Behind the Frame Read online

  Mrs. Kingsley’s gaze landed on the statue at the east end of the park. It was hard to miss, adjacent to the large ribbon-and-light-adorned gazebo that Carson used for all town gatherings.

  “My goodness!” She glanced at Savanna and began moving toward the statue.

  Savanna matched the woman’s pace, followed by Bellamy and Britt.

  “Our town statue went through an unexpected, um, trauma sometime last night or early this morning,” Savanna told her. “We’ve already reported it to the police. I’m sure they’ll find the responsible party. We can begin on the other end of the park,” she said, attempting to steer the woman away from the area.

  Even in heels, Mrs. Kingsley had no trouble staying her course. They were now close enough to read those large, scrawled, blood-red words: NEVER CARSON. “Oh my goodness,” the woman said again, stopping in her tracks. “What happened? Is this about the Art in the Park festival?”

  “We aren’t sure,” Savanna admitted, at the same time John Bellamy said, “Of course not.”

  Mrs. Kingsley looked at the pair of them, her face painted with skepticism. “It certainly appears to be, with your planning banquet scheduled for this evening.”

  “I can see how you’d worry it’s related,” Savanna said. “But I really don’t think so, Mrs. Kingsley. Carson is, as a community, so excited to host the event. It’ll be good for the local businesses, and it’s bringing in a lot of outside interest. Hotel and B&B reservations are way up—right, John?”

  The councilman nodded. “Absolutely. And Carson’s finest are right on top of this.” John pointed now to a Sheriff’s department patrol car pulling up. “There isn’t anything to be concerned about. I can promise you the city council will coordinate with our police force to make sure of that.”

  Nick Jordan and a deputy approached the statue. Mrs. Kingsley was quiet, watching them. She finally turned to Savanna. “I was the swing vote that secured the festival for Carson this year, Savanna. I’ll trust this will be handled, but I do have an obligation to inform the committee.”

  Savanna’s stomach lurched. “I understand. Thank you. Please don’t worry.”

  “Let’s take a look at the rest of the area,” the older woman suggested.

  Savanna handed her folder to Britt. “Councilman Bellamy and my colleague Britt will walk you through our thoughts on the setup,” she said, pleading silently with Britt. He could manage while she had a quick chat with Detective Jordan; he and the young woman in uniform with him were already checking out Jessamina and her disconnected head.

  Detective Jordan greeted Savanna when she joined them and introduced the woman as his forensics tech. The tech placed numbered yellow evidence markers in a series of spots and moved between the debris on the ground and statue, snapping photos.

  “What do you think it means?” Savanna asked the detective.

  When Savanna was sure she’d figured out who was trying to kill Caroline Carson last fall, Nick Jordan had actually listened to her, explored the leads she’d uncovered, and had ultimately arrested the person responsible. Savanna’s sharp eye as a former art authenticator, with Sydney and Skylar pitching in and Dr. Gallager working to keep Caroline safe, all helped Jordan close the case. Since then, they’d struck up a friendly acquaintanceship, but Savanna always had trouble reading him; he was a master of the poker face.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It could be a reference to John Bellamy announcing he’s running against Greenwood for mayor. That was a front-page story in yesterday’s paper. It’s possible someone isn’t happy about the news.”

  Savanna hadn’t thought of that. But she couldn’t imagine anyone hating Councilman Bellamy so much they’d go these lengths.

  “Or,” Jordan continued, “it could be a protest of your art festival. Didn’t you say there’s something going on tonight for that?”

  “The planning banquet,” Savanna said.

  “Or it could just be teenagers, messing around and causing trouble.”

  “This seems kind of…specific. It doesn’t seem like something bored kids would do. I mean, not with the ‘Never Carson’ thing. Right?”

  Jordan shrugged. “Nothing surprises me anymore. I’m glad you called me.”

  Savanna was surprised. “Really? I wasn’t sure. It isn’t life or death, after all.”

  “No, but it’s Jessamina Carson, Everett Carson’s grandmother. She was instrumental in shaping our town, and the legacy Caroline Carson carries on. Jessamina has stood here, untouched, since 1902. This is not okay with me. We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he promised.

