Cracked to Death

by Cheryl Hollon

  “The bidding stops at noon on Monday but—”

  “Noon on Monday? That’s too long. Anything could happen.”

  Amanda cocked her head sideways. “We could use the ‘buy it now’ feature and pay the asking price. If we pull the trigger now, we might get more details on the seller within a few minutes, if he’s monitoring the sale.”

  “Good idea but—” Savannah ran her monthly budget numbers through her head. It would be stretching an already tight budget. She nodded her head slightly. “Let’s do it. Use my business credit card. Great idea.”

  They moved into the office and Amanda sat at the desk. With a few clicks at the computer, Amanda bought the bottle. She leaned back in the antique oak swivel chair. It squeaked a little louder than normal. “I’ll leave my e-mail window open and turn up the volume for the incoming mail beep.”

  Savannah eyed the distance to the lectern in the classroom through the open door. “Yep, you should be able to hear—”

  Beep!

  “Already?” said Amanda. She turned to the computer and clicked open her new message. “It looks like he has an e-mail account specifically for the online auctions.” She scrolled down through the message. “Wait, wait. He’s asking for an address for mailing out the bottle.”

  “Perfect.” Savannah leaned over Amanda’s shoulder. “Give him the shop address. It matches the one on the credit card, anyway.”

  Amanda punched in a return e-mail, clicked on the SEND key, and relaxed back into the chair again. “If he’s hovering, this will take only a minute.”

  “Ha!” Amanda leaned forward to peer into the screen again. “He’s asking if you want to pick it up and look at his other items up for auction.”

  “Of course we want to pick it up, but also ask him to confirm the provenance of the bottle. Is it from José Gaspar’s hidden treasure?”

  The keys clicked a staccato beat and were followed by a mouse click. “Boy, he’s hovering, all right. He says he has proof of the bottle’s provenance back to Gaspar the Pirate. That’s followed by the address where we can pick it up.”

  Savannah looked at the screen. “Why is it familiar?” She wrinkled her brow. “Of course. It’s the industrial park Edward and I visited yesterday. So this auction belongs to Captain Larry Collins? We didn’t see any sign of blue bottles.”

  “I’m thinking he uses the online auction to attract gullible buyers for his Gaspar the Pirate bottle copies. He must have made the copy of the bottle Martin brought in here. Because you and Edward wandered in off the street, he didn’t offer one to you. He hadn’t vetted you with a credit card and an address.”

  “I think you’re right, but it means that you and Jacob will have to go and pick up the bottle. He’s already seen Edward and me, so we’re out of the picture for a new lead.”

  “I can do it after class today. Work up a list of questions, and I’ll pick up Jacob and work this lead for all its worth.”

  Savannah said, “Speaking of questions, when I talked to Detective Parker last night to tell him about Professor Patterson, he had more questions about you than about Martin’s sister.”

  “Last night?”

  “Yes. I told you I was going to tell him what we learned. He insinuated that maybe there might be more information closer to home.”

  Amanda stood up, and the color drained out of her face. “What did he mean?”

  “Precisely. What did he mean?”

  “What did he ask?”

  “He suggested that perhaps you knew a lot more about Martin than you have shared so far.”

  “Savannah! Please!” Amanda stretched herself so that she was as tall as possible. “I’m the innocent one here. Detective Parker is trying to get more information out of you by accusing me—and it appears to be working.”

  “Calm down. You haven’t been quite yourself for some time now.”

  Amanda stood even straighter. “You know my mother has been critically ill. You know what that does to me. I can’t believe you believe him.”

  “I didn’t say I believed him. I merely told you what he hinted.”

  “I’m going to be sick.” Amanda bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  “Amanda, don’t be upset,” Savannah pleaded in front of the bathroom door.

  “Go away,” came from inside, followed by retching sounds.

  Savannah hung her head. What a mess! She had raised her hand to knock on the bathroom door when she heard a loud knock on the front door.

