his computer. “First, he had a large knee sized bruising at the collarbone that we saw yesterday morning. When you scroll down here to this section, you can see that our victim had advanced interstitial lung disease. It was in his medical records. He was evidently a sufferer for many years, probably as a child. His type was an autoimmune-associated lung disease that was either caused or aggravated by cigarette smoking or living in a house of smokers and breathing their second-hand smoke.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “His lungs were compromised and I’m sure the toxicology report will indicate that he was taking significant doses of corticosteroid medications to reduce the inflammation. The report will come in sometime next week if the lab isn’t too busy. I didn’t mark it as a priority. Bottom line, he was not in great health. If someone held him down and prevented him from getting a dose from his rescue inhaler, he would panic. That panic would lead to a breathing crisis which appears to have been fatal.”

  Detective Parker tilted his head up to look at Sandra. “Does this change your time of death estimate?”

  She straightened up. “I’ve narrowed the window a little, but not by much. He died sometime between four and seven in the morning. Work with that timeline. I don’t think I’ll get a better estimate.” She placed her hand over his. “Will you have time for another coffee later?”

  He nodded, then smiled. “Yes, I’ll be there. Have you decided where we’ll have dinner?”

  She walked to the door. “Not yet. Let me know if you have further questions . . . on the autopsy report, of course. Later.” She left. Her light fragrance lingered for a few minutes.

  He smiled again, then picked up the phone and dialed. “Officer Williams, would you mind meeting me in the Murder Room, please?” He walked across the hallway to one of the special conference rooms used to centralize the information and facilitate the discussions necessary to support a murder investigation.

  Officer Williams was already in the room with a thin manila folder cradled in her arm. “What’s new?”

  Looking around, Parker noticed that the room was missing much of the expected information. The white board at the head of the room had a picture of the body of Dennis Lansing slumped on the green bench sculpture. A list of his effects was pinned to the strip of corkboard that ran across the top of the whiteboard. Other than that, a copy of the Webb’s Glass Shop reference letter was all that was posted.

  “Is this all we’ve managed to gather since yesterday morning?” He frowned at Officer Williams.

  “Sir, I have this whole stack of information to post. I’ve only been here for a few minutes. I had some difficulty getting the Murder Room scheduled and reserved for our use. I have learned that sometimes there is quite a bit of competition for these rooms. It won’t happen again. I’ve met the administrative assistant that schedules the room so I know how to get that done quicker.”

  “Good initiative. An organization runs on the backs of many clerks, administrators, and assistants. The quicker you learn to work with them, the more effective you’ll be. Let’s review what you have ready to post.”

  Office Williams nodded and put the folder on the conference table that ran the length of the room. “First, this is the advertising material the museum used for promotion of Dennis Lansing’s exhibit.” She spread out two of the tri-folded brochures and pinned both sides to the corkboard. “His artist’s biography mentions that he grew up here in St. Petersburg, but now he was living in Corning, New York with his wife’s parents.” She tacked up a photo of Dennis, Harriet, and an older couple, along with a chocolate Lab. “Dennis worked in a converted barn behind their period Colonial house.”

  “That’s a lead. What do you have on the wife and her family?”

  Officer Williams pulled out another sheet of paper and read it aloud. “Dennis Lansing was married about six years ago to the former Harriet T. Adams. She was born in Panama City and then grew up in St. Petersburg, Florida. A preliminary background search shows nothing about her except that she has a job as an online travel agent, more as a way of getting discounts than serving customers. Her parents are in the travel business as well, but sold their agency right before the Internet killed most of the small agencies. Apparently, she has been the principal financial support of the marriage from the beginning.”

  “That could certainly cause tension . . . given that Dennis was not only an artist, but an artist in poor health. We need to check out the terms of his will.”

  Officer Williams pulled a notebook and pen out of her pocket. “I’ll see if he had one. Not likely for someone that young.

  “Next, I have a picture of the museum docent who discovered the body, John Zeflin.” She placed it on the whiteboard and put a magnetic pin in the center of his forehead. “We’ve started a background check, but he lives here only part of the year. He left for two months in France late yesterday.”

  “What! How did we let him leave?”

