“I just want to smack you,” she said.
He laughed. “I guess you’re okay, then.”
A few moments of silence.
“And then there is this. I know that Cookie loved you. She loved your friends and family, too.” he said. “Don’t ask. I just know.”
It hurt to breathe. Something caught in her throat. Annie couldn’t speak. She was afraid that she’d sob out loud, scream, or throw up.
Annie was seized by an impulse to go back to Cookie’s little yellow house on the cul-de-sac. She had been there from time to time over the past year, while Cookie was missing. Nobody had rented or purchased it. It was still wide open for anybody to wander through. Though as far as she knew, nobody else had. Only in Cumberland Creek.
Later that day, Annie walked to Cookie’s place to sort this out in her mind and in her heart.
Every so often when she walked through the door of Cookie’s home, she smelled something sweet, homey, like something had recently been baked. Once or twice she had found bits and pieces of things. Once it was an old photo. Another time, it was a small stone with a rune painted on it.
As she walked in later in the day, Cookie’s place held only the odor of must and mildew. Closed spaces. She walked over to the window, the one that she was drawn to every time she entered Cookie’s home. She cracked it open as she looked out toward the mountains and breathed in a little fresh air. She remembered when she and the others came in and found Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows and how surprised they were at the sparseness of her home. The lack of clothing, furniture—well, everything.
Then she remembered being here with Bryant, which was the first time he had ever let down that cocky attitude of his and let her glimpse another part of him. That was when she really started to trust him. He had taken advantage of it. Thank God she never slept with him.
She heard someone at the door. Adam? Again?
When it opened, she was surprised to find her own husband standing there.
“Hey,” he said. “I was dropping Ben off to play down the street, and I saw your car here. You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “C’mon in.”
“What are you doing here?” he said and kissed her.
“I’ve been thinking about Cookie. I just talked to Bryant, and he told me that Cookie has been found, that she’s going to be okay.”
“Oh, Annie,” Mike said, pulling her close to him. “That’s great news.”
“But she is being whisked away to heal somewhere,” she said. “It’s all very secretive. I think he must have known it for a while.”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Look at this view,” she told him, pulling him to the window.
“Wow,” he said. “What’s this?”
He picked up a shiny object that was on the ledge. Why hadn’t she seen that before? He held it up to the light. It shimmered. It was gold, a lovely Star of David.
Annie gasped. “Look at that.”
He handed it to her. “You might as well take it. Nobody else around here would wear it.”
She smiled and slipped it into her bag.
Mike pulled her closer to him. “You are one sexy Jewish woman.”
He grinned as she laughed, and then he pulled her closer, kissed her.
Finally, he pulled away from her, his face lit with passion.
“I’m going to lock the door,” he said hoarsely.
“What?” she said and grinned. “Why?”
He took his shirt off, spread it on the floor, and proceeded to show her why.
Chapter 71
Murder solved, her custody hearing pending, Vera breathed a sigh of relief as she looked into Eric’s eyes. They were in a secluded spot at the park. He had spread a blanket and had brought a basket of cheeses, crackers, fruit, and wine.
He guided her chin to his mouth and kissed her, so tenderly that it almost broke her heart as other parts of her were coming alive, swirling almost as strongly as the river currents in the background.
He pulled away and looked at her. “You are a hell of a woman,” he said, his eyes and voice both smoking with passion.
“Oh my,” she said and pulled him toward her.
When would he invite her to his place? When would they finally make love?
They lay back on the blanket. Surely not here? Though Vera was afraid she’d not say no. Could she? Would she? Here at the park?
“Hey!” Vera heard a sort of familiar voice yell. “Get a room!”
Vera and Eric sat up. How embarrassing! But as the person came closer, she could see that it was Bill, and she waved him off.
“Get lost, Bill,” she said, standing, feeling wobbly at the knee.
Bill stood there, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m not going anywhere. Get off my w—”
Vera stood. “I’m not your wife!”
“Calm down, Vera,” Eric said, now standing beside her, holding her arm.
She took a deep breath.
“What are you doing here, Bill?” Eric asked.
“Just out for a walk,” he said, eyeing Eric. “Dr. Green.”
Eric nodded.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Bill,” Vera said. “Not until you tell me why you donated your sperm to that place. And even then, I’m not sure I want you anywhere around me.”
“Do we have to do this here?” he said, nodding toward Eric.
“I’m not hiding anything from Eric. We have no secrets.”
Bill kicked around the dirt a little and looked up at her.
“I donated years ago, before I met Emily or Kelsey or any of them. Back when we were having problems. I just thought that I wanted a child of my own someday and—”
“It didn’t look like I could give you one,” she said, her voice breaking.
Bill looked away from her. Eric reached for her hand.
“You said . . . you said it didn’t matter. All those years. You said it didn’t matter.”
Bill shrugged. “I’m sorry, Vera. I really did want a baby.”
Vera’s hand went to her chest. “So did I,” she managed to say.
He walked toward her and reached for her. She sank closer to Eric and shook her head.
