The only thing Annie could hear was animal sounds—the owl again, night birds—and she thought she smelled something like smoke. Was it smoke?
DeeAnn still held her finger up to her mouth. Sheila looked at Annie, wide-eyed, wild haired.
First, Annie heard the soft thump of a foot on the ground, then the definite rattling of rocks sliding around underfoot, then the voices. Definitely male. Definitely coming closer. From the same direction in which they were heading. The hair on the back of Annie’s neck stood at attention. Maybe Annie’s clumsiness and aching knees had saved the day. Maybe. But these men, now just visible, coming down the hillside, dark figures outlined in the simple lines of Mennonite hats and coats, were heading straight for the van if they kept on the same path. Shit. Now what?
The men stopped a few feet from the boulder.
“I can’t believe how well the calcite boulders are working,” one man said. “I mean, you hear about these theories, but to see it working like that? Unbelievable.”
“I just wish we could’ve gotten this side of the caves done before all the sacrifices were made and the law came up here. I hated that we had to do that.”
Sacrifices? Did Annie hear that right?
She looked at DeeAnn’s wide eyes, noting that the rest of her face was wrapped in a green wool scarf, her eyebrows lifted, holding back panic. The men were heading down the path. They didn’t speak as they went by the women crouched behind the boulder. Annie didn’t breathe. DeeAnn didn’t move. Sheila was biting her lip. It was as if time stood still. Each of them was thinking the worst and afraid to make a move.
DeeAnn whispered, “They are definitely not cops.”
“No,” Sheila said.
Annie had tried to get a good look at the men’s faces, but it was too dark—even with the moonlight so bright. The trees all cast long, menacing shadows, and the men were dressed in black, with hats on their heads. Too shadowy. It seemed like they were not far from where the police actually were. How could these men be so close and not be found by them? What were the calcite boulders they were talking about?
Annie turned and leaned back quietly on the boulder. Her knees were killing her.
“What are we going to do?” DeeAnn said.
Annie thought a moment. “We are going to have to follow them back down the hill. They are heading for the van. Who knows what they will do if they see Vera and Paige?”
“If they can actually see,” Sheila said, pointing to the clouds moving across the moon. A gentle breeze was circling and shaking the leaves on the trees. Leaves scattered around them.
DeeAnn stood up and offered Annie her hand. “Let’s go,” she said, pulling Annie to her feet.
Annie marveled at DeeAnn’s strength. Bakers and their arm strength, Annie mused.
Sheila was already up, with her hands on her hips.
They walked as slowly and as carefully as they could, mindful of the noise level. The wind blowing around leaves helped. Annie tightened her scarf around her neck and buttoned her hood for more warmth. Was it getting colder, or hadn’t she noticed the mountain chill before?
Annie had learned a few tricks over the years to keep her mind calm and cool and thus prevent herself from panicking. She took some deep breaths and looked around. So many of the trees had already shed their leaves that twisted branches were all that she could see as she headed down the path. Such interesting shapes, too. A nearly perfect five-pointed star. A pointy witch’s hat. The outline of a bird.
All of a sudden, DeeAnn’s arm snapped in front of Annie as she heard a loud sound, like a rocket or a single firework, and something stung her and rippled through her back. Sheila flew off to the side of the path and into a bush as Annie’s body lurched forward onto DeeAnn, who cast her off like she was nothing more than a kitten. Annie, lying facedown in the dirt, waves of searing pain moving through her back, tried to lift her head but could twist it only far enough to see, through blurring, heavy eyes, DeeAnn knocking someone to the ground. What was going on?
Don’t pass out, Annie told herself. Don’t pass out. You need to write about this.
Chapter 54
It was 4:00 a.m. when Beatrice’s phone rang.
“This better be good,” she said into the phone.
“Mama,” Vera’s raspy, tired voice said. “I’m in jail.”
Beatrice sat straight up in bed. “What?”
