Scrapbook of the Dead (6 page)

Well, no wonder Annie didn't know about Druid Lane. It was a brand new road. That much was obvious.

How new is this place?
She pulled into the parking lot of the first apartment complex. It was almost empty of cars. Of course, it was the middle of the day. Everybody was at work or school. Almost everybody. A group of men were standing at the end of the parking lot huddled around a motorcycle, checking it out. She exited the car and looked around for the leasing office.

The apartment complex looked like a million others she had seen, except this one was newer. It was nondescript, architecturally speaking, painted in tones of gray and brown, with the window frames and doors painted white. She spotted the office and headed over.

Inside, she was assaulted by an odor.

Mildew?
She walked over to the counter, her nose itching. “Hello?”

A woman came from behind a wall. She was short and round. “Yes, may I help you?” She had an accent, but Annie couldn't identify it immediately. She was well-coiffed. Hair, makeup, and a cheap, but clean suit.

“Yes,” Annie smiled. “I'm a reporter. I'm here about the Martelino sisters.”

The woman's smile vanished.

Annie noticed the creases around her eyes. “I'm working on a story about their deaths.”

The woman knitted her brow. Was she going to cry or cuss Annie out? Emotion played over her face—but what emotion was it?

“Did you know them?” Annie persisted.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said in a hushed tone and her eyes went to the floor.

“They lived here, right?” Annie said.

The woman nodded. “I can't let you into their place. The police won't let anybody in right now.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” Annie said. “It seems like you knew them well. I am so sorry for your loss. Such a tragedy.”

The expression on the woman's face grew more pained. Yes, she would cry at any moment. Then the woman's eyes traveled to the door and in walked a man.

Was he one of the men who was checking out the bike?

He was tall, wore glasses, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. He wore khakis and a blazer.

“Mr. Mendez,” the woman said, “This is—”

“I know who you are,” the man said to Annie. “What do you want? To come in here and write a story about us? About the Martelino sisters? What tragic lives they led?” His tone was sarcastic, almost vicious. “We don't need your stories. They are gone. Gone. What does it matter now?”

Annie drew a breath. “I'm sorry, Mr. Mendez. I didn't mean to offend you or anybody. I'd just like to give people a complete story of what happened to them. And maybe it would help find the killer. Maybe it would help save someone else.”

His face was suddenly closer to Annie's. She smelled cheap aftershave, with a hint of a breath mint—or was it mouthwash?

Her heart started to race and pings of intuition raced through her. She needed to get out of there fast.

He sneered. “
Bruja
.”

Annie stood straighter, looked him in the face, and said, “
Perdón, me permite, ¿cómo?”(Sorry, but how do I allow this?)

Surprised, he drew back.

“Look, if you don't want to talk to me, fine. I'll find other people who will. Or hey, maybe I'll make some stuff up,” Annie said, starting to walk toward the door. “Or maybe all I need to do is tell the truth about you and I'll have the feds here in about five minutes, breathing down your back. Threatening a reporter? Not bright.”

She trembled as she reached for the door, opened it, and walked out.
Stop shaking. Don't let him see you shake.
The cool air hit her with relief. The guys at the end of the lot looked at her, then turned their faces. One of the young men looked vaguely familiar. She didn't want to stare, but where had she seen him before? Something wasn't right about this place. Mendez was hiding something.

All the more reason to leave. She couldn't get in her car quickly enough.

She checked out the dashboard clock. She had about an hour before Sam and Ben came home from school so she decided to swing by the police station to see Detective Bryant. She had been so busy with her boys, her books, and life in general, that maybe she'd somehow lost track of what was happening in her own community.

Annie pulled into the parking lot of the police station. Detective Bryant's car was there so she girded her loins. There was nobody else who had their fingers on the pulse of Cumberland Creek like he did.

She walked into the station and the woman behind the desk, looked up at her. “Can I help you?”

“Is Bryant available?”

“Just one moment,” the receptionist said, picking up the phone. She spoke quietly for a moment, then offered, “Annie Chamovitz.” After a pause, she hung up the phone and said, “Go right in.”

When Annie walked into Bryant's office, she was surprised to find another man there.

“Hi, Annie,” Adam Bryant said. “This is Detective Mendez.”

Annie frowned. “Mendez?”

“Yes?”

“I just met a Mendez at the apartments on Druid. Any relation?”

The man started to say something, but Bryant interrupted. “What were you doing down there?”

“I'm working on the Martelino story,” she replied.

“I'd advise you to not go there alone,” Bryant said.

Annie crossed her arms. “What the hell is going on in this town?”

The detectives looked at one another but didn't say a word.