“When Alicorn contacted me and said Emily was interested in my sperm . . . because of my heritage—”
“You allowed it?” Vera almost shouted. “You would have allowed her to have your baby? A half sister to Elizabeth? The woman who almost destroyed me? Oh, God.”
Vera’s mind sifted through the years of tenderness, the years of lies, the years of stagnation. The memories were swirling through her. He had betrayed her for the last time. Never again.
“Leave, Bill,” she said. “I really never want to see you again.”
“Vera, c’mon,” he said.
Eric spoke up. “Look, I’ve been trying to stay out of this, but the lady asked you to leave.”
Bill snorted and turned to go.
Vera fell into Eric’s arms.
“How did you get messed up with that jerk?” Eric said.
“It’s a long story,” she said. “I’m ready to put it behind me.”
“Hey,” he said, gathering the blanket and basket. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where do you want to go?” she said.
“I think it’s time I brought you home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah, my place. C’mon,” he said, reaching for her hand and dragging her along.
“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Vera said after buckling her seat belt.
“I’m through talking, Vera. I love you, and I want you in my bed. Have a problem with that?”
“No. I don’t have a problem with any of it,” she breathed.
She was a jumble of emotion. Bill had just confessed, basically, that their whole life together had been a lie. But, deep down, she had known it all along, hadn’t she? It hurt, but at the same time it was freeing. She felt stronger than ever
. She was a mother, a dancer, a daughter, and soon to be a lover.
When Eric led her up the stairs to his room, she swore she levitated. And when she looked back on it, she was still certain her feet had not touched the floor.
Turned out that some men were worth trusting and taking a chance on.
Chapter 72
The Saturday night crop had much to discuss and much to work on. Vera had decided to let bygones be bygones and make a scrapbook for Emily’s parents and one for Leola. So with all the pictures, papers, clippings, awards, and so on they had gathered, the scrappers began to piece Emily McGlashen’s life together.
“I don’t know why, but I’m thinking of Maggie Rae as we do this,” Sheila said.
“I am too,” Vera said.
“We are piecing her life together, just like we did Maggie Rae’s,” Annie said, then bit into a chocolate cupcake.
“One major difference,” DeeAnn said. “We already know who killed Emily. With Maggie Rae, we had no idea when we first started on those books.”
“Yeah,” Sheila said. “We had no idea about a lot of things then.”
“Tell me about it,” Annie said. “Look at that beautiful photo of Emily.”
She was maybe thirteen, looking sweet and innocent in a school photo.
“I never really thought of her as pretty,” Paige said. “But I think it was her personality I was seeing. But she does look pretty here. So young and pretty.”
“Speaking of young and pretty,” Sheila said, opening her laptop, “what in the world is going to happen to those young women who are having babies?”
“They will be given the option of adoption. Legitimate adoption, that is, by Alicorn,” Annie replied. “The last I talked to them, some of them seemed to be changing their minds and wanting to keep their babies.”
“But what about their educations?” DeeAnn asked.
“I think that they are a little shell-shocked. I’m not sure they can handle school right now. They are going to need some time,” Annie replied. “Hopefully, time with their families.”
“This is sweet. A note from one of her former students,” DeeAnn said. “Wow. You know, it’s amazing how many faces this Emily McGlashen wore. We knew her as a bitch. But she was ‘the world’s best dance teacher,’ according to this girl. And Leola loved her. What did she see in her that I never saw?”
DeeAnn’s words hung in the air.
Annie heard paper being sliced by the cutter, pages being turned and slicked over, and pens and little boxes being dropped back on the table.
But Annie knew the feeling DeeAnn was conveying. She’d often wondered how well she knew anybody around this table. Hell, not even just around this table, but people she’d worked with, neighbors, kids she grew up with, and yes, even herself. A few years ago, if someone had told her she’d be tempted in her marriage by a cop, she’d have told them they were crazy. She was solid in her marriage and had always been. Until recently.
She took a deep breath and a swig of beer. Maybe her brother was right. Maybe she drank too much.
She pasted some ribbon to the edge of the page she was working on. Ah yes, she was back to feeling solid in her marriage, and that was a good feeling, one that she hoped lasted.
“Well, we’re almost done with this one,” DeeAnn said. “Ohmigoodness, who made these little cheese fritters? They are divine.”
“I did,” Paige said. “You think you’re the only baker in the crowd?”
“Humph,” DeeAnn said.
“We’re moving right along on our book, too,” Vera said.
“Soon this will all be over,” Sheila said. “And we can all get on with our lives.”
“What?” Annie said, smiling. “Do you mean this isn’t our lives?”
Chapter 73
The next day, Beatrice sat on her front porch, watching the hummingbirds. Some things never changed. The birds. The mountains. They would always be here. People? That was another matter.
She leafed through the past several days in her mind. Her granddaughter was back. Safe and sound. Better than ever. A murderer was off the streets. Bill was out of their lives. Someday, he might be allowed back in Elizabeth’s life. Not for the foreseeable future.
Everybody was getting some closure—most particularly, the Greenberg couple. Finally. Soon they would be leaving Cumberland Creek. Beatrice hated to see them go. Oddly enough, she found that she had a lot in common with the aging hippie couple, especially Rachel. They were coming by today, as were the croppers with scrapbooks they had made for them.
