Jon rolled his eyes. “I know you better than that. And I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail.”
“Okay. I promise I won’t go storming into his office. But if I see him—”
Jon held up his hand in his dramatic French way as if to stop her from finishing the thought. “I do not want to know.”
Bea shrugged. She could live with that. What the man didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
Chapter 48
DeeAnn’s kitchen table was covered in the Martelino sisters’ scrapbooks. Some were haphazardly stacked, some wide open, and some were closed. But the Cumberland Creek scrapbookers were all enthralled. It was a reminder of one of the unspoken reasons they themselves scrapbooked—so that they left behind a neat and tidy pictorial record of their lives. Or at least the lives that they wanted others to know about.
They searched through the books for something—anything—that might be a clue. Not just to understand the cases, but to understand the young women and what brought them to the US. Each one of the sisters had a book focused on her childhood. A few pictures, some drawings, and journaling. All written in scribbled Spanish, which even Annie couldn’t read.
But the last books they had been working on had more photos. Photos of friends, of one another, of the town, Christmas celebrations, picnics, and so on.
“They seem to go on a lot of picnics,” Paige remarked.
DeeAnn set a plate of still-warm brownies in the center of the table. Each woman reached for one. There was nothing like a warm brownie.
“They liked being outside, that much is clear,” Sheila said with her mouth half full.
“Oh my GAWD, these brownies are good!” said Annie. “But back to the sisters—think about it. It must be so different here from where they grew up. They were probably in awe of the mountains and the seasons.”
“I imagine,” agreed DeeAnn, turning the page on the scrapbook she was looking over. Esmeralda had a good eye for color and placement of her photos.
“I just don’t see anything here,” Sheila said, shutting the book she had been looking over and reaching for another brownie.
DeeAnn turned the page again. It wasn’t falling back into place and was a bit wavy. Something was off in the book. “Wait. This is strange.”
“What?” Annie said, leaning over toward her.
DeeAnn flipped the page again. “I think a page is missing here.”
“Let me see. You’re right. Look.” Sheila ran her finger along the inside of the book where the pages came together. “Someone ripped the page out.”
“Maybe it’s the page that the police found on her?” Annie wondered.
“Even if it is, what does that tell us?” Paige asked.
The women sat in silence for a few minutes in DeeAnn’s kitchen, decorated in bright red strawberry patterns—the curtains, the tablecloth, pot holders, and dish towels. Even her tea kettle had strawberries on it.
“I wonder if we can find where the missing page is in Marina’s book,” Sheila said.
“I think we have one more of her books over here,” Paige said, reaching for the book in question and sliding it into the center of the table.
Jacob walked into the kitchen. “Hello, ladies.”
Halfhearted hellos came from the circle of women around the table. They were engrossed in searching for clues.
Jacob went over to DeeAnn and kissed her. “I’m going to the store. You need anything?”
“No thanks,” DeeAnn said, only half paying attention to him. They were on to something. She could feel it. Jacob’s presence was disturbing the energy in the room and she wanted him to leave.
He left and it was as if the room sighed in relief.
“Here,” Paige said. “Here’s where the missing page is.”
“Aha,” Annie said, lifting the other books from the table and setting them on the floor. She set both books open to where the pages were missing. Pages before and after were about a hike or picnic, which was exactly what was on the pages found on their bodies.
“There must be something about this day,” Annie said.
“We need to find out more about it. When was it? Who was there? What significance did it have in their lives?” said Vera.
“But why?” Sheila said. “How will that help?”
“Think about it, Sheila,” Paige said.
“Oh don’t make me think!” Sheila tittered. “That’s the last thing I want to do!”
“Do you think a killer would leave clues so blatantly like that?” DeeAnn questioned.
“It wasn’t really blatant,” Annie said. “I mean, the police looked for fingerprints and stuff on the actual pages, but they didn’t look in their scrapbooks. Why would they?”
“Besides, some killers like to leave clues. Deep down, they really want to get caught. It’s a cry for help,” Vera said.
All of the women looked at her. It was an odd thing to hear coming out of her mouth.
She frowned. “What? Don’t you watch CSI?”
“What’s that?” Paige asked.
“It’s a TV show,” Vera said.
“Oh, well you know how I feel about TV,” Paige said.
“So all we need to do is figure out what happened on this day. Reconstruct it and it might lead us to the killer before he kills again,” Vera said.
“Exactly,” Annie replied. “First order of business is to get copies of the pages from the police. Then I’ll talk to Rosa. Maybe she was there that day.”
“I have a better idea,” DeeAnn said. “Why don’t you take the copies with you on Friday night. You’re going to their crop, right?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I want to wait until then. I feel a sense of urgency about this.” Annie said. “Two women have been killed. We’re not sure how many others there could be, given that employees have been disappearing from the Pie Palace for years, evidently. We don’t know if they were all linked, but we know at least two were.”
“Should we take the books to Bryant and tell him our theory?” Paige asked.
The mention of Bryant’s name made DeeAnn’s face redden. She still could not believe that Karen was dating him.
