Scrapbook of the Dead

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  Annie caught a strange look between them before she slid into her car.

  Cookie opened the passenger door and sat in the seat with the box of Halloween cupcakes on her lap. “I am just getting so sick of him,” she said as they pulled away. “I don’t know what he wants from me.”

  “He’s trying to help you, remember.”

  Cookie grimaced. “Is he?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean we’ve been at this therapy for months now. Nothing is helping. Maybe there’s a reason I don’t remember much of the past. Maybe deep down I don’t want to,” Cookie said with a flatness Annie found hard to bear.

  Did Cookie not care about the people she may have left behind while she was missing? Did she not know how Annie herself had grieved for a year until Bryant told her that they found Cookie and she was okay?

  “Well, I’m sure we all have parts of our past we’d like to forget,” Annie said after a minute. “I know I do. But don’t you think you’d like to know more? I mean we were very good friends.”

  “Aren’t we still?” Cookie said, looking a bit hurt.

  “Yes, of course. But I’m just pointing out there may be others in your life like me. Others missing you,” Annie said as she clicked on her turn signal to pull into the school.

  Cookie hung her head a bit and quieted. She sat in the car to wait for Annie to deliver the cupcakes.

  When Annie returned, Cookie was gone. It startled her—but then she remembered. This is who Cookie is now. She just comes and goes willy-nilly. Annie looked around for her friend, but she was nowhere to be seen. She refused to carry a cell phone, so Annie couldn’t even call her.

  Annie sighed deeply. What she wouldn’t give for Cookie to be healed completely. She opened her car door, slid in, and her phone buzzed. It was Sheila.

  “Hey, Annie. We’re starting a food train for DeeAnn. She’s thrown her back out and won’t be able to work for at least a week.”

  “Wow, that sucks. She okay?”

  “No. She’s miserable. But I wanted to let you know to check your e-mail. You can sign up for the food train online. It’s very efficient that way. I’m taking them dinner tonight and then leaving for the city tomorrow. We’ll see you on Saturday.”

  Annie pulled out of the school parking lot and headed for the park to situate herself. She wanted to look up Druid Lane on her phone. When she turned into the park parking lot, she spotted Cookie.

  She was sitting on a bench, looking out over the river, legs crossed, one open hand on each knee. Was she meditating or just trying to remember?

  Either way, Annie felt like an intrusion, so she turned the car around and left the park.

  Chapter 11

  Beatrice knocked on DeeAnn’s door and Jacob answered. He looked haggard. It had only been a few days of DeeAnn being out of commission and the man looked like he was going to keel over.

  “Hey, Bea,” he said.

  “How do?”

  “Come on in. Let me help you with that.” He took the fried chicken from her.

  “I know how much DeeAnn likes my fried chicken,” Bea said.

  “She’s on the couch.” Jacob tilted his head in the right direction.

  When Beatrice walked into the room, the sound of the TV blasted her. DeeAnn was watching the news.

  “Hey Bea,” she said. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “Brought you some chicken.”

  “Thank you. You know I love that chicken. You gave me the recipe, but mine never turns out as good as yours.”

  “What do the docs say about your back?” Beatrice asked, but DeeAnn had gone back to watching TV.

  “What?”

  “Turn the friggin’ TV off,” Beatrice said in as nice a tone as she could muster. After all, DeeAnn was hurt.

  DeeAnn clicked her remote. “I was watching the news. Sorry.”

  “The doctors?”

  “I just have to rest until it’s better. I have a slipped disk. They recommended surgery, but I haven’t made up my mind about it yet. It would mean time off from work . . . and to think I was thinking about retiring. Then this happened.”

  “What? Why would you retire? You’re still young,” Beatrice said.

  DeeAnn’s lips pursed. “That’s precisely why. I want to enjoy life a little. Baking is hard work, Bea. My back has been bothering me awhile. And my feet.”

  “Pshaw. Let the younger people do the hard work.”

