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  “It should be interesting,” Charlotte agreed. She took the extra plate of cake and moved into the kitchen, wrapping it up for Savanna. “Give him our best, will you?”

  An hour later, Savanna stood on John Bellamy’s front porch, generous serving of pineapple upside-down cake in one hand and a newly filed and organized Art in the Park binder under her arm. She was pleased so many additional businesses had signed up to be involved in the festival. She knew John would be too. And she was dying to ask him what on earth all that fuss had been about the night before.

  She rang the bell again. The light was on through the entry into the two-story foyer, which faced a double staircase, leading on each side to either the living room or his large, plush office. She knew, because she and John had met here a few times this month to go over festival details. The hallway light upstairs was also on, and she heard something through the door—probably the TV. Maybe the volume was up too high and he hadn’t heard her.

  Savanna pressed the doorbell a third time and moved to the tall glass windows framing the front door. Plate in one hand, she cupped the other at the glass, peering in, hoping to spot movement. It was only 9:30—John couldn’t possibly be sleeping yet, could he?

  She gasped, sucking her breath in sharply. To the left of the staircase, just through the doorway to the dining room, one leg was visible, sprawled on the marble floor, brown wingtip shoe half off. Completely still.

  Chapter Four

  Savanna heard sirens approaching within minutes of her 911 call. The front door was locked, so she’d raced around the back, hoping for a way in to help John, but to no avail. She’d even thought to try a few of the ground-floor windows; everything was securely closed. He must be the only person in this town who actually locked his doors.

  She stood on the front walkway, watching the end of the street for the emergency vehicles. Would he be okay? There was no way of knowing how long he’d been lying there. She knew it was John because she recognized his shoes—well, shoe. Besides that one leg, she could see nothing of him. Her stomach flipped over as an ambulance turned onto John’s street, followed by two police cars, all pulling into the driveway.

  A momentary rush of relief filled her when Detective Jordan followed the paramedics across the front lawn. Whatever had happened, Nick Jordan would make sure everything was okay. He always did.

  She started talking before they reached the porch. “It’s locked. The back door too—I checked. I can see him in there, on the floor. I came by to drop off some papers, and he didn’t answer the bell.” She could hear her voice shaking. She and John Bellamy weren’t close, but she’d come to think of him as a friend in the last month since working together on Art in the Park.

  The young, uniformed officer with Jordan carried a long, heavy-looking metal device. He went to work on the front door with the end that resembled a claw.

  “It just takes a minute,” a voice said behind her, and she turned to find Brad, Sydney’s firefighter ex-boyfriend. “It’s called a Halligan bar. We’ll have the door open in a sec.”

  “Oh! That’s great. Thank you. Um.” Sydney had broken up with him a couple of weeks ago. From what her sister said, Brad had taken it hard.

  A female emergency response worker with a clipboard joined them, dispelling the awkward moment. “You made the call? Are you Savanna?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Savanna Shepherd. I just got here. I talked to him earlier today.” The door opened with a loud pop. Detective Jordan rushed inside, one hand under his jacket on the holstered gun Savanna knew he kept there. Another officer was right on his heels, followed by Brad and two paramedics.

  Savanna remained outside. She looked down and found that her hands were clasped together at her waist, knuckles white. He’d be okay. He had to be. Maybe he’d fallen? Or…he was too young for a heart attack, wasn’t he?

  On each side of the councilman’s house, neighbors were emerging from their homes. It was a quiet neighborhood, with sprawling yards and one large brick Colonial after the other. Savanna didn’t want to hear John’s neighbors speculate about what had happened. Still holding the cake, she climbed the stairs to the front porch and took a tentative step into the foyer. The faint sounds of a television mixed with the crackle of a police radio drifted to her.

  Savanna had never set foot in the formal living room; it didn’t look as if many people ever had. She was more familiar with his office, on her right. Over his imposing mahogany desk hung his beautiful Piet Mondrian reproduction of Red Tree. She forced herself to focus on the room so she wouldn’t have to see John in the adjacent hallway. The blues and reds in the painting were set off by the deep mahogany frame. Aside from the collection of Art in the Park submissions set up on a long table near the front window, the office was as meticulously neat as John always kept it.

  Savanna heard footsteps above her, and a voice called down, “All clear up here.” She glanced up and saw a navy uniformed officer crossing the hallway. He frowned down at her. “Ma’am. You can’t be in here.”

  She moved back toward the front door, the hallway to the left of the staircase now coming into view. No one seemed to be working to revive John; there was no flurry of activity around the councilman. Most of his lower body was visible to her now. He wasn’t moving at all. Savanna’s heart lurched. Brad and the other paramedic stood with Detective Jordan, who touched the screen of his phone and dropped it into his pocket.

  Detective Jordan donned purple gloves and bent down, picking something up out of Savanna’s line of sight, near where John’s head and chest must be. He straightened, and Savanna gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Detective Jordan held a large knife between his thumb and forefinger, carefully placing it into a clear evidence bag.

  The blade was covered in blood.

  Savanna’s knees collapsed under her and she half sat, half wilted onto the gray marble floor of the foyer, dropping the pineapple cake that was still in one hand. The plate shattered.

