Chapter 27
DeeAnn still could not take the stairs up to her bedroom. Thank God she could walk around a bit downstairs and tinker in her own kitchen, still stocked with casseroles and goodies from half of Cumberland Creek’s population. Jacob and Karen had tried to maintain some semblance of order, but it wasn’t the same. She liked things a certain way. After rearranging the casseroles in the fridge, a sudden wave of weariness overtook her.
She sat down at the table, opened her laptop, and clicked on the local newspaper’s icon to read the news. Scrolling through the mundane stuff—school news, accident news, and so on, she tried to find the latest updates on the Martelino cases. There was nothing new.
“What are you doing?” Jacob said as he walked into the kitchen.
“I was trying to get some news of the murders.”
“Anything?” he said, reaching into the cupboard for a glass.
“Nothing new. Now, Jacob, tell me what you know about the Druid Lane apartments.”
He filled his glass with water. “That’s where the woman who was attacked a few months ago lived.”
“That could happen almost anywhere,” DeeAnn said, wishing the conversation wasn’t necessary, that she would wake up from a dream, and that there were no gangs close by.
“Yeah, well, I know some guys who were over there and their tires were slashed. Other stuff, too.”
“What were they doing there?”
“One of my mechanics was dating someone who lived there. Evidently, someone didn’t like it,” he responded.
“Is he still seeing her?”
“I don’t know, DeeAnn. I don’t follow his personal life. I just know about the tires because he bought some from the shop.”
“What else do you know?” It confounded her how he could work with someone and not know about who they were dating.
“I’ve also heard that if you want drugs, that’s the place to go,” he said and sat down at the table with his glass of water.
“What kind of drugs?”
“Hell, how do I know?”
“Probably meth, pot, cocaine,” she said, feeling her heart race.
“Calm down. You look like you’re getting ready to explode.” He smiled. “I doubt there’s anybody dealing cocaine over there.”
“Lord, Cumberland Creek’s turning into a cesspool of murder, drugs, gangs.” She reached for her husband’s hand. “I’m so glad our girls aren’t going to school here anymore.”
“I think you’re exaggerating a bit. But I’d be troubled, too, if our girls were still in school. What’s Paige have to say about all of it?”
“Not much,” DeeAnn said. “She’s so ready to retire, but they keep sucking her back in. And I think she’s so happy now that Randy’s back home, nothing else matters.”
Jacob smiled. “I get that. It’s good when they come back home. Karen’s been a godsend.”
Indeed, their oldest daughter had been wonderful. It was a shock to many people to see her change into such a fine upstanding young woman. She’d had a rough few years in high school—had gotten in with the wrong crowd and involved with alcohol and started having sex way too early. Now, she was a nurse and had tended to her mother as much as she could while still working at the hospital. Her sister would be graduating soon, as well.
“So do you think the Martelino sisters were murdered because of some gang thing?” DeeAnn asked.
“You’re sitting around imagining all sorts of things, aren’t you? You need to get back to work.”
“I wish. It’s so clear to me the murders are connected, plus the Martelinos lived over there where all the gang activity is.”
“They need to look into Pamela.” Jacob had never liked her, and it wasn’t just about the business competition. “I think if I were investigating a murder, I’d start there.”
“Oh Jacob,” DeeAnn smiled. “Pamela’s a bit strange, but she’s no killer.”
He looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. “How do you know? There’s something off about her.”
“I’ve always thought so, too. The way she dresses like she’s living in the 1950s. I thought it was all about the Pie Palace, you know, and being in character. But anytime you see her, that’s how she’s dressed. She doesn’t ever seem to go out unless she’s in the complete getup. I don’t know what that’s all about, but I do know that any woman who bakes pies like she does could not kill people.”
“DeeAnn! That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Don’t you know that pie is about love?” She smiled but then a twinge of pain shot up through her center. “Jacob, can you get my pills?”
“Pie is not about love,” he said, going into the next room to fetch her pills and then bringing them back and setting them on the table. “Pie is about dough, and fruit, and sugar.”
“Men. You don’t understand.” She reached for the pill bottle and it fell, scattering her pills across the table.
“Good Lord, DeeAnn, how many of those pills have you taken? I just got them for you yesterday. Not many left.”
“I’ve lost track. I just take one when it hurts.”
Jacob’s brow knit. “I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to work.”
“Of course it is,” she said and swallowed a pill. “That’s what they’re for—pain.”
Jacob picked up the bottle and read the directions. “Did you ever read this?” He held up the bottle. “You’re not supposed to take more than two a day.”
“Doctors! What do they know?” She shrugged.