Chapter 30

Since moving to Cumberland Creek, Annie had been forced to consider her spirituality, looking deeper into her life for meaning, not simply the outer trappings of being Jewish. So tonight, when she lit the menorah and sang the prayers, she felt it. A hush came over her boys. Their eyes were solemn. It gave her surprising joy. Oh yes, this was worth not going on the cruise.

After the dishes were done, Annie began to gather her scrapbooking things, but then sat at her table and wrote more in her new art journal instead. For the first time in many years, she felt truly inspired.

It was odd; she was a writer and in the midst of a book. But if she were honest with herself, that kind of writing had become a slog. It was a job. This, this opening up on the page through journaling and painting, it was inspiring and addictive. The next thing she knew, she was kissing the boys and Mike good night and heading off to meet DeeAnn at Sheila’s place, where the group met every Saturday.

DeeAnn was standing out on the door stoop waiting for Annie.

“I know Sheila said we should do this, but I feel kind of weird about being here without her,” DeeAnn said.

Annie shrugged. “I get it. Do you still want to go in and give it a go?”

“Well, now that you’re here . . . I guess it would be okay,” DeeAnn said.

When they entered the basement it felt very different without Sheila’s music already playing, Vera’s humming, and Paige’s laughter. But it was more than that, really. Annie was jabbed once again with a pang of missing her friends.

“They will be back soon,” DeeAnn said, and placed her things on the table.

Annie did the same. Then she reached over and turned on the stereo. The sound of Justin Timberlake filled the room.

“Love me some Justin,” DeeAnn said. “Hey, happy Hanukkah, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Annie said, sitting down. “Look, Sheila left us snacks.” Plastic bowls with lids sat on the table, filled with pretzels, chips, and nuts. “Wasn’t that sweet?”

“I brought some cupcakes,” DeeAnn said, and placed her container on the table.

“Ah, what kind?” Annie said.

“Peanut butter with chocolate icing. A new recipe,” DeeAnn said.

After they settled into their scrapbooking and eating, Annie got up and reached into the fridge for a beer.

“So what do you hear from our friends?” DeeAnn said, looking up from her new scrapbook project. Her aunt had recently died and DeeAnn was working on a memory album that celebrated her mother’s life.

“The last I heard they were making their way through the list of unattached men on the cruise,” Annie said, sitting back down at the table.

“What? Why?”

Annie explained their working theory.

“I guess it’s a good place to start,” DeeAnn said.

“It will keep them occupied, I suppose. But you know as well as I do that a woman could be the killer, especially if poison was used.”

“I can see that. Harold’s wife might think she has cause if her marriage was broken up by this affair.”

Annie pulled out her scrapbook and her new art journal.

“But no man’s worth a prison term,” DeeAnn said.

“What do you have there?”

“I’ve been working on this book. It’s kind of a journal, I suppose,” Annie said. She slid it across the table.

DeeAnn gasped. “Annie! It’s gorgeous.” She ran her fingers over the cover, where Annie had embossed a gold Star of David, which was surrounded by words scattered in every direction, providing a collage of sorts. It almost looked like graffiti. She opened the book to Annie’s painted page.

“How did you do this?” DeeAnn asked.

“I used the boys’ acrylics.”

“There’s a whole movement of art journalists now. Did you know that?”

“No. I was moved to do this. I love to scrapbook—but this seems like a more personal extension of it.”

“It feels that way to me as well. I’ve never tried this. You’re so talented,” DeeAnn said.

“Speaking of talent, Bea says you’re doing some baking for the bazaar,” Annie said, cutting out a photo of her grandmother’s menorah.

“Yep. Anything to help Bea out. She’s taken on a lot with that bazaar. Nothing she can’t handle, but still.”

Annie grinned, thinking of Beatrice and the bazaar. “Should be fun.”

The two of them worked without chatting for a bit, listening to the music, pasting down photos and embellishments, and journaling.

“Where do you think they are right now?” DeeAnn said.

“Almost at Grand Caymen,” Annie replied.

“I’ll feel a bit better with them on land for a day or two,” DeeAnn said.

“Yeah, me too,” Annie said. “It’s been a very strange cruise. The murders. The storm. Communication fading in and out.” Annie took a deep breath and tried to settle her stomach. She tried hard not to think of all the dangerous possibilities on that cruise ship.