Scrapbook of the Dead (4 page)

Annie got to the second crime scene a bit late. Bryant had already been there and gone, but she was in time to see the body before they had disturbed it. The victim's face had a ribbon tied around it and a bow over her mouth. The ribbon was bright orange with black pumpkins printed across it.

It chilled Annie.
How strange. Why would someone decorate a body like that?

It was so deranged.

“Esmeralda Martelino,” the cop told her.

“Martelino? Same last name as Marina?”

The cop nodded. “Sisters.” He looked over at the mountains. “Foreign.”

“She's not a drowning vic,” Annie said almost to herself. “How did she die?”

“Don't know yet,” Ruth the ME said as she walked over.

“You again,” Annie said.

Ruth nodded.

“Have you gotten any more medical results back for Marina?” Annie asked, but she already knew the answer. It was Sunday. Hardly anybody in Cumberland Creek worked on Sunday and even the rest of the state moved at a slower pace.

“No, I'm sorry,” Ruth said. “Call me tomorrow afternoon. Might have something on the first one by then.”

“What do you make of it?” Annie asked.

“I'm just the medical examiner. I don't know anything about these young women besides the stories their bodies will tell me.”

It was an interesting way of putting it.

Ruth shrugged, then nodded toward Esmeralda. “I can tell you her sister was a healthy specimen. She was thin, but not malnourished, had good teeth and so on.”

“No guess on cause of death for this one?” Annie asked.

“None. I think it's fair to say she didn't drown. But other than that, I have no way of knowing at this point.”

Annie nodded.

Ruth walked off, carrying her medical bag with her.

Annie zipped up her coat and pulled her scarf in closer around her neck. It was getting cold. The sky was so blue it was almost painful to look at and the fall leaves looked like colorful, fluffy blankets spread over the mountains. She turned to look at a police officer as he was filling out some papers. “Who found her?”

He pointed. “The guy over there. Sitting on the bench. He was out for an early morning walk and there she was, lying on the ground near the water. Great way to start the day, huh?”

“Can I talk to him?” Annie asked.

“He's in shock. I'd wait awhile,” the officer said. “He's not making much sense. We've been trying to take him to the hospital, but he won't go.”

“No insurance?”

“Look at him. What do you think?”

Annie took a good look at him. Maybe he was Mexican, as well. He was dark, and he had hooded, almost black eyes. But maybe not. Only one way to find out.

A female officer was sitting next to him, writing in her tablet.

“Excuse me,” Annie said as she wandered up to the bench. “I'm Annie Chamovitz, a reporter for the
Washington Herald
.”

The man looked up at her, but his eyes were vacant.

Annie looked at the cop, who shook her head. “I'd leave him alone for now,” she said.

“Can I have his name?” Annie asked.

“Juan Mendez,” the officer said. “Let me write down his contact information for you.”

“Thanks.”

A medic brought the man a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“He seemed fine at first,” the officer said. “But then . . .”

“We all react differently,” Annie said, thinking of Randy, so pale and shivering head to toe, just yesterday. “It's perfectly normal to be spooked.”

The officer nodded and handed Annie a slip of paper with the man's phone number and address on it.

“Thanks so much.”

The scene was grim. Amidst the beauty and splendor of the mountains surrounding them, sat a man who had happened upon a body. A man who would never really be the same. Oh, he'd be okay, eventually. But something like this might haunt him for years. He could tuck it away and function, but it would visit him at odd times.

Annie knew that.

For her, haunting came in dreams. Not when she was working a case, usually, but after. Sometimes she'd dream about murder victims from years ago. She'd never forget any of them. The odd thing was, she thought she'd left it all behind when she moved from DC. Cumberland Creek had turned out to not be the safe haven she and her husband Mike had predicted.

She walked up the path next to the river, which snaked alongside the town. She decided to stop by Paige and Earl's to check up on Randy. If she knew him at all, that's where he'd be.

