Scrapbook of the Dead (16 page)

By nine the next morning, half of Cumberland Creek knew what the other half already had known—that Karen and Adam were an item. And that included Beatrice, who was sitting at the breakfast table with Vera, Eric, Jon, and Elizabeth.

Bea didn't know quite what to say. When she thought of Karen, she immediately thought of her as a towheaded, barefoot child running around the neighborhood. Then there were her difficult teenage years. She had started using birth control; DeeAnn had found the pills. It was early, too early. How old had Karen been? Fifteen, maybe. She was involved in a drinking episode or two, as well. DeeAnn and Jacob had had a time with her.

Now, she was a grown woman. Almost twenty-six. A nurse. A responsible adult. What on earth would she see in an almost forty-year-old man? Beatrice couldn't imagine.

“Mother? Did you hear me?” Vera asked loudly.

“I'm not deaf. Of course, I heard you,” Bea said and took a bite of her egg.

“What do you think?”

“I'm not sure what to think. I wonder if there aren't any young men her age. Why would she be interested in Bryant? He's too old for her. But then again, she's an adult. Maybe it will come to nothing.”

Eric nodded. “That's what I said. I'm sure she'll get bored with him and move on.”

“In the meantime, DeeAnn is mortified,” Vera said after setting her coffee cup back down on the table.

“Why?” Jon spoke up. “Maybe they are in love. Love has no age limits.”

Beatrice almost choked on her biscuit. Of course, Jon would say that—he was such a romantic.

“He's too old for her,” Beatrice said again with finality. Jon shrugged.

“I'd be more concerned about his being a detective than his age, frankly,” Eric said.

“That, too,” Vera said. “I mean he's definitely in a dangerous line of work and I never felt like he was looking to raise a family.”

“Well, he loves Lizzie,” Beatrice said.

“Everybody loves me.” Elizabeth grinned.

Vera laughed and reached over to tousle her red hair.

Beatrice did not want to think about her granddaughter growing up and meeting a man. It did not settle well in her mind. No, indeed. She hoped and prayed that her granddaughter would be spared too much heartbreak, but a bit was inevitable. Beatrice sighed. She decided to think about something else. At that moment, she decided to go and visit Emma Drummond again.

She couldn't get Emma off her mind. Had she really killed her husband? If anybody had deserved it, he did. But still, to kill your husband?

 

 

Bea mulled all that over during her walk to Emma's abode. She remembered more about her friendship with Emma and was so glad she'd found her again, even if Emma was scared to leave her room.

When Beatrice walked into the lobby area of Mountain View Assisted Living, she was surprised to see Sheriff Bixby pass by her. He smiled and nodded. Such a nice man.
He must have someone here,
she mused.

She told the woman behind the reception desk she was there to see Emma and was told to go right down to her room.

Beatrice rapped at the door.

“Go away! I told you to go away!”

“Emma? It's me, Beatrice.”

“Oh!” Emma said and opened the door. “I thought you were that arrogant Sheriff Bixby. If I were twenty years younger, I'd kick his ass.”

Beatrice was taken aback. Emma had never spoken like that. She had always been quite timid.

“I'm sorry, Beatrice. I lost my temper. Please come in.”

“I just saw him leaving,” Bea said. “Was he bothering you?”

“I'd say,” Emma said, reaching up to tuck a strand of gray hair back into her long ponytail. “He married my niece, you see.”

“I didn't know that.”

“They want to buy my house.”

“Oh?”

“I love my house. I know I don't live there anymore, but it comforts me to know that Michelle does. I don't want him getting his greedy hands on it.”

“Well, nobody says you have to sell,” Bea said, sitting on the couch. “Are they pressuring you?”

Emma sighed deeply and punctuated it with something that sounded like a cry or a sob. “Threatening me is more like it.”

DeeAnn took her latest pain pill, then a bite of egg salad sandwich.

“Are you still not talking to me?” Karen asked.

“Why aren't you talking to your daughter?” Jacob asked as he walked into the kitchen.

DeeAnn's heart jumped and she bit her lip. Her daughter was dating Detective Bryant. How old was he anyway? Forty?

“She doesn't like the guy I'm dating, Dad,” Karen said. “It's not like we're talking about marriage or anything. I like him. He's a lot of fun.”

“What else is new?” Jacob said, reaching in the refrigerator for a beer. “Your mom never liked the boys you dated.”

“I don't remember you being too thrilled with them, either,” DeeAnn pointed out.

Jacob took a seat at the table. “So who is it this time?”

“Adam Bryant,” said Karen.

Jacob set his bottle down and laughed. “I thought you said Adam Bryant. That's not what you said, is it?”

Karen's smile vanished. “Yep, that's him.”

He shot DeeAnn a glare, as if it were her fault.

She glared right back. “What?”

“What is the big deal? What do you all know about him that I don't?” Karen asked.

