Chapter 36
After everybody cleaned up, they all lingered a bit. DeeAnn took another sip of the whiskey. She was not fond of the drink, but she thought it might be taking the edge off her pain. “I’d love to go to that crop with you, Annie.”
“Maybe another time,” Annie replied. “After your back is better.”
“Plan on going back?” DeeAnn asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to the first one yet. I can’t imagine scrapbooking two nights in a row. I’m pretty comfortable with our group the way it is. I’m wondering what these women might have to say about the Martelinos.”
“Get the scoop,” DeeAnn said. “You know, it’s kind of odd that there’s another crop going on across town . . . weekly, like ours. Almost like a parallel universe kind of thing.”
“We are not the only scrapbookers in town,” Annie said.
Cookie opened DeeAnn’s front door, walked in, and sat down on the edge of the couch where DeeAnn was propped up with pillows. They were all getting used to her wandering in and out of their houses.
“What are you going to do about that man?” Cookie asked. “I saw him leave.”
DeeAnn shrugged.
“You’re not going to hire someone from his agency, are you?”
“Hell, no,” DeeAnn said. “I don’t need any help right now and it seems like a whole lot of trouble.”
“I agree that something is not quite right there,” Beatrice said. “But he may not know that.”
“What do you mean, Bea?” Annie asked.
“Well, he’s the head of the company and seems to have romantic notions about it. His daddy starting it to help his momma’s people and all that. But it’s a huge company now. I’d wager he doesn’t know half the employees.”
“Good point,” Cookie said. “But I don’t know enough about the business to make an educated opinion.”
DeeAnn studied Cookie for a moment. The person sitting on the couch next to her was actually acting like herself . . . for the first time in months. The murder cases seemed to spark something in her. DeeAnn’s eyes momentarily caught Annie’s, who also seemed to notice the spark in Cookie.
Cookie cleared her throat. She had noticed the exchanged look. “For some reason, these cases really touch me. Young women, basically, without a family, without a past, trying to make their way. The more I think about it, the more I remember feelings I must have had. Sometimes images come to me and I’m not sure if they are quite memories.”
DeeAnn’s heart sank. Poor Cookie. Would she ever remember? Or was she destined to never know where she came from? The dead sisters and their story must be setting off some triggers for her.
“Their stories are so sad,” Beatrice said after a few minutes of quiet. She then slipped on her coat and left—which left Annie, DeeAnn, and Cookie still in the living room.
“You know, Cookie, I’ve often wondered how much you want to remember,” DeeAnn said.
Cookie lifted her head in surprise and looked directly at DeeAnn. “Sometimes I want to—other times I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Afraid I’m not a very good person. Afraid of something I might have done . . . something not right,” she said.
A hush fell over the room.
“Oh now, Cookie,” DeeAnn said a few moments later. “You and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I know you’re a good sort. We all do.”
“That’s true,” Annie said. “You may have something mixed up because of the way you disappeared from jail. Someone took you, remember. You didn’t escape. And you surely didn’t hurt those girls who were killed, back then, if that’s what you’re thinking. They found the killer. He’s in prison now.”
“When I think I know myself, I know I couldn’t hurt anything,” Cookie said. “But other times . . .” She shrugged. “Sometimes I feel a darkness inside me. I don’t know what else to call it.”
“Oh goodness, honey,” DeeAnn said. “We all have that. You’re not alone. Who knows what any one of us is capable of? Good or bad.”
“Or what life has in store for us,” Annie said. “Look at Sheila and all of these changes she’s dealing with.”
“And DeeAnn,” Cookie said quietly.
DeeAnn suddenly felt a flush creeping over her. It was as if someone had opened a window to see right inside of her.
“DeeAnn?” Annie said, looking confused.
“Oh” DeeAnn waved her off—“it’s just me getting older. Thinking about retiring. Stuff like that.”
“Big stuff, DeeAnn,” Cookie said, reaching out for her hand. “I don’t know. I mean, look at me. I don’t remember much. I’m not an expert, but I think it’s important to acknowledge changes in our lives while we are living them. That’s the best way to move forward.”
No, DeeAnn wanted to say, it’s best not to look at anything too deeply.
Annie’s cell phone beeped. She picked it up and hit the TALK button. “Yes?” Her eyes widened. “Really? I’ll be right over. Oh. Then we’ll see you tonight.”
“Well, my word, you look like the cat that swallowed. . . something,” DeeAnn said.
“That was Randy,” Annie said. “Our friend Mr. Hathaway is at Pamela’s right now, arguing with her and some young man. I told Randy I’d go over there, but he didn’t think that was a good idea. I still might drop by. Randy’s trying to figure out what they are saying.”
“What do you mean by that?” DeeAnn asked.
“There’s a lot of Spanish being flung around,” Annie said, gathering her things.
“I thought Randy knew Spanish,” DeeAnn said.
“No. He speaks French, not Spanish, but he can make out some words. We’ll talk about it tonight. He’s coming with me to the crop.”
“Can I come, too?” Cookie asked.
“Of course,” Annie said. “Do you speak Spanish?”
Cookie shrugged. “I have no idea.”