Scrapbook of the Dead (7 page)

Annie looked over Sam's homework. “Looks like you've gotten it all right.” Her eyes were burning. She had thought she'd get some research done this evening but she was tired. Or maybe it was stress.

After all, one of the reasons they had moved to Cumberland Creek was because it was safer.

“Bath and bed,” Annie said to Sam.

He sniffed.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

He nodded. “I hate math.”

“I know. But remember what I said. It's one of those things you just have to get through.”

He kissed her on the cheek and she beamed. Her Sam.

“Hey Annie, did you put the last load of clothes in the dryer?” Mike said, walking into the kitchen.

“Yep,” Annie said, getting up from the kitchen table and heading to the sink to rinse a few dishes.

“What's wrong?” Mike asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I found out there are gangs in Cumberland Creek. I was over at those new apartments on Druid today and was threatened. I was surprised by it and went to the police and found out about big problems over there.”

Mike leaned up against the sink and crossed his arms. “Does this have anything to do with the Martelino sisters?”

Annie shrugged. “I bet it does. I'm hoping to get some research done tonight.”

“How big a problem is it?” Mike asked.

“It can't get any bigger than murder,” she said, reaching for a towel to dry her hands. “But what bothers me is that I didn't know anything about it, you know? They are keeping it hush-hush. I'm a reporter and I'm a mother. I need to pay more attention to my community.”

Mike reached for her and wrapped his arms around her. “I think you're doing fine. You're the best mom I know.”

She relaxed into her husband's arms and placed her head on his shoulder. “I was scared today. I didn't expect to be threatened. It was a shock. I mean, I'm sure I can handle the story. I just need to be more careful, like I used to be.”

Mike brushed a long, curly strand of hair out of her face and kissed her lips. “Annie, you've been in some tight situations, but you are a mom, now.” He sighed. “I'm glad this is the last story. I don't want to raise these boys alone.”

A shiver traveled up Annie's spine and she pulled away from her husband. “Don't worry. You won't.” She smiled. “At least not if I have anything to say about it.”

A few years ago, the conversation might have ended differently. But something had shifted in Annie. She didn't crave the danger anymore. She was still curious and still liked writing and finding some semblance of justice, but after being tied up and almost killed at the B and B and witnessing Jon and Elsie being shot, images of her children being without their mother taunted her. She had chosen to be a mom. They had worked at becoming parents. It was what she wanted. She wanted to be there for her kids. It was more important than anything.

Dreams shifted. Life changed.

And gangs were invading Cumberland Creek.

 

 

“Gangs?” Randy said, the next day at the scrapbooking crop. “Here?”

Annie nodded and sipped her beer.

They had decided to meet at DeeAnn's. She couldn't leave the house and Sheila thought it would cheer her up to have the croppers at her place. They had set up card tables and chairs around DeeAnn and her couch. DeeAnn was scrapbooking on her new laptop.

“Never thought I'd see the day,” Vera said after a minute. “This is my hometown, and I've never been frightened for my safety until the last few years. It's just sad.”

“Do they think that's who killed the Martelinos?” Paige asked.

“I don't know,” Annie replied. “But I've been researching them. The sisters have been here about eighteen months. They came together. Marina has been working for Pamela ever since she came here.”

“I wonder why the other sister didn't go to work for her,” DeeAnn said.

“It's tough to get a job there,” Randy said. “Unless it's as a dishwasher, you have to be qualified. I don't think people realize that Pamela's hired some highly qualified professionals.”

“Well, we know that you are,” Paige said. “But are there others like you?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Marina was very gifted. Knew her stuff. I don't know where she was trained. I never really have the time to talk to people when I'm working. It's a very fast pace and I'm really still figuring out the way things work.”

“I'm curious,” Annie said. “You've said that the place isn't managed well.”

“No, the supplies don't seem to be,” Randy said, placing a brown, jewel-embellished paper photo frame around a picture.

“Nice,” Paige said, looking over his shoulder.

“I find that very surprising,” Vera said. “I mean, for such a successful place, you'd think she'd be more careful.”

Randy grunted, holding up his page. “I'm not sure what the problem with the supplies is. I'm looking into it.” The page was gold with a Halloween photo of him and his dad sitting on a porch swing. He was dressed as Superman and only about three years old. The cranberry jewel embellishments he'd placed on the page added just a bit of flair. “I love those jewels. And they are so easy to work with. Now they have peel-off backs.”

“Does Pamela employ a lot of Mexicans?” Annie asked while searching in her bag for an envelope of photos she had stuck inside earlier.

“She employs mostly foreigners,” Randy said. “I'm one of the few locals there.”

“What?” Vera said, dropping her scissors.

“To be fair, most of them are doing menial jobs. Dishwashing, chopping, mixing,” said Randy. “Pamela mentioned once that she couldn't find Americans to fill those positions.”