  When she looked through the shop, she could see it was Parker’s new officer, persistently rapping on the glass with one hand and holding a folded piece of paper with the other.

  After she dug the keys out of her backpack, Savannah walked quickly through the entire shop to the front and unlocked the door. “Good morning, Officer. What’s the problem?”

  Officer Williams looked up at Savannah. “I have a search warrant to serve to Amanda Blake. Is she here?”

  “Search warrant? For Amanda?”

  “Yes, Amanda Blake. She is here, isn’t she? She wasn’t at her home.” Officer Williams turned and pointed to the vintage Cadillac parked next to the shop. “That is her car, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course.” Savannah stepped back so Officer Williams could enter the shop. “Sorry, sorry. Amanda is ill . . . really more like upset. It’ll be a few minutes before she is ready to come out.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I need to give this to her right now.”

  “Sure. Let’s go back to the office, and you can give it to her when she comes out of the restroom. She might be a few minutes.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Savannah led the way back to the office. They stood there, listening to the sound of running water from the sink in the bathroom.

  “Have a seat.” Savannah waved a hand at the side chair, while she sat down with a plop on the oak swivel chair in front of the desk. “I’m sure she’ll be out in a minute.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll stand.”

  The silence between them was strained, and the young officer fiddled with the warrant and constantly adjusted her new uniform.

  Finally, Officer Williams cocked her head. “The sound of the water running in there hasn’t changed at all. Are you sure she’s in there?”

  “Yes. I saw her go inside and heard her throwing up.”

  Officer Williams approached the bathroom and gave a sharp rap on the door. “Amanda Blake. This is Officer Joy Williams. Please come out immediately.”

  Silence.

  Officer Williams followed with another rap on the bathroom door. “Amanda Blake? Are you in there?” She grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open wide.

  The bathroom was empty, with the water still running in the sink.

  “What!” Officer Williams flew out the back door just in time to see Amanda’s old Cadillac turn down the street.

  Officer Williams used the radio clipped to her uniform. She held the PRESS TO TALK button. “This is Officer Williams reporting that Amanda Blake has fled from Webb’s Glass Shop. I was unable to serve the warrant.”

  The radio speaker crackled a message. “Officer Williams, this is Detective Parker. Meet me at the nursing home where Amanda’s mother is living. We’ve got a warrant to search there, as well.”

  Officer Williams released the PTT button and clipped the radio back to her uniform. “Amanda shouldn’t have run away. Detective Parker is going to be angry—very angry.”

  Chapter 23

  Friday Morning

  Detective Parker stood in the bright sunshine at the entrance to the Abbey Rehabilitation and Nursing Center, waiting for Officer Williams to arrive. She had reported that Amanda Blake had slipped through the back door of Webb’s Glass Shop. He would continue with the plan to serve a search warrant to Amanda’s mother.

  He waited patiently while Officer Williams parked her patrol car and walked up to him with the warrant in her hand. “I’m so sorry. I should have brought another officer with me
to watch the back door.”

  “Good lesson, then.” Parker took the warrant and opened the front door for Williams. She forced a smile on her face and walked through the door.

  Parker looked for and quickly found the administrator’s office near the reception lounge and entered the small office, which obviously hadn’t been decorated since the seventies. The modular desk was suffering from delamination, and the bottom edges and the small piles of sawdust bore witness to the internal disintegration of the desk.

  A woman in her midfifties, dressed in a black skirt, a white blouse, and a sparkly chain holding a red sweater in place across her shoulders, stood up to greet them. “Good morning. Have you come by to visit someone?”

  Parker handed her one of his cards. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Detective David Parker of the St. Petersburg Police Homicide Division.” He waved a palm at Officer Williams. “This is Officer Williams.” He looked at the name plate on her desk. “Miss Hamilton, we’re here to search the room of Mrs. Blake.” He handed her a document. “This is our search warrant. Read it over. It gives us the right to search her possessions.”

