Chapter 38
“Annie seems mighty excited about something,” Jon said after Beatrice hung up the phone.
Beatrice nodded. “Last night, she found the Martelino sisters’ roommate and she’s going to visit her tomorrow over at the Riverside Apartments.”
“You look worried,” Jon said.
“Well, hells bells. All I’ve been hearing about is that there’s gangs over there. I hope she takes someone with her.”
“She should take Bryant,” Jon said. “He’s a good officer.”
“I thought he was transferring to Charlottesville or somewhere. Wonder what happened,” Beatrice said. “Anyway, he’s unpleasant and Annie really doesn’t like him. Maybe she’ll take the sheriff over with her.”
“You know, last night when I went to the grocery store, I saw Detective Bryant at the store. He had a bottle of wine and flowers. Romance is in the air,” Jon said, moving his eyebrows around in a peculiar way.
“I can’t imagine,” Beatrice said, ignoring the eyebrow thing. “Poor woman.”
“Everybody deserves a little romance in their lives.” Jon grinned, then reached over and grabbed her hand. “Look at us, mon amie.”
Beatrice warmed. It was true that most people wondered what Jon saw in her. She was certain half the town thought she was a crazy old lady who liked to talk about the universe and tell people exactly what she thought. “Well, now, that’s true. To the outside world we may not look well-suited . . .”
“But who cares about them?” Jon said, lifting his chin.
“Indeed. How about some lunch?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Egg salad on rye bread, followed by some apple pie.”
“Oui.”
Beatrice puttered around in the kitchen with Jon on her heels. They worked together to create lunch and then sat down to eat.
“The other thing that Annie found out is that a lot of these immigrants are living together to make ends meet. There were four women at the crop last night who share a two-bedroom apartment,” Beatrice said.
Jon shrugged. “Not pleasant, I’m sure. But that’s not too bad. I’ve heard of two or three entire families sharing an apartment.”
“My understanding is that there are laws to prevent that,” Beatrice said.
“I don’t know. It may be up to the landlords.”
“Who is the landlord over there, again?” Beatrice sorted through her creaky brain. “Oh yes, I wanted to look this up. It’s the Kraft Corporation and I wondered if it’s Pamela’s Krafts.”
She rose from the table and walked to her desktop computer. Within a few moments, she had ascertained that yes, it was indeed the same company. She remembered that they were the ones who’d bought the Drummonds’ property. The Drummonds and the Krafts? Something about that made her very uncomfortable. She couldn’t quite say why. On a lark, she typed in the names and Cumberland Creek. The search engine brought up a number of things. As she read over the list, it hit her with a stone-cold thud.
She remembered. But Lawd, she was a child then. Could it be the Krafts still had it in for the Drummonds and that’s why they were so determined to get hold of all the Drummonds’ property? It couldn’t be; surely she was an old fool with an overactive imagination.
“Edward Drummond Convicted of Murdering 16-year-old Jenny Kraft.” Jon read aloud, coming up behind her. “Oh my goodness.”
Next on the list of articles was an academic paper entitled “The Drummonds and the Krafts: How a Young Woman’s Death Led to One Family’s Downfall.”
“Ridiculous,” Beatrice said. “That happened so long ago. Besides, the Krafts have more money than God. No family fell, like what that article claims.” She looked up at Jon, whose eyes were lit with curiosity. “But, here, let me think. The patriarch of the Kraft family owns some land over there by the Drummonds. Maybe the Drummonds bought that land from them. Maybe the Krafts did have a hard time at one point. I just don’t know.”
“It’s unlike you to not know everybody’s business,” Jon said with a knowing look.
“We were never that close with the Krafts,” Beatrice went on. “Daddy never liked them—and my first husband didn’t care for them one way or the other. Said they were bootleggers. Said their moonshine had sent more than one person over the edge.”
“There you have it,” Jon said. “History is poking at us again.”
“Around here, it feels like I’m living history,” Beatrice said.