Right as she thought this, Sheila, Paige, and DeeAnn came walking through her front gate and sat down next to her.
“Hey, ladies,” Beatrice said. “If you want some tea, help yourselves.”
A pitcher of iced tea, with glasses next to it, sat on the wicker table. But they all just gathered on her porch, watching the hummingbirds.
Annie drove up in her car, with Rachel and Donald Greenberg inside.
“Well, what is this? Grand Central Station?” DeeAnn said.
“Come on in,” Beatrice said. “Pull up a chair.”
The Greenbergs looked happier, livelier than she’d seen them over the past several weeks. They seemed more at peace.
“I’m so glad you came,” Beatrice said. “I have something for you.”
“For us?” Donald said. “Really?”
His hair looked cleaner, Beatrice noted, and he was clean shaven. He wasn’t too bad looking when he was cleaned up.
Paige stood up. “We’ve researched Emily’s biological family history. It turns out that your daughter’s lineage was indeed a part of this town and its history.”
“Well, well, well.” Rachel beamed. “She was right, after all.”
“Yes, but she could not have imagined the depth of the story,” Beatrice said. “This has been hidden for years. A story with many secrets and cover-ups.” She handed them the memory book she found buried in her backyard. “The book was buried in my backyard, along with some of the things belonging to the McGlashen family. Most of them the state owns. I donated them. They really held no personal significance. But this, this book does. You should have it.”
“Intriguing,” Donald said, his head tilting, brows knitting.
“Thanks,” Rachel managed to say through a huge smile and watery eyes. “You can’t imagine what this means to me. To us. I know Emily was difficult. And it must seem strange to you, but I feel so close to her here. And now this. I feel her here with us now.”
They all grew quiet.
“One of the items in the book was a lock of red hair. I asked the guys from the Virginia Department of Historic Resources to compare the DNA of the hair to the DNA of the bones they found in my yard. Turns out it was a match. Same family, at least. Maybe even the same person. So this is truly the McGlashen homestead,” Beatrice said and then hugged Rachel.
“It’s remarkable,” she said.
“We have something for you, too. You can’t leave without this.” Sheila held up a bag. “But I know that Vera wanted to be here for this,” Sheila said. “Where is she?”
“She’s napping,” Beatrice said. “Why don’t you go and wake her?”
Sheila came back momentarily. “Which room is she in?”
“Hers. Why?”
“Her room is a mess. Scattered boxes, pictures, all kinds of junk. But she’s not in there.”
Beatrice stood. “Vera!”
She moved through her house, searching. Where could she be?
“Oh, bother!” she said as she came back to the porch. “I don’t know where she’s gone. Her room is a mess, and that’s so unlike her.”
“Was she okay?” Annie asked.
Beatrice shrugged. “She’s been strange. The whole thing with Bill . . .”
“Bill?” Sheila said. “Weren’t her wedding albums in that gold box?”
“I think so,” Beatrice said.
“Well, it’s empty,” Sheila said.
“Are you
sure?” Beatrice said, leading them into Vera’s room.
She reached for the shiny gold box. It was empty except for a pair of scissors and some cut paper.
“That’s not just any old paper,” Sheila said. “That’s the paper out of her wedding album. I remember that color.”
“Odd,” DeeAnn said. “So Vera is gone with her photos?”
“Where would she be?” Annie said.
Beatrice wondered. Where would Vera go with her photos? Back to Bill? No. Any person she would go to was right here at this very moment. Well, everybody but Eric. It seemed to Beatrice that they’d recently gotten much closer.
Just then her phone rang. Jon picked it up, and she vaguely heard him murmuring. “No, we will handle it. Thank you.”
“Beatrice, that was Adam Bryant,” Jon said. “Vera is at the park.”
“At the park? Is she okay?” Beatrice’s voice lifted a decibel or two, betraying her clam face. She was worried about Vera because of the sleepwalking, even though they’d gotten to the bottom of it. Who knew how witnessing that murder would bubble up in Vera again?
“She seems to be fine, Adam said, but he received a call about her and thought it best if you go and collect her.”
“I’ll take you,” Annie said, pulling her keys out of the pocket of her blue jeans.
The lot of them tried to pile in Annie’s car; others took off on foot, even the Greenbergs, carrying their prized book. Once Annie reached the edge of the park, Beatrice ran out of the car before Annie could put it in park. Beatrice’s legs were strong and sturdy from walking in the mountains for many years. She could be quick on her feet, too. But she felt as if she were moving too slowly. What on earth was her daughter up to now? And the police had called? What could it be? Her old heart pounded in her chest as she rounded the corner to the park.
She scanned the area and saw a small crowd gathered by the river. That must be where Vera was. Beatrice walked over to the riverbank.
There Beatrice found Vera and stood in amazement. Her forty-three-year-old daughter was knee-deep in the river, surrounded by floating photos and boxes. She was a grown woman, yet Beatrice swore she looked like she was still twelve, standing there, praying to her mountain. The years seemed to have been stripped away from her.
Death of an Irish Diva (A Cumberland Creek Mystery) Page 25