Scrapbook of the Dead

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “I will,” Annie said.

  “Have you been back to the apartments?” Bryant asked.

  “Not since the day I saw you there. I haven’t seen any evidence of gangs, Adam.”

  “What do you think a gang looks like?” he asked in a patronizing tone.

  “Not like the group of middle-aged guys standing around in the parking lot,” Annie answered quickly.

  “You need to adjust your vision. Don’t trust just anybody.”

  “I don’t. But the only time I’ve felt threatened over there is by the manager of the place. And I haven’t seen him since that day at the grocery store.”

  Bryant looked at her with his head tilted and eyebrows hitched. “Be careful, Annie. Gang members come in all shapes, ages, sizes . . . and genders.”

  “Were the sisters involved with a gang?” she asked again. She was certain she’d asked that question a million times or more.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Their deaths seem linked and personal and, well, I have to say it’s just not making any sense to me. I can’t figure out what the motive would be for killing two young women who mostly kept to themselves, worked hard, liked to get together with friends and scrapbook. I just don’t know!” She flung her arms out.

  “Most murders are linked to drugs these days,” Bryant said. “Once you rule that out, it gets murkier.”

  His office door opened. A uniformed officer entered the room and handed him a file.

  “Thanks,” Bryant said, accepting the file.

  “So are you saying their deaths had nothing to do with drugs?” Annie asked as the officer left the room.

  “I think we can safely rule that out,” Bryant replied.

  “The other motive for murder is passion,” Annie said almost to herself. “Money. Secrets they may have stumbled on.”

  Adam looked up from his files quickly, blinked, then looked away.

  Something caught in Annie’s chest. The young women had stumbled upon someone’s secret. Bryant must be on the trail of that secret. And it was a big one. The momentary look in his eyes, the lifting of his chin at that precise moment told her that.

  “Annie, leave the sleuthing up to us, and I promise we’ll let you know once we find out something.”

  If only she could believe that. If she left it up to him, she’d never get the story.

  Chapter 55

  “Can I come in?” Sheriff Bixby asked Beatrice.

  When she had opened the door, Bea was so shocked to see him that she had forgotten her manners. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sheriff. Please come in.” She led him into the living room and gestured for him to sit on the couch.

  As he sat, he let out a huge sigh. “Now, Ms. Matthews, I’m a little concerned about Emma.”

  “What? Why?” she said, sitting down next to him.

  “I’m going to be straight with you,” Sheriff Bixby said. “I hate to get you involved in family business, but it concerned me that she thought I was threatening her.”

  Beatrice sat back against the cushion. “It concerned me, too.”

  “I was talking with her about her will, you see. Now, it’s not what you’re thinking. I can assure you.”

  “Humph.”

  “My wife and I have never been in her will, and we are fine with that. We do okay, Ms. Matthews. We’re not too concerned about that old house and property of hers. Besides which, it’s kind of a delicate matter. I hated to bring it up to her.”

  “I imagine.”

  “For years, the place was to be left to Michelle.”

  “As it should be,” Beatrice chimed in.

  “Indeed,” the sheriff said. “I agree.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Recently Emma’s will was changed.”

  “You mean Michelle isn’t going to get the place?” Beatrice said. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “No, no. Not that exactly. But another person has been added. You know Michelle is alone. No man in her life. No kids. So, someone was added in case something happened to Michelle, right?”

  “Oh I see. Well, that makes sense. Emma doesn’t want the Kraft Corporation to get their hands on the place.” Beatrice thought about asking who the new beneficiary was, but she didn’t want to pry.

  “Neither do I,” he said firmly.

  That surprised Beatrice. She found herself liking the man as he continued to talk.

  “The minute they purchased the other parcel, they had a construction crew over there. It was some of the prettiest land. All those apple trees, gone.”

  “I hear you. It was pretty. Old, too. One of the first orchards in the state,” Beatrice told him. “It’s hard to see that happen. I was walking around over there and barely recognized the landscape. I used to know it so well.” She sighed. “Time marches on. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Thanks, Ms. Matthews, but I’m fine. I just want to be clear with you. I never intended to upset Emma. That bothered me, you see.”

  “Well, now, I’m glad you came over to straighten it out. I can see where Emma might have misunderstood the conversation.”

  “The family sent me over to talk to her. I told them it wasn’t a good idea. I think she’s intimidated by me.”

  “Why would she be intimidated by you?”

  “Not just me, Ms. Matthews, but most men.” He looked away.

  “You know then,” Bea said softly. “You know how she was beaten.”

  He nodded. “We all do, now.”

  “I knew it back then,” Bea said, her voice suddenly quivering. “And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”

  “In those days, there weren’t any social services, no Oprah Winfreys, either. I can’t imagine what she went through.”

  “I should have done something.” It was a confession Bea felt deep in her bones and in the center of her chest.

  “You did, didn’t you? At least that’s how the story goes. You stood up for her.”

  Bea nodded. “I did. But then I didn’t see her again for forty years.” Suddenly Beatrice’s old heart felt like it was splitting wide open. She clutched her chest and tried not to cry. Old fool, she told herself. I am an old fool.