  Miss Hamilton took the stapled sheaf of papers and quickly skimmed through the document. “Fine. Let me show you her room.” She briskly stepped around the desk and motioned for them to follow her.

  At the nurses’ station inside the doors to the lobby, she spoke to the first nurse who looked up. “These police officers are here to search Mrs. Blake’s room. Please inform the rest of the staff to cooperate fully. I’ll take them down to her room. Please send an aide to help move Mrs. Blake to the dining hall.”

  She looked back at Detective Parker. “If you don’t mind, I would rather not agitate her. She’s recovering from pneumonia, and I am sure you don’t want to effect a relapse.” She turned down the left corridor and didn’t look back to see if they followed.

  At the end of the corridor, she turned into the room on her left. Detective Parker and Officer Williams silently followed. The room was decorated like an old-fashioned schoolroom. There were maps, corkboards, whiteboards, photographs that had been enlarged to poster size of a house and a backyard, and, finally, a portrait of Amanda. These were obviously memory cues for the resident.

  Mrs. Blake was sitting upright in a narrow hospital bed, with an oxygen cannula held in place under her nostrils with flexible tape. Miss Hamilton stood beside her. “Good morning, Mrs. Blake. You have some visitors.” She took a moment to tuck the soft yellow blanket around the patient, nodded to Detective Parker and Officer Williams, and briskly left the room.

  The room was furnished as much like a home as a hospital room could be. Several pieces of furniture had obviously come from Mrs. Blake’s home: a tan recliner with white doilies fastened to the back and arms, an armoire with a mirror on the door and hat boxes stacked on top, and a matching long dresser that had nine drawers and more than a dozen jewelry boxes arranged on top.

  Detective Parker leaned over the small white-haired resident. “Good morning, Mrs. Blake. I’m Detective David Parker, and this is my associate, Officer Williams. We’re here to have a look around. We won’t be long, and we’ll be as quiet as we can.” He nodded toward Williams, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of plastic gloves. She stepped over to the door and began searching the room clockwise, looking through every cupboard, shelf, drawer, box, and closet.

  Looking around the crowded but cozy room, Parker found a folding chair and placed it as close to Mrs. Blake as he could manage. He sat down, leaned in, and spoke in a low and soothing tone. “Mrs. Blake, have you seen your daughter today?”

  Mrs. Blake turned her head from the muted television that was hanging from the ceiling on a movable crane-like arm. “Amanda? Amanda is here every morning and every evening. Sometimes when I’m having a bad time, she’ll stay with me and sleep on the recliner. You missed her. She’s such a good daughter.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she is, but—”

  “What is the nurse bringing me? Is this my birthday, and is she hiding my present?”

  “She’s not a nurse. This is my associate, Officer Williams. She’s helping me gather up some of Amanda’s things. Do you know where Amanda stores her things?”

  “Sir, Amanda leaves her things at home. She’s living there now and taking care of my plants. I have some beautiful roses. You can see them in the picture over there.” Mrs. Blake pointed to one of large posters.

  Detective Parker looked at the roses. “Very beautiful, Mrs. Blake. I don’t have a yard. I live in a condo.”

  “How terrible. I have only a single African violet with me for my visit. Amanda brought it so I would have something to cheer up this room. She’s done a lovely job, don’t you think?”

  “I think you are lucky to have such a devoted daughter. When did she stay overnight last?”

  Mrs. Blake frowned and rubbed the top of her head. “Oh, dear. I get very muddled with what day it is.” She looked directly ahead at a large calendar mounted on the wall, one showing the day, month, and date in large bold letters. “It’s Friday, isn’t it?”

  While Detective Parker and Mrs. Blake continued their conversation, Williams worked her way over to the only closet in the small room. Clothes were stuffed on the rack, purses were crammed on the upper shelf, and boxes of shoes on the floor were stacked two deep and six high. She started on the upper shelf by removing each purse and searching through it and piling them on the floor.

  “Yes, Mrs. Blake. Today is Friday. Can you tell me the last time Amanda stayed the night?”

