Behind the Frame Read online

Aidan sat looking at her, his lips curved into a half smile. “Hi.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry. I cannot believe I fell asleep!” She rubbed one eye as she apologized. She was mortified. Last night’s tossing and turning had obviously caught up with her.

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault I’m boring.”

  “No! You are not—” She watched his eyes crinkle as he gave her a full smile.

  “I’m just messing with you.” He tipped his head the slightest bit toward her. “I’m sure you’re worn out after last night. I’m glad you were comfortable enough to get a catnap.”

  “I’m always comfortable with you.” He was so close Savanna caught a faint hint of his aftershave, spicy and clean.

  Sydney’s car pulled past them in the driveway, parking just ahead of them by the garage. Savanna could see her leaning down, gathering her things.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you up,” Aidan said. He took her hand in his on the way up the walk. Syd at least had the sense to go in through the garage, leaving the front entrance to them.

  On the porch, Savanna looked down at their linked hands; his was much larger, and so warm. She looked back up to find Aidan watching her. He pressed his other hand gently to her upper arm, sending electric tingles through her skin where he touched her, and leaned down.

  High-beam headlights illuminated them as a second car pulled into the driveway: Harlan bringing Savanna’s car back.

  Aidan had already dropped his hand from her arm. His gaze went from Harlan climbing out of the car back to Savanna.

  She laughed. “Fantastic,” she whispered, rolling her eyes at him and then dropping her head and letting her forehead rest for a moment on his chest. She felt his laughter start with a low rumble as he joined her.

  “I’m gonna go. We really have to work on our timing.” He placed a hand on the back of her neck and kissed the top of her head through her hair. “Good night, Savanna.”

  Aidan headed down the walk to his vehicle, and she stood on the porch, her heart racing, her skin glowing from the light touch of his hands.

  “Sir.” Aidan nodded at her father as they passed each other on the walkway.

  “Dr. Gallager.”

  Harlan handed her keys to her, turning next to her to watch Aidan leave. She raised a hand in a small wave as his SUV rolled down the street.

  “Well.” Harlan looked down at Savanna. “Did I interrupt something?”

  She blinked at him.

  “All right. Better luck next time then.”

  She could see him working not to crack a smile. She smacked his arm. “Thank you for the tires, Dad. Come on in, and I’ll write you a check.”

  He shook his head. “Forget about it. It was all covered.”

  “I doubt that.”

  He shrugged. “I can stay again tonight if you think I should. Anything out of the ordinary happen today?”

  “Nope. We’ll be fine. I’ll double-check all the locks, I promise.”

  “Make sure you do. Tell your sister I said goodnight.”

  She gave him a quick hug. “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Savanna locked the front door behind her, sitting on the entryway bench to give Fonzie all the pats he demanded. She could hear the shower running; Sydney must’ve just come from yoga.

  Her phone dinged, and she fished it from her purse. She was sure it was Aidan.

  It wasn’t. The text message was from Skylar, in all caps.

  YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT’S ON THE INTERSECTION CAM FOOTAGE!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Savanna and Sydney were waiting for Skylar the next morning when she arrived at her law office. A stack of salted crackers was under one arm with her briefcase, and she sipped Coke from a can as she took her seat behind her desk. Skylar’s normally rosy skin had a clammy, faint-green cast.

  Sydney spoke first. “You look awful.”

  “You don’t look awful, Sky,” Savanna said. “Still queasy? That’s miserable.”

  Skylar popped a cracker in her mouth, followed it with another sip of cola, and closed her eyes, resting both hands palm down on her desk top calendar. “Just give me a minute.”

  Skylar’s assistant crossed to her and set a steaming cup of tea and a scone in front of her. “Mornings are bad,” she whispered to Sydney and Savanna. “The ginger tea helps, and she says the carbs do too. She’ll be okay soon.”

  “Ginger tea is so much healthier than Coke—” Sydney started to speak, and Savanna stared at her wide-eyed, making her hush.