  “Yes, but I got into baking because I love it. It’s hard to not do it. I’m not sure what the answer is.”

  Beatrice thought it over. DeeAnn was not quite fifty. She had a lot of good years left in her.

  “In any case, you’ve got to take care of yourself now,” Bea said.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Jacob asked as he entered the room.

  “No thank you. I can’t stay long. Just wanted to bring the chicken by and see how Ms. DeeAnn is doing,” Beatrice said.

  “The medicine makes her a bit loopy”—he smiled—“but at least she’s not in any pain.”

  “Can I bring you some books? Puzzles? Ya can’t sit there all day watching TV. Good Lord,” Beatrice said.

  “I’m not much of a reader,” DeeAnn said. “I’ve never sat still enough to get interested in a book. But maybe now is the time.”

  “What do you think you’d like to read? I’ve been reading some mysteries. Would you like that?”

  “I can try it out.”

  “I’ll stop by with some books tomorrow. In the meantime, try not to watch too much trashy TV. It will rot your brain.”

  “I was watching the news about the recent murders,” DeeAnn said with an edge to her voice.

  “Is it what they are saying? Murder?” Beatrice’s heart skipped around in her old chest.

  “Yes. They were scrapbooking sisters, evidently,” Jacob offered.

  “Scrapbookers? What does that have to do with anything?” Beatrice asked.

  “Who knows? DeeAnn said, her eyes widening. “Maybe nothing. But maybe everything.”

  “Uh-oh,” Beatrice said. “Something tells me it’s a good thing you’re laid up right now.”

  Jacob agreed. “Let’s leave the sleuthing to the professionals this time.”

  DeeAnn shrugged. “We never meant to get involved with any of the other investigations.”

  “Humph,” Beatrice said. “Tell that to the man you knocked down over on Jenkins Mountain.”

  “Well,” DeeAnn said, grinning and crossing her arms. “It was him or me, Ms. Matthews.”

  Chapter 12

  Later that same day, DeeAnn threw knitting needles across the carpeted floor and yarn went flying.

  “It sure was nice of Elsie to try to teach you to knit,” Jacob said and laughed.

  “I can’t do it. I’m a scrapbooker, but I can’t quite sit up enough to actually scrapbook. It upsets me. I’m so bored. I hate knitting.”

  Jacob pursed his lips off to the side. He stood with his hands in his pockets and rocked up on his toes and back. “But you said you wanted to try. That knitters look so peaceful, that—”

  “Oh be quiet, Jacob,” DeeAnn interrupted.

  “You need anything? I’ll be out in the garage.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m fine.” I just need a new, younger back.

  He handed her another pain pill and a glass of water. She swallowed both and watched him pick up the needles and yarn. He started to hand it back to her.

  “Don’t bother,” she said and waved him off. She watched him walk off.

  He had taken a few days off work to help her out a bit. And bless him, he was trying. But she was not handling it well. DeeAnn was a doer, not a thinker. She didn’t like to be left alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t much of a reader, like Paige—the teacher—with her nose always stuck in some historical romance book, or Annie’s nose in some memoir. She liked to be baking, cooking, cleaning, and moving. If she sat still too long, feelings of dread would ove
rtake her. She’d start thinking about her mother’s death or about her sister’s diagnosis of breast cancer. All she could do was stew. There was nothing to be done about any of it.

  When Jacob left the room, DeeAnn picked up the TV remote, hoping she could find something decent to watch. Dr. Phil? Lord, no. She couldn’t stand to watch people airing their dirty laundry on TV. MTV? Good God, what had happened to MTV? It used to show music videos—now it was all reality TV stuff. And there was nothing real about it. Who did these people think they were kidding? Click, click, click.

  Local news? Okay. Maybe.

  “And now we turn to the double murder of two sisters. Marina and Esmeralda Martelino,” the anchorwoman said. “Both bodies were found within twenty-four hours of one another. Marina had been working at the local favorite Pamela’s Pie Palace.”

  Local favorite, humph.