“Bill’s not answering his house phone or his cell phone. He needs to come down here to the jail.”
“He’s here,” Beatrice said. “I’ll get him up. We’ll both be there.”
“No, you need to stay with Lizzie. Please.”
Beatrice could hear voices in the background.
“All right, all right,” Vera said haughtily. “I’m getting off the phone.”
“What on earth?” Beatrice said.
“It’s DeeAnn, Sheila, and Paige. They need to call their husbands, and these police are just the most impolite group of people I’ve ever seen. Obstruction of justice, my hind end,” Vera said.
“Where’s the fifth musketeer?” Beatrice suddenly wondered out loud.
“Oh, Mama. She was shot. She’s in the hospital.” Vera’s voice cracked. “They won’t tell us a thing.”
“Shot?” Beatrice said. “Annie was shot? What nonsense were you into tonight?”
“I have to go. Bye.” Click.
Beatrice struggled to get her old body out from the tangle of blankets. She reached for her robe. Never thought she’d see the day that she’d be waking up her ex-son-in-law to go bail her daughter out of jail. Obstruction of justice? So, that was why they’d all left the crop. They were out messing around with the investigation. Good for them. The police didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. But then again, apparently, neither were they.
Bill awakened quickly and was out the door before she knew it.
“Now, don’t dawdle,” she yelled after him. “I need to get over to the hospital and see Annie.”
He turned and looked at her. “What?”
“Annie was shot,” Beatrice told him.
“What were they all doing last night?” He flung his arms out in exasperation.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said and shut the door to keep the cold air from getting into the house.
She walked into her kitchen and went straight for the coffeepot. After she wrestled with it and got the coffee brewing, she sat at the table. There was Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows, with its shiny metallic cover gleaming in the dim light. Damned thing. Now Beatrice had to figure out how to get it to the mountain, to the cave, to the exact rock—the diamond-shaped rock inside the first passage.
She still considered Cookie’s story. Wasn’t sure she believed it. But just in case, she’d do her part. In the meantime, she remembered she had some egg custard pie in the fridge and decided to finish it off. Fortification and comfort all in one smooth, sweet, creamy pie.
She knew she had a hell of a day in front of her. Her daughter was in jail. Annie was in the hospital, and her nephew was coming to pick her up around noon. She’d called her cousin Rose to ask her to help her out with the scrapbook. Rose never came off the mountain, but her sons did, and one of them would happily come and get her for a visit. She’d packed her bags before going to bed last night.
She could trust Rose. She’d promised Cookie that she wouldn’t tell anybody. She knew that Rose would help her and not ask many questions. After all, Beatrice had done the same for her. They were family. The bonds were long and deep.
By the time Bill came back, Lizzie had eaten her breakfast and was watching Sesame Street. Beatrice was pacing the floor when her daughter walked in. Of course, she went right to Elizabeth and loved her up.
“Mama, miss you,” Lizzie said. “Dad, miss you,” she said, lifting her arms to her father.
“Want to go in the backyard and swing?” he said.
She squealed in delight.
“There’s some muffins on the table,” Bea
trice told her daughter. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for staying with Lizzie,” Vera said and wandered into the kitchen. “Thank God you’ve got coffee.”
“Of course,” Beatrice said. “Have a cheese muffin. Want me to make you some eggs?”
Vera sat at the table and drank her coffee, reached for a muffin. “Mama, what’s that doing here?”
“I wanted to look at it,” she replied. “Now, what happened last night?”
Vera told her mother what she knew. “Paige and I were sitting in the car, and we heard the shot. We took off up the path and ran smack into Zeb and Luther. The next thing we knew, the cops were there—”
“Where?” Beatrice asked.
“They followed us.”
“What about Annie?” Beatrice said.
“I called the hospital on the way home, and she’s in critical but stable condition. Some man shot her. Nobody knows who he is. Not Zeb. Not Luther. But they do have him.”
