Officer Boulli leaned into the cab and made a dramatic pretense of looking around. He straightened up and shook his head. “I don’t get what you mean. There’s hardly anything here at all.”
“My point exactly. This guy was searching the bottom of the gulf for salvage parts and other items to use in his mechanical artworks.”
Officer Boulli shrugged his bulky shoulders. “So?”
“I don’t believe he was searching blindly. He must have had a plan of some sort. He probably didn’t have a GPS. Even the least expensive one would be several hundred dollars. But I truly don’t understand why there are no drawings, sketches, or marine charts of any sort. That’s not right.”
Chapter 10
Wednesday Morning
“Most workshops hit their routine by the second day, but this one is already at the third day, and there’s no routine.” Savannah sipped the warm mocha latte Edward had brought over to Webb’s from Queen’s Head. She snagged the last cranberry scone and spread it with his private supply of butter shipped by his parents from a London shop. “Other than the predictably outlandish outfits worn by the Rosenberg twins, there is no routine. This is not a comfortable feeling.”
“I didn’t know you looked for it,” Edward said.
“Well, I didn’t know I was looking for it until it didn’t happen.” She popped the last morsel of the cranberry scone into her mouth and wiped the edges of her lips with her thumb and index finger. “It’s like remembering an itch you don’t have anymore. You sorta miss it.”
“Sounds daft to me.” Edward began to gather the breakfast cups and saucers on a black, round tray. “I’ve got to get back to the pub. I’ll ring you up later.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Try not to think about your itches.”
It was only a few minutes after Edward’s departure when she heard the bell on the front door ring, followed by Amanda’s voice calling out, “Savannah? I’m here. Nothing to worry about. I’m here.”
Walking into the classroom, Savannah felt her heart sink when she got a look at Amanda. “What’s wrong? Has your mother taken a turn for the worse?”
Amanda’s eyes were puffy and red rimmed. Although her outfit was wildly eclectic, it was clear to Savannah that the effect had not been achieved by Amanda’s usual meticulous planning but more by donning the first things she had laid her hands on this morning.
Clasping Amanda by the shoulders, she said, “What’s wrong? Is it your mom? Has she had a relapse with the pneumonia?”
“I’m sorry.” Reaching into her enormous patchwork hobo purse, Amanda found a tissue and blew a loud trumpet and snuffled a sob. “Mom’s not breathing well. They’re watching her closely, and they’ll call if she gets worse. I’ll be all right. Just give me a few minutes to get my head clear.” She trudged on into the office and ducked into the bathroom.
Shaking her head, Savannah stood behind the instructor’s podium and opened the lesson plan to “Day 3” and reviewed the teaching points. It was possible that Amanda wasn’t capable emotionally of teaching. Perhaps it was too much to ask.
It must be her mother. Although she’s been dealing with those issues for the past few months. It might be something else. Maybe she’s unnerved by Martin’s death.
Amanda emerged from the office with more color in her face and a freshly applied bold streak of color on her generous lips. “Sorry. I’m trying to cope with my mother’s progressing dementia. Occasionally, it hits hard. Yesterday was a particularly bad visit.”
Savannah nodded. “I’m sorry. Didn’t she remember you? That must hurt.”
“No. Actually, it was quite the opposite. It was one of those days where she thinks clearly and knows exactly where she is and why.” Amanda took a sobbing breath and put a hand on her chest. “She wanted me to pack up her things and take her back home immediately.”
“I’m so sorry.” Savannah tucked Amanda into her arms and held her until the shuddering stopped. “You must feel so helpless.”
Amanda moved back and reached into her bag for another tissue. “Thanks. That’s the frustrating part. When she’s truly herself, I can’t enjoy it, because of her awareness of her present circumstances. When she thinks she’s away on a vacation trip, she’s not herself.” She blew her nose. “Thanks for understanding.”
Amanda looked down at the open lesson plan. “Did you think I might not be able to teach today’s class?”
