Scrapbook of the Dead (23 page)

“Freaky,” Beatrice said as she lowered the Sunday newspaper. “What was a grown man doing dressed up in a clown costume, anyway?”

Jon shrugged. “I don't think it's that big of a deal. It was Halloween. But going after Annie . . . that I don't understand. What did he want?”

“He wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her, Jon. Just like he probably did to those other women,” Beatrice said.

“No, I meant, why Annie? I know he wanted to hurt her. But why
her
? Do you really think he's the killer?”

“He's got some problems,” Beatrice said. “Don't you think?”

Jon shrugged. “It does seem that way. Some men . . . I don't know . . . are quite macho. But it doesn't mean they are killers. Look at Jacob.”

“Well, someone has needed to punch Bryant in the nose for years. I'm glad he was off duty so that he can't bust Jacob for assaulting a police officer or something.”

“In France, it's typical for an older man to be with a younger woman and vice versa. I don't understand Americans' view on this subject. I mean, look at us. I'm a lot younger than you. What is the big deal?”

Beatrice thought a moment. “I know what you're saying is true. We have a fairly puritanical culture and it's kind of ridiculous, given the fact that sex is everywhere these days. But I think Jacob was acting as a protective dad. I'm not sure it's the age thing, the cop thing, or the ass thing . . .”

“Ass thing?”

“The fact that Bryant can be a real ass. As a dad, Jacob has every right to express his dislike. But I don't agree with his methods. We can't go around beating up people we don't like.” Beatrice grinned. “Would that I could, I'd have beaten up well . . . just about everybody I know.”

“I know you better than that,” Jon said, leaning in to her.

“Yeah, you kinda do. How about some pie?”

“Oh, I think I can have a slice or two.”

“It's the last of the pumpkin pie,” Bea said, handing him a slice.

“We can always make more,” Jon said with a hopeful note in his voice, taking a forkful.

Beatrice sat down with her own slice of pie and dug in. “Annie said that she thought Jorge was nice. She said she picked up on some tension between him and Irina but that he seemed nice. It worries Annie, I think, when she's wrong.”

Jon chortled. “Like someone else I know.”

“I'm wrong all the time,” Beatrice said with a grin.

The day stretched out before them and it left Bea wondering what it would hold. Who would have thought a man dressed as a clown would have attacked Annie on Halloween night?
Poor thing.

Bea smacked her lips after her last bit of pie and wondered what would come next. Did they have a killer in Jorge Mendez? It had to be. If not, who else had killed those young women? None of it made sense—murder rarely did. But if Jorge had the kind of temper and personality to attack Annie on Halloween, he definitely might have an inclination toward murder.

Bea worried about Annie, who had said the murders would be her last story. Bea couldn't imagine it, Annie without a story. It seemed unfathomable. In any case, it was the second time within a year that her life had been threatened. It pained Beatrice to admit, but maybe Mike was right. Maybe she should give up reporting.

Beatrice had always thought women could do anything. But when it came to her friend Annie risking her life . . . she didn't like it. No story was worth that. It had taken Annie awhile to get over the last incident; it was what had led her to her initial thoughts of retiring. And then the murders happened. And the assault.

But Annie had handled herself. She took him down. Beatrice grinned.

“What are you smiling about?” Jon said.

“I'm thinking about Annie taking that big clown to the ground.”

“Yep. She's a hell of a woman.”

Beatrice was still mulling over Annie, imagining her tackling Jorge, when the phone rang. It was Cookie.

“Oh, Beatrice. I'm suddenly remembering so much. The dead sisters, the ritual, all of it is shaking something loose in me. One thing I remembered tonight is how much I love you.”

Beatrice's heart fluttered. She quickly got a grip on her emotions. “Now, Cookie, Let's not get carried away.”

“You know what?”

Beatrice heard the joy in Cookie's voice.

“That's exactly what I expected you to say.”

DeeAnn was excited. It was the first crop she had gone to outside her own house in weeks. The doctor thought it would be okay and on Monday, she'd finally start going back to work half days.