“First, he's too old for you,” Jacob told her. “Second, he's a cop.”

“And third,” DeeAnn finally spoke up “He's a sarcastic SOB. And I've suspected . . . I don't know. I've suspected that he's a womanizer.”

“Womanizer? What is this? 1965?” Karen exclaimed.

“You know what I mean,” DeeAnn said.

“What's wrong with being a cop?” Karen asked after a moment.

Her father spoke up. “Not a damn thing, except it's dangerous work. Do you want to be a cop's wife? Really?”

“Look, Mom, Dad, I'm not interested in getting married. We're just spending time together. I mean whatever time we can. Between his schedule and mine, we haven't seen that much of one another. I know he's older than me, but he's in great shape.”

“Hold on right there. I don't want to hear about what great shape he's in.” DeeAnn had lusted over the man from afar herself. She took a deep breath. Her daughter was grinning and DeeAnn's face heated. “Look, I know you're a grown woman. But you can't expect your dad and I to not voice our opinions about the men you date. We're your parents. It goes with the territory.”

Karen had grown into a beautiful woman. How had DeeAnn not seen that? It was hard to see your children clearly, even when they were grown. Of course, Adam Bryant would find her attractive. She was long and lean like her dad, with long, blond hair, her mom's blue eyes, and a smile that would melt any man's heart. She was a woman who glowed with happiness, as well. And she deserved to be happy after all her struggles as a teen. But Adam Bryant?

“I hear you, Mom. And I'll think over everything you both have said to me,” Karen stood, then leaned over and kissed her parents' foreheads. “I better get to work.”

It almost made DeeAnn cry. Damn, she wanted to be angry, shake her fists at Karen, but she couldn't. She would have to bite her tongue about Adam—for the most part.

After Karen left, DeeAnn and Jacob sat quietly. He finished his beer and then stood up with a defiance that suddenly scared her.

“Jacob,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “Please sit down.”

“I'm going to find Bryant,” he said. Stern. Serious.

A shot of panic zipped through DeeAnn. Jacob was not an easily disturbed man. In fact, he was easygoing. But when he got angry, he was serious.

“Now hold on,” she said, standing a bit too quickly and becoming dizzy. Those pills! She landed hard back in her chair.

“DeeAnn?” he said, grabbing onto her. “What the hell just happened?”

“Just a little dizzy,” she said. “Maybe I need a different kind of pain pill. These make me so light-headed.”

“We'll talk to the doctor about that tomorrow,” Jacob said, crouching down beside her.

DeeAnn nodded her head. “And what about you? You're going to kick Bryant's ass? I don't think that's what would happen. He's a cop. In great shape. Has a gun. Please.”

“Nah.” Jacob grinned. “Not that I haven't thought about coldcocking him from time to time. Especially now. But I would like to talk to him.”

DeeAnn reached out and held his hand. The hand of the man she loved. The man she shared her life with. “Please don't do that.” She took a deep breath. “We have to trust Karen.”

His eyes met hers and then he looked away. “Okay, DeeAnn. For now.”

“I don't like this place,” Randy said as Annie pulled into the parking lot of the Riverside Apartments.

“I don't either. That's why I asked you to come along.”

“Your new best gay friend?” Randy smiled.

“Well, you are a man.”

“That I am,” he said and puffed his chest out.

“Rosa seemed to really like you,” Annie said, shutting off the engine. Noting a group of guys at the other side of the parking lot, she and Randy shared a look.

“Ignore them.” She opened her car door. As they disembarked from the car, she noticed Rosa walking across the parking lot. She must have been waiting for them.
Odd.

“Hey,” Rosa said. “I didn't want you guys to get freaked out by the gang.”

“Gang?” Randy said.

She laughed. “Not really. They're just a bunch of middle-aged losers that hang out in the parking lot because they don't have anything better to do.”

Rosa was short and built like a spark plug. She gave off a “don't mess with me” vibe that Annie quite liked.

The parking lot was a mishmash of vehicles. Most of them were well used. There were a couple of motorcycles and many trucks, including one new one that was kitted-out, big and shiny.

Why would anybody need a truck that big?
marveled Annie.

Randy seemed to like it. “I love trucks. This is a beaut.”

“Beaut?” Annie teased.

“I'm in Virginia now,” he said and winked at her.

They followed Rosa up two flights of stairs to her apartment.

“Please come in,” she said. “What would you like to drink? A soft drink? Juice? How about coffee?”

“Coffee sounds good,” Annie said and Randy nodded.

After they were settled on the worn, yet comfortable, sofa, Rosa brought in the coffee and a plate of cookies.

“Thank you. So this is where the Martelino sisters lived,” Annie said, looking around.

“Yes,” Rosa said. “We all lived here together.” The place was small, but neat and orderly. There was a jumble of décor, as one would expect to find with several adults living in the same quarters.

