Cracked to Death by Cheryl Hollon Page B

It’s already in the paper, but I want to tell you that the unidentified diver turns out to be our missing student, Martin Lane. I thought he was a nice young man, and out of respect, would you please join me in a moment of silence in honor of a young life cut short?” Savannah rested her folded hands on the podium and bowed her head for the minute of silence. Then she raised her head. “We’ll provide memorial information as soon we get the details.” She waved her hand at Amanda. “Thank you, and let me turn you back over to Amanda.”
    Savannah waited until Amanda was teaching comfortably before she decided it was okay to head over to the studio. But she reminded herself to call Amanda immediately after class was over to make sure everything went smoothly.
    When she reached the studio, she parked her car next to the two other cars in the lot. She grabbed her backpack, then opened the door and went inside to find both Arthur and Helen in their work spaces, laboring away on their projects. Arthur looked up and waved hello. Helen was oblivious to whatever might be occurring outside of her tightly controlled space.
    Savannah sat on the stool in front of her worktable and looked at the two bottles Martin Lane had brought to class. When they were placed beside the reconstructed bottle from Martin’s dive bag, it was obvious that the color of all three was nearly identical.
    â€œThat one is different.”
    â€œYikes!” Savannah jumped off the stool. “Jacob, you scared me!”
    Jacob’s eyes blinked shut, and he picked up Suzy.
    Savannah laughed. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Jacob. It’s okay. I was startled and didn’t mean to yell. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
    Jacob nodded in his teenage disapproving way. “The broken bottle is the same as this one.” He pointed to one of Martin’s bottles. “But this one isn’t made the same way.” He pointed to the second of Martin’s bottles. “It’s a copy.” He pointed to a unique pattern in the originals. “This joining fault has been repeated.”
    Savannah pulled a large magnifying glass from a drawer in her worktable and wiped off the thin coating of dust on it with a soft cloth. “You’re right. It looks like it’s a tolerably good molded copy.” She lowered the magnifier and shook her head slowly. “You can’t duplicate the process exactly when you are mouth blowing glass vessels. The manufacturing process is unique to each bottle.”
    â€œIt’s a copy.” Jacob returned to his large workshop.
    Why would Martin have this? Why would he have them at all?
    Savannah grabbed her phone from her backpack and speed dialed Detective Parker. He picked up right away. “Detective Parker.”
    â€œHi, it’s Savannah. As I reported, I’ve got the blue bottle reassembled, and I also have the two bottles Martin brought to our workshop on Monday sitting in front of me. Two of the bottles, including the one I reconstructed, are quite old and authentic . . . probably dating to about seventeen hundred or thereabouts, but oddly enough, the third bottle appears to be a copy.”
    â€œHow does that help?”
    â€œI don’t know yet, but I think there’s something here that could be important to the investigation. The copy may be a factor in why Martin was killed. Can I contact a vintage glass expert for more information? I think it will help.”
    â€œHow many hours have you logged so far?”
    â€œNot more than two hours.”
    â€œHmmm.”
    Savannah was holding her breath. Ten hours of consulting at seventy-five dollars per hour could make the difference between red and black in her bank balance this month. It would certainly please her grumpy accountant, Burkart.
    â€œFine. Maybe you can identify more leads. They’re quite scarce right now. You’re authorized for a total of eight hours. I’ve