When she walked into Sheila's basement scrapbooking headquarters, it felt like a second home. She was unprepared for the emotions that came bubbling forward.

“DeeAnn?” Sheila said. “Are you okay?”

All of the others were already at the table—Paige, Randy, Vera, Annie, and Cookie, who was looking livelier than she had felt in quite some time. They all looked up at DeeAnn.

She nodded. “I'm fine. Just happy to be here.”

DeeAnn took her place next to Paige, who was already at work on a heritage album. She and Randy were working on it together. They had been doing family research and decided to record it in albums, scrapbooking a family history. It made sense.

DeeAnn loved seeing them together—and loved seeing all three of them together. Earl had come a long way. Hell, they all had. If she had known five or ten years ago that she'd be at the scrapbooking table with a Jewish woman, a witch, and a gay man, she probably would never have believed it. Time did some awful things to people—but it also held some wonderful surprises.

“DeeAnn, you should eat some of Vera's chocolates tonight,” Randy said. “They are divine. I told her if you didn't sell them, we would. I'll get her into the Pie Palace.”

Annie stiffened at the mention of the Pie Palace.

“Look, it's where I work. Okay?” Randy rolled his eyes.

DeeAnn ignored him. “I told Vera that we would carry her chocolate when she was ready,” She bit into one. “Ohmigoodness. Very good!”

“Thanks,” Vera said. “I'm having a lot of fun with it. We can talk about selling it later, okay DeeAnn?”

DeeAnn nodded. Of all of the women at the table, Vera had probably changed the most. She'd been through hell and had come out stronger and happier—more centered than any of them, perhaps.

“Well, what's going on with the whole Jorge thing?” DeeAnn said as she spread her pages out on the table.

“They're still holding him for the assault,” Annie said.

“Really?” DeeAnn said. “It's been a week. That's odd.”

“They must have their reasons,” Paige said.

“I think he's guilty as sin,” Vera said, looking up from her scrapbook. “I'm sure he killed the sisters and God knows who else.”

Sheila laughed. “You know what, Vera? If I had a dime for every time you've said that and have been wrong . . .”

“Well, now. I know that's true,” Vera said, her blue eyes sparkling. She was a beautiful woman. Always had been, but these days, she positively glowed. “But this time? He attacked Annie. That's all I need to know about the man.”

The room quieted.

“How are you, Annie?” Randy asked, reaching for her hand.

“I'm good. Really. That was nothing compared to being tied up in the B and B. I feel strong. I took care of myself. I've done it before. When I was a young investigative reporter, I used to get into some tight spots. But that was before I married Mike. And certainly before I had kids. Of course, my greatest fear is that my boys will grow up without me.”

It was unlike Annie to offer up so much personal information so they all listened intently as she continued talking.

“I worry that I'll miss out on watching them grow up by doing something stupid. By chasing after a story for an editor who doesn't really pay me enough and certainly doesn't even really respect me. It's just a job. So not worth the risk.”

After a few beats of silence, Cookie lifted her glass. “Hear, hear, Annie! Here's to a new life. Renewal. Health. Happiness. All of it!”

They all cheered and toasted Annie then settled into their scrapbooking, eating, and chatting.

“Damn, the chocolate is gone,” Paige said. “What did you bring, DeeAnn?”

“Nothing to eat. Just brought my gorgeous self over here. I figured that was enough.” DeeAnn smiled.

“Next time, bring food, you old bat.” Paige laughed.

“It's the price of admission,” Sheila said, grinning.

“Well, we'll see what we can do.” DeeAnn felt proud as she realized her friends were missing her baked goods. Maybe, once she got on her feet completely, she'd continue working awhile longer. Maybe she'd retire next year. Or the year after. One thing having the back problem had taught her was that there was more to life than her bakery. She still ached to bake. Maybe the thing to do was to pull back, just a bit. Like Annie, DeeAnn was ready to make some changes.

“What fancy-schmancy scrapbooking thing are you working on?” DeeAnn said to Sheila.

“I'm writing my letter of resignation,” Sheila said.

“What?” It was a collective question.

