Detective Bryant shrank back into himself and drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, Mr. Chamovitz. We’re looking for Cookie Crandall.”
“Cookie?” Annie tried to sit up even farther in her bed, her hospital gown pulling on her. “What’s going on?”
“Cookie is gone,” the detective said.
“But I thought she was in jail,” Vera said, her heart racing.
Bryant nodded. “She was.”
“Then what are you talking about?” Vera said.
“She escaped from the jail,” he said reluctantly. “We thought she might be here.”
Vera’s mouth dropped open.
‘Well, now,” Sheila said with a grin. “How did she manage that?”
Annie went white. Unfortunately, the detective noticed it.
“What do you know?” he said.
“Excuse me,” Mike interrupted, “but I’ve about had enough of this. My wife has been in the hospital for two days. She knows nothing about where Cookie is.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chamovitz. But this is a serious matter. We have a murder suspect who has escaped from jail. Could you or your wife—or anybody in this room—be harboring a fugitive?” The detective placed his hands on his hips, revealing his gun and his badge perched on his belt.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while the officers looked in the hospital room’s empty closet, under the bed, in the bathroom.
Annie looked at Vera. “I’m sorry, Vera. But do you think . . .”
“What?”
“Do you think Beatrice knows anything about this?”
“What?” Vera said. “My mother? Oh no, I wouldn’t think so.” She shook her head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sheila offered.
“She loves Cookie. And Beatrice was the one visitor she would see. Remember?” Annie said.
“Why d-didn’t I think of that?” the detective stammered.
“Well,” said Sheila, “you’re obviously not as bright as Annie.”
Mike smirked. “Nobody I know is, Sheila.”
Vera stifled a giggle while watching the detective’s face turn all shades of red.
“C’mon guys. Let’s get over to Ivy Lane,” Detective Bryant muttered.
Annie, Mike, Sheila, and Vera sat quietly as they watched the police officers go. After they left, Vera reached into her purse for her cell phone. It was time for a call to Aunt Rose.
Chapter 59
Annie’s head was spinning, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was stuck in a hospital bed and couldn’t get up and go home on her own if she wanted to. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure that she did. She felt terrible. Even with all the pain meds. She still ached everywhere, not just her lower back. When she tried to move her arm, it felt like she was moving through heavy water. Her head throbbed, and her mouth felt cottony. And, worst of all, her brain was foggy.
Amid all the turmoil, pain, and confusion, she was getting weird vibes from her husband. He was ticked off. Sure, he was kind and considerate and he loved her. . . . She was lying in a hospital bed. But he had also let her know that he wasn’t happy that she was here. She never should have gone to the mountain—or at least she should have gone with the police. She knew that. So did her editor—also not happy.
She knew that Mike had grown tired of not having his wife around for days when they lived in D.C.—and of not knowing if she was safe. When they moved to Cumberland Creek, he thought that part of their lives was over. But Annie had gotten sucked into it again.
Nothing like a bullet in your back to shift your focus back to where it belongs. Actually, the bullet was more in her ass—thank God it was good and fleshy there, or else there might have been some damage to her actual spinal cord.
She sifted through the memories of the past few days and shuddered. They still had no idea who murdered Rebecca and Sarah. The police were combing the mountains looking for someone, but who? And would they ever find them in the vast and dense geography that was Jenkins Mountain? She had some murky memories surfacing. Words like sacrifice and calcite. Was she dreaming? Was she remembering?
She wished she could turn over on her stomach to sleep. She managed to roll over on her side and look at the pattern on the wallpaper.
“Would you like the TV on?” the nurse said as she entered the room.
“No,” Annie said.
The woman lifted Annie’s arm and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around it. Then she took her temperature. “Your temp has gone up. Let’s give you a little more Tylenol.”
Annie downed the pills and curled back into a ball on her side.
Could Beatrice have helped Cookie escape? Well, why not? Maybe she sneaked something into the cell. What? A key?
How did Cookie manage to get out of the building without anybody noticing? The courthouse and jail were right smack in the middle of town. How could she have left without anybody seeing? Was it at night? Early morning? Damn that Cookie. If she were innocent, why would she escape from jail?
Just then someone entered her room. She could feel a breeze, looked up and saw Hannah, Rebecca and Sarah’s friend, standing by her bed. A smile spread across her face.
“Your story is all over the paper,” Hannah said. “You’re going to be okay?”
Annie nodded. “I’m too rotten to die. And you?”
She nodded. “But he’s still out there somewhere, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I’m sorry,” Annie said.
“You are so . . . brave,” Hannah said and sat down on the chair next to Annie’s bed, reaching down to the floor for something. “I’m not sure I’d have gone to the mountain in the dark. And I live there.”
“Brave or stupid,” Annie muttered.
Hannah laughed, her face lighting up, beaming.
“You should do that more often. You’re so pretty when you smile,” Annie said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
“My parents are waiting for me in the hall. They thought it would be okay.”
“You can come and visit me anytime,” Annie said. “You don’t have to wait until I’m shot.”