She turned the corner onto Paige's street and saw Detective Bryant's car. Her immediate reaction was,
This can wait. I
'
d rather not see him
. But her hackles were raised. If he was there, that meant he was questioning Randy. She'd be damned if she would allow his presence to stop her from going inside and doing her job—even though a big part of her wanted to turn around. She walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

“Why, hello Annie,” DeeAnn said when she opened the door. “C'mon in. I brought Randy some coffee cake this morning,” she explained as they walked into the kitchen. “And then look who showed up.”

“Annie,” Detective Bryant said.

“Adam,” she responded. “What's going on here?”

“Just asking Randy a few questions,” he said a little too nonchalantly.

“And what's that?” Annie pointed to a sheet of paper encased in a plastic bag the group was mulling over.

The detective cleared his throat. “It's a scrapbook page. Evidence. I was wondering if anybody here knew anything about it.”

“How did you get it?” Annie asked.

“I was at the crime scene first thing this morning, of course. How do you think I got it?” Bryant replied.

Annie chilled. “Do you mean you found this on the body—on Esmeralda's body?”

He nodded. “In her hand, actually.”

Annie smirked. She knew something he didn't. Should she tell him?

“What gives, Annie?” he said and took a sip from his mug. He read her too well.

“Well, there was a scrapbook page at yesterday's murder, too,” she responded.

The detective almost choked on his gourmet coffee.

Beatrice sat in her chair and looked out over her clan—Jon, Vera, Eric, Elizabeth . . . and Cookie. Cookie and Elizabeth were on the floor playing cards and Jon, Vera, and Eric were watching a football game. Cookie troubled Beatrice. Hell, she troubled everybody. Nobody knew when she'd show up and her short-term memory loss came and went, much like her long-term memory loss. She was not quite the same woman they had gotten to know and love a few years back.

“Go fish!” Cookie said to Elizabeth, who reached down for another card. Cookie had always been very good with Elizabeth, even when she was a baby. They had a connection.

Cookie's long, black hair had been cut short—Beatrice preferred her short hair because her long hair had engulfed her tiny face. And Cookie was gaining weight—not that she would ever be fat or even plump, but finally the young woman was getting some meat on her bones. She looked healthy—most of the time. The doctor who was her caretaker made sure that she ate. Sometimes, she'd sort of slump over and get a faraway look in her eyes, but her spark was back as she focused on the game in front of her.

Bea could only take so much of the noise of the football game. She went to the dining room and switched on the computer.

“Go, Steelers!” Jon yelled, “Touchdown, yes!”

It was irritating, the way her sophisticated French husband was turning into a couch potato football fan. She bit her tongue—for the time being. Okay, the football culture was new to him; maybe it was just a stage.

She read over the local news headlines. H
ALLOWEEN
P
ARTY TO BE
H
ELD AT
F
IRE
H
ALL
. Hmm. That's new. A News Flash streamed across the screen. She clicked on it and began to read.

“I'll be,” Beatrice said. “Sisters? Their killings most assuredly had something to do with one another.”

“What's going on, Mama?” Vera had gotten up to put the tea kettle on and was behind her mom. Beatrice filled her in.

“Whoa!” Vera gasped. “Another murder in Cumberland Creek.” She sat down at the table, her mouth agape.

“It's nobody we know, thank goodness, but still a tragedy,” Beatrice said, her heart thumping. Her home. Cumberland Creek. What was becoming of it? What to do about it? There was a killer on the loose!

“Sisters.” Vera said as she pulled up the chair and looked over Bea's shoulder.

“Odd, isn't it? I never realized there were any Mexicans living around here,” Beatrice said.

“They sort of keep to themselves,” Vera said. “Several families live over at those Riverside Apartments on Druid Lane.”

“I had no idea.” Bea was ashamed that she didn't know who was living in her community anymore. Though the apartment and mobile home dwellers were not quite in her neighborhood, she still considered them a part of her community.

“A couple of their daughters have started ballet lessons,” Vera said. “They pay on time and the children are so well behaved.”