  “Whatever helps,” she said. “I’m sure a few sips of pop never hurt anyone. Remember Mom giving us cola syrup over ice when we had the stomach flu?”

  Sydney nodded. “You’re right, I forgot. That or Vernors always worked. Did you try Vernors yet?”

  Vernors was actually a good suggestion; it was a Michigan ginger ale cure-all. Savanna was sure Skylar was on top of any and all morning sickness tricks.

  Their sister had followed up that message last night with a quick call, telling them it’d be easier to show them in person this morning what she’d discovered. Savanna couldn’t wait to find out what the camera had caught.

  Skylar opened her eyes, squeezed them shut, and then opened them again. “It’s not just the nausea—my head spins too. I’ll be okay.”

  “How long will this last? I feel so bad for you.” Savanna made a sad face at her.

  “It should be over by now. So, any day, I hope.” She took a drink of the ginger tea and ate another cracker.

  Sydney turned her phone toward Skylar. “I just ordered you these. They’re suckers in ginger and spearmint. And these,” she said, turning the phone back to herself and tapping the screen. “These are acupressure wristbands, for motion sickness. You’ll have them tomorrow.”

  Skylar gave them a weak smile. “Thank you. Okay, this isn’t what you came here for. Let me show you.” She turned her desktop monitor toward them and tapped a few keys.

  A silent black-and-white video played on the screen. It took a moment to understand the perspective of the camera; Savanna tipped her head a little, seeing the fish-eye view of the corner the Carson Ballroom occupied. Scattered patrons were exiting; thirty seconds went by, and she could see the crowd was thinning.

  “The intersection cam is on a motion-activated sensor. Real time is at the bottom.” She pointed at the clock on the screen. “So this is as your banquet is ending, and the last few people are leaving. Watch. It starts at ten twenty-seven p.m.”

  She and Sydney both sat forward, staring at the screen. After the real-time clock registered 10:27, a trio of people exited the ballroom. They chatted on the sidewalk at first, and then the man—Mayor Greenwood, Savanna caught his face when he turned—turned and walked toward uptown, while the two women—the mayor’s wife, wearing the cute pillbox hat Savanna had admired at the banquet, and her sister—headed in the opposite direction.

  “Mrs. Greenwood gets into her car down the street, here, with her sister,” Skylar said, pointing at the edge of the screen. “That’s captured from the camera’s other directional lens. This lens loses sight of Mayor Greenwood about halfway up this block. But watch.”

  Savanna caught movement at the edge of the screen. Roger Greenwood moved back down the sidewalk and stopped just short of the tall ballroom entryway windows.

  “What’s he doing? Why didn’t he leave with his wife?” Sydney asked.

  “Just watch.”

  At 10:31 p.m., John Bellamy exited the ballroom, turned to the left, and began walking in the same direction the mayor’s wife had gone. Abruptly, he stopped and spun around. At the opposite end of the screen, Greenwood was quite obviously talking to him, and John came back up the sidewalk toward the mayor.

  The two men met, and even in the silent black-and-white footage, it was clear they
were having an animated conversation. They went from standing a couple of feet apart to John taking a quick step in toward the mayor, and the mayor matching him, so they were nearly nose to nose. The screen froze.

  Savanna stared wide-eyed at Skylar. “What. Was. That.”

  Skylar’s index finger rested above a function key; she’d paused the video. She dunked her scone briefly into her tea, taking a bite and then a sip. “That is Mayor Greenwood and Councilman Bellamy having a good old-fashioned yelling match. Look at them. Their body language is aggressive.”

  “God, I wish we had sound!” Sydney groaned. “There isn’t any, right? No chance of getting the audio of this?”

  Skylar shook her head. “Nope.” She tapped the keyboard and nodded at the screen. “But watch.”

  Roger Greenwood’s hand shot out and before Savanna was sure she’d really seen it happen, the councilman’s body jerked forward. She and Sydney both leaned in toward the screen. The mayor’s shoulders shook as he shook John by the collar.

  John hit the mayor with the heels of both hands against his shoulders, shoving him backward and causing the mayor to lose his grip.