As Beatrice was gathering up some books to take to DeeAnn, her doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Jon said. He was so helpful.

Bea placed a few books in a bag, then removed a couple. She didn't want to overwhelm DeeAnn. She'd just tell her there were more, if she was interested. Bea placed the bag on her kitchen table next to the lasagna she had made for DeeAnn and Jacob. It should last them a few days.

“Hey, Bea,” Annie said, walking into the kitchen.

“Well, hello there. Have a seat. I'm just getting some things ready to take to DeeAnn.”

“The lasagna looks good,” Annie said, picking up a few books and looking at them. “I love these. They are a lot of fun, yet they aren't stupid, you know?”

“I've got so many of them and DeeAnn is bored out of her mind,” Bea said.

“I've been taking my books down to Blue Moon Bookstore,” Annie said. “They sell secondhand books along with new ones.”

Beatrice sat down. “You know, I haven't been there in awhile. I forget about that place. Nice bookstore.”

“I've been spending a lot of time there. They have book groups, writer's groups,” Annie said, sitting down.

“Hmmm, interesting,” Bea said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I'm not staying. The boys will be home in about ten minutes. I've just come from the police station and I don't like what I heard. I wanted to run a few things by you since you've lived here your whole life.”

Beatrice looked up from her stack of books.

“I went over to Druid Lane where those new apartments are. It's where the Martelino sisters lived. I just wanted to have a look around and maybe talk to some people.”

“And?”

“Well, I started to speak to a woman behind the counter at the office. She seemed nice, but then this man came up behind me and he was rude and threatening.”

“Oh dear,” Beatrice said.

“So I hightailed it over to the police department. Come to find out, it's a hotbed of gang activity.”

Beatrice's mouth dropped open.

Jon walked by on his way to the sink. “What? Gangs in Cumberland Creek?” He said, stopping at the table. “Did I hear that right?”

“Evidently it's been a problem for quite some time,” Annie said. “For the most part, it's not been in the news, but a few months ago when the young woman was raped and attacked . . . well, that was gang-related. I learned about it from DeeAnn. It checks out.”

“Do you think that's the case with the Martelino sisters?” Beatrice asked.

“I have no idea. It certainly seems personal—sisters killed within twenty-four hours of one another.” Annie paused a moment before continuing. “But Beatrice, I wanted to ask you what you make of this gang business and what you know about Druid Lane and the neighborhood.”

Beatrice thought about it for a moment, sifting through images and memories. “Where exactly is it? Don't think I've ever been there. And I thought I knew this town pretty well.”

“It's over near the park across the river,” Annie told her. “It looks pretty new. Newly paved road, new apartments.”

“Hmm. I don't know a thing about it.” Beatrice shrugged. “I know Cumberland Creek is growing and there's been a lot of new construction, but I don't know about that area.”

“Is that where the gangs are?” Jon asked.

“I don't know,” Annie replied. “That's what the cops say, but I covered gangs in DC and many times where you think they are is just a cover for where they really are.”

Jon's mouth twisted. “Sounds sophisticated.”

“Wait a minute,” Beatrice said. “Did that property used to be a farm? I think it did.”

“Interesting,” Annie said. “I'll look into who owned it.”

“I know who owned it. That was the old Drummond homestead, I believe,” Bea said. “When did they sell it to become apartments? Where have I been? How did I miss it?” A wash of nostalgia overcame her. She had such fond memories of the Drummonds, their house, and their orchard—one of the oldest in the state.

“You have a full life, Beatrice,” Annie said after a moment. “You've been busy with your new husband.”

“
Oui
,” Jon said and grinned. “Plus, so many other things.”

“But I read the paper every day and I talk to people every day. I mean, I consider myself well-informed.” Beatrice was indignant. It didn't make sense. How could something be happening and she not know anything about it?

“As far as the gangs go,” Annie said, “the police are watching very closely. I guess they are trying to keep things quiet so as not to set off panic.”

Beatrice thought a moment. “I never thought I'd see the day I'd agree with the police. But a lot of the old-timers around here would welcome a reason to fight off a group of foreigners. Pains me to say it. Just the other day, someone was complaining about the Mexicans and other foreigners taking their jobs.”

“Really?” Annie said. “Was that at the senior center?”

Beatrice nodded. “Over bingo.” She reached for Jon's hand. “They completely ignored the fact that a foreigner was sitting right next to me.”

DeeAnn held the laptop on a pillow on her knees. She never thought she would like one of these things, but it turned out Karen had been right. She did like it.

“I've got a couple digital scrapbooking programs on there for you to play with and I uploaded some of your photos,” Karen said.