“I'll be interviewing a new roommate later today. She's passed the Mendez eye,” Rosa said.

“About that Mendez guy . . .” Annie said. “He threatened me.”

“I'm not surprised,” Rosa said. “He feels very protective of us.”

“What? Why?”

“He's more than a landlord for many of us. He's a sponsor. He keeps a close eye on us.”

“Is he married?” Randy asked.

“Yes,” replied Rosa. “Has three kids. His wife keeps to herself. He's very old-school Latino, if you know what I mean. We tried to get her involved in scrapbooking, but no dice. She came to our crop once and he had a fit. He told her it was a waste of time. Of course, we knew that he wants all of her attention. Wants her at home with him to cook and clean.” She rolled her eyes.

“So he doesn't like scrapbooking?” Annie asked.

“No,” Rosa responded. “None of our men like it. At least none of the ones here. They make fun of us. Think we should be out at the bars trying to get laid, I guess. Or trying to get a husband.”

“That's interesting,” Annie said, remembering the scrapbooking pages found on the bodies of the sisters, the craft knife sticking up from the neck of Marina, and the ribbon wrapped around Esmeralda. Someone definitely did not like them scrapbooking.

“Some people have strange feelings about scrapbooking. It's odd to me that someone would care that much about how someone else spends their time,” Rosa said. “But even Marina's boss . . . What's her name? . . . Pamela. She doesn't like scrapbooking.”

“Really?” Annie said. “I had no idea.”

“Interesting,” Randy said.

“Tell me about the sisters,” Annie said after a moment. She glanced over at the statue of Mary in the corner, with dried flowers circled around it. Rosary beads with a cross hung over the statue.

“Aye,” Rosa said with a sigh. “I miss them. And I am so frightened. I had the locks all changed. They were nice women. Clean. Polite. Funny.”

“When you say frightened”—Annie leaned in closer to her—“are you afraid that whoever killed them will come after you?”

“Yes. I don't know why someone would want to kill them. But they lived here. You know? Maybe whoever killed Marina and Esmeralda will want to kill me, too.” Rosa shrugged and bit her lip.

“Have you seen anybody strange hanging around?” Randy asked.

“No, just the same old crew. The middle-aged guys in the parking lot.”

“I heard there were gangs over here,” Annie said. “It's hard to believe.”

Rosa swallowed her cookie. “Who told you that?” Her tone was serious.

“The police,” Annie said.

“Well, yes, there was a gang,” Rosa said. “But I don't think there's one anymore. I think those old guys out there have taken care of it.”

“What do you mean?” Randy asked.

“They consider themselves the watchers. They are . . . how do you say? . . . vigilantes. They've scared away the gangs as far as I know.”

“Interesting,” Annie said and grinned. “Hell hath no fury like a bunch of middle-aged guys?”

“Yes,” Rosa said. “I know I called them losers, but several of them have families and didn't like the way things were going. So they took matters into their own hands.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Randy said.

Rosa nodded.

“You know, we tried to reach out to the Martelino family,” Annie said, trying to steer the conversation back to them. “The guy from Hathaway said they were orphans. So sad.”

“What? They weren't orphans,” said Rosa. “He must have them confused with one of his other clients. They have a mother and a father and a brother.”

Annie's heart started to race. “Where are they?”

“Unfortunately, they are in prison.”

“Prison? All of them?” Annie asked.

Rosa nodded. “I think it's in Kansas.”

Randy started to cough. Was he choking on his coffee? He patted his chest.

“Are you okay?” Annie asked.

He nodded, calming down, but his face was still red.

Randy may not be the best guy to take on these interviews
, thought Annie. She turned back to Rosa. “Kansas?”

“They all came to the United States together. The girls came here. Their parents and their brother went to Kansas. I don't know what happened, but they ended up in prison.”

“Do the police know this?” Annie asked, fuming.

“Of course,” Rosa said. “I told them everything I know.”

“We've been trying to reach the family to send our condolences.”

“I can give you their information,” said Rosa. “Why don't you come into their room with me? I'll find the address for you.”

Could it be that easy? After all this?
thought Annie.

When Annie walked into the bedroom, she tried to hold back a shiver. It was a happy room, with walls painted a soft yellow and bright decorations. A bookcase stocked with books stood in one corner. Another one held scrapbooks. A vanity table had makeup and a red and purple floral scarf flung across the top of it.

Those young women were alive a few short weeks ago
, thought Annie.
They hadn't expected to meet their end, to have their lives stolen at such a young age.

“Annie?” Randy said.

“Oh, let me get you a tissue,” Rosa said, noticing Annie's tears.

What's wrong with me,
thought Annie.
I'm a reporter! How unprofessional to cry like this.
But there was no point trying to stop. Only part of her was a reporter. She was a woman, a mother, a wife, a friend, a human. As she stood in the room that once belonged to the two sisters, filled with remnants of their young lives, sadness overwhelmed her.