Death of an Irish Diva (6 page)

Annie was chopping onions and crying. She didn't know if it was just the onions or not. Her eyes stung, and once the flow started, she couldn't stop it. Finally, she placed the onions in the frying pan, wet a paper towel with cool water, and held it to her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Mike walked in for a beer, opened the refrigerator door.

“Onions,” she said.

He grabbed her and kissed her on the head. “Poor baby,” he said. “Whatchya making?”

“An omelet,” she said. “I'm using up the eggs and milk before we get our next delivery.”

“I wish Adam was coming over today. What a great guy,” he said.

Annie rolled her eyes.

“C'mon, Annie. You worked with him last night. You know he's not that bad,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“I helped him out a bit last night,” she said. “When he found out Emily had those tattoos, he just assumed I could help.”

He grimaced. “Yeah. He's kinda like that. He makes assumptions. I don't think he means anything by it. Underneath it all, he's got an open mind.”

“I expect his mind is a bit more open than many of the members of the New Mountain Order,” she said. “Speaking of which, I really need to get cracking on that.”

“How much more do you have to write?”

“I think I'm about halfway there,” she said, reaching in the drawer for a spatula, then moving the onions around a bit. She added some peppers to the pan, and the scent of them filled the room.

“Last night must have been kinda intense,” Mike said after taking a drink of his beer.

The bowl of eggs almost slipped from Annie's hand.

“Careful,” he said.

“My hands are slippery,” she mumbled and wiped them.

“Well?” he said. “How did it go?”

“I don't know, Mike. There were no symbols at the scene of the crime, other than on Emily. In the past the NMO has always used symbols. Of course, they could be a little more clever about it now, since two of their henchmen are gone,” she said. “The real mystery, other than who killed Emily, is how she was connected to them, if at all.”

“Did she really hide the connection, or did none of us know her enough that she would even tell us?”

Annie thought a moment. “Either could be the case. But she seemed to be okay with all the other attention she attracted. In fact, she seemed to want it.”

“She was a real bitch,” Mike said. “I never met anybody so ambitious, not even—”

“Me?” Annie said, turning to face him.

He grinned sheepishly. “I wasn't going to say that, but now that you mention it.”

She threw her towel on the counter. He jumped back.

“Sorry,” he said mockingly.

“I'm a failure, Mike,” she said after a deep breath, concentrating on keeping her voice level and low so the boys wouldn't hear her. “I can't be the person you want me to be. The wife you want me to be.”

“Hey! Whoa! Who said that?”

“You didn't have to say it, Mike. It's all over you,” she said.

“Hey, where's this coming from? I was just teasing. You know how much I love you. I adore you,” he said.

She took a moment. “I'm sorry, Mike, for jumping on you like that. It's just that sometimes I wonder,” she said, whisking the eggs. “It's just, um, it's been a while.”

“Hey, you're up late at night, working. And I'm already asleep by the time you get to bed,” he said, looking away from her.

The scent of onions and peppers hung in the air. Annie stirred them around and poured the eggs into the pan, It sizzled, and then the sizzling faded out.

“Annie, finish up this book and we'll go away for the weekend. Just us, okay?” His arms went around her. His chin to her shoulder, his breath hot on her neck. “You know I love you. You know I want you. C'mon. Things have just been a little awkward and crazy.”

That was true. She knew that. The boys were always in and out of their bedroom, up and down all night long. He worked crazy hours sometimes; so did she.

It was like he had always said, and he said it again in her ear. “We are about more than sex.”

She smiled. Her heart melted a little, but it was different now.

Now that there was someone around who was all about the sex. Or at least it was for her.

Beatrice blinked her eyes. Was there someone in her backyard, or had something blown over from a neighbor's clothesline? A sheet? It was 3:00 a.m. She had fallen asleep early and awakened hungry, had come down into the kitchen, and was distracted by a movement in her backyard.

She stood in the dark. A flimsy whitish thing moved in her backyard. Could it be a ghost? Ed had never looked like that when he visited her. He had looked like himself. Whatever this was, it did not glow, but floated in the wind.

She squinted, wondered if she should turn the light on or wake Jon. If she turned the light on, she surely could see it so much better. And what would Jon do? He didn't even know how to use a gun. She vowed she would teach him one of these days. She tiptoed into the library, where her husband's gun stayed in the top drawer of his desk, which was the same place he'd kept it the whole time they'd lived together as husband and wife.

She heard the creaking noise of someone walking down stairs. Jon!

“Bea, put that gun away, dear,” he said quietly.

“Now, hold on, Jon,” she said. “There's someone in the backyard. And when I turn the outside light on them, I want to have this handy. It's not loaded. Okay?”