“Well, that says a lot, doesn't it?” Beatrice said and crossed her arms. “I don't know half the people in Cumberland Creek anymore. I used to know just about everybody.”

“I know, Mama,” Vera said. “It's changing. Some of it's good. I'm really glad Elizabeth will be getting to know some kids from other cultures.”

“Some of it's bad, though,” Beatrice said. “I mean look. Two women murdered. We went for years without any murders in our community. Now all of a sudden, it's one after the other.”

Vera thought a moment, her mouth curled. “Yes, but most of the murders had nothing to do with the new people in town. Look, many of the murders were committed by locals or people with local ties.”

Beatrice nodded. “True enough.”

“At the same time, it kind of scares me. It doesn't quite feel safe anymore. If I let myself, I'll get paranoid about Elizabeth and won't let her out of my sight,” Vera said, her brows arching higher over her eyes.

“But you're lucky. The child has so many people who look out for her,” Beatrice pointed out. “No need for paranoia.”

Vera was already a bit overprotective of Elizabeth—a baby she thought she'd never have. Unfortunately, Vera's relationship with Bill, the father of the baby, had run its course when she had found out she was expecting.

“Look Mama,” Vera pointed to the screen. “There's a little article about Marina.

“The body of Marina Martelino, age twenty-three, was found at Pamela's Pie Palace, Saturday at four-thirty
AM
. Marina, a recent immigrant to the United States, had been working at Pamela's for eighteen months. According to Pamela Kraft, owner of the Pie Palace, Marina was from Mexico City and lived with her sister at Riverside Apartments in Cumberland Creek. According to Sheriff Ted Bixby, an investigation is pending,” Vera read. She looked at her mother. “Well, now is that all they are going to say?”

“Evidently,” Beatrice said.

The whistling tea kettle invaded their conversation.

“Tea, Mama?”

“Sure.”

“You'd think they'd let people know what's going to happen with her body or if she has any relatives around,” Vera grumbled.

“Well, we know about her sister.”

“Yes, but what about the people at home? Will we ever know? I feel like we should reach out to her family in some way.”

Beatrice beamed. Her Vera. A heart as wide as the sky. Trouble was, it got trampled on a lot. Beatrice used to worry more about her—but that had changed. She had a great feeling about Eric. He loved Vera and was showing an incredible amount of patience.

“We can ask the police or Pamela for some information on how to reach her family,” Beatrice said as Vera brought her a steaming cup of tea.

“What's going on in here, ladies?” Eric asked, entering the dining room.

“What is it, halftime?” Vera rolled her eyes.

He grinned. “How did you know?”

DeeAnn slid the chicken back into the oven and went to work mashing the potatoes. It was time for Sunday dinner, one of her favorite times of the week. Karen was coming. Visits from her were rarer than what DeeAnn would have liked. Karen was a nurse at the University of Virginia Medical Center and, because she was so new, she had very little control over her schedule. Her first year was turning into nothing but work and sleep.

DeeAnn had wondered recently if her daughter was dating someone. She had received a phone call from someone canceling an outing and had been obviously disappointed.

DeeAnn tried not to pry in Karen's personal life. She was a grown woman—at least that's what DeeAnn kept telling herself.

“You and your strawberry kitchen,” Karen said as she walked in the door.

DeeAnn looked up from her mashed potatoes before she plopped more butter in. “I like strawberries. They make me smile.”

Karen laughed. It was the same sweet rippling laugh it always was, just a bit deeper. “What can I do to help?”

“Set the table. Everything else is in hand.”

“Chicken smells great,” Karen said as she reached into the cupboard for plates and headed into the dining room. She was tall and thin like her dad and it was her habit to reach the tallest shelves for DeeAnn, who was a bit shorter but a lot rounder.

“Yes, it does.” DeeAnn's husband, Jacob, came into the room.

“It needs a few more minutes,” DeeAnn said as if trying to hold him back with her voice. He was so impatient sometimes.