Annie didn’t notice DeeAnn’s embarrassment as she was deep in thought. “I think we should keep this all to ourselves for now, until we find something more substantial. Really, at this point, it’s all conjecture.”
The slight quiver in her voice led DeeAnn to believe it was more than that. She felt it in her bones that reconstructing the scrapbooked day was going to lead them straight to the killer.
Chapter 49
Armed with the scrapbooks that had pages torn out of them, Annie headed over to Rosa’s apartment. She had called ahead and Rosa had said to please come.
Annie pulled into the parking lot. The same group of men were standing around a motorcycle. When they looked over at her, she remembered what Rosa had said about them being “middle-aged losers that hang out in the parking lot because they don’t have anything better to do.” She smiled at them and kind of waved. Most of them nodded their heads and smiled back. Annie almost laughed when she thought of how frightened she was the first time she had seen them standing there.
“Hey, Annie,” Rosa said when she opened her door. “Please come in.”
After they sat down and were situated at the kitchen table, Annie opened the scrapbooks. “We think this is where the pages were torn out.”
“It certainly looks that way,” Rosa agreed.
“Can you tell me anything about this day? It appears to be outside, some kind of gathering?”
“Humph,” Rosa said, looking over the pictures. “I think this is the Pie Palace’s annual employee picnic.”
“Interesting. I didn’t know they had one, but it seems like a nice thing to do.”
“They say Pamela is great to work for.”
Annie sifted through her thoughts. Great to work for, but has a temper. “Is it only employees that go to this picnic?”
“And their
families,” Rosa replied. “It’s a big thing.”
“It seems so simple.”
“What does?”
“Our killer left scrapbook pages on the sisters. Both about the same day, the same event. He or she must have been there, don’t you think? Any ideas?”
Rosa shook her head. “No, but I wish I did.” But she seemed shaken.
“Are you sure?” Annie questioned.
Rosa bit her lip. “I’m sure it’s nothing. . . .”
“If I had a dime for every time I’ve said that . . .” Annie smiled.
“It’s just that Jorge creeps me out. I know he’s Irina’s nephew. But I don’t know. The way he’s always hanging around. There’s something about him.”
“Would he have been there that day?” Annie said.
Rosa nodded. “Maybe. He works at the Pie Palace. And he likes to take pictures. Maybe he even took the pictures on those pages.”
A shiver traveled the length of Annie’s spine. Was Jorge capable of murder? If he was, what was it about the sisters or their scrapbooks, that had set him off? She shook off her thoughts. “Irina said he was harmless.”
“Who knows? He just creeps me out. I know that Marina did not like him. We talked about it. He asked her out once.”
“He asked her out?” Annie’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest.
“He sure did. He really liked her. She told him no. He tried for a while, but not very long. A few weeks maybe. Then Pamela stepped in and told him employees weren’t allowed to date each other.”
Pamela! Annie had thought all along that she knew more than she was telling. It was time for another visit.
“Thanks, Rosa. You’ve been very helpful,” Annie said, glancing at her watch. It was getting late; the boys would be home soon. She needed to get home.
After saying good-bye, Annie almost ran into Bryant on the stairs. He was heading up as she was going down.
“Annie, what are you doing here?”
“Working on a story,” she told him, clutching the scrapbooks to her chest.
“What have you got there?” he said, a crooked smirk forming.
“Scrapbooks, Adam,” she said with an edge.
“What’s going on?”
“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”
“Business.”
“Police business?”
“Of course. Now let me see those scrapbooks.”
Annie shrugged and handed him the books.
He stood on the stairs and flipped through the books. “What am I missing here?”
Annie’s stomach flip-flopped. She’d never withheld information from the police before. She wasn’t that kind of reporter; she was always cooperative. And they reciprocated. But this was Adam Bryant. Sarcastic. Usually not helpful. The man she had almost had an affair with. And he was dating twenty five-year-old Karen Fields.
“Annie?” Bryant said. “Earth to Annie.”
“There’s missing pages in those books,” she blurted out. “We think the pages you and Bixby have came from these books.”
“You just found that out?”
She nodded.
“And you were coming to find me, right? To tell me everything, right? Because you wouldn’t keep this to yourself,” he said in a patronizing tone.
“No,” she said and took a deep breath. “I was on my way home. My boys will be home soon. I was still thinking things over.”
“What things? What have you found out?”
“The pictures on those pages you have were taken at the Pie Palace’s employee picnic.”
“And?”
“Seems like your killer might have been there.”
“You think it’s that simple?” He handed the books back to her.
“Here’s what I think. There’s nothing like a disturbed man who has been recently spurned,” Annie said.
Their eyes met, and then Bryant guffawed. “Women,” he said and continued walking up the steps, leaving Annie and her scrapbooks behind.
Chapter 50
Vera had been stopping by to see Bea every morning after she dropped Elizabeth off at preschool. Beatrice liked sitting with her grown, happy daughter, sharing coffee and muffins or something. Anything. It seemed as if they had reached a new level in their relationship. Vera was more mature and happier than Bea had ever seen her.