  A shot of Pamela with her place behind her came into view. She spoke to the TV camera. “Marina was a talented baker and a wonderful, sweet, young woman.” She looked sincere and gorgeous—as usual.

  Did the woman ever have a bad-hair day? Or break a nail? Or get a zit? Anything?

  Pamela continued. “I don’t know who would have wanted to kill her. It’s just such a tragedy.”

  A photo of Esmeralda flashed onto the screen behind the news anchor, who spoke again. “Marina’s sister Esmeralda worked as an independent contractor cleaning homes in the area. Elsie Mayhue was one of her employers.”

  The camera flashed on to Elsie. “She was quiet, friendly, and a very good worker. Can’t think of anything bad to say about the woman. Of course, we didn’t talk to each other much. It wasn’t like we were friends,” Elsie added with emphasis.

  No, of course not, DeeAnn thought.

  “Cumberland Creek detectives and the county sheriff’s office are combining efforts to solve this double murder,” the anchorwoman said. “If you have any information on either of these young women or anything having to do with their murders, please call this toll-free line.”

  The telephone number came over the screen.

  DeeAnn dialed Annie.

  “How are you, DeeAnn?” Annie asked after they exchanged hellos.

  “I was just watching the news.”

  “Uh-oh,” Annie said.

  DeeAnn pictured her smiling. Annie had a lovely smile; she should do it more often. She was just way too serious sometimes.

  “I saw the bit about the sisters being killed,” DeeAnn told her. “Isn’t it odd? I know we talked about all this earlier at Paige’s, but have you heard anything about the way they were killed? The news didn’t say.”

  “They were exposed to rat poisoning. Marina probably bled to death, though, and Esmeralda was suffocated. That’s all they know at this point.”

  “What? It’s awful! What an awful thing to happen to someone, especially in a foreign country. Have you found out anything about them?” DeeAnn asked.

  “I have their address. They lived in the Riverside Apartments on Druid Lane. Know where that is? I haven’t even mapped it out yet,” Annie said.

  DeeAnn heard shuffling in the background. What’s Annie doing? “I’ve never been there, but Jacob has mentioned it to me before, as in not to ever go there alone.”

  “Why?” Annie asked.

  “He said it’s rough over there. Gangs and such.”

  “Gangs? In Cumberland Creek? Really?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe. But you remember the young woman who was attacked and raped a few months ago? It was gang-related. Very hush-hush,” DeeAnn said.

  “I don’t know what to say. Where have I been?”

  “I have no idea, dear. Jacob heard about all this through the grapevine, of course. I checked it out. It’s all true. So if the women lived on Druid Lane, maybe this is gang related.”

  “Women gang members who scrapbook?” Annie asked facetiously.

  DeeAnn shrugged. “It’s no weirder than some of the other stuff we’ve seen around here.”

  Annie paused. “Isn’t that the truth?”

  Chapter 13

  Well, no wonder Annie didn’t know about Druid Lane. It was a brand new road. That much was obvious.

  How new is this place? She pulled into the parking lot of the first apartment complex. It was almost empty of cars. Of course, it was the middle of the day. Everybody was at work or school. Almost everybody. A group of men were standing at the end of the parking lot huddled around a motorcycle, checking it out. She exited the car and looked around for the leasing office.

  The apartment complex looked like a million others she had seen, except this one was newer. It was nondescript, architecturally speaking, painted in tones of gray and brown, with the window frames and doors painted white. She spotted the office and headed over.

  Inside, she was assaulted by an odor.

  Mildew? She walked over to the counter, her nose itching. “Hello?”

  A woman came from behind a wall. She was short and round. “Yes, may I help you?” She had an accent, but Annie couldn’t identify it immediately. She was well-coiffed. Hair, makeup, and a cheap, but clean suit.

  “Yes,” Annie smiled. “I’m a reporter. I’m here about the Martelino sisters.”

  The woman’s smile vanished.

  Annie noticed the creases around her eyes. “I’m working on a story about their deaths.”