“How did they get him?”
“DeeAnn strong-armed him, knocked him down, and he hit his head on a rock.”
Beatrice couldn’t help but smile at the thought of sweet, round-faced DeeAnn pushing the shooter to the ground. Well, if that don’t beat all.
Chapter 55
Vera canceled all the classes at the studio for the next day. Damn. She hated doing that, but her assistant was on vacation, of all weeks. But she could barely crawl up the stairs to bed at her mother’s house—she was certain she couldn’t teach dance.
“Where are you going?” Beatrice said.
“To bed. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m leaving at three. Who will stay with Elizabeth?”
“I’ll go into the office and wrap up some things. I can be back by then,” Bill said.
“Make sure you are. I have plans,” Beatrice said.
“Where are you going?” Vera said.
“I’m going to spend a few days with your—”
The doorbell interrupted her.
Vera wondered if she’d make it up the stairs—and if she did, if she’d actually be able to sleep. She turned around and started to go back down the stairs, just in time to see her mother open the door and clutch her chest.
“Jon!” Beatrice exclaimed.
What? Who was Jon? She rushed toward Beatrice to see a striking silver-haired man standing in the doorway, dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit, suitcase beside him, flowers in his hand. He reached out for Beatrice; then they kissed each other like Europeans, once on each cheek.
“Jon! I can’t believe you’re here. What a surprise,” Beatrice said, pushing Vera out of the way as she led him into the living room.
“Bill, can you get Jon’s bag?”
Bill had Elizabeth on his hip, and both he and Vera looked bemused as they stood looking at this dapper gentleman holding Beatrice’s hand as she led him to the couch.
What on earth was going on here?
Lizzie slid down her father’s body, and he went to get the bag and she went to her grandmother’s side.
“This is Lizzie,” Beatrice said, introducing them. “Lizzie, this is Jon, a friend of mine from Paris.”
“Hi,” she said shyly.
“Pleased to meet you, mademoiselle. Your grandmama has told me so much about you,” he said with a slight French accent.
Lizzie buried her face in her grandmother.
Vera cleared her throat.
“Oh,” Beatrice said, as if she just remembered her grown daughter was in the room with her. “This is Vera, my daughter.”
Vera came forward to where Jon stood, placed her hand in his, and shook it.
“Very nice to meet you. The dancer, yes?” he said.
His smile spread across his attractive face. High cheekbones. Lovely olive complexion and soft, heavy-lidded brown eyes that sparkled as they met with Vera’s. So this was why her mother never talked about Paris.
Vera nodded, unsure if she could actually speak to this charismatic man, who was obviously as taken with Beatrice as she was with him. She’d never seen her mother glow like this.
“This is Bill,” Beatrice said.
Bill stretched his arm across and shook his hand.
“The husband,” Jon said.
“Ex,” Beatrice said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jon said.
“What are you doing here, Jon?” Beatrice said, delighted, after he sat down.
“I wanted to surprise you!”
“Well, you have,” Beatrice said and sat down.
“Besides, I was a little concerned that I’d not heard back from you.”
Vera sat in the closest chair she could find. She could sleep later.
“I’m sorry, Jon. I’ve a very busy life. And lately, it’s worse than ever. We’ve had a series of murders in town, and it’s pretty crazy.”
“Murders?”
“Nobody we know, yet, but a friend of ours is a suspect. We’ve been trying to prove her innocence.”
“I see. So busy that you can’t e-mail me?” he said, smiling.
Vera watched her mother awkwardly finger the button on her sweater.
“Look, Jon, do you think I sit around on the computer all the time? Besides, I have gotten back to you . . . once, I think. Right?” Beatrice squirmed a bit on the couch, wrapping her arm around the unusually still child sitting next to her.
“Yes, once.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I’m here now, and I’ve a room over at the Blackberry Inn.”
“I’ve got a room here you can have,” Beatrice said.