She looked up at the table of croppers around her. They had all been so busy with events in their lives that maybe they hadn't seen the circles beneath her eyes, the weight she'd lost, jagged nerves fraying.

“I can't do it anymore,” Sheila said. “My Donna is not getting any better. It's taking awhile to find the right medicine. I'm tired of trying to balance it all. It's been a little crazy.”

“But this is your dream,” Vera said weakly.

“It used to be my dream,” Sheila said. “Now my dream is to have a healthy daughter.”

Change was in the air at the Cumberland Creek scrapbooking crop. DeeAnn was going back to work on Monday. Sheila was quitting her dream job. Paige, Randy, and Earl were one big happy family. And Vera was thinking of starting a side business selling her chocolate.

Besides all that, Annie was giving up the only job she'd ever really wanted. She was ready, but she didn't know what came next. “I'm going to call it a night, friends.”

“So early?” Sheila said.

Annie nodded. She was tired. And worried. The murder cases still hadn't been solved even though most of the community was already acting as if it were. Jorge had attacked her and that branded him as a violent man. A violent,
foreign
man. So it was easy for people to assume that he'd killed the Martelino sisters.

Annie wasn't so sure.

“I'll walk with you,” Cookie said. “I'm tired, too.”

They said their good-byes, grabbed their bags and headed out.

As they walked down the street, Annie sensed Cookie had something to say. Pockets of light came from the streetlights, followed by stretches of dark.

“I feel like we're not alone.” Cookie stopped walking to look around.

“I don't see anybody,” Annie said. “Are you okay?”

“I wish you'd stop asking me that. I'm fine. My memories are coming back so fast now that sometimes it gives me a headache.” Cookie grinned. “It turns out my doctor isn't really a doctor. At least not in the way we thought.”

“What?”

“I can't tell everybody this. Just you, Annie. You're my best friend. And you know how to keep a secret. I know you can be trusted.”

“What is it?” Annie asked.

“The man you know as my doctor is a doctor, but he's also my colleague. It turns out that I'm a kind of operative.” Cookie smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Imagine that.”

Annie was floored at first, but as she sifted through some memories, it started to make sense. “What kind of operative?”

“I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is that it's not CIA or FBI. It's a special force, of a sort.”

“Does this mean you'll leave us?” Annie said.

“Once I'm designated as completely healthy, I have no idea where they'll send me. But there will be ways we can keep in touch. I promise.”

That settled Annie's stomach. A bit. “What were you doing here? Who were you investigating?”

“I can't go into specifics, but we were here because of the New Mountain Order and the way they were abusing the crystals on the mountain.” Cookie smiled again. “The mission was a success,” she added.

“Well, that's good to know,” Annie said, stopping at the corner of Cookie's street, which is where she usually turned off when they walked together. “I'll miss you, Cookie.” She hugged her.

“I'm not going anywhere just yet,” Cookie said. “I've got a long way to go. I'm still in my little house, thanks to the folks from my agency who have been paying for the place. I'll be there for some time.” She paused. “Good night, Annie.”

“Good night.” Annie watched Cookie walk away for a few seconds before turning up the street to head home.
Cookie, an operative?
She must be an important one if her agency was paying the bills and working with her on her memories. But, as Cookie had said, the Martelino sisters and the ritual had shaken something up in her memories. For the first time in months, Annie felt a glimmer of hope for Cookie.

It was a chilly autumn night, and Annie thought she smelled rain. The wind was kicking up, scattering leaves across the sidewalk. She pulled her scarf in tighter. The weather forecasters were calling for the first snow of the year tomorrow. She believed it.

Suddenly, a person was standing in front of her on the sidewalk. A woman. Annie couldn't see her face, but for a moment it looked like Vera.

Startled, Annie stepped back, outside of the light and into the shadows. “Vera?” she said quietly.

The woman's hand went up and Annie realized that a gun was pointed toward her. A shot sounded and she hit the sidewalk hard as pain ripped through her body. Was she shot? Had she been shot?

“Cumberland Creek Police. Stand down,” Annie heard a voice yell. “Drop the gun.”

“Drop the gun. Stand down,” the voice said again before Annie drifted away.