  The woman knitted her brow. Was she going to cry or cuss Annie out? Emotion played over her face—but what emotion was it?

  “Did you know them?” Annie persisted.

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said in a hushed tone and her eyes went to the floor.

  “They lived here, right?” Annie said.

  The woman nodded. “I can’t let you into their place. The police won’t let anybody in right now.”

  “Oh, I completely understand,” Annie said. “It seems like you knew them well. I am so sorry for your loss. Such a tragedy.”

  The expression on the woman’s face grew more pained. Yes, she would cry at any moment. Then the woman’s eyes traveled to the door and in walked a man.

  Was he one of the men who was checking out the bike?

  He was tall, wore glasses, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. He wore khakis and a blazer.

  “Mr. Mendez,” the woman said, “This is—”

  “I know who you are,” the man said to Annie. “What do you want? To come in here and write a story about us? About the Martelino sisters? What tragic lives they led?” His tone was sarcastic, almost vicious. “We don’t need your stories. They are gone. Gone. What does it matter now?”

  Annie drew a breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mendez. I didn’t mean to offend you or anybody. I’d just like to give people a complete story of what happened to them. And maybe it would help find the killer. Maybe it would help save someone else.”

  His face was suddenly closer to Annie’s. She smelled cheap aftershave, with a hint of a breath mint—or was it mouthwash?

  Her heart started to race and pings of intuition raced through her. She needed to get out of there fast.

  He sneered. “Bruja.”

  Annie stood straighter, looked him in the face, and said, “Perdón, me permite, ¿cómo?”(Sorry, but how do I allow this?)

  Surprised, he drew back.

  Nobody calls me bitch and gets away with it.

  “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, fine. I’ll find other people who will. Or hey, maybe I’ll make some stuff up,” Annie said, starting to walk toward the door. “Or maybe all I need to do is tell the truth about you and I’ll have the feds here in about five minutes, breathing down your back. Threatening a reporter? Not bright.”

  She trembled as she reached for the door, opened it, and walked out. Stop shaking. Don’t let him see you shake. The cool air hit her with relief. The guys at the end of the lot looked at her, then turned their faces. One of the young men looked vaguely familiar. She didn’t want to stare, but where had she seen him before? Something wasn’t
right about this place. Mendez was hiding something.

  All the more reason to leave. She couldn’t get in her car quickly enough.

  She checked out the dashboard clock. She had about an hour before Sam and Ben came home from school so she decided to swing by the police station to see Detective Bryant. She had been so busy with her boys, her books, and life in general, that maybe she’d somehow lost track of what was happening in her own community.

  Annie pulled into the parking lot of the police station. Detective Bryant’s car was there so she girded her loins. There was nobody else who had their fingers on the pulse of Cumberland Creek like he did.

  She walked into the station and the woman behind the desk, looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

  “Is Bryant available?”

  “Just one moment,” the receptionist said, picking up the phone. She spoke quietly for a moment, then offered, “Annie Chamovitz.” After a pause, she hung up the phone and said, “Go right in.”

  When Annie walked into Bryant’s office, she was surprised to find another man there.

  “Hi, Annie,” Adam Bryant said. “This is Detective Mendez.”

  Annie frowned. “Mendez?”

  “Yes?”

  “I just met a Mendez at the apartments on Druid. Any relation?”

  The man started to say something, but Bryant interrupted. “What were you doing down there?”

  “I’m working on the Martelino story,” she replied.

  “I’d advise you to not go there alone,” Bryant said.

  Annie crossed her arms. “What the hell is going on in this town?”

  The detectives looked at one another but didn’t say a word.

  Chapter 14

  As Beatrice was gathering up some books to take to DeeAnn, her doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Jon said. He was so helpful.

  Bea placed a few books in a bag, then removed a couple. She didn’t want to overwhelm DeeAnn. She’d just tell her there were more, if she was interested. Bea placed the bag on her kitchen table next to the lasagna she had made for DeeAnn and Jacob. It should last them a few days.