  She dimly registered a third police officer now standing over her. She heard her name. How did he know her name?

  The officer bent down, and she recognized Detective Jordan’s partner George Taylor. She’d met him last year while working on the Caroline Carson case. Skylar had called him “green.”

  The wall behind her back felt hard and cool, and her eyes closed briefly. All she saw was that knife dangling over John’s lifeless legs. Her head felt spinny, and the officer blurred as she watched him stand back up.

  “A little help,” George said.

  Savanna squeezed her eyes shut; her head was pounding. She opened them again to find Brad wrapping a coarse brown blanket around her shoulders.

  His partner, the young woman, kneeled on her other side. She had a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope on Savanna’s arm. “Eighty-six over fifty,” she announced, removing it.

  Brad placed a water bottle in her hands. “Savanna? You’re in shock. Can you drink this?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine.” She heard her own voice and it sounded far away. “John needs help, not me.”

  Brad nodded, his face close to hers, worry furrowing his brow. “Okay. Drink that, please.”

  She did as she was told. Beyond Brad, the group around John had grown to five or six, blocking her view. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d found him this way. She caught fragments of discussion from the front lawn, drifting in through the open door:

  “…didn’t hear a thing.”

  “…mowed his lawn around four today.”

  “…can check our security camera.”

  Another police officer passed her on his way into the house, speaking into his radio. “Confirmed point of entry at the Michigan basement.”

  The blood pressure cuff inflated on her arm again, and Savanna frowned at the paramedic. Kelly, that was her name. She remembered her from Caroline’s house; the woman must always kee
p her hair in that long, blond braid.

  “Better,” the paramedic said. “She’s up to ninety-four over fifty-eight.”

  Savanna’s head was starting to clear. “I’m fine.”

  “Not really. Finish that.” She pointed at the water bottle in Savanna’s hand.

  Savanna tipped the water bottle back, draining it. She leaned forward, meaning to stand up, and was met with a hand on each shoulder, Kelly and Brad stopping her.

  “Hold on there,” Brad said.

  Savanna peered down the hall, still unable to see much of anything. A man wearing a black cap that read Evidence was snapping photos. She’d never in a million years expected to stumble onto this awful scene. What on earth had happened? What if this had something to do with that argument at Carson Ballroom last night?

  She took a deep breath. “I feel better.” She tried again to stand, and this time the two flanking her helped her up and escorted her outside, both her upper arms supported. Kelly held the blanket around her shoulders closed. “This is so unnecessary.” She felt ridiculous now. She was fine. It was just the sight of that knife.

  “Sit here,” Brad ordered, settling her on the back ledge of the ambulance. He put a small red bag down next to her and shined a light into her eyes, making her blink. He placed a little plastic clip on her finger and watched the numbers on the LED screen. Then he used a stethoscope to listen to her heartbeat. He straightened up. “Dizzy? Light-headed at all?”

  “No.” She shook her head. There was no use arguing.

  He checked her blood pressure once more, nodding. “Okay. Much better. Do you want us to take you in to be checked out? You didn’t hurt anything when you fell, did you?”

  “I didn’t fall.” She stared at him, insulted. “I just…sat down quickly.”

  Brad’s poker face was impressive. He stared back at her. “Okay.”

  “John is my friend. Was,” she said, her voice dropping. “Was?” She thought she already knew the answer.

  He sighed. “He’s gone. I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do. I’m sorry, Savanna.”

  “How? I mean, I guess I know how. But why? And I don’t even understand—all of his doors were locked. I tried to get in and help him. And everyone liked him. He was a good man. Who would do this?” She sucked in a breath, finally stopping for air. Her mind replayed that scene in the vestibule the night before, but nothing made sense.

  More first responders had arrived; four patrol cars sat in the driveway now, and another white-shirted paramedic stood on the porch talking with Kelly. Brad sat down on the tailgate of the ambulance next to Savanna. “Take some deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Here—” He reached behind her, producing another bottled water. “Drink this. We don’t need your blood pressure bottoming out again.” She did as she was told.

  “Detective Jordan will find out,” Brad said. “Forensics is in there now, and I think I saw another officer go around to the cellar door out back.”

  Most houses in the area had basements with one door leading outside. Her parents’ old house had been like that, she recalled. “So that’s how the person got in?”

  “Sounds like it. Detective Taylor said the door that opens into Bellamy’s backyard was standing wide open.”

  She’d tried the front and back doors. She’d never even seen the old basement entrance. That must be the way the murderer had left, as well. The possibility of coming face to face with a fleeing killer occurred to her, and she shuddered.

  The crowd of neighbors milling around the councilman’s front yard hushed abruptly and broke apart as a pair of paramedics brought John Bellamy out on a gurney, a sheet topped with a dark wool blanket covering the body. Two officers herded the concerned neighbors back to their houses; Detective Taylor and another officer chatted with a couple of people in the group, jotting information on notepads.

  Savanna stood and moved away from the ambulance toward her car, now parked in by all the emergency responders. Brad was too occupied to keep babysitting her, thank goodness. They lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, and she watched the vehicle roll down John’s street with lights and sirens now off, making her stomach do a flip. How could this be happening?