The room quieted.

“That's hard to believe,” DeeAnn said. “I've never had a problem. In fact, I maintain a file of people who'd be happy to work for me, even if it's just washing dishes.”

“How much is she paying those people, Randy?” Annie said, unable to ignore the pings of reporter's intuition surging through her body.

“I imagine minimum wage,” he said, sliding his finished page into a plastic page protector. “But I really have no idea.”

“Has anybody gotten a good look at the scrapbooking pages they found with the sisters?” DeeAnn questioned.

“They've both been sent to the crime lab in Richmond,” Annie said, sliding out her photos of their day of hiking at Sherando Lake. She had bought some paper with stylized blue mountains in the background and couldn't wait to preserve the memory of that day. It had been one of those moments when she wished she could stop time. The boys were so busy with soccer, music, and school that it was tough to get away as a family, even if it was just to a local lake.

“Cute pictures,” Randy said.

Annie beamed. She played around with the placement of the photos. “How open would Pamela be to chatting with me?”

Randy twisted his mouth. “Who knows?”

Beatrice and Jon looked forward to Saturday nights with their granddaughter when they babysat while Vera was at her weekly crop meeting. But they were also happy when Elizabeth finally went to bed. The child was exhausting. Bea was ready for bed way before Elizabeth. Jon, on the other hand, was still playing around on the computer.

Beatrice sat in her chair reading the newest Louise Penny mystery and Jon sat in front of the computer reading intently.

“What are you doing over there?” Bea asked.

“Reading about gangs in small towns. It's troubling. I don't think we have gangs like this in France.” He looked at her with a sideways glance and a grin.

“The hell you don't,” Beatrice said. “Maybe you should be reading about gangs in Paris or Mexico City.”

“Mexico City?”

“That's in Mexico.”

“Yes, of course it is, but we are in Cumberland Creek.”

“Yes, but the murder victims were from Mexico, right? So maybe we can learn something about where they lived. Maybe it will give us a better understanding of why the women were here,” Beatrice said.

“They were probably here because wherever they grew up was terrible. They were very poor and lived in terrible conditions. They thought America was, how do you say, the land of opportunity,” Jon said.

Beatrice's stomach sank. What Jon said was probably true and that was what made it all the more tragic. What could she do? She felt obligated to do something. She couldn't not help out. It was the Southerner in her. It was frustrating because there was nobody to take a casserole to, nobody to offer a shoulder to.
What must the girls' parents feel like?

“
Jon, we need to find out where to send our condolences. Maybe we can help their family somehow.”

Jon's face softened. “What a lovely thought. You, my love, have a big heart.”

Beatrice grinned. “Let's keep that between us, shall we?”

He went back to the computer and she to her book.

That didn't last long. Bea looked up. “I don't know much about Mexico at all. Here I am, eighty-five years old and there's so many places in the world that I know nothing about. Ed, my first husband, and I traveled around the states a bit. And there was my big trip to Paris. But life gets so busy. It all goes by too quickly to visit every place you might like to.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jon said.

“Well, hand me the phone.”

After Jon passed it over Bea dialed Vera's cell.

“Yes, Mama?” Vera said.

“I want to send condolences to the murder victims' family. Anybody have any address?”

“Well, how would I know?”

“Ask Annie, would you? I know she's there,” Beatrice said.

“Hold on,” said Vera.

A few seconds later, Annie's voice came over the phone. “Hey Bea, how are you?”

“Feeling bad about those girls who were killed. I want to send their folks something. Can you help me out?” Beatrice asked.

“I can try. Right now, there's not much to tell. As soon as I find out who to contact, I'll let you know,” Annie said.

“Why is it such a big deal? Why doesn't someone have their mother's address?” Beatrice said, exasperated.

“Pamela might,” Annie said after a minute. “But it's complicated. Privacy issues. Immigration issues.”

“Are you saying they were here illegally?”

“No. Pamela said they were legal. But Marina was her employee and there are legal guidelines for that. I plan to talk to Pamela this week. Maybe we can get somewhere. I'd like to reach out to their family, too, even if it's just to send a card, you know?” Annie said.

“Land's sakes. Guidelines,” Beatrice said. “Guidelines for everything. Why do they have to make things so complicated?”

“I can't answer that, Beatrice,” Annie said and laughed.

“Well, please let me know when you know something. Now, go ahead and get back to your scrapbooking. Sorry to interrupt.”

“You are never an interruption, Bea. Good night.”

Jon was deep into reading something on the computer. When Bea got off the phone he piped up. “Fascinating report on gangs in rural America. They are trying to figure out how gangs start. But no matter how it starts, it's clear that young people are targeted. One key factor is many of the gangs in rural areas are close to a major highway.”

