Chapter 46
Annie tossed and turned most of the night. Mary was still on her mind and she dreamed of her and her father. The one person involved with the case that she hadn’t talked with was Mary’s mother, who refused to talk to her. Period. But Annie dreamed of her, too, the woman whose husband abused her daughter. What must she be going through? Then her dreams shifted to Hannah. Young and sweet and leaving for New York City. Talk about leading the lambs to slaughter.
After the boys had gotten off to school and she was clearing away the breakfast dishes, Paige called her.
“We’re ba-ack,” Paige said in a sing-song voice. “How are you and what’s been going on in Cumberland Creek?”
“I’m fine, and Cumberland Creek has not been the same since you all left,” Annie said. It was true—at least for her. She was glad they were off the ship and home. Now they could put the murders behind them and get on with life.
“Did you get your book done?” Paige asked.
“I’m polishing it a bit before I send it off to the publisher,” Annie said. “Did they solve the murder?”
“No,” Paige said. “The FBI talked with Sheila and Vera and that’s the last we heard of it. Now how about that strange postcard in Sheila’s mailbox? Did they find out who left it?”
“No. The trouble is Steve and Sheila were both gone when it was left. When he came home, the postcard was in the mailbox. They have no idea how long it had been there, only that it wasn’t there when either one of them left.”
“Maybe it was there longer than they knew,” Paige said.
“Steve’s been working with Bryant on this,” Annie said. “I’m sure he told him that.” She placed the last dish in the dishwasher. “How was the cruise, other than the murders?”
Paige sighed. “It was good to get away with Randy. I’m hoping he comes home. He’s thinking of changing jobs. I think he wants to leave the city.”
“That would be awesome,” Annie said. “How would Earl feel about that?”
“I’m not sure,” Paige said. “We’re making progress.”
“Did you learn any new scrapbooking techniques?”
“Oh yes. I’m sure we’ll get to that during the crop this Saturday,” Paige said. “It was really scrapbooking overkill.” She laughed.
“How is Sheila?” Annie asked after a moment.
Paige paused. “I really don’t know. She seems fine. But she has definitely been spooked by all of this. Imagine tripping over a dead body. Any dead body, let alone a woman you respect and admire. Then the concussion put a damper on the next few days. I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. But she still managed to get a few job offers.”
“Freelance?” Annie said. That, of course, is what Sheila had been hoping for. But Annie had warned her about it—people often had misconceptions when it came to freelancing. It was not as easy as it sounded and some of these work-for-hire contracts—at least for writers—were bad news. She hoped that Sheila hadn’t signed anything yet.
“I think she’s going to work with David’s Designs. She’ll have to make monthly trips to New York, but most of her work will be done from home,” Paige said.
“David’s Designs? Wow,” Annie said, sitting down at the kitchen table and fingering her new art journal. She loved this. It had become a ritual every morning to sit and work on this journal. She was producing something totally new for herself. It was so satisfying. And she was also keeping up with her Hanukkah scrapbook. She would have a lot to share with her friends on Saturday night.
After Annie and Paige said good-bye, Annie worked more on her art journal. This time, the word she painted on the page was “Home.” Traditional images of home and hearth played through her mind. But she drew waves. Waves upon waves.
When she was finished with her page, she went to her computer and checked e-mail. She noted that her request for the death report of Allie had been sent. She shrugged internally; now that her friends were home, she wasn’t certain she cared about the murder that much. But the report might be interesting to look over. She clicked on the pdf file and printed out the two reports.
Then the phone rang. It was a call from the boys’ school.
“Mrs. Chamovitz?”
“Yes,” she replied, thinking, What now?
“This is Beverly Adams, the school nurse. Ben is sick. He has a very sore and red throat and a temperature,” she said. “It may be strep. It’s going around the school.”
Poor, sweet, Ben. And damn, there goes my day, she thought. “I’ll be right there to pick him up. Thanks.”
After she dressed, she called their pediatrician for an appointment. Annie found herself hoping it was strep because antibiotics could help and within twenty-four hours her kids often bounced back. She hated for him to be sick at Hanukkah.
As she was leaving her home and thinking about the holiday, with snow coming down and all of her neighbors’ homes decorated, she once again thought about Hannah and made a mental note to send her a care package when she got to New York. Or maybe even visit her, if she could swing it.
When she finally saw her boy in the nurse’s office and how sick he looked, fear rolled through her. He was green. What had happened? He’d been healthy when she sent him off this morning—at least she thought so. This had come over him so suddenly. He stood and fell into Annie’s arms. And then threw up all over her.