Chapter 52
“Well, hello, Cookie,” Beatrice said when she opened the door. “Come in, dear. We’re stuffing our faces with apple pie and ice cream. Join us.” She led Cookie into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Cookie said and sat at the table with Jon, who smiled and nodded in between bites of pie.
Beatrice set an extra plate of pie on the table. Cookie reached for a fork and dug in.
“What’s on your mind, dear?” Beatrice asked.
Cookie had put on some weight. These days she ate anything set in front of her. It was a good weight gain in Beatrice’s mind—the woman had been entirely too thin.
Cookie shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about the Martelino sisters. How sad it is. I went for a walk over by where they lived.” She had been walking a lot lately. It was part of her healing process. At least, that’s what her doctor said. “Have you noticed how close the apartments are to the Drummond place? I mean from a certain angle? It’s not something you’d notice right away.”
“Yes,” Jon said. “We were walking over there the other day and noticed the same thing.”
“There’s a Mexican woman living in the Drummond place,” Beatrice offered. “I was a little surprised by that. In fact, I was surprised that people are still living there at all. It doesn’t look like it from the outside. But Emma says that’s on purpose, to put off robbers. What do you think? Why does this remind you of the sisters?”
“I’m certain I saw one of them—I think it was Marina—about a week before she died, sitting on the steps of the house with a man,” Cookie said. “I just remembered it when I was over there.”
“A man?” Beatrice didn’t want to get too excited, but maybe this was the break they had all been waiting for.
“I was just walking down there and I suddenly remembered. You know how my memory is,” Cookie said, meeting Bea’s eyes and then looking away in embarrassment.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just feel . . . so helpless most of the time. I feel like I should be able to remember things by now.”
“Honey, you were struck by lightning. You’re lucky to be alive,” Beatrice said.
“I just feel like I’m missing . . . something. I have this longing, this aching. I don’t know what it is,” Cookie said.
“You’re missing yourself,” Beatrice said after a beat. “I don’t believe I’d ever known a young woman like you before. You were so solid in your skin. I didn’t always agree with everything you said. I never liked your veganism,” Beatrice joked, “but you were so solid. So you. I’m certain that sense of self is what you’re missing.” She sat back in her chair. “I think about our conversation at the jail sometimes.”
The three of them sat, eating their pie and ice cream.
“Should we call the police?” Jon finally asked.
“For what?” Beatrice said.
“About what Cookie remembered. A man?”
“Yes, Jon’s right. I should call Bryant,” Cookie said.
“Don’t forget to tell Annie, too,” Bea said. “Why don’t I call Annie and you call Bryant. We’ll get ’em both over here.”
But once they made the calls, Bryant wanted Cookie to go to the station to give a description of the man she’d seen with Marina and Annie was helping Ben with his math homework.
“I don’t know Bea, I just don’t understand this math,” Annie had said over the phone.
“I’ll be over, dear,” Beatrice said. “I can help. In the meantime, you think about who that man could have been with Marina. What were they doing on the front porch of the Drummond house?”
“I will. Thanks Bea. You’re a life saver.”
Well, Beatrice wasn’t so sure about that. But she did know math. She loved math. For her, it was the poetry of the universe. But then again, so was pie.