  The mayor struggled to regain his footing, and as he did, the councilman moved toward him, leaning in and pointing at him. John then stepped back, smoothed his suit jacket and ran one hand over the top of his head, and turned to walk away. Roger Greenwood had the last word, it appeared; the mayor took a few steps after him, gesturing wildly and saying something no one would ever hear. The councilman kept walking. The mayor stood still, watching him, until two last stragglers exited the ballroom, and then Greenwood spun and walked off screen.

  “What the heck happened?” Savanna breathed. “I mean, seriously, what in the world. That cannot all have been over the campaign and John’s candidacy.”

  Skylar shook her head. “I’d be surprised if that’s all it was.”

  “I’ve never seen the mayor like that. He looked like he could kill Councilman Bellamy,” Sydney mused.

  “I wonder what Roger Greenwood would have to say about this,” Savanna said.

  “I’ve got a message into Detective Jordan. He needs to see this. Mayor Greenwood can’t know the video exists, and we need to keep it that way until Jordan can deal with it—hopefully today. Chef Joe is still on house arrest, which is better than being in jail, but I’d love to find concrete evidence to get him exonerated as soon as possible.”

  “Speaking of which,” Sydney said, looking at Savanna, “you wanted me to try to find that hotel owner’s kid on social media, right?”

  “What?” Skylar frowned at them.

  Savanna summed up the meeting with Paul Stevens for her sister; she’d already filled Sydney in this morning at home. “I’m actually not thinking this boy is capable of murder,” she said. “But it’s totally possible the vandalism going on could be separate from the councilman’s murder. Right? I mean, we’ve said since the beginning that it’s a huge escalation, going from destroying a statue to killing someone. Can you just look him up, Syd? On the Instagram app or that Snap-talk thing you use? Somewhere? I’m sure we can find him. His name is Alan James Stevens.”

  “How do you know his full name?” Skylar asked.

  “It’s on the hotel website. The place has been in their family for decades; they have the whole history listed.”

  Sydney pulled out her phone. “You’re more tech-savvy than you think you are. I can teach you how to do this.”

  “No way,” Savanna said, shaking her head. “That’s what I have you for.”

  Sydney worked over her phone for no more than a minute. “This is him, right? Same name, and this guy’s location is set to Grand Pier, Michigan.”

  Savanna peered at the screen. “We only saw him for a moment, but I’m sure that’s him.”

  Sydney scrolled through Alan’s posts. “Oh hey, is this the hotel?”

  “Yes, that’s him at the reception desk,” Savanna said.

  “Oh! Holy cow, look!”

  Savanna and Skylar peered at the screen. Savanna snatched the phone out of Sydney’s hands, staring down at it. “You have got to be kidding me. No one’s this dumb.”

  “Let me see!” Skylar reached across the desk and took the phone. “No way. Alan James Stevens really is this dumb.”

  Sydney took her phone back and screenshotted the picture Alan had posted ten days ago. “I just sent it to both of you. Detective Jordan needs to see this.”

  The photo was stamped the date of the planning banquet. It was a close-up shot of the still-dripping red words, NEVER CARSON, with a portion of Jessamina’s head on the grass in the background and the edge of a red spray paint canister in the foreground.

  Sydney was shaking her head. “At least we know who vandalized Jessamina. Do you think he also got your tires?”

  Savanna tipped her head and frowned, considering. “Gosh. I don’t know. It’s possible, right? But that was a full week later. And it seemed so personal, compared to Jessamina.”

  Skylar’s assistant spoke from the doorway. “Your ten o’clock is here.”

  “Oh, boy. I’ve got to run. Jack’s probably wondering what happened to me. I’ll pick you up in an hour?” Savanna stood.

  Sydney nodded, walking out with her. “Sounds good. Send that picture to Detective Jordan so he can start checking on the kid. Oh, Skylar.” Sydney stopped at the doorway and looked back. “Lunch tomorrow, Fancy Tails, noon, with Mom.”