“Lord willing, that won’t happen again,” Hannah said, suddenly serious. “You know, Rebecca was in the bakery late on the night she died,” she said with her voice lowered. “When I left at ten, she was still there. It wasn’t usual. She kept watching the clock, as if she were going to meet someone, and I caught her looking in the mirror a few times. I thought maybe she had a date.”
“Did you ask?”
“No. I wish I had. I was in a hurry to leave. She said she’d close, and I left,” she said.
“Thanks for telling me that,” Annie said.
“I have to go.” She stood and reached for Annie’s hand, held it firmly. “I’m going to pray for you.”
Usually, Annie would have some snarky remark about that. But Hannah was sincere—she believed what she was saying had meaning to Annie and that it was the best thing she could do for her. Goodness emanated from this young woman.
As she turned to go, the nurse walked in the room, followed by two friendly-looking men, obviously not from the area.
“Mrs. Chamovitz?” said the nurse.
“Yes?” Annie sat up more.
“These doctors are from Eastern Psychiatric Hospital. They want to chat with you.”
The nurse raised Annie’s bed.
“What? Why me?”
“Calm down,” the nurse said. “They’re not here to evaluate you.”
“Okay,” Annie said, looking over at the doctors as they approached her bed. “How can I help you?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Chamovitz. I’m Dr. Greenberg, and this is Dr. Stanley.” He pointed at the other doctor. “We, ah, sometimes work with the FBI on missing persons cases. And we received this e-mail today from the FBI.”
He handed her a sheet of paper.
FBI Alert
Wanted: Cookie Crandall
Underneath was a picture of Cookie.
“What do you think?
You know her, right?” Dr. Greenberg asked.
Annie didn’t know if it was the news or if she was just feeling worse, but her stomach lurched and waves of heat emanated from her skin. She could barely nod. Was it Cookie all along? Had Cookie murdered those young women and tried to murder that baby?
She should have known it—between her weird scrapbook and all the other coincidences.... Annie should have known it. No. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Cookie was not a murderer.
“We’ve just come from the jail and learned of her escape,” Dr. Stanley said. “It’s a pattern with her. She moves from town to town, gets into trouble, and escapes. She’s brilliant. But quite dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Cookie?” Annie said.
Dr. Stanley nodded. “Yes, she suffers from countless delusions. In lay terms, she has a split personality disorder, of sorts.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with her. I don’t understand it. If she was that sick, why wouldn’t I have picked up on it?” Annie said.
“Which personality did she use? The artist? The witch? The time traveler?” Dr. Greenberg asked.
The blur in Annie’s head was taking over.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling very well,” she said.
“Sure,” Dr. Greenberg said. “We’re sorry to bother you, but we’ve been here a few days already and we’re heading out of town tomorrow. We wondered if you had any idea where she could be.”
Beatrice, Annie thought, but shook her head no. Her head sank back into the pillow. She turned back to face the wall with its weird wallpaper. The patterns reminded her of those damned runes. Women who cause trouble. Beatrice had to know something about where Cookie had gone and how she got there. Annie was certain of it. But she was too damned tired to even speak.
Before she finally closed her eyes, one question formed in her mind: Did he say time traveler?
Annie dreamed of mountains and tunnels and caves. Runic patterns written into rock. Lights and shadows. Finally, Cookie, in what appeared to be the center of a cave, surrounded by beautiful waterfalls and rocks. She smiled at Annie, reached out and lifted Annie’s chin. Such a soft touch. Such a loving gesture. So much friendship and warmth.
How could Cookie have killed anybody? Was she mentally ill, like the doctors said? With these thoughts entering her dream world, Annie awoke with a start, surprised to find her face wet with tears.
Chapter 60
“There you are, Ms. Matthews,” a tired-looking Detective Bryant said as he entered the small room at the police station. “You’ve led us on quite a little merry goose chase today.”
“I did no such thing,” Beatrice said, trying not to smile.
After the police had left the hospital, they had gone to her home to question her. Of course, she wasn’t there. And after they waited around for a little while, they figured she was out and was not coming back. So, they called Vera to ask if she knew where her mother was. She told them she was visiting Rose. So the police went to Rose’s house—an hour away from Cumberland Creek proper. And by the time they got there, Beatrice was already back home, having a nice hot bath while Jon was taking a nap.
“So where is Cookie?” the detective said, sitting down on the chair across from her.
“I don’t know,” Beatrice said, looking at him in the eye. And it was true. She was amused to find that Cookie had escaped from jail. She had no idea if it had something to do with the scrapbook she’d placed on the rock or not. But she was gone. Apparently, she’d left her clothes behind—except for her robe. So, if she had slipped into some kind of time-travel tunnel, she was out there running around in her robe. And if she was out on the street somewhere? Beatrice shuddered to think of the possibility. “I’m kind of worried about her. I mean, they told me she doesn’t have clothes, just her robe. She could be anywhere. In trouble.”
He looked at her and squinted. “I think you know more than what you’re telling me.”
