Scrapbook of the Dead (13 page)

DeeAnn and Sheila sat at her kitchen table with DeeAnn's laptop in front of them.

“So, after you place the photo on the page, you can change the color or texture or anything,” Sheila said.

“But that's not
really
a page,” DeeAnn said.

“Well, you know what I mean,” Sheila said, exasperated.

“It's pretty cool,” DeeAnn said. “But after I finish all this, then what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how do I get the pages off my computer and into my hands? Can I print them?”

“Well, sure. Depending on your page size. If you have a regular scrapbook page, there are places that you can send your pages to and they will print them. Or you can keep them on CDs, jump drives, whatever.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Some people don't feel the need for paper and clutter. They lead digital lives.” Sheila grinned.

“Sounds fancy,” DeeAnn said, sliding her computer over and her sandwich toward her. Sheila had brought lunch. She made the most wonderful sandwiches—this one was avocado and cream cheese with lettuce and tomatoes. DeeAnn would never have imagined putting all of those ingredients together. But it was good.

“When are you going back to work?” Sheila asked.

DeeAnn shrugged. “I guess when the doc tells me I can.”

“How are you feeling?”

“As long as I have the pain medicine, I'm fine. But when it starts to wear off, I'm not happy. And Jacob won't let me have more. I say if it hurts I need one. He says only two a day. Prick.” She laughed.

“Guess the bastard likes you or something,” Sheila said and then took a bite of her sandwich.

The two sat quietly for a few minutes as they each ate their sandwiches.

“I've been thinking about those paper dolls of yours,” DeeAnn said. “I love them. Have you shown them to your boss yet?”

Sheila shook her head. “I'll be seeing him next week. I don't have much hope that they'll be interested in carrying a line of paper dolls, though. I don't think they are a popular toy these days.”

“That makes me sad,” DeeAnn said and then paused. “How is Donna?”

The color in Sheila's faced drained. DeeAnn was sorry she asked.

“I don't think she's going back to school anytime soon. They said they'd hold her scholarship for two years. She seems to be fine for days, and then . . .” Sheila gestured. “I don't know. She weakens. I don't like leaving her. In fact, I think I might quit my job.”

“What?” DeeAnn dropped her sandwich. “Your dream job?”

“It is a dream job in a way. But it's not exactly how I thought it would be—and it came at such a bad time for the family. I feel . . . pulled so much of the time. I'm not sure it's worth it.”

DeeAnn was surprised to hear it. She thought Sheila was so thrilled with her work. “Hey, you've got to do what you've got to do. Things happen. Priorities shift.”

Sheila smiled. “Isn't that the truth?”

The telephone blared. It was a woman from Hathaway Transatlantic Employment. “Just confirming tomorrow's appointment,” she said.

“I'll be here,” DeeAnn said. And she wasn't the only one. Annie would be there and so would Beatrice. Sheila couldn't make it, as she was going to New York City.

DeeAnn finished the call, hung up the phone, and explained who had called.

“I wish I could be there,” Sheila said. “It should be interesting.”

“I'll say,” DeeAnn said. “There's definitely something fishy about these folks.”

“Maybe not.” Sheila pushed her glasses back up on her nose. “Maybe they are exactly what they say they are. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I wish I could believe that. I don't understand why Pamela uses them when there are locals who need the work. Maybe it's because she can get away with paying them less than minimum wage.”

“She does?”

“Good Lord, the woman has more money than God,” DeeAnn said.

“Maybe that's why—she's very frugal with it.”

“Baloney! She was born into money and married into it. She's a selfish bitch.” DeeAnn couldn't believe she actually said that. But she did—and it felt good to acknowledge that it was exactly how she felt. It wasn't sour grapes because the Pie Palace was so successful. It was as if that feeling about Pamela had been swirling around inside her for a long time and she just now recognized it.

Sheila lurched back, her hand to her chest.

“I mean it, Sheila, no pussyfooting around about it. When you own a business, you need to treat the people who work for you as good as you can,” DeeAnn said.

“True. Speaking of that, I brought dessert, too, from my favorite bakery.” Sheila reached down next to her feet and lifted a “DeeAnn's Bakery” bag. Inside was a box of cupcakes.

When she lifted the lid, DeeAnn sighed. Four gorgeous cupcakes were decorated to look like witch hats.

“Chocolate raspberry,” Sheila said. “So beautiful. I don't know how she does it.”

A lovely, handwritten card was tucked inside the box from her crew.

DeeAnn held back a tear she felt stinging her eyes, then she took a deep breath and shrugged. Well, if she couldn't be at her shop, it was a good thing Jill was. Figuring she may as well enjoy the treats, DeeAnn reached into the box for a gorgeous cupcake and when she took a bite of it, it tasted like sweet heaven.

Annie set the cereal bowls down in front of her boys. “Eat up. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Mike came out of the bedroom and sauntered into the kitchen. He was dressed to the hilt in a gray suit.

“Well, good morning, handsome,” Annie said and smiled.

He reached out for her and gave her a quick kiss. “Important meeting today. I can't wait to get this over with.”