He grimaced. “You Americans and your guns! Just call the police!”

“Good idea,” she whispered back to him as she headed for her kitchen. “You call them, and I'll wait in the kitchen. Watch to see he doesn't get away.”

But she took the gun with her, just in case. Who was he to tell her she couldn't have her gun? She had been using them for years and had taken classes in gun safety.

She looked out the window in the dark, listened to Jon dialing the police and explaining while she watched the still form in her backyard. It seemed to be attached to the large stump of the old oak tree that had been cut down. Something about the shape of it reminded her of a crescent moon.

Jon came up behind her. “They will be here any minute.” He wrapped his arms around her.

She froze. Suddenly she saw a white foot pointed against the stump. There was something about the foot. Something about the perfect arch of it. Vera!

She shook Jon off of her. “Oh, God, it's Vera!”

She ran outside, then along the edge of the pool ditch, Jon trailing behind her. “What? What?” he was saying.

They both stopped in their tracks as they looked at Vera, clad in a long white nightgown, sleeping against the tree, one foot wrapped around the stump.

Jon looked confused.

“Shh,” Beatrice told him. “She is sleeping. Try not to startle her.”

She'd done this countless times when Vera was a child. But this time, it scared her. Her granddaughter was at home, in bed, alone. What if she were to wake up and need her mother? What if there was a fire?

Beatrice wrapped her arms carefully around Vera and led her to the door of the house; Jon held it open.

“Jon, can you get dressed and go and stay with Elizabeth?” Beatrice asked.

“Certainly,” he said. “The police—”

“I'll deal with them,” Beatrice said, sitting her daughter down on the couch, then lying her down.

“No good,” Jon said. “This is no good, my love.”

Their eyes met in concern.

Vera lay on the couch, as if she'd never been anywhere but there all night. Her feet and hands were covered in mud. Mud smeared across her cheek, but she was still sleeping.

Jon opened the front door for Detective Bryant and then headed for his car.

“I'm sorry, Bryant,” Beatrice said, standing up from her crouched-over position next to her daughter. “We didn't need to bother you, after all.”

“What's going on?”

“I thought there was someone in my backyard when Jon called you. But it was only Vera.”

“Vera?” He looked at the couch and saw her sleeping.

Beatrice motioned for him to go into the kitchen; she followed.

“She's sleepwalking,” she whispered. “I sent Jon over to look in on Elizabeth.”

“Does she do this often?”

“She used to. When she was a child, it was a big problem,” she said after a moment. “It seems the stress has gotten to be a bit much for her. I don't know what to make of it.”

The front door opened farther, and a few uniformed police officers walked in, followed by Leola Reilly.

“False alarm,” Bryant called from the kitchen. The two officers turned around and left. Leola didn't. Dressed in a purple jogging suit, Leola looked as if she planned to stay. Beatrice didn't think she'd been jogging at this hour.

“Is everything okay?” Leola said as she entered the kitchen.

“Yeah. What are you doing hanging out outside at this hour?” Bryant said to her.

“I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk and saw the police cars. I just wondered if you needed any help,” Leola said. But she looked rattled and unkempt.

“Mama?” came a voice from the living room. “What am I doing here?”

Beatrice ran into the living room. Vera was just waking up, the way she always did. You thought she was awake, but then she'd go back to sleep and then be back up. It was maddening.

“Vera?” Leola said loudly.

“Don't—” Beatrice started to say, but Vera's scream brought them all to her side. She watched as Vera glared at Leola.

“Get her out of here!” Vera cried.

“Goodness, Vera, calm down,” Beatrice said. But her daughter's face was as pale as her nightgown.

“Let me escort you to the door,” Bryant said to Leola.

That Bryant, sometimes you just had to love him. But only sometimes.

Vera sat at her mother's kitchen table, slumped over it, as she watched the sun come up over Jenkins Mountain in the distance, a view that she had loved and found comfort in for years.

She picked at the plate of eggs Beatrice had put in front of her.

“I don't think I've ever seen you so quiet,” Detective Bryant said.

She smiled at him and shrugged but wondered what he meant by that. Was she a chatterbox? Maybe he thought so. But she didn't really care what he thought.

“We are going to get the best doctor we can for you,” Beatrice said. “We can't have you traipsing around Cumberland Creek, sleepwalking.”

Queasy, confused, Vera didn't know what was happening to her. Was she losing her mind?

“I don't understand the reaction to Leola,” Beatrice said.

“Me neither,” Vera said. “She seems nice enough. Kinda cold. But nice enough. I must have still been dreaming.”

“That must be it,” the detective said.