Savannah waved a hand at the notebook. “I was reviewing today’s lesson, just in case.”
Throwing her shoulders back to stand straight, Amanda cleared her throat and said, “I’ve already studied the lesson. It’s called ‘Glass Menagerie,’ for the animals we’re going to make out of bottle pieces. I’m good.” She looked at Savannah with a steely glint in her eye. “I’ve got this.”
“Okay, but I have to tell you something. I’ve got some bad news.” Savannah put her hand on Amanda’s shoulder.
“What is it? Is it about Martin?” Her voice lifted into a shrill squeak.
“Yes. You remember that Detective Parker brought a broken bottle over for me to help identify? After I reconstructed it, I thought it was a match with the ones Martin brought into class on Monday.”
Savannah saw Amanda’s whole body stiffen.
“I’m afraid the unidentified diver the police found yesterday was Martin.”
Amanda turned to Savannah and whispered, “I was expecting it.”
Savannah crinkled her brow. “Why would you think that? He’s a new student, right? We just met him for the first time yesterday. It isn’t that unusual for a student to miss a class.”
“I’m not sure why, but when he didn’t show up yesterday, it made me nervous.”
“But we’ve had students drop out of class before. I don’t get it.”
“I don’t know. I think my mother’s health condition has me all out of sorts. It’s nothing to be worried about.”
Savannah rubbed Amanda’s arms. “I’m sorry. He seemed like such a nice young man. Anyway, I’ll be working with Detective Parker as a consultant to help identify any leads that may be connected to the bottles. By the way, they’re at the studio now. I needed them for comparison.”
Amanda’s head drooped. “I can’t get it in my mind that Martin’s gone.”
Savannah patted her on the back. “Amanda, are you going to be all right? You need to get ready for class. Everyone will be here in—”
Just then the bell jangled as the front door opened, announcing the noisy entrance of the Rosenberg twins.
At the sight of the twins, Savannah let out a chuckle, which she lamely tried to hide with a cough. After composing herself, she greeted the twins. “Good morning, ladies.” They were dressed in matching orange today. The cartoon image of a huge pumpkin turning into Cinderella’s coach caused Savannah to hold her breath until the urge to laugh went away.
“Did you see the morning paper?” said Rachel. “They have identified the body—”
“Of that diver who washed up on the beach,” Faith said, finishing for her.
“Not on the beach. It was in the Intracoastal, down by Park Street,” Rachel said, correcting Faith.
Faith nodded her head. “Oh yes, pardon me. Right near all the fancy houses. Did you all see it in the paper?”
Rachel handed two papers to Savannah. “I thought you might like to have these. I know you’re an online reader—”
“But it’s nice to have a real paper sometimes.” Faith patted Savannah on the forearm.
“Why two papers? You live in the same house,” Savannah said.
Faith looked pointedly at Rachel. “Some things just can’t—”
“Be shared.” Rachel returned the hard stare.
Amanda, who had made a sudden appearance, was just staring at the twins.
Addressing the twins, Savannah said, “I didn’t see the paper, but yes, the diver was our student Martin Lane. I’ll tell the class when everyone arrives. I would appreciate it if you could keep this to
yourselves until we’ve made the announcement.”
Amanda turned without speaking and quickly ducked into the classroom.
She must be extremely upset. I’ve never seen her speechless.
“I must say, there always seems to be a crime connected with each of your classes.” Rachel’s tone was church-lady stern as she looked over the top of her glasses. “I’m beginning to have grave concerns about your associations, young lady.”
“I know.” Faith clapped her hands in joy. “Your classes have been full of the most excitement we’ve seen in years. You must surely admit that Savannah’s murder investigations have livened up our evening conversations. You have to admit that, Rachel.”
Rachel lifted her head up and walked toward the classroom. “We don’t have to seek out notoriety, Faith. It’s not Christian.”