“I'm sure you will get the promotion, Mike. You've done so well since we've been here,” Annie said.

They both had. They were able to save a little bit of money and were getting close to being able to buy another house. Their place was so small. Each year, as the boys grew, it became smaller. The incredible shrinking house.

“Stop it, Ben!” Sam slammed his hand on the table.

Ben laughed and continued to slurp his milk out of the bowl.

“Mom! Dad! Tell him to stop!”

“Ben, please stop annoying your brother.” Mike turned and reached into the cupboard for a bowl and a cup.

“I'll get your oatmeal. Sit down, Mike,” Annie said and poured him a cup of steaming coffee.

“Sam,” Mike said. “Stop glaring at your brother like that. How did your math test go yesterday?”

“I did okay.” Sam shrugged. “I'll find out today.”

“Good,” Mike said. “And what are you up to, Ben?”

“Soccer game this weekend. Can't wait.”

Mike nodded. “That's right. And next weekend is Halloween.”

“Halloween is for babies,” Sam said.

“Well,” Annie said. “You don't have to get dressed up. You can stay here and hand out candy with your father.”

Sam smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

 

 

After everybody had left and Annie finished cleaning the kitchen, she dressed and gathered her things for the meeting at DeeAnn's house. It should be an interesting morning. But maybe not as interesting as the evening she had planned at the Drummond house, meeting with another group of scrapbookers. Imagine that! Another group of women in town got together to scrapbook every week or so. Annie found it amusing. She couldn't wait to meet the women and find out more about the immigrant population in Cumberland Creek—especially Marina and her sister Esmeralda.

Pamela was not being much help—she and Annie kept playing phone tag. At this point, it was pretty clear that it was a purposeful avoidance tactic on Pamela's part, which only led Annie to suspect her of knowing more or covering something up.

But what?

Annie slipped on her sneakers. Every time she put them on, she longingly remembered the days when she used to wear great shoes. Maybe soon, she'd trade in her sneakers for her designer heels again. Truth was, she didn't know where she was heading with her life. She simply knew she was done with reporting.

She grabbed her bag, locked the front door, and started the walk to DeeAnn's house.

When she reached DeeAnn's house, she saw that the man from the agency was already there. “Guess he couldn't wait,” she muttered to herself. “But I thought I was early.”

Annie rang the doorbell and Beatrice greeted her. She looked like that cat who swallowed the canary. Knowing Beatrice, it was one bloody canary.

“Come on in,” Bea said. “He's just gotten here.” She looked at the bag in Annie's hand. “Those muffins? I brought some coffee cake. We sure are going to sweeten him up.”

Annie followed her into the kitchen where plates of food were being filled with cake, muffins, donuts, bagels, and other morning goodies.

DeeAnn was in the living room with the man while Bea was preening over the food. “Let's go ahead and take these in.”

Annie grabbed a plate.

When they walked into the living room, Christopher Hathaway looked up and his eyes widened. “Now ladies, you all have gone to too much trouble. It's not necessary.”

“We want to make you feel welcome. Everybody needs breakfast,” DeeAnn said.

The women set the plates of food on the coffee table and then proceeded to sit down.

Mr. Hathaway had coco-colored skin and dark hair, graying at the temples. He had big, bright eyes that hinted at intelligence.

“Please help yourself,” DeeAnn said.

Mr. Hathaway selected a blueberry muffin and took a huge bite. “Oh my God. This is so good.”

“They're from my bakery,” DeeAnn said proudly. “So—we'd like to hear more about your company.”

“Well, as you know, we provide a means for immigrants to come to this country. We help get their visas and passports and whatnot, and help to find them work.” He took another bite of the blueberry muffin and rolled his eyes in obvious delight.

Sounded good, but Annie had her doubts.

“So, the money I'd pay you would cover all that?” DeeAnn asked.

“That and more,” he said, looking around curiously.

He was probably wondering what the hell all those women were doing there.

“It would cover expenses in getting them here and their first year of employment.”

“So, they don't get paid the first year?” Beatrice spoke up.

“I'm sorry. How are you connected with the bakery?” he asked politely.

“I'm not,” Beatrice said. “I'm a friend of DeeAnn's.”

“But Bea's question is a good one,” DeeAnn said quickly.

Mr. Hathaway continued, turning his attention to DeeAnn. “I know it seems harsh, but we've found that while they are adjusting to a new job, new country, and new culture, it's best that the first year they receive payment only from us. You pay us up front in a lump sum and we pay them. It helps us to keep track of them.”

“Why do you need to keep track of them?” Annie said.

“Another friend?” he asked DeeAnn, who nodded.

“I'm unaccustomed to answering business questions from friends,” Mr. Hathaway said. “I don't understand what these women are doing here.”

“They're just curious,” DeeAnn replied. “Because of the recent murders, you see. Everybody is curious about the Martelino sisters.”

Mr. Hathaway's face reddened. “Avery unfortunate incident. But they had been here for almost two years so I really have nothing to say about them.”

“Meaning their first year was over so you didn't keep track of them any longer?” Annie asked after swallowing a bite of cranberry scone.

“Yes,” Mr. Hathaway said. “During the first year their sponsors check in on them several times to make sure they are adjusting and so on.”