“Humph.”
“Ms. Matthews. This is a serious matter.”
“I know that.”
“Can you help me out here?”
“I can’t. I’ve told you that I don’t know where she is.”
“How did she get out?”
“How would I know that? I’ve not been in town, even.”
“You spoke with her the day before she escaped. And you were the only one she wanted to talk to.”
He had her there. But still, she had no idea where Cookie was—or how she’d gotten out. Beatrice took a sip from the paper cup that held her tea.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“Tell me what you talked about.”
“That was a personal conversation. Now, I’m losing my patience. Where’s my lawyer? I don’t need your badgering, young man.”
“Bill’s on his way,” he told her. Then he got up from his chair and left.
Beatrice took another sip from her tea. She was trying to contain herself. But she felt like bubbling over with the news of it. Of course, the only way Cookie could have “escaped” was if everything she’d said was true. The device within the scrapbook had worked and had allowed Cookie’s “magic” to work for her escape. Her “invisible” robe had helped. All this, coupled with Beatrice’s placement of the scrapbook in the cave, had provided an escape for Cookie. Somehow. That made Beatrice’s heart and mind race.
Her years of study on time and the possibilities of travel through time and space were not wasted flights of fancy.
Bill entered the room, looked at Beatrice, and shook his head.
“What’s going on, Beatrice?”
“They think I helped Cookie escape.”
“Did you?” he said, eyebrows lifted, hands on his hips.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said.
He sat down. “You talked to her the day before she escaped. Did she say anything?”
“Bill, what Cookie and I talked about . . . it was personal,” she said, tripping over her words. She was lying to Bill, her lawyer and her ex-son-in-law. For the first time a pang of anger shot through her. Cookie! She had placed Beatrice in an untenable position.
“I know you very well, Beatrice. If you’re not going to be honest with me, maybe you should hire another lawyer,” he said.
Beatrice squirmed in the seat. Of all the things she was, a liar did not top the list. Lying to the police and lying to her lawyer, even if he was just Bill, was serious business. But she certainly could not tell him the truth.
“I’m hungry,” she said at last. “You got anything to eat? One of those chocolate bars you carry around?”
He dug around in his jacket pocket, pulled out a chocolate bar, and handed it to her.
After fooling around with the wrapper and finally opening it, Beatrice took a bite and looked up at Bill, who was watching her intently. Well, there was nothing they could do to Cookie now. And most of them already thought she was a half-crazy old woman.
“Bill, the only thing I know is that Cookie asked me to take a book up to the caves in Jenkins Mountain. And I did that. When I came back, she was gone.”
“A book?”
“Yes. Her scrapbook. She called it her scrapbook of shadows.”
“What does that have to do with anything? Christ, Bea, you could be in a lot of trouble. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?”
“Just because I took a scrapbook up to the cave?”
“You didn’t bring anything in to Cookie?”
“No. Like what? A key? How would I get a card key?”
Bill stood up and paced the room. “I think the police are pretty certain she had one. They’ve been looking at the security tapes, and it looks like she, uh, just opened the door.”
“Looks like?”
“Actually, the film skipped. They see parts of it, but not her actually taking a card key and sliding it into the door. One minute she’s there, and the next, gone.”
“Interesting.”
“I’d say.”
“Some problem with those tapes, too,” he said.
Beatrice cackled. “Virginia’s finest.”
He nodded. “They’ve not brought charges against you yet, Bea. But I’m afraid they will. They are going to try to prove you helped her escape. This is quite an embarrassment to them. They need someone to pin it on. You know?”
“I’ll be damned if it’s going to be me,” she said, smacking her lips.
Chapter 61
Vera pulled into the police station parking lot. Honestly. These police have no manners. Why would they hold a soon-to-be eighty-two-year-old woman for questioning about Cookie’s escape?
Just then, through her rain-splattered windows, Vera saw a police car pull around the corner of the lot. It looked like it had a crowd in the backseat. Vera couldn’t resist. She sat in the car and waited. The police were bringing in three Mennonite men. All of them were handcuffed. She couldn’t see their faces. They were keeping their heads low and were wearing wide-brimmed hats. Who were they? It was so odd to see Mennonites in handcuffs. Vera collected herself and looked in the mirror. Her hot pink lipstick was still in place. And she loved her new chestnut-brown hair color.
She grabbed her umbrella and opened the car door and clumsily tried to manage her umbrella and her bag in the downpour and the wind. When she entered the station, she placed her umbrella against the wall. Her feet had still gotten wet, and she hated the feeling.
“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter said.
“Yes. I’m Vera Matthews. I’m here to collect my mother, Beatrice Matthews,” she said.
“Just a moment.” The man turned and said something to another officer who was sitting at a desk.
The three Mennonite men were walked back into the corner, where Vera couldn’t see them.
“I’m sorry, Vera. Your mother is still being questioned,” the officer said. Vera and this particular officer, Dan Reynolds, had gone to high school together. His daughters had danced at her studio for years.
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