“What agency? Maybe they have her address?”
Another customer came by the group and congratulated Pamela on the best pumpkin pie he’d ever eaten.
Pamela turned back to Beatrice. “I’m sorry. What was your question?”
“What’s the name of the agency Marina came through?” Beatrice was getting miffed. A simple question demands a simple answer. Why can nobody give me this woman’s family’s address?
“Hathaway Transatlantic Employment Agency,” Pamela finally said. “Good luck. They are not quite easy to deal with.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll manage,” Beatrice replied. How odd. She was getting the strangest vibes from Pamela. What is the problem?
As if sensing Bea’s thoughts, Pamela leaned over the table. “Ms. Matthews, I hate talking about it. It’s very upsetting to me. She was the sweetest person I’d ever met.” She blinked.
Beatrice felt an immediate pang of embarrassment. Of course, that was it. Pamela was grieving. She apparently thought very highly of the young woman. Perhaps Marina was more than an employee.
“I’m sorry,” Beatrice said. “I didn’t realize you were so close.”
Jon elbowed her gently.
“Well, I would not say close,” Pamela said. “But there was something about her that made me feel sort of protective. And I’d feel awful if anybody I knew met the end that she did.”
“Of course,” Sheila said. “It’s a human reaction. No matter who the person.”
Pamela stood up straighter. “Right.” There was a flash of emotion in Pamela’s eyes—something beneath the carefully applied eyeliner, blue eye shadow, and mascara.
Beatrice couldn’t say for sure what it was. Regret? Sadness? Fear?
As Pamela turned to leave, Beatrice turned to Jon. “What are you elbowing me for, you old coot?”
“Coot? What is this word?” he shot back at her.
She waved him off. “Look it up.”
Chapter 21
DeeAnn was a bit miffed that everybody went to Pamela’s grand reopening and she was stuck on the couch. The medicine didn’t seem to improve her pain for very long anymore so she was taking the maximum dose. Tomorrow, she was off for X-rays and more tests.
She suddenly heard a bunch of noise at her door and then the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” she called.
The door swung open. It was Beatrice, Vera, and Jon.
“Hello there,” Beatrice said. “Brought you some pie.”
“How nice of you! What kind did you get me?”
“Sin on a Plate,” Vera said. “You look like you could use it. Lord, woman, have you even brushed your hair this morning?”
DeeAnn ran her fingers through her hair. She really couldn’t remember. Had she? “What’s the point? I’m not going anywhere. Stuck here on this couch.”
“Oh my,” Beatrice said. “Are we having a pity party?”
“Pity party?” Vera exclaimed. “I haven’t heard that term in a long time. Well, not since I was a kid and you used to ask me the same thing.”
Beatrice waved her off and spoke to DeeAnn. “I’m going to get you a real fork to eat that with. No point eating with a plastic fork.”
“It’s okay,” DeeAnn said. “I don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.” Bea sat down.
“How are you feeling, dear?” Jon asked with concern in his voice.
Such a nice man. What did he see in Beatrice? thought DeeAnn. “I’m going to see the doc tomorrow. I feel about the same, actually.”
“Are the pills helping?” Vera asked.
DeeAnn took a bite of her pie and nearly swooned, it was so good. She nodded, chewed, and swallowed her bite. “But not very long. I have to keep taking more. I think I’m taking the maximum dose now.”
Vera picked up the pill bottle. “You’re out.”
“Jacob’s on his way with more,” DeeAnn replied. “How was the Pie Palace?”
“Big crowd,” Jon said.
Beatrice shot him a look of rebuke and he shrugged in return.
“It was good,” Vera said. “Annie was there chatting with Pamela upstairs for a bit . . . about Marina.”
“Really? What did she find out?” DeeAnn asked.
“Well, we’ve gotten the name of the agency she came from,” Beatrice said. “I hope they have an address for the girls’ parents.”