 

 

Annie came to in the ambulance. “Have I been shot?” she asked the paramedic hovering over her.

“No, ma'am. You've had a bit of a shock and you have quite a bump on your head.”

“Hurts,” Annie said and fell back into a cloud of fitful sleep.

 

 

“What's going on? Where's my wife?” Annie heard Mike's voice as she drifted awake again. She opened her eyes. She was in a room. She turned her head. No, a hallway . . . and there was her man.

“Annie. God,” Mike said, tears in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Sir, we need you to step away for a moment,” Annie heard through the haze. “She's going to be fine. She's just had a nasty fall and has a bump on her head. Probably a concussion.”

“Mike?” Annie reached for his hand.

His arm extended around the doctor and his hand, strong, secure, held hers. As always.

 

 

When she next opened her eyes, Mike was sitting on the edge of her bed as if guarding her. “She's had a bad time of it. I don't think she can talk,” he said defensively to Bryant and Bixby.

“We're not here to ask her questions,” Sheriff Bixby said. “We're here to give her answers.”

“Answers?” Annie muttered.

Mike stood. “You're awake.” He leaned in and kissed her gently.

“You've helped us catch a murderer,” Bryant said. “It's the least we can do.”

“Nice shiner,” Annie managed to say to him and smiled.

“Yours is prettier,” Bryant replied.

“Answers?” Mike said impatiently.

“We let Jorge go this morning. After talking with him, we knew he was covering for somebody,” Bryant said. “He was scared. We were keeping him for his own safety.”

Annie's head ached. Things were not making much sense to her.
Kept him for his own safety?

“It was his aunt,” Sheriff Bixby said. “Irina. She killed both Martelinos and was going to kill you. Jorge suspected her. He suspects that she also killed others over the years, but we have no proof of that yet.”

“Irina?” Annie managed to say. She pictured the older woman's face, her calm composure, the way she tended to Michelle Drummond. And then Annie also remembered how she'd called her nephew names and snapped at him. But still, kill someone?

“Why?” Mike asked. “Why? I don't understand.”

“Turns out Emma Drummond had changed her will recently to include Irina. Emma's fortune was to be split between Michelle and Irina. But Irina had already started making plans to get rid of Michelle. She didn't get far. Esmeralda found out and told Marina. They confronted her,” Bryant said.

“So she got rid of them before killing Michelle. It was the only way she could get away with it,” Sheriff Bixby said.

Annie's stomach twisted. The young women had been killed for the sake of money.

“Why the crafting tools and scrapbook pages?” Annie asked. “I don't get it.”

Bryant shrugged. “Irina is a deeply disturbed woman. I'm surprised she's held it together this long. We've asked her about it and she just said she likes to make things nice and pretty.”

Annie shivered. She remembered the woman saying those exact same words to her.

“You must have known she'd come after Annie. You were already on the street,” Mike said. His voice registered at least two octaves higher than normal.

“We thought she might come after Annie because she was afraid Annie was on to her. We didn't know for sure. It was just a theory,” Sheriff Bixby said. “But we kept an eye on her and wouldn't have let anything happen to Annie.”

“You set her up. Something did happen to her,” Mike said. “She has a concussion. It could have been so much worse. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Look Mike, we were very careful about this. She's going to be fine. I'd never jeopardize Annie's life,” Bryant said a little too emphatically.

Mike's eye's narrowed. “I should have beat the shit out of you years ago.”

“What? Whoa—” Sheriff Bixby moved quickly to stand between them.

“Mike—”

“I'm glad Jacob hit you, you son of a bitch,” Mike raged. “How dare you use my wife like that! I catch you around Annie again . . .”

Bryant started to leave the room then turned and looked at Annie, momentarily revealing far too much emotion with his eyes.

Annie looked away.

“Later, Bryant,” Sheriff Bixby said forcefully.

“I'm so glad you won't have to work with him again,” Mike said. “I'm so glad this is your last story.”

Annie's chest felt a burn of emotion. Tears stung her eyes and a wave of nausea overcame her. “I feel sick,” she said, and reached for a nearby container.