Chapter 34
Annie set the cereal bowls down in front of her boys. “Eat up. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”
Mike came out of the bedroom and sauntered into the kitchen. He was dressed to the hilt in a gray suit.
“Well, good morning, handsome,” Annie said and smiled.
He reached out for her and gave her a quick kiss. “Important meeting today. I can’t wait to get this over with.”
“I’m sure you will get the promotion, Mike. You’ve done so well since we’ve been here,” Annie said.
They both had. They were able to save a little bit of money and were getting close to being able to buy another house. Their place was so small. Each year, as the boys grew, it became smaller. The incredible shrinking house.
“Stop it, Ben!” Sam slammed his hand on the table.
Ben laughed and continued to slurp his milk out of the bowl.
“Mom! Dad! Tell him to stop!”
“Ben, please stop annoying your brother.” Mike turned and reached into the cupboard for a bowl and a cup.
“I’ll get your oatmeal. Sit down, Mike,” Annie said and poured him a cup of steaming coffee.
“Sam,” Mike said. “Stop glaring at your brother like that. How did your math test go yesterday?”
“I did okay.” Sam shrugged. “I’ll find out today.”
“Good,” Mike said. “And what are you up to, Ben?”
“Soccer game this weekend. Can’t wait.”
Mike nodded. “That’s right. And next weekend is Halloween.”
“Halloween is for babies,” Sam said.
“Well,” Annie said. “You don’t have to get dressed up. You can stay here and hand out candy with your father.”
Sam smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
After everybody had left and Annie finished cleaning the kitchen, she dressed and gathered her things for the meeting at DeeAnn’s house. It should be an interesting morning. But maybe not as interesting as the evening she had planned at the Drummond house, meeting with another group of scrapbookers. Imagine that! Another group of women in town got together to scrapbook every week or so. Annie found it amusing. She couldn’t wait to meet the women and find out more about the immigrant population in Cumberland Creek—especially Marina and her sister Esmeralda.
Pamela was not being much help—she and Annie kept playing phone tag. At this point, it was pretty clear that it was a purposeful avoidance tactic on Pamela’s part, which only led Annie to suspect her of knowing more or covering something up.
But what?
Annie slipped on her sneakers. Every time she put them on, she longingly remembered the days when she used to wear great shoes. Maybe soon, she’d trade in her sneakers for her designer heels again. Truth was, she didn’t know where she was heading with her life. She simply knew she was done with reporting.
She grabbed her bag, locked the front door, and started the walk to DeeAnn’s house.
When she reached DeeAnn’s house, she saw that the man from the agency was already there. “Guess he couldn’t wait,” she muttered to herself. “But I thought I was early.”
Annie rang the doorbell and Beatrice greeted her. She looked like that cat who swallowed the canary. Knowing Beatrice, it was one bloody canary.
“Come on in,” Bea said. “He’s just gotten here.” She looked at the bag in Annie’s hand. “Those muffins? I brought some coffee cake. We sure are going to sweeten him up.”
Annie followed her into the kitchen where plates of food were being filled with cake, muffins, donuts, bagels, and other morning goodies.
DeeAnn was in the living room with the man while Bea was preening over the food. “Let’s go ahead and take these in.”
Annie grabbed a plate.
When they walked into the living room, Christopher Hathaway looked up and his eyes widened. “Now ladies, you all have gone to too much trouble. It’s not necessary.”
“We want to make you feel welcome. Everybody needs breakfast,” DeeAnn said.
The women set the plates of food on the coffee table and then proceeded to sit down.
Mr. Hathaway had coco-colored skin and dark hair, graying at the temples. He had big, bright eyes that hinted at intelligence.
“Please help yourself,” DeeAnn said.
Mr. Hathaway selected a blueberry muffin and took a huge bite. “Oh my God. This is so good.”
“They’re from my bakery,” DeeAnn said proudly. “So—we’d like to hear more about your company.”
“Well, as you know, we provide a means for immigrants to come to this country. We help get their visas and passports and whatnot, and help to find them work.” He took another bite of the blueberry muffin and rolled his eyes in obvious delight.
Sounded good, but Annie had her doubts.
“So, the money I’d pay you would cover all that?” DeeAnn asked.
“That and more,” he said, looking around curiously.
He was probably wondering what the hell all those women were doing there.
“It would cover expenses in getting them here and their first year of employment.”
“So, they don’t get paid the first year?” Beatrice spoke up.
“I’m sorry. How are you connected with the bakery?” he asked politely.
“I’m not,” Beatrice said. “I’m a friend of DeeAnn’s.”
“But Bea’s question is a good one,” DeeAnn said quickly.
Mr. Hathaway continued, turning his attention to DeeAnn. “I know it seems harsh, but we’ve found that while they are adjusting to a new job, new country, and new culture, it’s best that the first year they receive payment only from us. You pay us up front in a lump sum and we pay them. It helps us to keep track of them.”
“Why do you need to keep track of them?” Annie said.
“Another friend?” he asked DeeAnn, who nodded.
“I’m unaccustomed to answering business questions from friends,” Mr. Hathaway said. “I don’t understand what these women are doing here.”
“They’re just curious,” DeeAnn replied. “Because of the recent murders, you see. Everybody is curious about the Martelino sisters.”
Mr. Hathaway’s face reddened. “Avery unfortunate incident. But they had been here for almost two years so I really have nothing to say about them.”
“Meaning their first year was over so you didn’t keep track of them any longer?” Annie asked after swallowing a bite of cranberry scone.
“Yes,” Mr. Hathaway said. “During the first year their sponsors check in on them several times to make sure they are adjusting and so on.”
“Sponsors?” DeeAnn asked.
“Usually, it’s their employer. Maybe a social worker . . . sometimes it’s landlords.”
Landlords. Hmmm. An image of Mr. Mendez, the landlord at the new apartments, came into Annie’s mind. Could he be a sponsor?
Annie shivered. If he was, God knows what kind of lives the Martelino sisters had been leading. And no wonder they’d ended up dead.