Chapter 25
Detective Adam Bryant and Sheriff Ted Bixby walked into DeeAnn’s living room. The scrapbookers all looked up from the paper dolls and sat back in their chairs, watching the two men.
“Good evening, ladies,” Bryant said. “Change your locale?”
“Well, DeeAnn’s back has been out so we thought we’d have the crop here,” Sheila said.
“Yes, we talked to your husband,” the sheriff said. “Good evening, ladies. We won’t bother you too much. Just have a few questions for you.”
Annie sat back and crossed her arms. This was odd. The county sheriff and Detective Bryant working together. She knew they didn’t like one another.
“Never thought I’d see the day you two would be walking into my house together.” Leave it to DeeAnn to say what they were all thinking. “Has hell frozen over?”
Both men smiled, but did not look at one another and shifted their weight around in discomfort.
“We’re pooling resources on the Martelino cases,” Bryant said, holding up a plastic bag with a scrapbook page in it.
The sheriff held his own plastic bag up. “Same paper. The labs could tell us nothing. Meaning, there are no fingerprints. Nothing distinguishing about the paper or the photos.”
The two of them set their papers down on the card table.
It was fairly typical scrapbook paper—green with a floral pattern. Each page had one photo. One of them featured a black-framed picture of a group of people at a picnic. Along with the picture, someone had started journaling in Spanish. Annie couldn’t decipher it. The handwriting was difficult to read.
“The writing there is about Marina’s new home. How lovely it is. How she loved the mountains,” Bryant said.
Annie’s heart sank. Once again, a woman killed in her prime.
The other scrapbook page had orange-framed photos. The picture was of a group of women—including one of the sisters, Esmeralda.
“Check out that picture,” Sheila said. “Look at the background . . . on the picnic table. There are scrapbooks and paper and I think . . . some embellishments.”
The detective nodded. “Yep, these women scrapbooked together regularly.”
“Holy shit,” DeeAnn said.
“Turns out you’re not the only scrapbookers in town,” Sheriff Bixby said.
“Well, of course, we aren’t. I run a scrapbooking business and at least half the women in this town have bought materials from me,” Sheila said. “But I don’t think these in the pictures have ever come to my basement to buy supplies.”
“What can you tell us about this paper? These women?” Detective Bryant asked.
“The women look vaguely familiar, but I don’t know that paper,” Sheila said. “It’s not in my line of products.”
Annie recognized one of the women. She was the same woman who had been behind the counter at the apartment complex. Annie kept that bit of information to herself.
“Are you certain?” Bryant asked Sheila again.
Sheila thought a moment. “If we carry it, it’s very old. It’s possible that I don’t remember it.”
“It looks familiar to me,” Cookie piped up.
“You’ve seen one floral design, you’ve seen them all,” Paige said and waved her off.
“No,” Cookie persisted. “This is different. The green isn’t typical. It’s very dark.”
“True,” Paige said. “But for a while, that was all the rage.”
“Two years ago,” Sheila said, “all of our floral paper had that antique look to it.”
Cookie stood up. “I think I have this paper.”
“What?” Bryant said, lurching back.
“Let me see.” She walked over to her bag where she stored her paper supply and rifled through it. “Yes. Here it is.”
“Where did you get it?” Sheriff Bixby asked her.
“I don’t remember,” she said automatically. “I’m sorry. But I never buy my supplies from anybody but Sheila.”
“Well,” Sheila laughed nervously. “I guess that answers that question.”
“Oh, look at the other side,” Paige said.
Cookie turned the page over and set it in the middle of the table. The back of the page was black and the corners looked ragged, with bits of green coming through. The top of an orange moon peeked up from the bottom of the page.
“Ah,” Sheila said. “Yes, now I remember this paper. It was a part of the Summer Dream pack from two years ago, I think. I can look that up for you.” She opened her laptop.
Paige went back to her project in front of her, as did Randy. Annie watched as DeeAnn watched Sheila with her laptop, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.
“Yes,” Sheila said finally. “It was two years ago and it was part of a pack. I gave out several of these at a public Fourth of July crop last year. Let’s see, I gave out . . . twenty-six.”
“Did you keep the names?” Sheriff Bixby asked.
“I have the names of everybody who attended the crop, but not who received which pack as prizes,” Sheila said. “If they bought the pack, I have those records.”
“Sounds like a good start,” Annie said.
“Indeed.” Sheriff Bixby looked at her, once again, with an approving glance.
Bryant picked up on it and shot daggers with his eyes toward her.
What the hell? she thought.
“I can print the list of Fourth of July croppers for you,” Sheila said. “And a list of people who bought the paper.”
“No need. Just e-mail it to us.” Bryant handed her his card. “We can print it.”
After the sheriff gave Sheila his card, too, he looked over the table with the food. “What do you ladies have there?”
“There’s plenty here,” DeeAnn said. “Pumpkin bread, muffins. Chocolate. You should try the chocolate. Vera’s really getting good. I’d like to sell her stuff at my shop.”
“Oh, DeeAnn!” Vera blushed. “Thanks so much. Maybe I will take you up on that offer. I love making it.”
“You’re a fabulous student,” Randy said. “You pick things up quickly.”
“How are you doing?” Sheriff Bixby asked Randy as he patted him on the back.
“I’m doing okay,” Randy said. “I’m fine. Every day I feel a little better.”
People had stopped asking Annie if she was okay. They had assumed, of course, that she was because, well, she had seen so many dead bodies, so many murder victims. But it truly never got much easier for her. She was so looking forward to the next stage of her life . . . when she wouldn’t have to will away the bad dreams at night.
“We were trying to reach the Martelino family,” Annie said.
“For what?” Bryant asked, his mouth half full of chocolate.
“We wanted to express our condolences,” she said.
“Well, that’s mighty kind of you,” Sheriff Bixby said.
“Mama tried to find them through their employment agency. So far, nothing.” Vera said.
The detective and the sheriff exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“Pamela doesn’t seem to know much either,” Annie said.
“Pamela is a shrewd businesswoman. She knows she has to be careful what information she gives out,” Sheriff Bixby said, pausing. “I know it’s the tendency of good-hearted women like yourselves to reach out at times like these, but I think in this case, it’s better left alone.”
“I agree,” Bryant said.
Annie’s pings of intuition started up again. Anytime a cop said to “leave it alone” it meant there was more to the story than what they wanted to tell.
“It’s a complicated mess,” Sheriff Bixby said. “And as far as we can tell, the girls’ family is long gone.”
“Did they have any other family here?” DeeAnn asked.
“No,” Bryant said a little too quickly.
“They lived together over on Druid?” Annie asked.
He nodded. Once again, uncomfortable looks were exchanged between the two officers.
“Well, I guess we better go. Thanks, ladies, for the goodies.” Bryant loved his sweets. He was a man who knew good food.
“Before you go,” Vera said, “can I ask you about these gang rumors?”
“It’s more than rumors, I’m afraid,” Bryant said.
“In Cumberland Creek? Absurd!” Vera set her scissors down with a thud.
“Everywhere,” Bryant said. “Cumberland Creek is not immune to the vagaries of modern life, ladies. I thought you’d know that by now.”
“Is it just over there on Druid?” DeeAnn asked with a note of hope in her voice.
“Much of it, but not all,” Bryant said and paused. “As I told Annie, it’s best to stay away from there. Don’t go alone, in any case.”
“Hmmm,” DeeAnn said.
“Don’t get any crazy ideas, DeeAnn, not with your back out,” Sheila said.
“I’m getting better every day,” DeeAnn said indignantly.
Detective Bryant looked at the sheriff and rolled his eyes.