  “Are you okay?” Sheriff Bixby asked.

  She waved her hand. “Oh, I’m fine. Just thinking about all the time that’s gone by. How I missed her. Regrets. I’ve got plenty of them. But not reaching out to her sooner is at the top of my list.”

  “Thank your lucky stars you didn’t, Ms. Matthews,” Sheriff Bixby said in a somber tone. “I’m sure Paul would have killed you if you had.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why Emma never contacted you. She didn’t want him to hurt you.”

  “How do you know that?” Beatrice said incredulously.

  “My wife. She’s got plenty of stories about the family. But that’s something everybody agrees to. Paul threatened to kill you on more than one occasion. Ms. Emma had no choice but to turn her back on your friendship. That’s what we figure.”

  Beatrice didn’t know what to think. It felt a mite too personal for her taste. How could he know such things? Family. She knew enough about family tales to know that sometimes there was a glimmer of truth to them.

  She remembered that Emma had said she killed Paul. Bea was just now starting to believe it.

  Chapter 56

  DeeAnn always looked forward to Halloween. She loved baking Halloween goodies—maybe even more than Christmas goodies.

  Some years, she planned themes for Halloween. Last year’s Harry Potter was probably the best, and it was so successful that they were offering it again this year—butter beer cookies, wizard hat cupcakes, mini-treacle tarts, Hedwig cookies, peppermint humbugs, and so on. According to Jill, who called her with an update every day, things were going smoothly at the bakery.

  DeeAnn was grateful that she was up and about, even if it was just for short periods of time. She still couldn’t drive and she still couldn’t work. It was diff
icult to be patient with herself.

  She flipped off the TV and sighed. It was the day before Halloween and she was bored. Karen was at work and Tracy was still asleep upstairs.

  DeeAnn was certain that Tracy had come home to make sure she didn’t become a painkiller addict. The thought of that made DeeAnn giggle. Her, an addict! Women like her did not become drug addicts. Her daughters were being overprotective.

  Her doorbell rang and it startled her. She wasn’t expecting anybody.

  She opened the door and there stood Christopher Hathaway from Hathaway Transatlantic.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  Her first thought was to say no, but she shrugged off her instinct. “Of course. I’m just a little surprised to see you, but please do come in.”

  “I’m sorry to barge in like this,” he said, following her to the living room. “It’s very rare that I’m in the area so I thought I’d take the chance to talk with you a bit.”

  DeeAnn sat down, not waiting until he sat, as her back was feeling prickly.

  Finally he also sat down. “I was just over at your bakery. It’s lovely. And you have a bustling business.” His voice had a patronizing tone.

  She smiled. “It’s because it’s Halloween.”

  “I think I can help you out. Help you earn more money.”

  “Really? How?”

  “By helping you hire some very hard working Mexicans.”

  DeeAnn took a deep breath. She was going to have to lay it on the line with him. It was no good trying to be polite with some people—they just didn’t get it. “I don’t think I’m interested in your services. I’m very happy with the people I have working for me now.”

  “All of them?”

  “Absolutely, even the vegan baker. She’s done a great job.”

  “You’re overpaying them. You should be keeping more of your profit.”

  “I do okay. I don’t see any reason to not pay them well.”

  He leaned in closer to her, which made her very uncomfortable. “I’m trying to get you to see the big picture.”

  “Mr. Hathaway, how do you know that I don’t see the big picture? I’ve had this business for years and have always paid my employees well. It’s about respect. If it doesn’t work out, then I let them go. It’s that simple. But I have good folks working for me and I treat them well. Sounds like a sound business principle to me.”

  Mr. Hathaway rolled his eyes.

  “Did you just roll your eyes at me?” DeeAnn said, trying not to raise her voice. “Please leave my home.”

  “Mom?” Tracy came down the stairs. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,” Mr. Hathaway said, looking deflated.

  “It’s fine,” DeeAnn said to Tracy. “I was just showing Mr. Hathaway to the door.”

  But he remained seated. “I’m not a very good salesperson, am I?”

  “How do I know?” DeeAnn said. “I’m simply not interested in your services. You can’t get blood from a turnip.”

  He smiled. “True enough. Well, I think I need to start thinking about a new job. My daddy is going to fire me over this.”

  “Over this?” DeeAnn said, surprised.

  “You’re not the only person to reject me. I haven’t gotten any new clients in years and well”—he shrugged—“I think Hathaway Transatlantic might be on its last legs.” Suddenly all of his swagger was gone. He looked bereft.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Water?” DeeAnn asked, feeling sorry for him.

  He nodded. “I’d love a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll get it, Mom. Stay where you are,” Tracy ordered.

  While Tracy was in the kitchen Mr. Hathaway continued. “It’s kind of sad. My dad started the business with the best of intentions. But things have changed so much and gotten out of hand in some cases.”

  “What do you mean?” DeeAnn asked, finally showing some interest.

  “Well, it’s getting harder and harder to police all of our business. The people on the ground, the sponsors and so on. So many of them . . . well, we caught one running drugs. Another had a prostitution ring. That’s not what my daddy had in mind.”

  “Maybe you need to pull back,” DeeAnn offered.