“You've been through a lot over the past year. Maybe you need a vacation?”

“I can't afford a vacation,” Vera said. “In fact, I'm going to teach all summer long this year. Not closing the studio. Now that . . . Emily is gone. Maybe I can pick up the business again.”

Just then the doorbell rang. It was Annie.

“Are you okay?” Annie said, hugging Vera.

“I am now,” she said.

“Well, I better get going,” Detective Bryant said, standing. “Thanks for breakfast, Ms. Matthews. How do, Ms. Chamovitz?”

“All is well, Detective,” Annie said, barely looking at him.

Vera saw the detective's lingering looks at Annie. But she looked at Vera.

“Do you want me to take Elizabeth today?” Annie asked.

“Jon has her, and we'll spend the day with her,” Beatrice said with finality.

 

 

Vera was still a mess by the time the Saturday night crop rolled around. The Cumberland Creek Scrapbook Club was all atwitter at the news that Emily McGlashen's mother and father were finally in town to claim her body. The fact that she had those tattoos had not been reported in the papers.

“You're off your game,” Sheila said to Annie. “Her parents are obviously very strange hippies, I'd say.”

“Obviously,” Annie said, grinning. “Yes. Evidently, they only have one phone at the commune they live at, and it was shut off to observe some festival or something. So it took a while to reach them. They don't have a car and didn't know anybody who did, so they took off on foot and hitchhiked all the way from the other side of West Virginia.”

“Backpacking hippies parading around town can't be kept a secret for long,” Vera said, grinning.

DeeAnn laughed. “I had no idea what they were,” she said. “They came into the bakery yesterday, and at first, I thought they were from some cult. It was kind of scary.”

“I have an aunt who dresses like that, and she lives outside of Bethesda and doesn't even belong to commune,” Annie said and laughed. “That branch of the family has always freaked me out a bit.” She stood and walked over to the snack table, surveying the food.

“Speaking of being freaked out,” Paige said. “How is the sleepwalking?”

“Well, the doctor gave me some sleeping pills, and I've been sleeping very deeply,” Vera replied. “I guess he thinks I may have a sleep disorder. In the meantime, the sleeping pills seem to be working.”

“Then what?” Sheila said, clicking on her computer screen. “I mean, you can't stay on sleeping pills forever.”

Vera sighed. “I don't know. There will be more tests. But you know as long as the pills work, I don't really know why I should bother.”

“You should bother because those pills are just covering your problem up, not getting to the root of it,” Annie said.

Vera looked over Sheila's shoulder. “Oh, I love that,” she said to Sheila. “You are getting so good with this digital stuff.”

“It's so easy,” Sheila said. “I wouldn't want all my scrapbooking done this way. But it's so easy to keep up with the school pictures and day-to-day pictures because everything is digital. You don't really even need to get the pictures developed.”

“I love that idea,” Annie said, “but I'm so sick of being at my computer all the time. I can see it being a great space saver.”

“That's what I was thinking. I don't have the space anymore,” Vera said. Her heart sank. She missed her home. But she supposed she should be grateful for what she did have.

“You don't have to be at your computer long,” Sheila said. “You could sort of do a hybrid scrapbooking. You know it sort of combines the tools and techniques of both. You could, for example, print your photos out on a scrapbook page and then embellish it.”

“I've used some fonts I found on the computer,” DeeAnn said. “I printed them off on good paper, cut it out, and used it for my pages. I didn't know I was doing hybrid scrapbooking. Humph. I guess I'm ahead of my time.”

The women were all quiet as they worked on their individual projects. Annie and Vera hovered over Sheila.

“And look at this. I've actually designed some digital elements,” Sheila said. “I met this man at the last conference who said he'd take a look at anything I gave him. . . .”

“What?” Paige squealed. “Oh my, Sheila! You better be careful what you show a strange man!”

Sheila's face turned red, but she joined her friends in laughing.

Annie sat back down in her chair and took a long drink of her beer. “I can't believe my parents are remarried,” she said, looking over the scrapbook she was making them. “I think if I got divorced, I'd not want to remarry that same person. Or anybody, really.”

“Is that how you feel, Vera?” Paige asked.

“Well,” Vera said after a moment. “There was a time I thought the Bill and I might get back together. But too much has happened. For a while, you know, there was Tony. And now Bill is with that woman in Charlottesville. Even though I miss certain parts of my life, like my house, I don't think I'd want to go backward. I sort of like being alone.”

As she said it, a kind of lightness filled the mood of the room. She reckoned many of her friends dreaded being alone and had been worried about her. It was a relief for them to think she was fine. And that was what she wanted them to think.