Chapter 13
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.
Nobody calls me bitch and gets away with it.
“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.