DeeAnn swallowed another bite of pie. Suddenly, she was weary, but she wanted to know more. “What’s the name of the agency?”
“Hathaway Transatlantic Employment,” Vera answered.
“I used to get brochures in the mail from them,” DeeAnn said. “I know who they are.”
“Really?” Beatrice asked. “What do you know about them? Pamela said they were difficult.”
“I don’t know anything,” DeeAnn said. “I pitched their stuff in the trash. My files are stashed with American citizens who need work. I don’t need the hassle.”
“Now, DeeAnn—” Vera began and looked uncomfortably at Jon.
“I’ve got nothing against foreigners, of course,” DeeAnn said. “I’d hire some if they came to me looking for a job and I needed someone. But to go through an expensive agency? It just always seemed strange to me.”
The room was silent.
“You know it is very strange,” Jon said. “You say there are plenty of people here looking for work. Why would Pamela hire only people from overseas?”
“Who knows why Pamela does what she does,” DeeAnn said. “Money has never been an issue for her, right?”
“Oh no,” Beatrice cackled. “Not at all. She went from her rich daddy to her rich husband.”
“Very difficult for me to relate to,” DeeAnn said. “I’ve had to struggle and work hard for everything I have, including the bakery. I can’t do fancy events and mark my goods down to reel people in.” Her heart began to race as she thought about the unfairness of all of it. How can I compete with people like Pamela?
“Now hold on,” Vera said. “What you’re saying is true. But she’s always been good to you. She’s never said a bad thing about you or the bakery. And she’s so filthy rich I’ve often wondered why she bothers working. She could be sitting around all day or doing lunch with the ladies, or whatever rich women do. Instead, she works.”
“Well,” DeeAnn said after a moment. “I guess you told me.”
Vera laughed.
“We’ve got to get going,” Beatrice said. “Is there anything we can get for you? More books?”
“No, I haven’t finished the ones you already gave me,” DeeAnn said. “Jacob will be home soon. Don’t worry about me.” Her back was beginning to jab at her again. Damn, she wished he’d hurry home.
After everybody left, she opened her new laptop to the scrapbooking program that Karen had loaded for her and began to place graduation photos onto a virtual page with virtual paper she had selected.
Karen had graduated top of her class in nursing school. DeeAnn had just started to journal a little bit about it—Karen in her cap and gown. She loved thinking about her and her sister, a year behind in nursing school. She was thinking about studying midwifery in England. England, for God’s sakes! Fear tore through DeeAnn’s body. What if she went to England and something happened to her, like it did with Marina and Esmeralda? How would she know? Suddenly, Beatrice’s busybody-ness—finding the girls’ family—made sense. It wouldn’t take away their pain and confusion, but it might provide some comfort.
DeeAnn sifted through the memories of Hathaway Transatlantic. Things were pretty fuzzy. It was the damn drugs. She could not think clearly; she was still in pain. Why did she have to choose between pain and more pills? Couldn’t anybody help her?
Chapter 22
“Sit down, please,” Sheriff Bixby said to Annie. “What can I help you with?”
The sheriff’s office was nice, clean, and warm with plants in the room and pictures of flowers on the wall. Sheriffs were very different from police officers. They se
rved at the will of the people. It was important that their constituency like them.
Is that why Sheriff Bixby is so polite? Annie wondered. “I’m writing about the Martelino sisters. I’m here because Marina was found in your jurisdiction and I have some questions.”
“Fire away. Hasn’t been a murder in the county since 2001 and that was a crime of passion, a domestic dispute. It’s rare for us to have a homicide.”
“Were you the sheriff back in 2001?”
“I’ve been the sheriff for twenty-six years. I’m proud to serve the people of Albamont County.” Sheriff Bixby tapped his fingers on his desk, keeping time to some unknown tune in his head.
“Do you know Pamela Kraft and her husband well?”
“No, they run in different circles.” He grinned and stopped tapping.
“But she is on the up and up?” Annie persisted.