Faith’s eyes flashed her satisfaction. “She’s embarrassed by her curiosity.” She looked at Savannah. “I think it does us both a world of good.” She followed Rachel into the classroom.
As soon as the rest of the students had arrived and settled nicely, Savannah motioned for Amanda to stand next to her at the front of the classroom.
“Excuse me. I have a sad announcement. It’s already in the paper, but I want to tell you that the unidentified diver turns out to be our missing student, Martin Lane. I thought he was a nice young man, and out of respect, would you please join me in a moment of silence in honor of a young life cut short?” Savannah rested her folded hands on the podium and bowed her head for the minute of silence. Then she raised her head. “We’ll provide memorial information as soon we get the details.” She waved her hand at Amanda. “Thank you, and let me turn you back over to Amanda.”
Savannah waited until Amanda was teaching comfortably before she decided it was okay to head over to the studio. But she reminded herself to call Amanda immediately after class was over to make sure everything went smoothly.
When she reached the studio, she parked her car next to the two other cars in the lot. She grabbed her backpack, then opened the door and went inside to find both Arthur and Helen in their work spaces, laboring away on their projects. Arthur looked up and waved hello. Helen was oblivious to whatever might be occurring outside of her tightly controlled space.
Savannah sat on the stool in front of her worktable and looked at the two bottles Martin Lane had brought to class. When they were placed beside the reconstructed bottle from Martin’s dive bag, it was obvious that the color of all three was nearly identical.
“That one is different.”
“Yikes!” Savannah jumped off the stool. “Jacob, you scared me!”
Jacob’s eyes blinked shut, and he picked up Suzy.
Savannah laughed. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Jacob. It’s okay. I was startled and didn’t mean to yell. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
Jacob nodded in his teenage disapproving way. “The broken bottle is the same as this one.” He pointed to one of Martin’s bottles. “But this one isn’t made the same way.” He pointed to the second of Martin’s bottles. “It’s a copy.” He pointed to a unique pattern in the originals. “This joining fault has been repeated.”
Savannah pulled a large magnifying glass from a drawer in her worktable and wiped off the thin coating of dust on it with a soft cloth. “You’re right. It looks like it’s a tolerably good molded copy.” She lowered the magnifier and shook her head slowly. “You can’t duplicate the process exactly when you are mouth blowing glass vessels. The manufacturing process is unique to each bottle.”
“It’s a copy.” Jacob returned to his large workshop.
Why would Martin have this? Why would he have them at all?
Savannah grabbed her phone from her backpack and speed dialed Detective Parker. He picked up right away. “Detective Parker.”
“Hi, it’s Savannah. As I reported, I’ve got the blue bottle reassembled, and I also have the two bottles Martin brought to our workshop on Monday sitting in front of me. Two of the bottles, including the one I reconstructed, are quite old and authentic . . . probably dating to about seventeen hundred or thereabouts, but oddly enough, the third bottle appears to be a copy.”
“How does that help?”
“I don’t know yet, but I think there’s something here that could be important to the investigation. The copy may be a factor in why Martin was killed. Can I contact a vintage glass expert for more information? I think it will help.”
“How many hours have you logged so far?”
“Not more than two hours.”
“Hmmm.”
Savannah was holding her breath. Ten hours of consulting at seventy-five dollars per hour could make the difference between red and black in her bank balance this month. It would certainly please her grumpy accountant, Burkart.
“Fine. Maybe you can identify more leads. They’re quite scarce right now. You’re authorized for a total of eight hours. I’ve e-mailed you a generic consultant form. Make sure you fill it out and send it back right away. It’s your key to getting paid. Keep me informed.”
The dial tone on her cell told her how poorly the investigation was progressing. Detective Parker was normally polite and positive when he talked about a case with her.
Anxious to prove her value as quickly as possible, Savannah punched in the cell number for Robin. She picked up after two rings.
“Hi there. I’m currently working as a consultant for Detective Parker on the diver case. Could you use your contacts to round up an academically qualified expert in ancient glass?”