  “I think it was a few days ago. Either Monday or Tuesday.” She turned her face to Parker and smiled sweetly. “She’s such a good daughter.”

  Detective Parker caught Officer Williams’s attention and mouthed, “Hurry up,” in her direction before returning his attention to Mrs. Blake. “It would help us if you could remember which night she stayed with you.”

  “Oh, now I remember. She has been staying every night. She stays with me when I have to be on oxygen. She’s such a good daughter.” Her smile was aimed at the large picture of Amanda tacked on the center of the corkboard.

  Officer Williams worked her way through the hanging clothes by removing each garment, searching it, then replacing it in the closet. Then she sat cross-legged on the floor and reached for a stack of shoe boxes. One of them tumbled to the floor and spilled open, causing a pair of elegant teal silk kitten heels to slide under the hospital bed.

  Detective Parker glared at Williams, but the noise didn’t register with Mrs. Blake. In fact, the crinkled lids over her faded blue eyes seemed to be closing slowly. Parker stood and walked around the bed to the closet. He whispered, “She’s asleep for now. Hurry as best you can.”

  Williams nodded and continued to search each shoe box. She had worked her way to the back row when she straightened up, rose from the floor, and stood next to Detective Parker. “Is this what you’re looking for?” She held open a shoe box to reveal an old bottle resting comfortably inside a pair of black stiletto heels.

  “This looks like the bottle we found in Martin’s dive bag.” He tilted his head to get a better look at it. “There’s a dark stain near the bottom, and it has a crack from the base to the tip. Bag this up for forensics. This could be the bit of evidence that allows me to arrest Amanda for the murder of her boyfriend.”

  Chapter 24

  Friday Morning

  Why would Amanda take off ? It makes her look guilty. She knows that!

  Savannah stood with her hands on her hips, trying to control the flash of anger that swept through her. There was no way to help Amanda if she ran away. What was she thinking?

  Gone was gone, however, and today’s workshop needed to be completed. Luckily, they had worked on the lesson plan together. The final day of class included learning to build a clock with a flattened bottle and cleaning up the projects left in the kiln overnight.

  After she had finished opening up the shop properly, Savannah called Jacob and told him she w
ouldn’t be arriving at the studio until late in the afternoon. Staffing two sites was always going to be a challenge, so she needed to think about another assistant as a backup resource for both the shop and the studio.

  I didn’t think I needed to worry about Amanda. I was wrong, she thought.

  The front door jangled, signaling the start of the last day of the workshop.

  * * *

  Everything progressed smoothly, and in what seemed like minutes, it was time for the class to pack up and leave with their work.

  “Thanks, Miss. Webb,” said Patty Kelner. “This has been the best class I’ve taken ever, ever, ever. You and Amanda are fantastic.”

  “Yeah, we need to do this every summer,” Yvonne Whittaker said, piping up. “I’m going to talk to my counselor and tell her what a great class this is. Maybe you can work up a class for our school.” She looked over at Patty. “Wouldn’t it be super awesome?”

  “Yep. I’ll go with you. We can take in our projects. That will clinch the deal.”

  “Thanks, girls. I’ll give your counselor a call in a couple of weeks and see what we can come up with for Christmas break.”

  They left the shop, still chattering about who they would invite to a class.

  “Thank you for persevering through such difficult times.” SueAnn reached out and took Savannah’s hands in hers. “It’s such a shame your instructor is so unreliable. She seemed like such a generous soul, but you never know about people until you give them responsibilities.” Squeezing her hands for emphasis, she added, “You must learn not to trust so easily, dear. The world is a harsh classroom.”

  Savannah bit back the words flashing through her mind in defense of Amanda. She realized that from SueAnn’s perspective, things looked haphazard. It was unlikely that Webb’s would ever see SueAnn back as a student.

  After SueAnn left the shop, the twins converged on Savannah. Rachel started. “Okay, tell us what’s happening. We know Amanda would never miss class for anything but her mother’s death. What’s going on?”