“So thoughtful of you, sweetie.”
Upload? Digital?
Those words didn't make a whole lot of sense to DeeAnn. Oh, she knew what they meant, but she didn't know how to use those words in the context of everyday life. But she didn't want to let her daughter know that.

“I'll be back tomorrow to take you to your appointment,” Karen said, getting up from the couch. “I'll get you some more apps. You can even watch movies on it.”

“Movies?” DeeAnn said. “I might like that.”

Karen leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Anything you need before I go?”

DeeAnn looked at the little couch-side table holding a glass of water, tissues, medication, and the books Beatrice had brought over. “I'm fine. Besides, your dad will be home soon.”

After Karen left, DeeAnn called Sheila.

“How's it going?” Sheila asked. “How are you feeling?”

“I need to get up off this couch before I kill someone,” DeeAnn said. And that was the absolute truth.

“Wouldn't that hurt?” Sheila laughed.

“You're damn straight it would hurt.” DeeAnn thought about the pain, muted because of the medication she was taking, but it was still there. Maybe she should take another pill? “But listen, Karen brought me a laptop.”

“Wow,” Sheila said. “Nice.”

“She loaded some scrapbooking programs on it,” DeeAnn said. “And I didn't want her to know how stupid her mother really is.”

“Oh, DeeAnn!”

“Seriously? Upload? Download? What the heck?”

“Would you like for me to come over and explain some things? I'm happy to come over.”

“Yes, I'd like that. And maybe you can show me how to get the Internet on this thing. I want to read the news. I'm so curious about the Martelino sisters. Know anything new?”

“Today, Annie went to where they lived,” Sheila said. “Evidently, it was not a good situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“A man threatened her. And Bryant told her to never go over there alone.”

“Over where?” DeeAnn asked.

“Druid Lane.”

“Humph. That's what Jacob said too.”

“Evidently, there are gangs over there.”

“That's what Jacob said. I don't know if I believe that. When I get my back straightened out, I'm going over to have a look for myself.”

“Now, I don't think that would be a good idea,” Sheila said. “Annie is not easily intimidated and she was so upset that she went to the police station right after.”

“Humph. She needs a bodyguard.” DeeAnn laughed.

Sheila laughed, too. “That would be you.”

“Yep. So, see you in a bit?”

“Coming right over.”

Gangs in Cumberland Creek? Surely not
, DeeAnn thought as she looked at the clock. She felt a twinge of pain shoot through her spine. It was almost time for another pill, so she might as well take it now. She picked up the bottle and looked over the instructions and saw that yes, she could take two if the pain worsened. She shrugged and took two. She'd be very comfortable by the time Sheila came over for a visit.

DeeAnn next dialed Jill over at her bakery. “How's everything going?” she asked when Jill picked up.

“Well for the third time today, I'll answer that everything is running very smoothly,” Jill said, sounding exhausted and stressed. “You've got a good crew here, DeeAnn. It's okay. You take care of yourself and don't worry.”

“Have you thought about what to do for Halloween? I think we should do the Harry Potter theme again this year. I'm not sure I'll be back on my feet in time.”

“We will take care of it, I promise.”

“We should be getting some flour in tomorrow,” DeeAnn said.

“Yes, it's on the schedule.” Jill paused. “Anything else?”

“I'm sorry to be such a pain,” DeeAnn said after a moment. “But it is my shop. At least for the time being.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” an exasperated Jill said.

“Oh nothing. It's . . . my back. I'm not sure . . .” DeeAnn said, holding back tears.
Oh Lord, what is wrong with me? Am I going to cry over the phone to Jill?
“I better go.” She clicked off her phone. Things were going well without her. Maybe it was a good time to step back from the business. If not sell it, then let Jill take over the day-to-day.

But what would DeeAnn do with herself? The boredom of lying on the couch all the time was driving her mad. What if she didn't have the bakery to go to everyday? What would she do with herself?

She reached over for a tissue and blew her nose.

DeeAnn was a person who needed to keep busy. She didn't like to sit around and think. It was no good. No good at all.

The doorbell rang.

“Come on in,” she called.

“Well hello there,” Sheila said, not looking at her yet, but reaching for the laptop. “That's a nice laptop! Wow, you can do some cool stuff with this.”

“Well, that's good,” DeeAnn managed to say.

Sheila took a look at her. “Have you been crying?” She sat down in the chair next to the couch. “Oh, DeeAnn.” She said it with so much pity in her voice that it made DeeAnn cringe.

“Listen,” Sheila said after a few minutes. “We'll get you squared away with this digital scrapbooking and the next thing you know you are going to be completely caught up before you go back to work.”

“Well, now,” DeeAnn said, feeling a little better. “That would be a minor miracle.”