Pane and Suffering (3 page)

She dimly heard the ambulance arrive and numbly got to her feet when the paramedic gently lifted her up from the floor by her elbow.

Uncle Hugh can't be dead, too
.

Chapter 2

 

S
avannah and Jacob stood on the sidewalk in front of the shop and watched the last police department vehicle turn toward the station and drive back downtown. No sirens. No flashing lights. Only silence.

The business card that Officer Boulli had given her cut into her palm as she squeezed it into a crescent shape, released it, and squeezed it again. The last words he said were echoing inside her head. “Just give me a call if anything else comes up, Miss Webb. Thank you for your time.” She looked at the card once more and slipped it into her front pocket.

She'd thought the nightmare was over with her dad's funeral. Now Hugh was dead. Her plans to sell him Webb's Glass Shop were dead, as well. She ached from the top of her shoulders down to her elbows. The gentle warmth of the spring sun began to seep its way through her shirt as a reminder that time passes.

Jacob peered down at his shoes. “Mr. Trevor was a great old guy.”

Savannah looked at Jacob. His neck was flushed and he stood statue still as if trying not to breathe.

“Did you help Hugh and Dad with their latest project? The one that's in the custom workshop?”

Jacob nodded yes with his eyes still focused on his shoes.

“It's strange that I don't remember anything about that project. Lately, Dad was constantly chattering about his students and the classes. I guess I was so caught up in telling him about the struggles I was having with my own pieces, I didn't notice that he'd stopped talking about his projects.” She smiled down at Jacob. “He did tell me he was training a gifted apprentice.”

She felt like a horrible daughter. Her last visit had been over two years ago, but even when she did visit, it had been too short to manage anything but spending time with her dad at the glass shop.

I should have gotten him out more
.

“Do you know what they were working on in the custom workshop?”

“I was painting some of the glass pieces, but I don't know anything else,” Jacob paused then mumbled into his chest. “They said I was good at it. I don't want to stop.”

“You're not in trouble, Jacob. I just realized that I don't really know what was going on.”

“I've never seen a body before. Mr. Trevor was a good teacher. I am going to m-miss him.” He gulped a short breath. “Can I go home for lunch now? I'll come back, like normal. Okay?”

Sensing that he was desperate to continue his normal routine at the glass shop, Savannah softened her voice. “Of course. I could use your help.”

He turned, walked down the street and around the corner without looking up.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Edward appeared at her elbow and handed her a white chunky ceramic mug.

“I'm not thinking straight at all. I must be in shock.”

“Not at all surprising.”

“Thanks for taking the class into your pub. I didn't know what to do. Hugh has—I mean
was
—always a grumpy gus with Dad and me, but he was passionate about teaching stained glass. He was also a restoration genius. They have been—I mean
were
—partners in all things glass for over twenty years. I can't believe they're both gone.” She sipped the warm drink. “What is this?”

“England's solution to all upsets. A hot cup of strong sweet tea.”

Savannah sipped again. “And what else?”

Edward lifted his eyebrows. “Great lashings of Irish single malt.”

“My dad told me how excited he was about your pub. He felt it was the perfect addition to the district.” She looked down into the cup. “That is, when I stopped talking about myself long enough for him to get a few words in edgewise.”

“Queen's Head is happy to help its neighbors. When we were just opening, everyone was grand and supported us in the best way possible—by spending their cash with us.” Edward cleared his throat. “Are you going to close up for today?”

She looked deep into the cup. “I'm going to hang around for a bit. Sort through some papers. Calm down, I hope.”

“You sure know how to make things interesting.”

“I would say this is a good deal more than interesting.” Savannah ran a jerky hand through her hair. “Dad raised me to be suspicious. Before he started the glass shop, he worked for the government. Two heart attacks within a week in one tiny glass shop? Hugh was dad's most experienced journeyman. They've been working difficult pieces together for years. This doesn't make sense.”

“Are you saying you suspect foul play?” When she didn't answer, Edward said, “That's quite a leap in logic. You might be overreacting or just plain exhausted.” He looked straight into her eyes. “You need to get some rest.” He lightly touched her arm. “Really, luv.”

She gently moved her arm away, pleased and confused by his touch. She had just broken up with her long-time boyfriend and studio partner, Ken. She would have to deal with him in a new professional way when she returned to Seattle and didn't need kind touches from a British stranger to further tangle her already stressed emotions. She was still reeling from the effects of the final breakup with Ken.

“You're probably right. I've cancelled the afternoon session. Good thing, too. I'm teaching now, and I need to brush up. I'm so unprepared.”

“When's the next class?”

“Tomorrow morning. I don't understand why Dad scheduled so many classes. I haven't gone through his books yet, but I don't think he needed the money.”

“He was a victim of the same program I fell for. Some of us in this neighborhood signed up for one of those online group coupons. It seemed like a very good deal.” Edward pulled a slim bunch of keys from his back pocket.

Why didn't Dad tell me about this?
“How does it work?”

“For the pub, we offered forty dollars' worth of food for a thirty-dollar coupon. We make most of our margin on drinks, so we benefit from the new customers. I've started running an offer every month. Unfortunately, your dad didn't put a limit on the discounted classes, and the response surprised him.”

“I glanced at the calendar in the office. He's got classes booked for the next six months solid. I don't know what I'm going to do about that. It's insane.”

“Yes”—Edward frowned—“but he was looking for help. Didn't he tell you about the interviews?”

“No, but that explains a few things. Once people signed up, he would feel obligated to see that each student had a seat in one of his classes. It wouldn't help that he firmly believed that six students was his maximum class size.”