Vera sank back into her chair.
“Stay here. There’s plenty of room,” Bill said.
Vera shot him a look of reproach.
“I insist,” Beatrice said. “After all, I stayed at your place in Paris, and it was so nice.”
Surely not, thought Vera.
“Well, okay,” he said.
“Great! But there’s one problem,” Beatrice said. “I have plans to be out of town until tomorrow. Will you be all right alone?”
He sighed and looked at Bill and Vera. “I’ve come all the way from Paris, and this woman, she still makes me wait for her.”
Chapter 56
Annie vaguely remembered the bumpy ambulance ride. Good thing there was already an ambulance close by. Mostly, she remembered wanting to sleep and the paramedics asking questions over and over again: What’s your name? What’s your birth date? Do you have any children? What are their names? Ages? Turned out that was a technique to keep her awake—because not only had she been shot, but she had also suffered a concussion from DeeAnn and Sheila trying to pick her up and get her to the van, then stumbling over themselves and dropping her. Annie was glad she didn’t remember that at all. But it was a weird feeling to have only spots of memory about an incident. She hadn’t even realized she was shot until she was in the ambulance.
“No,” she’d managed to say. “Not shot. I just . . . just . . . fell down . . . again.”
The paramedic had laughed. “No, honey. You were shot in the back.”
Mike was asleep in the chair beside her when she opened her eyes. Where were the boys? She wanted to wake him. She reached for him and found she was heavy with wires and tubes. Her arm fell back down on the bed. Her eyes felt heavy, and she closed her lids to the murky depth of a fitful sleep, where she dreamed of giant Mennonites chasing rabbits and Hasidic Jews dancing around a bonfire. At first the heat drew her in. God, she was so cold. Then the firelight mesmerized her—the way it flickered and shapes would move around within the center of it. A bird. A witch’s hat. A star. But the light started to hurt.
“Annie?” Mike’s voice called out to her.
Where was he? She looked around the bonfire, didn’t see him.
“Annie!” he said, touching her.
She opened her eyes to the harsh light. She squinted.
“Does the light bother you?”
“Yes,” she managed to say with a dry mouth.
She watche
d him close the heavy curtains.
“Sweetie?” he said as he came back to her bedside. “How do you feel?”
“Thirsty.”
“You can have some ice,” he said, turning around and reaching into a bucket. “No water yet. You just came out of surgery, you know. They don’t want you getting sick.”
“Surgery?”
“Yes. They removed the bullet,” he said, then placed an ice cube in her mouth.
It felt so good, so cool and wet. Such a relief on her dry, thick tongue.
He smiled. “You know a lot of guys would never imagine saying that to their wives. I’ve imagined it a thousand million times.”
She chewed the ice, relished the feel of the cool little chunks sliding down her throat. “Sorry,” she said.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought moving here . . .”
“I know,” she said with a sinking feeling. “Where are the boys?”
“With Sheila today. They want to see you, but let’s, ah, give it one more day,” he said.
“What’s happened? I don’t remember much.”
“Everybody is safe, though your friends spent some time in jail,” he said.
Annie smiled. She couldn’t imagine.
Mike placed another ice cube in her mouth.
“The police had a couple of men at the station. The guy who shot you claims you were trespassing, so they let him go.” He rolled his eyes. “The police will be around soon enough to see if you want to press charges and all that. But I figure that’s hopeless. They are still questioning this Luther character, though, last I heard from Bill,” he said.
“Luther? But what about Zeb?”
“They questioned him and let him go.”
“What about Cookie?”
“Nothing. You can’t do anything but rest now,” he said. “So I wish you would.”
Man, her head hurt. She looked around the room and suddenly saw all the flowers.
“Flowers.”
“Yes. How about that?”
“Oh, look at those beautiful yellow roses,” she said.
“Yes, those are from Beatrice. She dropped them off on her way out of town.”
“What? Where’s she going?”
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