  Chapter Two

  On Saturday evening, Savanna secured her long waves into a low ponytail, reaching for her hairspray on the dresser and then realizing it was still in the bathroom.

  She slid to a stop in the hallway outside the bathroom door, hearing the shower running. Sydney must’ve just gotten in. Savanna really needed to get her own place; when she’d moved in last August, she’d never meant it to be permanent. Sydney kept saying she loved having her here, but the more time passed, the more Savanna felt like an imposition. She’d looked at a few houses but hadn’t put serious effort into her search lately, with the art festival and end-of-the-schoolyear activities keeping her busy. This summer, Savanna thought. She’d find a house, and Syd could have her spare room back.

  Savanna knocked. “I just need one thing! Can I come in?”

  “Sure!” Syd called from behind the shower curtain.

  Savanna opened the door and grabbed her hairspray. “Sorry!”

  “Hey, which dress are you wearing? The blue or the black?”

  Savanna leaned in the doorway. “I still don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Blue. Always blue! And those strappy heels we bought,” Sydney said.

  Savanna laughed. “I don’t know. I’ll be standing all night—my feet will get sore.”

  “Have some cheese with that whine.”

  Savanna stuck her tongue out at the shower curtain before heading back to her room.

  “I saw that,” Sydney called.

  “Brat,” Savanna shouted. She shed her robe and pulled on the blue dress. She did love the color, and it skimmed her curves in all the right places while still being tasteful enough for the banquet she was hosting. She sat down to put the strappy heels on and admitted Sydney was right. They really were gorgeous, especially with the dress. She added tiny dangling gold star earrings.

  “I’ll see you there,” she told Sydney through the bathroom door on her way out. She still had an hour, but the perfectionist in her wanted to make sure everything went smoothly.

  Savanna entered the Carson Ballroom and stopped abruptly, taking in the space. It was beautiful, with white twinkle lights strung overhead, a gleaming wood floor, and walls of exposed red brick. White linen and crystal adorned the dozen round tables, and candlelit centerpieces provided a warm, inviting atmosphere. Caroline Carson’s grandson Jack and a business partner had recently purchased the ballroom and the adjoining theatre with renovation in mind, and Savanna spotted the improvements he’d already made. Jack Carson’s goal was to have the ballroom double as a small concert venue when it wasn’t being used for town events.

  The attached theatre on the other side of the ballroom’s west wall was in disrepair and hadn’t been used in years, but Jack envisioned a two-screen movie theatre in the space, complete with heated, reclining seats and bottomless popcorn. He’d commissioned Savanna to paint the ambitious “Century of Cinema” mural on the entry wall, and she was set to begin work on that this summer. She couldn’t wait.

  She walked through to the back of the ballroom toward the kitchen, where Joe Fratelli and his staff were busily finalizing preparations for the evening’s meal. Choosing Giuseppe’s Restaurant to cater the banquet had been an easy decision. The longstanding town favorite served scrumptious Italian food and a plen
tiful assortment of other fare. Tonight, the owner and head chef Joe was preparing two of his classics, spinach-and-ricotta tortellini and chicken parmigiana. The aroma wafting from the kitchen into the banquet hall was to die for.

  Two servers carried trays through the double swinging doors as Savanna entered. A young man at the stove stirred something in a deep pot, and Joe Fratelli, also dressed in traditional chef’s whites, worked at a cutting board, wielding a large chef’s knife to mince what looked like garlic and onions. He smiled widely at Savanna. She estimated the man to be in his fifties; Giuseppe’s Restaurant had been one of the Shepherd family’s favorites since Savanna was a kid.

  He came over to her, giving her a quick peck on each cheek. “What do you think?” he asked, gesturing to the stove top. “It’s almost ready. Would you like a sample?”

  Savanna was already starving. “Absolutely! It smells delicious!”

  “Here.” Joe moved to the stove and spooned generous portions onto a white plate for Savanna.

  She laughed. “You’re trying to ruin my appetite!” He’d given her enough for two people.

  “No, no, it’s just a taste. Eat, go on. Tell us how it is.”