“I've always hated Highway 81. They say there's a lot of drugs transported there.” Beatrice yawned. She wasn't sure what she wanted more—sleep or that last piece of apple strudel.

Of course, the strudel won out.

DeeAnn mulled over the whole
Pamela hiring only foreigners
thing. What was that about? “Randy, how does Pamela find her help?”

“Who? What?” Randy was obviously concentrating on his father-son scrapbooking project.

“Pamela!” DeeAnn said. “How does she find her foreign help? I mean, I wouldn't even know where to begin, say, if I wanted to specifically hire immigrants.”

He shrugged. “I'm sorry, DeeAnn. The hiring is done by Pamela. I have no idea how she finds them.”

“Maybe she runs want ads in their Mexican papers,” Vera suggested.

“Online, more likely,” Annie said.

“It's not only people from Mexico. Sal is from Brazil and some of the others are from the Philippines,” Randy said.

It was perplexing. DeeAnn couldn't get over it. She didn't know about any of it, of course, and it troubled her. Even though Pamela's Pie Palace was on the outskirts of town, she was in the same business and wondered if she was missing an opportunity. But what was the advantage? Her employees were the best. She paid them a fair wage and they worked hard for her. She sucked in air as a twinge of pain ripped through her lower back.

Sheila noticed. “DeeAnn? Is this too much for you?”

“Nah, I probably need another couple pain pills.” DeeAnn reached for her bottle as she looked at the clock.
When was the last time I took a pill? Oh never mind.

It hurt, so she took a couple more.

Annie's head tilted as she looked up from her scrapbook. “Where do all these immigrants live? I mean, I never see them wandering around Cumberland Creek.”

“I have no idea, Annie,” Randy said. “We know where the Martelino sisters lived. Maybe the rest of them live there, too.”

“But even then, where are they hanging out? Doing their grocery shopping? I never see them,” she insisted.

“That is odd. I figured since I moved onto the mountain, I'm a bit out of touch with things. That's why I don't see them. There are several girls in dance class, though,” Vera said and placed a button onto her page. It was a button that looked like a medal. She was working on Eric's triathlon page.

“I think they keep to themselves,” Randy said after a minute. “I mean, imagine being in a foreign country surrounded by people you don't know. It's natural to want to hang out with other people from your own country. Right?”

DeeAnn searched through her brain to remember if she'd ever seen any of the new people in the bakery. She couldn't remember. She closed the lid on her laptop to rest her eyes, which were burning.

“You okay?” Vera said.

“Yes, stop fussing over me. It's just that my eyes are burning from using the computer,” DeeAnn said.

“Yes, that will happen. That and pain in your hands and such. It's a good idea to stop, rest your eyes, and stretch,” Sheila said.

“Sheila, how is Donna?” Annie asked after taking a sip of beer.

“She's doing okay,” Sheila said after a minute.

DeeAnn took a good look at Sheila. “But you look like hell.”

“DeeAnn!” Paige said. “Those drugs are messing with your head!”

Sheila's mouth dropped open, then closed.

Vera reached over and took her hand. “She's right. You look very tired. Are you okay?”

DeeAnn watched as Sheila's lips started to curl downward. Her cheeks twitched and a low sob came from deep inside of her. “No! I'm not okay. I have deadlines, big deadlines, a very sick daughter who wants to go back to Carnegie Mellon, another child getting ready to go to school, and I have no energy. I simply don't know how to manage anymore.” She snapped her laptop shut.

The room went completely silent.

Cookie spoke up first. She had been quiet for most of the night, which was her usual way these days. She'd come and eat and work on a page or two. Nobody knew what memories she was scrapbooking, since she really didn't remember much of her past.

“Sheila, maybe you need to pull back, give something up,” Cookie said.

Sheila made a noise, something between a laugh and a sob. “But what? I have this dream job . . .”

“Sometimes what we think is a dream turns out to be a nightmare,” Cookie said.

DeeAnn bit her tongue.
How would she know?
Half the time Cookie didn't remember a thing. How could she be dispensing advice?

Sheila took a deep breath. “You know, Cookie, for somebody who is still not quite well . . . I think you've hit the nail on the head. I love my work. But the deadlines, the travel . . . If Donna were okay, I think it would be different. But maybe I need to talk to my company about pulling back a bit. My first product line comes out next week. It's going to be crazy busy.”

“Is this your scrap journaling project?” Annie asked.

“That's part of it. There's a Halloween digital scrap journal and a line of papers and embellishments and so on. All designed by me.” Despite her stress, Sheila beamed with pride.

“That's fantastic,” DeeAnn said.

“The company is having this huge event to roll it out next week. My whole family is going with me to the city to celebrate.”

“Oh Sheila, that's wonderful!” Vera said.

Sheila nodded. “A dream come true. If only I felt better.”