“What do you mean? Permits and so forth?” Sheriff Bixby asked, leaning forward, reaching for a pencil.
Annie nodded.
“As far as I know, she’s as legit as it gets,” he said, tapping the pencil. The man just couldn’t sit still.
“Isn’t it odd that she has so many foreigners working for her?”
“I’ll grant you, that is strange. But she’s a good businesswoman. I reckon she knows what she’s doing.”
“What do you know about the rumor that there are gangs in Cumberland Creek?”
The sheriff stiffened. “Not my jurisdiction. You have to talk to the police about that.”
“I find it hard to believe myself, but I was over at Druid where new apartments are and I was threatened. So I went to the cops and they told me not to go there alone.”
“I’d take that advice if I were you,” he said.
“But if the Martelino sisters were killed over some gang dispute—”
“Now, hold on. Nobody said anything about that.” He had finally stopped tapping.
“I’m sorry. I’m just thinking out loud. Here’s what we know. Two sisters were killed within twenty-four hours of one another. They lived in an apartment complex, which is evidently the hub of gang activity. Do you follow me?” Annie said, cocking an eyebrow.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair, placed his hand behind his head and then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if to say shame on you. Annie found it hard to look him in the eye—his mustache was distracting.
“First of all, it seems to make sense that the murders were related,” Annie went on. “And second of all, if they were involved in these gangs—”
“They were not involved in gangs,” he finally said. “They were two young women wanting to work and start a new life. That’s all.”
“Are you certain?” Annie asked.
“Look, you’re making all sorts of assumptions here. Not everybody at those apartments are gang members. Just because they were poor immigrants doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”
Annie’s face reddened. “That’s not what—”
“There’s plenty of decent families living over there. A few bad apples—”
“I think if this was a gang-related incident, people should know. The people need to know what’s going on in their community.”
“Is that all?” Sheriff Bixby said, annoyed. “Is that all, as far as your questions go?” His pleasant demeanor had vanished.
“No,” Annie said. “I promised some of the women in Cumberland Creek that I’d get the address of the Martelino family in Mexico so that they can send their condolences. Do you have any information?”
“We’re working on it, but as far as I know they had no family,” said Sheriff Bixby.
“I imagine the process is convoluted.”
“At best.” Sheriff Bixby’s buzzing phone interrupted the conversation. “Just a minute. I have to take this.” He picked up the phone and began talking.
Annie busied herself looking around his office. The man had a lot of photos of himself with other officials. Interesting. And very different from a police officer’s office.
Sheriff Bixby cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way.” His face was white as he hung up the phone. “Ms. Chamovitz, I’m sorry. I need to get going.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m sorry. I need to go,” he repeated and stood. Reaching out his hand to Annie’s, he shook it then quickly ushered her out the door.
Chapter 23
Beatrice punched the company name Hathaway Transatlantic Employment into the search engine. It had a nice Web site, very sophisticated. But what she wanted was a phone number. Aha—there it was. She grabbed her phone and dialed.
“What are you doing?” Jon said and Bea shushed him. He stood nearby with his hands on his hips.
“Transatlantic Employment, this is Linda Smoke. How can I help you?” the pleasant voice said on the other end of the phone.
“Yes, my name is Beatrice Matthews Chevalier and I live in Cumberland Creek, Virginia. One of your workers was recently killed here. Her name was Marina Martelino. There’s a group of us in town that would like to send condolences to her family. Is that possible?” Beatrice asked.
“What are you asking? For an address?” Linda said.
“Yes, I’d like the address of her parents.” Parents that have lost two daughters here in Virginia, where they were sent to work to send home money to help out the family. Beatrice’s stomach tightened.
“One moment please,” Linda said.
Jon gave up his stance and sat down on the couch next to Beatrice. Weird 1970s music played over the phone as the minutes ticked away.
“Mrs. Chevalier?” Linda Smoke interrupted the groovy music.
