Chapter 35
Beatrice was unimpressed by Mr. Hathaway’s explanations. “They bring these young people here and track them for a year, then don’t follow up?”
“Let me be clear,” Mr. Hathaway said. “Many agencies like ours do nothing that first year. My father started the agency because he fell in love with a woman from India. Her family also needed to get out of the country because of a political situation in which their lives were threatened.”
“So that’s how this all began?” DeeAnn asked.
“It has evolved into a huge business,” Mr. Hathaway went on. “My father’s inclination was to help foreigners get out of bad situations, bring them here to work, and start new lives.”
“Sounds very altruistic,” Beatrice sad. “Except I’m not sure how I feel about them not getting a real salary that first year. Sounds like indentured servitude.”
“I understand completely,” Hathaway said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “I know that’s what it sounds like. But that’s not what it is.”
“So what do you know about the Martelinos?” Beatrice asked.
The man looked aghast. “I know they were killed,” he finally said.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Beatrice said. “We wanted to send their family our condolences, but we’ve been unable to find out anything about them.”
Mr. Hathaway’s face reddened. “I am sorry about that, but there’s probably something you should know about them . . . well, they had no family. As far as I know, they grew up in an orphanage in Mexico City and were never adopted as children.”
Beatrice’s stomach sank. Lawd, it keeps getting worse. The young women had lived hellacious lives. The room was silent as the women exchanged glances. They had gotten part of the information they came for, but it wasn’t helpful. They wanted some sort of closure.
Why does it matter so much to me? Beatrice wondered. She hadn’t even known the young women. As she glanced around to the others gathered in the room, the thought struck her that it didn’t matter that the young women were perfect strangers—tragedy could affect any one of them. In times of grief, it was bits and pieces of comforting gestures that kept you going.
They were still talking about something, but Beatrice did not care to follow along anymore. It was as if the Martelino sisters had never existed. They came here for a better life and got killed, probably by some gang. What was the world coming to?
Annie looked at Beatrice with a sadness in her dark eyes. She must have been thinking similar thoughts.
Beatrice took a bite of her pumpkin chocolate chip muffin and let the flavor take her mind away from the young women with no family, save each other.
After the women had grilled him some more to no avail, Mr. Hathaway left, and DeeAnn was back to lying on the couch with her friends fussing over her. Beatrice asked if she was actually going to hire someone from the agency.
“I don’t think so,” DeeAnn said. “Lawd, if I could just have another pain pill. I have to wait until two to take the next one.”
“Why?” Beatrice wondered.
“Jacob is withholding them. I guess he thought I was using too many of them,” DeeAnn said.
“Well, how does he know?” Beatrice said. “Is he suddenly a doctor?”
“She was taking them willy-nilly,” Annie said. “She’s only supposed to take two a day. These pills are very addictive. Her husband is just concerned.”
“Humph. Did the doctor mention anything about whiskey? That will take the edge off,” Beatrice said.
“Her daddy always said it’s good for what ails you,” Annie said with a mocking tone that made them all laugh—including Beatrice.
“I’m willing to try anything,” DeeAnn said.
“Where do you keep your booze?” Beatrice asked.
“In the kitchen cabinet below the sink,” DeeAnn said.
“You better be careful mixing booze with those pills,” Annie said. “You’ll get all loopy.”
“Loopier than usual?” DeeAnn said and laughed.
“What do you think of all this, Annie?” Beatrice heard DeeAnn say as she opened the kitchen cabinet door.
“I’m not sure what to think. It sounds to me like Transatlantic is a hair away from involvement in human trafficking. The man can say what he wants and call it what he wants, but I’m betting everything is not as rosy as it sounds.”
“I thought he was real nice,” DeeAnn said. “Seemed like he wanted to help people.”
“He did seem nice,” Annie said. “But then again, he’s not the only person working in his company. And I’m not sure where that’s going to lead us in terms of the murders.”
Beatrice poured a glass of Jack Daniel’s and carried the golden elixir into the living room. “I agree. After all, it was someone here who killed them. We need to avenge these young women.” She handed the glass to DeeAnn.
DeeAnn drank from the glass. “Eww, that’s nasty stuff.” She turned to Annie. “What’s this I hear about you going to another crop tonight?”
“Word travels fast around here,” Annie said. “Yes, I’m going over to the Drummond house tonight for a crop with friends of Marina and Esmeralda.”
Beatrice stopped in her tracks. “What did you say?”
“I’m going to—”
“The Drummond house?”
Annie nodded. “What’s wrong?”
Beatrice told them about her own recent trip to the Drummond place.
“What an odd coinshidenshe,” DeeAnn said with a bit of a slur to her words.
“Loopy,” Bea said. “It doesn’t take much.”