“Sure. I’m guessing you need one immediately.”
“Sooner if you can.”
Robin laughed large. “Right. I’ll get back to you within the hour.”
If I can come up with a plausible motive and lead in the case, maybe he’ll use me as a consultant on a regular basis. It certainly pays well, Savannah thought.
Chapter 11
Noon on Wednesday
In the studio office, Savannah’s concentration broke when her cell phone rang with the tune she reserved for friends. “Hey, Robin. What’s up?”
“I’ve been researching a little wider afield for a glass bottle expert, and I’ve found one for you. Fortunately, she’s downtown, at the St. Petersburg Museum of History. Her name is Dr. Ruth Smithfield.”
“That’s absolutely fantastic!”
“What are friends for? You certainly don’t want to destroy a valuable artifact in the name of upcycling. Anyway, I talked to her already this morning. She’s at the museum all day today and would be happy to talk to you.”
“I appreciate this.”
“Fine. Let’s meet for an early dinner. That’s your payment. I want to know everything you discover about these bottles.”
Savannah laughed. “Cheap date you are. How about a late lunch at the Three Birds Tavern on Fourth Street? It’s not too far away for either of us. Also, I’m hungry for their prizewinning Kenz Salad.”
* * *
Savannah walked through the front door of the museum, passing the bronze statue of a newsboy selling an edition of the Evening Independent newspaper. She walked up to the information/ticket sales counter to the left of the door. It was staffed by a young woman, who lifted her gaze from an open chemistry book.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Ruth Smithfield.” Savannah handed over one of her new business cards advertising Webb’s Glass Shop on one side and Webb’s Studio on the other.
The attendant examined the card. “Sure. I’ll call and let her know you’re here.” She picked up the handset of her complex-looking telephone console and punched a few buttons. She waited for a short time but got no answer. After placing the handset back on the console, she addressed Savannah. “Look, I know she’s back there, but sometimes she gets so focused, she doesn’t hear the phone ring. I’ll go back and tell her you’re here. I’ll be right back.”
Before the clerk could move, Dr. Smithfield emerged from the plain door behind the counter and walked around to greet Savannah w
ith an outstretched hand. “Sorry. I heard the phone, but I was putting away a delicate artifact and couldn’t stop. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Webb. Welcome to the St. Petersburg Museum of History.”
Savannah smiled and gave Dr. Smithfield’s hand a shake with a firm grip. “Thank you for taking the time to help me find out more information about these bottles, Dr. Smithfield.” She lifted up a small brown bag holding all three securely wrapped bottles.
“Oh, we can spare the formalities since you’re a friend of Robin’s. Call me Ruth. Now let’s take these bottles back to my office so I can get them under some magnification.”
Savannah followed Ruth to a small office that was stacked to the ceiling with plastic see-through bins crammed with objects apparently waiting for exhibit space. As she walked into Ruth’s office, Savannah immediately felt a touch of claustrophobia, but as she looked closer, she appreciated the meticulous order. Each object within each bin was numbered, and the bins were labeled with coded identifiers.
On the back wall stood a tall lab table that was clear of any items. It was the only bare surface in the office. On the left side of the table sat a modern microscope, its display screen mounted on the wall.
“I gave up my lab chair this year. I was becoming too sedentary. I hope you don’t mind standing,” Ruth said.
“Not at all. I stand most of the day, when I’m either working on glass or teaching.”
“Great. So, what do you have for me?”
“This.” Savannah handed over the brown bag. “I own Webb’s Glass Shop on Central Avenue. Robin recommended you as an expert on vintage glass. I’m working as a consultant for the St. Petersburg Police, and I need to know more about these bottles. The young man who had them washed ashore yesterday morning. It appears certain that he was murdered. These bottles may be the only lead related to the circumstances surrounding his death. The police might be able to trace his killer based on their provenance.”
Cracked to Death Page 8