“Yes, I’m still here,” Beatrice said.
“I’m sorry. I can’t find any records for Ms. Martelino.”
“What?”
“Maybe they have been misplaced. Or—are you certain you have the right agency?”
“Yes, yes, I’m certain.” Beatrice was trying not to show her impatience.
“May I take your phone number and get back to you? I’ll continue to search when I can,” Linda said.
“Mighty nice of you,” Beatrice said and then gave her phone number. “Now, are you in Mexico?”
“No, Ma’am. The agency is housed in China.”
“Well, I do thank you for your help. Folks here just want to reach out to the family.” Bea was tempted to add and I can’t believe how difficult this is.
“Kind of you,” Linda Smoke said.
After Beatrice hung up the phone, Jon said, “No address?”
“Marina’s files have been misplaced,” Beatrice said.
“I smell something—how you say?—fishy,” Jon said. “Misplaced files? Everything is on the computer these days. I don’t understand.”
“Maybe not in China,” Beatrice said.
“But an international employment agency, surely,” Jon said.
Beatrice thought a moment. “You’re right. Why would she not want to give me the information? I’ll call back and find out.”
Beatrice dialed the number. No answer. None. The phone rang and rang. She slammed the phone down. “All I wanted to do is send my condolences, but this is a bit much. You’d think I was asking for the moon.”
“No answer?” he said. “Maybe it’s nighttime there and the woman has gone home for the day. Let’s try again tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me,” Beatrice said.
Beatrice’s phone rang. It was Mike Chamovitz.
“Sorry to bother you, Beatrice,” Mike said, “but Annie is out on a story and I’ve gotten a call from a client who’s in town and wants to meet for coffee. I can tell her no, but it would be a good thing if I could tell her yes. The boys are in bed. I’d really appreciate it if you could stay here until Annie or I can get back home.”
“A client this time of the evening?” Beatrice asked. Mike was a pharmaceutical sales rep.
“Very unusual,” he agreed.
“Well, of course
I’ll be there. But where’s Annie?”
“She had a meeting with the sheriff and something came up,” Mike replied.
“The Martelino case?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But duty calls,” Mike said. “See you in a few?”
“Of course,” Beatrice replied.
“What is it?” Jon asked, leaning in toward her.
“I’m going over to watch Annie’s boys,” Beatrice said, getting up from the couch. She found her purse and keys. Jon was on her heels.
She frowned. “What are you doing? You almost knocked right into me.”
“Sorry, but I’m coming with you, of course.”
She reached over and touched his cheek. “Thank you, Jon.”
On the walk over to Annie’s house, they were quiet. They walked past the Jensens’ yard decorated with dancing but ghoulish ghosts, backlit, providing an eerie ambience. Their new neighbors had decorated with huge mock spiderwebs in their tree and big furry spiders strategically placed. Another neighbor had made a fresh-looking grave and headstones with bloody hands reaching out from the ground. Beatrice had thought she was in the Halloween spirit by carving a few jack-o-lanterns to sit on her front porch.
As Beatrice and Jon walked along, there was not much to say as the chilly autumn night circled them. Half a moon hung in the sky and stars twinkled at them. Beatrice’s old heart hung heavy. She couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation and fear, even as she reached for her husband’s hand.
Chapter 24
DeeAnn’s day began the same as any other day since she’d hurt her back—except that she left the house. She visited the doctor, who said she needed to start physical therapy.
She was able to get around with a walker and sit up. The doctor gave her different pain medication that worked with a lower dosage. She didn’t feel as high from them.
The week dragged on with visits from Karen, Bea, and Sheila. Paige was exhausted from all of the testing going on at the school, but she texted DeeAnn every day.
Saturday night, the crop had once again been moved to DeeAnn’s place and she sat propped up on the recliner in a much better frame of mind—except for the one thing everybody was worried about, that everybody had been talking about. The murder of the sisters.
Scrapbook of the Dead Page 8