“Just heard about the woman they found this morning,” Jacob said, reaching into the silverware drawer.

“What woman?” Karen called from the dining room.

“Esmeralda Martelino,” DeeAnn said, sprinkling more salt into the potatoes.

“How did you know?” asked Jacob.

DeeAnn reached down in her cupboard to get a serving bowl for the potatoes and a sharp pain ripped through her back. It flattened her, stomach-first onto the hard linoleum floor.
What's happening? Where is my breath?

“DeeAnn?” She heard Jacob say through her haze of pain.

“Mom? What is it?” Karen crouched down beside her.

“My back,” DeeAnn managed to say. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
Just breathe,
she told herself. But she wasn't sure she could. It felt like her lower back was on fire and if she moved an inch it would erupt.

“Hold on,” Karen said. “Don't move. Dad, can you get the heating pad warmed up?”

“Heating pad? Do we have a heating pad?” he said with panic in his voice.

“Yes, Dad. It's in the closet next to the bathroom, third shelf down. What does it feel like, Mom—a dull thud? A sharp pain?”

“It was sharp,” DeeAnn said. “It's easing off into dull. Feels like something is out of place.”

“How long have you been having problems? Can you twist around onto your back?” Karen asked.

“I think so.”

“Here it is,” Jacob said, coming into the kitchen and proudly holding up the heating pad.

DeeAnn and Karen exchanged looks.

“Can you plug it in next to the couch? Also get more pillows. We're going to need to prop Mom up.” Karen was taking charge of the situation.

Had DeeAnn not been in such pain, she'd have told her how proud she was of her daughter, the nurse. A grown woman.

The scent of the chicken reminded DeeAnn that the bird needed to be pulled out of the oven. “The chicken.”

“Don't worry,” Karen said. “I'll take care of the chicken. We need to get you to the couch first.”

Karen. What a kind, knowledgeable, sensible young woman she's become.
DeeAnn looked up into her daughter's face and saw a woman she could not be more proud of and started to cry.

“Oh now,” Jacob said, as he helped her up from the floor, his arm around her shoulder. “DeeAnn, don't cry, sweetheart.”

“Are you in that much pain?” Karen asked.

“I am,” DeeAnn said, sniffling.
But that
'
s not why I
'
m crying
, she wanted to say. They would never understand the way she just had seen time stand still, move back and forward, in just a flash. Her daughter, a grown, capable woman . . . with the same face, the same eyes, hell, the same freckles she'd always had. The same freckles DeeAnn's mother had had. Lord, the woman was a lot like DeeAnn's own mother. She had a moment of existential dread and panic.
Stop
, she wanted to say
. Stop growing up
.
I want to hold you here forever.

Her back jabbed at her and brought her back to the present. She carefully sat on the couch, with Karen lifting her feet and Jacob propping pillows up behind her.

“That okay?” His blue eyes were full of concern.

Dee Ann nodded. Yes, it was okay. It would be okay. Time marches on, the way it's meant to. It felt like just yesterday she was a new bride, a new mom, and now, here she was—an old, fat woman with a bad back.

Her husband handed her a tissue. “Get yourself together, woman,” he said and grinned.

“I better see to the chicken,” Karen said and left the room.

“I love you, Jacob Fields, even if you don't know where the heating pad is kept. Jesus Lord, man, where do you live?”

Jacob laughed. “I never had to use it, I guess. Is it getting hot?”

DeeAnn nodded.

When they were gathered around the TV after eating dinner and watching the Steelers game, DeeAnn filled them in on what she knew about Esmeralda.

“How about that? My mom is in on the scoop,” Karen said.

DeeAnn beamed. “Of course, they figure the killings are linked. They're sisters. Both killed within a day of one another.”

“Nobody knows how yet?” Jacob asked.

“Nope,” DeeAnn said. “But you know what is the oddest thing?”

Jacob and Karen looked in her direction.

“Both of them were found with scrapbooking pages in their hands,” DeeAnn watched as her daughter almost spilled her after-dinner coffee.