  Joe Fratelli crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. Savanna had a momentary flashback of him standing at their table in his restaurant when she was little, urging her and her sisters to eat and chatting with her father about their motorcycles. His hair was gray now instead of black, and the smile lines around his eyes were a little deeper, but he was still a food pusher. If she and her sisters didn’t clean their plates, he’d act personally insulted. “You don’t like my cooking? It doesn’t taste good? You didn’t eat enough to feed a pigeon!”

  She took a bite of the tortellini. “Oh,” she said, closing her eyes for a second. “Oh my, Joe, this is amazing.”

  Fratelli was nodding, and he motioned at her plate. “Go on, try the chicken. Remy made that. Savanna, I’m sorry, I’m so rude.” He reached out and pulled the younger man by the sleeve over to them. “This is my sous chef, Remy James. He’s the best. He may be trying to take my job.” Fratelli winked at Savanna.

  Savanna took Remy’s offered hand, noting the lines of ink covering his left arm. She couldn’t quite make out what the tattoos were, but there was more artwork than skin. He was taller than Joe Fratelli, thin, and probably in his twenties.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “You too,” she replied, and then, as Joe Fratelli gently gave the plate in her hand a nudge, she speared a bite of the chicken. “Mmm, this is good. So good,” she said to both Joe and Remy. “You two make a great team.” She took another bite to prove it. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No,” Fratelli said, returning to the stove, obviously satisfied that Savanna was happy with his food. “You go do your thing—we’ve got this covered. I have one more server on his way, and we’ll be ready whenever you are.”

  When Savanna walked back through to the ballroom, people were already beginning to trickle in, her parents among them. Charlotte and Harlan met her halfway, and she hugged them both.

  “The place is lovely,” her mother said. “Do you need us to help at all?” Charlotte looked lovely herself, a simple black wrap dress adorning her petite frame, and delicate earrings sparkling behind strands of her shoulder-length auburn hair.

  Savanna shook her head. “I don’t think so. I put you at a table with Caroline and Jack. I hope it all goes smoothly.” She frowned down at the note cards she’d been using to practice her speech. She wasn’t used to speaking to large crowds.

  Her dad leaned in toward her. “We’re proud of you, Savanna. Let us know if you need any help.”

  Then they crossed the room, her dad bending to say something to Charlotte that made her look up at him and smile.

  Savanna still hoped she’d one day have what her parents did. Her older sister Skylar certainly seemed to have it with Travis. Savanna knew nobody’s marriage was perfect, but it was obvious to anyone watching how much Charlotte and Harlan loved each other.

  Councilman Bellamy arrived, along with the three judges who’d been appointed by the committee. Savanna joined the councilman and introduced herself to the judges, two women and a man, each with different but impressive credentials within the art world. She showed them to their seats. A server appeared to take their drink orders just as Savanna spotted Mayor Greenwood and his wife arriving.

  She turned to tell John she was going to greet the mayor and saw he’d left her, heading toward the hors d’oeuvres table on the far wall. Savanna knew there was no love lost between the councilman and the mayor, and it made sense. Roger Greenwood ran unopposed in the last election. She supposed he must be a bit unsettled having to run against Bellamy, ten years his junior and quite well liked within Carson.

  Savanna shook the mayor’s hand, thanking him for coming. He grinned widely, taking Savanna’s hand in both of his. In his mid-sixties, the mayor looked dapper tonight in suit and green bowtie, his silver hair freshly cut. “No thanks necessary, young lady. Anything that’s good for Carson is good in my book! Are we ready to begin? I thought I might say a few words.”

  Oh. She hadn’t anticipated this; she had her opening statements all prepared. “I, uh, yes, Mayor Greenwood, I think that’d be wonderful! Thank you.” Well, she could always wing it a little, couldn’t she? Less time for her behind the podium meant less to stress about. “Let’s wait another few minutes, in case of late arrivals. I’ll cue you,” she suggested.

  “Great!”

  Savanna picked up her phone to text Sydney, and then spied her sneaking in the side entrance.

  Syd must’ve caught the look on Savanna’s face. She breezed by her, holding up her iPad. “I’m so sorry, I’m here, now the music is all ready, just let me connect,” she said in one rushed breath before disappearing through the doorway next to the kitchen.