Vera had brought some of her homemade chocolate to sample. When Bea took a bite and let the chocolate wallow around on her tongue a bit, she was transported. Lawd, I’m in heaven.
Vera frowned. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
“That’s the best chocolate I’ve ever had in my life,” Bea said in a hushed tone.
Vera waved her off, then tilted her head. “Well, the ingredients I used are some of the finest. It’s single original dark chocolate from Ecuador. And the spices are all fresh and organic.”
“It’s extraordinary,” Bea said. “I think you should take DeeAnn up on her offer. Have a side business selling chocolate.”
Vera sat up straighter in her chair. “But I’m a dancer, Mama. I’m not a chocolatier.”
“There’s no reason you can’t be both,” Bea said. So much of her daughter’s identity was wrapped up in dancing. Had Bea ever felt that way about the quantum physics that was her careeer? Oh yes, she had. How about that? She shared something in common with Vera. Bea’s obsession with physics was the same as Vera’s preoccupation with dancing—and maybe chocolate, as well.
“I suppose you’re right. And maybe I could make a little more money with the chocolate. The studio is still struggling,” Vera said.
“Why are you worried ’bout money? You’re living with a man who has plenty.”
“That’s him, Mama. That’s his money. To tell you the truth, it makes me feel odd sometimes, living in that gorgeous house, surrounded by luxury when I’m not sure if I can pay the rent on my studio.”
Beatrice mulled that over. “I guess that would be strange.”
“Well,” Vera said, standing up. “I better get going. I’ve got some little dancers coming in this morning. What are you going to do today?”
“I’m not sure,” Beatrice said.
Vera would not like the idea of her mother going to visit Sheriff Bixby on her own. She tended to be a little overprotective, as well as overly concerned with what other people thought. Beatrice, on the other hand, didn’t give a rat’s ass.
As soon as Vera left, Bea drove over to see Sheriff Bixby. She sifted through what she thought he could offer her as to why he threatened Emma. None of it would hold water as far as she was concerned. Who did he think he was?
The sheriff’s building was well-kept, clean, and official looking. When Bea walked in, she noticed a lovely bouquet of flowers on the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the desk looked up and greeted her. It was all very nice and very different from the Cumberland Creek police station.
“Please have a seat, Ms. Matthews,” the receptionist said pleasantly.
Beatrice sat down and halfheartedly browsed through a magazine until the receptionist said, “Ms. Matthews, the sheriff will see you now.”
“Thank you,” Bea said and followed the young, well-dressed woman through the door and down a hallway.
Sheriff Bixby was seated behind his desk when they entered the room. He stood and offered his hand to Beatrice. She shook it and they smiled at one another very pleasantly.
“Please have a seat,” he told her. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”
“No thank you,” Beatrice said. “I won’t be here long.”
“Well, what can I help you with?”
“I saw you coming out of Mountain View the other day.”
He nodded.
“You were there to see my good friend, Emma Drummond,” she continued.
“Yes, she’s my wife’s aunt. They were very close.”
“Were?”
“Yes, you know how these things go. Family issues.”
“I don�
�t mean to pry, but Emma seems to think you threatened her.”
Sheriff Bixby’s eyebrows went up and the pleasant look on his face disappeared. “I don’t know if you noticed,” he said slowly, “but Emma is ill.”
“I know about the agoraphobia. But the rest of her is as sharp as she used to be. I’ve known her my whole life.”
He cackled. “Ms. Matthews, she ain’t never been right. You gotta know that.”
Beatrice tilted her head and leaned in. “What I know is, her husband used to beat her to a pulp. I saw it.”
Sheriff Bixby bit his lip, looked out his window, and then back at Beatrice.
“And,” Beatrice went on, “that does tend to mess with a woman’s mind. But are you saying she made it up? That you didn’t threaten her?”
“Look, I’m not sure this is any of your business, but I will tell you she may have taken what I said as a threat. I don’t need to threaten poor old Emma Drummond. Why would I do that?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
“Take my word.” He smiled.
Lawd the man is full of smiles and charm. If he’d been wearing a bow tie, she’d have left a long time ago. Bea’s daddy used to say never trust a man wearing a bow tie, especially a charming and smiling one.
“I’m eighty-five years old,” Beatrice said. “Your good looks, fancy mustache, and charm mean nothing to me. I’ve seen a million good old boys like you.”
“Now, Ms. Math—”
She stood. “What do you want with Emma Drummond?”
Sheriff Bixby remained seated and just stared back at her, silently. He wasn’t going to tell her a thing.
Chapter 51
Annie followed the steps to Pamela’s office. Pamela was at her desk, on the phone. She made eye contact with Annie and then held her finger up.
“Hmm-hmm,” Pamela said into the phone. “Okay. Thanks so much.” She hung up the phone and smiled at Annie. “Hey, Annie, what can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you about your employee picnic,” Annie said, getting right to the point.
“Please sit down,” Pamela said. “I’m not sure what the picnic has to do with anything. I’ve already given Bryant a list of everybody who was there.”
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