  “That would be my fault. I didn’t think we had any reason to hold him or even question him further than the statement he already gave us. I have the address for his Paris apartment. He lives with his sister while he’s over there. I also have his cell phone number.” She put up a picture of a bright red door surrounded by summer flowers facing out to a cobblestone street.

  “Lucky man. Paris for two months, then St. Petersburg for two months.”

  Officer Williams smiled ruefully. “Yes, extraordinarily lucky. Next is the security guard Lucas Brown who was questioned extensively at the scene and he also voluntarily came by the station yesterday to provide more information. He’s being extremely cooperative—almost too cooperative.”

  “Meaning, what?”

  “He seems almost delighted with the circumstances. I mean, most citizens are horrified by the violence involved in a murder case, but Lucas is tripping over himself sharing information. For example, again, without being asked, he dropped off a set of engineering drawings for the Dali Museum. Not just the artist’s renditions, which he also included, but he gave us a copy of the builder’s entire package in a rolled-up bundle. I laid it over there on that separate table.” She pointed to a portable table with a three-inch stack of large architectural drawings piled onto it.

  Detective Parker walked over to the table and flipped through the top few pages. “This is helpful. I won’t have to beg, plead, or threaten the museum director to get them.” He turned to look back at Officer Williams’ folder. “That reminds me. Have we received the surveillance videos from the museum?”

  “I haven’t seen them.” She frowned and jotted down a note. “I’ll give the director another call.”

  “Another call?”

  “Yes, I called late yesterday to remind her that you had requested them. But she wasn’t in. I left a stern message with her assistant.”

  “What else?”

  She pulled another picture out of the folder and held it out. “This is Gina Wilkins, director of the Dali Museum and responsible for inviting artists to exhibit. The main reason I’m putting her up here is because she’s being uncooperative. No tapes. No validation of an alibi. We have no evidence that she and Dennis were anything but professional, but she has not been helpful. It’s been more than twenty-four hours. Those tapes should have been delivered by now.” She placed the photo on the board and put the pin in the center of Gina’s nose. “I’m betting she hasn’t given Lucas permission to send them.”

  “Let’s bring her in for questioning. Use a squad car and pick her up from the museum. That may give her a clearer understanding of our need for urgency.”

  “I’ll take along a couple new recruits. They’ll be glad to get some in-the-field experience.”

  “Have we heard anything from Savannah? She may have something by now.”

  “No, I would have expected something by now. I’ll gi
ve her a call. Knowing more about Dennis’s past may give us a better view of his life.”

  Detective Parker stood in front of the pictures. “Pretty thin. We need more.” He looked at Officer Williams. “A lot more.”

  Chapter 11

  Tuesday afternoon

  Savannah drove her gray Mini Cooper over to Webb’s Glass Shop and parked in the remaining spot behind the store adjacent to a vintage pink Cadillac. It belonged to Amanda’s mother who now lived in a nursing home. Used only for a weekly hair appointment, a trip to the Publix Super Market, and church on Sundays, it was still in pristine condition. Her declining health meant that her driving days were done. The land yacht was a dinosaur of a car, but with extremely low miles and meticulously maintained, it suited Amanda perfectly.

  Savannah unlocked the back door and held it open for Jacob and Suzy. They walked through the office and classroom to the front of the shop.

  Amanda was standing behind the small glass display and sales counter staring at the blank screen of a cash register system. “I think it’s dead this time.”

  “No, please, no, not now. It needs to last until January. Burkart says that I can purchase a new system in January. For a young accountant, he has old-fashioned financial advice—don’t replace something that still works.” Savannah looked at the dark screen. It was an old PC-based cash register system that had been causing trouble since before she’d arrived to take over the shop. She stooped down to look at the base unit tucked into the display counter. “What have you done so far?”

  “It first came up with the dreaded blue screen of death, so I powered it off, waited for a count of twenty, and turned it on again. Now it seems to be stuck on a black screen.”

  Savannah smiled. “Right. Okay, I call that the black screen of confusion. Sometimes, that means that the monitor isn’t playing nice with the computer. Cross your fingers.” She turned off the power to the monitor, checked its connection to the PC, slowly counted to twenty, then switched the power back on. Savannah crossed her fingers on both hands. The monitor flickered and displayed the log-in screen for the cash register.