  She leaned against her car as, one by one, workers exited the home and pulled out of the driveway. All the neighbors had gone home by the time Detective Jordan emerged through the front door, accompanied by the evidence tech.

  “And your guys got the cellar door too?” Jordan asked. “What about upstairs? We need to know where else the killer was in the house.”

  The younger man nodded. “Seems like a straight homicide, doesn’t it?” His voice was lowered. “Not sure if the councilman was a neat freak or if he just had a great housekeeper, but nothing appears out of place. It doesn’t look like they were after anything but him.”

  “All right. I’m going to finish up here. Go ahead back to the station.”

  Nick Jordan joined Savanna leaning on the side of her car. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced a small package of M&Ms, holding it out to her.

  “No thanks,” Savanna said, surprised. Usually, Jordan kept packs of gum in his pockets.

  “I promised my wife I was off cigarettes for good,” he grumbled. “And I’m sick of gum.”

  She smiled. “Good for you.”

  “Do you want to come in tomorrow morning and make a statement, or do you want to do it now?”

  She let out a long breath. The thought of a trip to the police station now made her want to curl up right here on the front lawn for a nap. Her arms and legs felt like wet noodles, and she really couldn’t wait to climb into her soft, cozy bed. “Is tomorrow okay?”

  “Of course.” Jordan frowned at her, searching her features. “Are you all right? You feel okay to drive?”

  “Yes. I’m totally fine, I promise. I shouldn’t have been in there—”

  “No.” He cut her off. “You shouldn’t have. For all we knew, the perp was still in the house. I think you know better.”

  Savanna felt herself shrink in front of him. He wasn’t wrong. “I do. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want John’s neighbors asking me questions. And then I saw the knife. I didn’t expect—I’ve never seen anything like that before, except in movies.”

  He nodded. “Understandable. We don’t typically see this type of thing in Carson either. It’s a shame. But we’ll find the killer. The knife gives us a good place to start.”

  Chapter Five

  The last week of school at Carson Elementary was controlled chaos. On Monday morning, Savanna’s students were squirrely and giggly and silly, too full of energy to sit still for long. She used the stern, no-nonsense voice she’d spent the whole first year as the new art teacher perfecting, but it lost most of its power to the warm, sunny weather out the windows and the promise of summer vacation just five days away. The Carson community pool had opened this past weekend, which only contributed to her students’ lack of focus.

  She was distracted too. She’d been stewing about John Bellamy all morning, wondering about what could’ve happened, and worrying about the Art in the Park event. When Ms. Jenson arrived with Savanna’s third graders for her last class before lunch, Savanna made a snap decision. She could use a change in scenery, and she knew the kids could too.

  “You know what? Stay right there.” She put a hand up, meeting the teacher at the doorway before the kids could separate and find their chairs. “Our project is outside today.”

  The whoops of excitement made her laugh, and Elaina Jenson smiled at her. “Great idea,” she said. “If I had a dollar for every time today I’ve said, ‘stay in your seat,’ I could—well, I could buy us both lunch, at least!”

  Savanna smiled at the teacher. Ms. Jenson had been immediately welcoming when Savanna had come on last fall. Her son Carter was in the same first grade class as Aidan’s daugh
ter Mollie, and he was the sweetest little boy. “Is it always like this?” She’d thought her work at Kenilworth Museum in Chicago had been stressful, but this job required a whole different level of expertise.

  “Remember how they were right before Christmas break? Multiply that by ten. You kind of have to just go with it.”

  Savanna’s students were already heading back down the hallway toward the front entrance. “Class, hold on. This way! We’re taking the secret passageway.” She waved them toward her, ushering them into the library, which was adjacent to her classroom.

  She turned, walking backward, and put two fingers in the air, the school’s sign for quiet. They hushed. She was impressed. She glanced at her friend, librarian Jack Carson, who was helping his computer class get started, and mouthed, Sorry. He gave her a curious look.

  “Secret mission,” she whispered, getting the attention of his second graders. She felt immediately bad for disrupting his class, but he grinned at her. She had second grade tomorrow; she’d make sure to give them the same treatment.

  Savanna led her third graders through to the far side of the library, deliberately taking them up one aisle and down the next. They were starting to whisper and giggle now.

  “Almost there,” she told them, and pushed through the double doors that let out into the south hallway near the bus lot—which backed up to wide field and dense wooded area. Once outside and across the parking lot, Savanna stood in the grassy field. “Okay. We’re going to make Nature Mobiles! It’s a super-fun project, and you can take them home at the end of the week.”

  She explained the idea and released the seven- and eight-year-olds to scavenge for sticks, twigs, pinecones, and even small stones. Tomorrow, they’d come up with designs and begin painting and decorating their items. Savanna would help them string their adorned discoveries onto painted discs. And she’d bring in the exciting find she’d stumbled across in her parents’ basement this past weekend. While she’d been looking for her summer clothes in the boxes she still hadn’t gone through from her move, she’d found the huge plastic bin of supplies she and her sisters had used as kids to make their own jewelry and hair clips. It was still full of beads, colored ribbon, rhinestones, and more.