  Jack was waiting at the future Carson Theatre for Savanna with two whipped cream and caramel-topped iced coffees. She followed him up the winding stairway to the balcony, loving his running commentary. “These steps will be covered in red carpeting, with wrought-iron railing all the way up. I’m having the painters strip all the old wallpaper, and sand, patch and paint. I found vintage 1960s replacement bulbs for the chandelier; they’re being shipped from a tiny company in Santa Clarita.” Sitting in the front row of the balcony, Jack gestured with a sweeping hand from one side of the theatre to the other. “I’ve also ordered two hundred forty-four heated, reclining leather seats, with a third of those being cuddle seats.”

  Savanna laughed. “Did you make that up?”

  “I wish. The chain theatres have coined the term, but they’re a big hit. Your mural will take up that entire wall.” He pointed.

  “Wow.” She breathed the word. “I can do this. I’m going to have a blast doing this.” She grinned at him. “When’s your projected opening? How long do I have?”

  “I’m not sure. Permits are a nightmare, and there’s a lot of labor involved before everything is operational. We have a while.”

  “Okay. We’ll have the words Century of Cinema on a painted scroll at the top,” she said, pointing. “I’ve got some of my ideas sketched out, but I’ll run everything by you before I begin. I’m planning on starting right after Art in the Park wraps up.”

  “Sounds great.” Jack smiled at her. His sandy-brown hair was perpetually mussed, and even now, on this warm June day, he wore his standard khakis, albeit with a short-sleeved polo shirt instead of the button-down he wore for school.

  “You’re super psyched about this, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “I am too. It’s exactly what Carson needs. You’ll be a hero.”

  He shrugged. “I just want a place to kick back and see a good movie without an hour drive.”

  “You and the rest of this town!”

  After they said goodbye outside, she headed over to her car outside Fancy Tails, where Sydney was waiting to go meet Talia DeVries for lunch.

  Sydney narrated directions from Savanna’s phone as they got into Grand Rapids. It was the largest city on this side of the state. In recent years, it’d become a cultural hub, offering museums, concert venues, a botanical garden, and excellent restaurants. They drove past the place Talia DeVries had chosen for their lunch to
day, looking for parking.

  “The Old Goat.” Sydney read the sign, aptly set behind a large, carved wooden goat standing over the entrance. “This place isn’t what I expected.”

  The interior was industrial-chic, with oil-drum lighting suspended over a mixture of standard and raised tables, and patio seating visible through doors off one side. As the hostess led them through to their table, they checked out some of the fare. By the time they joined the art critic, Savanna knew she wanted the pierogis, and Sydney had clutched Savanna’s arm, pointing to a delicious-looking salmon platter being carried out.

  “Ms. DeVries,” Savanna said, smiling, and offered her hand to the woman, who was already seated. “This is my sister, Sydney. I couldn’t resist bringing her—we’ve both been wanting to try this place.” It was a lie, but a white lie, and if the food was as good as the atmosphere, the place was well worth the visit.

  “Nice to meet you, Sydney.”

  Five minutes of studying the menu didn’t change either of their minds; the server took their order and then brought Talia DeVries a glass of white wine, Sydney a lemonade, and Savanna an iced tea.

  Now that they were seated across from the woman, Savanna was suddenly nervous about broaching the topic of why they were here. She reached into the large purse she’d brought. Best to rip off the bandage, right? She set the manila folder containing Nina McCullen’s artwork submission on the table top, resting one hand on top of it.

  “I was glad you contacted me.” The art critic spoke first.

  “Talia…Ms. DeVries.”

  “Talia,” the woman said. “That’s fine.”

  “Okay. I’m not really sure how to say this, but we have an art submission—one that was likely going to be accepted—from a young artist we think may be related to you.”

  Talia set her wine glass down. She propped elbows on the table and clasped her hands in front of her, looking at the folder.

  Savanna pushed it across the table to her.

  The woman examined the printed submission, John’s orange sticky note still attached. She slid a finger under one corner, frowning at John’s handwritten, block print words: DISQUALIFY.