Edward looked down. “Yes, he was a man of his word. Old school.”

“Maybe the paperwork for the coupon will help me decide what to do. I need to go through his desk anyway. I've been dreading it. It's such a personal invasion. I don't know how I'll manage his bedroom.”

“I can't imagine. The additional classes are one of the reasons he took on Jacob. You must be aware of his Asperger's syndrome. It seems the quiet routines are helping him. His parents are delighted with his keen interest and new level of focus.”

“I didn't know about the Asperger's. I wonder why Dad didn't tell me.” She scrunched her brow. “That explains a few more things.”

“I can't imagine denying Jacob's mother anything. Frances is a Juvenile Court Judge so she is used to wielding significant power.” He fiddled with the keys. “I need to get a few emergency groceries for Chef before the evening shift starts. I'm going to shove off, luv. Take it easy.”

“Thanks. You've been so helpful.” Savannah watched him climb onto an antique Indian motorbike. It was old, finished in the original cream and white, along with hand-painted pinstripes.

“I'll stop by later and make sure you're on the right foot with the point-of-sale monster.” He smiled.

“Thank you.” She smiled genuinely for the first time in many days.

She was pleased he pulled on a helmet. She didn't need anyone else getting hurt today.

He waved a salute and drove away.

Savannah watched until he disappeared. She tipped the cup and drained the last drop of the spiked tea.
Rats, I didn't give him back the cup. No matter, I'll return it when he comes back.
Steeling her nerve for the sad ordeal of going through her dad's papers, she forced her heavy feet back to the office and stood in front of the rolltop desk.
Maybe a session of ordinary paperwork will carry me out of this anxious funk.
The ancient office chair squeaked a routine protest as she sat down and stared at the jumble of overstuffed cubbyholes, shelves, and drawers.

She started with the left side and the first thing on top was a business-sized envelope from Lattimer's Glass Shop containing Frank's offer for Webb's. Her mouth fell open at the number mentioned in the document.
This is a pretty big number.
She searched through the same pile and found a considerably lower offer from the main office of Smythe's corporation. She sat back in the chair for a second before sorting and filing the whole stack. She slipped the two offers into her backpack.

On top of the right hand stack by her elbow, she picked up a green short-order check pad in the greasy spoon restaurant style of the fifties. In her dad's nearly illegible spiky hand, the last entry was listed.

She scratched her temple.
Funny, there was no sign of repairs at the funeral service yesterday. All the stained glass windows were fine. Beautiful as ever.

She dialed the number listed on the pad and a cool voice answered immediately. “Reverend Kline, United Christian.”

Irritated with herself for not planning what she was going to say before calling, Savannah cleared her throat. “Um . . . good morning, Reverend. This is Savannah calling from Webb's Glass Shop. One of your stained glass panels is here under repair, and I need some information about the work.”

“Savannah? I'm surprised to hear from you. I thought you were going to sell the shop and return to Seattle later this week.”

“Yes, Reverend, that was the plan, but there's been a horrible, horrible complication. Hugh Trevor was found dead in the workshop.”

“Bless you, Savannah. That is horrible. How are you?”

“I'm all right for the moment, but now I need to teach the ongoing classes that Hugh was going to handle. Then I'll need to find another glass artist to help me finish the projects my father and Hugh were completing. I thought I could get everything done this week so I could get back, but now I don't know how to get it all wrapped up.”

“Oh, of course you would need to bring things to a sensible closing. It's so distressing when a small business just closes the doors without giving any indication to their clients. As your father's daughter, I am not surprised that you want to close it in an orderly manner.”

“Thanks. I'm so glad you understand. I'm evaluating the offers, but in the meantime, I'm trying to clear up the works in progress. Your name is listed in his order book. It says Last Supper Panel Eight, then there's a dash followed by the word
Splendor
.”

“No, no. That's a mistake.”

Savannah picked up the pad. “Oh, maybe I have an old order pad.” She squinted closer at the date. “The order was placed two months ago.”

“I'm sorry. We do have an open account with Webb's since we have so many windows, but I don't recall any recent repair orders.”

“There must be a mistake, because it's—”

“No.” His chuckle turned into a smothered cough. “No, Savannah. How silly of me to mislead you. It's not a repair. It's part of the duplication project for our most vulnerable panels. There was a fierce competition from Frank Lattimer for the contract, but Mr. Webb won over the committee as he is an excellent craftsman.”

“I thought it was a repair.”

“Your dad repaired and maintained our panels for many years. In fact, he was training his apprentice to take over some of the maintenance. The mistake is that he is duplicating panel three, not panel eight. Panel eight won't be duplicated for several years down the road. I'm sorry about what has happened. I would like to encourage you to participate in bereavement counseling. Just call for an appointment. I hate to rush, but I must go now. ”

“But—” Savannah heard a soft click followed by the dial tone.

Well that explains why Frank wanted to finalize the purchase so quickly. He wanted the duplication job. His wish may well be granted.
She looked at the order pad again turning it around to look at it from several angles. The panel number could be either a sketchy eight or a sloppy three.

She pulled at her hair with both hands. What was going on?
There's no way both Hugh and Dad could accidentally die within a week of each other. No way.

She went into her dad's custom workshop and automatically stared at the section of floor where Hugh had been. There was still a sour smell. It hit the back of her throat with a stomach-churning threat.

She walked back to the office and opened the storage cupboard. She grabbed a spray bottle of cleaner and a torn strip of T-shirt to use as a rag.

Back in the custom workshop, she sprayed and scoured the area with enough vigor to make the room smell like a pine forest. She got back to her feet satisfied with her efforts and tossed the rag in the trash.