  Tracy came into the room with two steaming cups of coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she asked as she set the cups down on the table.

  “Nothing for me,” Mr. Hathaway said to Tracy. Then to DeeAnn he asked, “What do you mean, pull back?”

  “Get back to the company’s original mission. Close some of your offices. Gather your forces, your good guys, get rid of everybody else. Clean house.”

  His eyes widened. “DeeAnn Fields, you are brilliant.”

  “Well, now. Thanks for that.”

  “I guess I knew it already. I just needed to hear someone else say it.”

  DeeAnn sipped from her coffee. “What do you know about the Martelino sisters? Do you think their deaths had anything to do with the company?”

  Mr. Hathaway shook his head. “At first, I thought they might, given the trouble we’ve been having. But, no, the operations here are clean. Those girls were good people. Their friends and employers all check out.”

  “Except their parents are in prison,” DeeAnn said.

  “I maintain they were set up,” he said. “It happens. We’re trying to help. We’ve hired a very good lawyer. Maybe they’ll be out soon.”

  “Humph. So if none of Hathaway’s folks had anything to do with the Martelino murders, who did?”

  Mr. Hathaway was silent for a moment before speaking. “What we’ve found in terms of crime and our immigrant workers is that most of the time—not all of the time—it’s their intermediaries or sponsors that are taking advantage of them and getting them involved in illegal activities.”

  “Who would that be in the Martelino case? I know they weren’t involved in anything shady—or at least not as far as we’ve been able to find. Who was their sponsor?”

  “Pamela Kraft and the Kraft Corporation.”

  Chapter 57

  “I know,” Annie said to DeeAnn over the phone. “It does seem suspicious. I mean, the Krafts own half of Cumberland Creek from what I can tell.”

  “I don’t dislike Pamela. I find it hard to believe she’d be involved in any kind of shenanigans, let alone murder,” DeeAnn said.

  “And I have to say, she seemed as if she genuinely liked Marina. She was grieving. But her husband might be another matter.” Annie made a mental note to check him out further. On the face of things, he appeared legit—but she hadn’t scratched past the surface yet.

  “I wouldn’t know him if I tripped over him. He keeps a low profile for a wealthy guy, I have to say. Have you checked out Hathaway?”

  “Yes, and everything he told you is right on the money. They’ve been sinking for quite some time. They need to do a lot of policing to clean up their reputation. Well, I have to run. I’m going to Irina’s crop again tonight.”

  “Are you going to keep going to both crops?” DeeAnn asked.

  “Maybe for a while, until I figure some things out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Mike had taken the boys out for the evening, for pizza and some last minute costume purchases, so Annie was on her own.

  She sometimes didn’t know what to do with herself when by herself—which was odd since she spent most of every day alone. It was different, she supposed when she was alone during the day because she was working. When she had free time, she felt a bit like a caged animal let loose, having to decide what to do first.

  But tonight she had an agenda.

  As she pulled into the driveway of the Drummond house, she noticed that something was different. There were more and brighter lights coming from the windows and all of the drapes were pulled back.

  She walked up the crumbling sidewalk and rapped on the door.

  Irina answered, welcoming her warmly. “Hi, Annie, please come in.”

  Annie rolled her scrapbook case in behind
her and felt as if she had entered a jewelry box glowing with rich colors—fuchsia, crimson, purple, emerald green, ocean blue. Festive lights were strung across the room, and tables overflowed with colorful items. Papier-mâché sugar skulls were hanging from the center light fixture in the hallway.

  “What’s this?” Annie said, approaching one of the tables. In the center was a huge framed photograph of Esmeralda and Marina and surrounding them were lit candles and sugar skulls in a variety of forms—cookies, candy, cupcakes. They were so lovely, Annie could hardly believe that the detailed designs were on replicas of human skulls.

  “Today is the Day of the Dead,” Irina said. “We remember our departed loved ones on this day.”

  “Oh yes!” Annie said. How could she have forgotten? She used to have a friend in college who celebrated. “It’s just gorgeous!”

  “Well, you know how I love to make things nice and pretty,” Irina said.

  A number of the women were already scrapbooking, so Annie claimed her spot next to Rosa. She smiled at her. “How are you?”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m working on this book for my boss’ daughter. It’s kind of hard making a scrapbook for someone else. She just turned sixteen and they had this huge party. This is my gift to her.”

  “Ah,” Annie said. “I love the way you cut that photo into a star shape. Did you do that by hand?”

  Rosa laughed. “No. I used this.” She held up a template.

  “Exactly what I would do. I’m going to get some food and then I’ll be right back.” Annie didn’t know anybody that could cut a photo into a perfect star like that, except maybe Sheila. Templates helped a lot.

  As she turned toward the food table, she ran smack into Jorge.

  “I’m sorry!” he said awkwardly.

  “Jorge!” his aunt Irina said with a harsh edge to her voice that frightened even Annie. “What the hell are you doing with the pretty white lady?” She said it in Spanish. Evidently she didn’t know that Annie also knew Spanish.

  “It’s okay,” Annie managed to say. “I ran into him.”

  “So sorry, Annie,” he said, and with his head bent low he left the room.