  Carson Ballroom’s baby grand piano was now housed in the corner on the brand-new stage, and Savanna had originally planned for Aidan to play a little during the banquet. He’d readily agreed, and she’d been thrilled. She’d learned last year that he could play almost anything. Sydney was a lifesaver, as usual. She’d immediately begun creating a playlist on her streaming app and had promised Savanna there’d be music even without Aidan.

  Less than a minute after she’d zipped through the door, the neutral strains of classical orchestra music came through the ballroom speakers.

  Sydney reappeared and hugged Savanna sideways, around the shoulders. “All good now. Sorry I was late.”

  “I—” Savanna broke off, seeing Mayor Greenwood heading for the podium. “Thank you! I’ve got to deal with this.” She hurried over to meet Greenwood in front of the podium, returning his smile. “Mayor, I’ll start things off and then hand the mic over to you, okay?” She adjusted the microphone, looking out over the room. It was a good turnout with many local business owners in attendance.

  A man wearing a reporter lanyard approached her just before she began. A cameraman laden with two cameras and a backpack slung over one shoulder followed him. “Landon King,” he said, holding out a hand to each of them. “Mayor, it’s good to see you. And Ms. Shepherd, I assume? It’s nice to meet you. I’m covering your banquet and the festival for the Allegan County newspaper. Okay if we grab a few quick shots of you and the mayor before you get things rolling?”

  Ah. Savanna remembered John Bellamy mentioning the newspaper was sending someone to write up the evening. The more publicity, the better, John had said, and Savanna agreed. She wanted this year’s Art in the Park festival to be the best yet. “Of course,” she said, nodding to Roger Greenwood. “Right here?”

  She posed with Mayor Greenwood, her face feeling like it might freeze into a permanent toothy smile while the photographer snapped several photos.

  “Thank you so much,” King said, handing her his card. “I’ll catch up with you
later on with a couple of questions for the article.”

  With that out of the way, Savanna moved back to the podium. Happy to turn the mic over to the mayor after she thanked everyone for coming, Savanna stood a few feet away while Roger Greenwood opened with a joke. As he waxed nostalgic about Carson through the years, Savanna wondered how many people in town had spotted the beheaded statue of Jessamina Carson tonight. Probably most of them. He finished and stepped aside for Savanna.

  “Thank you, Mayor Greenwood. A couple of housekeeping items before we dig in to the amazing dinner Chef Fratelli prepared for us tonight. I want to thank everyone who’s volunteered in some way to be part of the festival. I believe the Art in the Park event will gain our town visibility and help boost Carson’s tourism this season. We’re already seeing a preview of that, with Rose’s B&B and the Mitten Inn being booked solid through mid-July.”

  She heard a whoop from the crowd—Mitten Inn’s owner was grinning widely. Savanna recognized Mia from her mother’s euchre card game group. Mia had sleek, nearly black hair that fell in long waves to her shoulders. She was seated next to elderly Rose Munsinger and her daughter, of Rose’s B&B. Savanna loved that Carson’s small business owners were able to be friendly with each other, despite built-in competition.

  Savanna continued. “It’s not too late to sign up, whether you’d like advertising, offering goods and services or anything else I might’ve missed. Find me tonight, or contact myself or Councilman Bellamy through the event website, and we’ll be happy to work with you!” She spotted Joe Fratelli and his sous chef at the doorway to the kitchen. He gave her a small thumbs up and a nod, smiling. “And it looks like dinner is served! Thank you to the good folks from Giuseppe’s Restaurant. Enjoy!”

  Savanna was surprised to find she had no trouble finishing off a full serving of the tortellini. She sat back in her chair, now finally relaxed. She’d have loved to sit with her family tonight, but she’d see them at Sunday dinner tomorrow. Her table currently held the three judges, engaged in a lively conversation about something across from her, and Britt, John Bellamy, and Bellamy’s assistant Yvonne Marchand, whom Savanna had known since high school. Savanna knew the eldest judge too; a gallerist she’d crossed paths with a few times at Kenilworth in Chicago. The only female judge, art critic Talia DeVries, sat between him and the younger male judge, another well-known art critic.