“Sponsors?” DeeAnn asked.

“Usually, it's their employer. Maybe a social worker . . . sometimes it's landlords.”

Landlords. Hmmm.
An image of Mr. Mendez, the landlord at the new apartments, came into Annie's mind. Could he be a sponsor?

Annie shivered. If he was, God knows what kind of lives the Martelino sisters had been leading. And no wonder they'd ended up dead.

Beatrice was unimpressed by Mr. Hathaway's explanations. “They bring these young people here and track them for a year, then don't follow up?”

“Let me be clear,” Mr. Hathaway said. “Many agencies like ours do nothing that first year. My father started the agency because he fell in love with a woman from India. Her family also needed to get out of the country because of a political situation in which their lives were threatened.”

“So that's how this all began?” DeeAnn asked.

“It has evolved into a huge business,” Mr. Hathaway went on. “My father's inclination was to help foreigners get out of bad situations, bring them here to work, and start new lives.”

“Sounds very altruistic,” Beatrice sad. “Except I'm not sure how I feel about them not getting a real salary that first year. Sounds like indentured servitude.”

“I understand completely,” Hathaway said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “I know that's what it sounds like. But that's not what it is.”

“So what do you know about the Martelinos?” Beatrice asked.

The man looked aghast. “I know they were killed,” he finally said.

“No, that's not what I mean,” Beatrice said. “We wanted to send their family our condolences, but we've been unable to find out anything about them.”

Mr. Hathaway's face reddened. “I am sorry about that, but there's probably something you should know about them . . . well, they had no family. As far as I know, they grew up in an orphanage in Mexico City and were never adopted as children.”

Beatrice's stomach sank.
Lawd, it keeps getting worse.
The young women had lived hellacious lives. The room was silent as the women exchanged glances. They had gotten part of the information they came for, but it wasn't helpful. They wanted some sort of closure.

Why does it matter so much to me?
Beatrice wondered. She hadn't even known the young women. As she glanced around to the others gathered in the room, the thought struck her that it didn't matter that the young women were perfect strangers—tragedy could affect any one of them. In times of grief, it was bits and pieces of comforting gestures that kept you going.

They were still talking about something, but Beatrice did not care to follow along anymore. It was as if the Martelino sisters had never existed. They came here for a better life and got killed, probably by some gang. What was the world coming to?

Annie looked at Beatrice with a sadness in her dark eyes. She must have been thinking similar thoughts.

Beatrice took a bite of her pumpkin chocolate chip muffin and let the flavor take her mind away from the young women with no family, save each other.

After the women had grilled him some more to no avail, Mr. Hathaway left, and DeeAnn was back to lying on the couch with her friends fussing over her. Beatrice asked if she was actually going to hire someone from the agency.

“I don't think so,” DeeAnn said. “Lawd, if I could just have another pain pill. I have to wait until two to take the next one.”

“Why?” Beatrice wondered.

“Jacob is withholding them. I guess he thought I was using too many of them,” DeeAnn said.

“Well, how does he know?” Beatrice said. “Is he suddenly a doctor?”

“She was taking them willy-nilly,” Annie said. “She's only supposed to take two a day. These pills are very addictive. Her husband is just concerned.”

“Humph. Did the doctor mention anything about whiskey? That will take the edge off,” Beatrice said.

“Her daddy always said it's good for what ails you,” Annie said with a mocking tone that made them all laugh—including Beatrice.

“I'm willing to try anything,” DeeAnn said.

“Where do you keep your booze?” Beatrice asked.

“In the kitchen cabinet below the sink,” DeeAnn said.

“You better be careful mixing booze with those pills,” Annie said. “You'll get all loopy.”

“Loopier than usual?” DeeAnn said and laughed.

“What do you think of all this, Annie?” Beatrice heard DeeAnn say as she opened the kitchen cabinet door.

“I'm not sure what to think. It sounds to me like Transatlantic is a hair away from involvement in human trafficking. The man can say what he wants and call it what he wants, but I'm betting everything is not as rosy as it sounds.”

“I thought he was real nice,” DeeAnn said. “Seemed like he wanted to help people.”

“He did seem nice,” Annie said. “But then again, he's not the only person working in his company. And I'm not sure where that's going to lead us in terms of the murders.”

Beatrice poured a glass of Jack Daniel's and carried the golden elixir into the living room. “I agree. After all, it was someone here who killed them. We need to avenge these young women.” She handed the glass to DeeAnn.

DeeAnn drank from the glass. “Eww, that's nasty stuff.” She turned to Annie. “What's this I hear about you going to another crop tonight?”

“Word travels fast around here,” Annie said. “Yes, I'm going over to the Drummond house tonight for a crop with friends of Marina and Esmeralda.”

Beatrice stopped in her tracks. “What did you say?”

“I'm going to—”

“The Drummond house?”

Annie nodded. “What's wrong?”

Beatrice told them about her own recent trip to the Drummond place.

“What an odd coinshidenshe,” DeeAnn said with a bit of a slur to her words.

“Loopy,” Bea said. “It doesn't take much.”