Chapter 57
“I know,” Annie said to DeeAnn over the phone. “It does seem suspicious. I mean, the Krafts own half of Cumberland Creek from what I can tell.”
“I don’t dislike Pamela. I find it hard to believe she’d be involved in any kind of shenanigans, let alone murder,” DeeAnn said.
“And I have to say, she seemed as if she genuinely liked Marina. She was grieving. But her husband might be another matter.” Annie made a mental note to check him out further. On the face of things, he appeared legit—but she hadn’t scratched past the surface yet.
“I wouldn’t know him if I tripped over him. He keeps a low profile for a wealthy guy, I have to say. Have you checked out Hathaway?”
“Yes, and everything he told you is right on the money. They’ve been sinking for quite some time. They need to do a lot of policing to clean up their reputation. Well, I have to run. I’m going to Irina’s crop again tonight.”
“Are you going to keep going to both crops?” DeeAnn asked.
“Maybe for a while, until I figure some things out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mike had taken the boys out for the evening, for pizza and some last minute costume purchases, so Annie was on her own.
She sometimes didn’t know what to do with herself when by herself—which was odd since she spent most of every day alone. It was different, she supposed when she was alone during the day because she was working. When she had free time, she felt a bit like a caged animal let loose, having to decide what to do first.
But tonight she had an agenda.
As she pulled into the driveway of the Drummond house, she noticed that something was different. There were more and brighter lights coming from the windows and all of the drapes were pulled back.
She walked up the crumbling sidewalk and rapped on the door.
Irina answered, welcoming her warmly. “Hi, Annie, please come in.”
Annie rolled her scrapbook case in behind her and felt as if she had entered a jewelry box glowing with rich colors—fuchsia, crimson, purple, emerald green, ocean blue. Festive lights were strung across the room, and tables overflowed with colorful items. Papier-mâché sugar skulls were hanging from the center light fixture in the hallway.
“What’s this?” Annie said, approaching one of the tables. In the center was a huge framed photograph of Esmeralda and Marina and surrounding them were lit candles and sugar skulls in a variety of forms—cookies, candy, cupcakes. They were so lovely, Annie could hardly believe that the detailed designs were on replicas of human skulls.
“Today is the Day of the Dead,” Irina said. “We remember our departed loved ones on this day.”
“Oh yes!” Annie said. How could she have forgotten? She used to have a friend in college who celebrated. “It’s just gorgeous!”
“Well, you know how I love to make things nice and pretty,” Irina said.
A number of the women were already scrapbooking, so Annie claimed her spot next to Rosa. She smiled at her. “How are you?”
“Great,” she said. “I’m working on this book for my boss’ daughter. It’s kind of hard making a scrapbook for someone else. She just turned sixteen and they had this huge party. This is my gift to her.”
“Ah,” Annie said. “I love the way you cut that photo into a star shape. Did you do that by hand?”
Rosa laughed. “No. I used this.” She held up a template.
“Exactly what I would do. I’m going to get some food and then I’ll be right back.” Annie didn’t know anybody that could cut a photo into a perfect star like that, except maybe Sheila. Templates helped a lot.
As she turned toward the food table, she ran smack into Jorge.
“I’m sorry!” he said awkwardly.
“Jorge!” his aunt Irina said with a harsh edge to her voice that frightened even Annie. “What the hell are you doing with the pretty white lady?” She said it in Spanish. Evidently she didn’t know that Annie also knew Spanish.
“It’s okay,” Annie managed to say. “I ran into him.”
“So sorry, Annie,” he said, and with his head bent low he left the room.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” Irina said.
“I think he’s nice,” Annie said loud enough that she hoped Jorge heard. “He seems sweet.” It also seemed as if he was being picked on by his dear old auntie with the good gig in the big house. Had her concern for him at the station been completely fake?
Irina changed the subject. “Help yourself, Annie. We’ve got plenty of goodies here tonight.” She walked away and went to her spot at the table.
“She can be so hard on him,” Rosa whispered to Annie when she got back to the table with a plate of sugar cookies shaped like skulls and decorated lavishly with flowers and swirls and flourishes. “I feel sorry for him sometimes.”
“Rosa?” said Irina.
Rosa turned around. “Yes?”
“I’ve got your order of new paper right here,” said Irina.
“Do you sell scrapbooking materials?” Annie asked.
Irina nodded. “Yes, but only part time. I’m so busy taking care of Ms. Drummond.”
“Speaking of Ms. Drummond,” Annie said. “Where is she?”
“What do you mean?” Irina asked.
“I mean, where is she? This is her house, right? Why doesn’t she come to the crops?”
Irina laughed. “Ms. Drummond is in her rooms upstairs. She allows me to have the crops, but she doesn’t like to socialize. It’s part of her illness.”
Annie tasted a cookie. It wasn’t bad, but like most cookies with decorative icing, she found it a bit too sweet. “Sorry to hear that. Is it something like agoraphobia?”
“Yes, exactly. It runs in the family, I’m afraid.”
“There’s no medication?”
Irina tilted her head. “It doesn’t seem to help her. Like her mother, she is allergic to most of it.”
“Her moth—”Annie was interrupted by laughter at the end of the table, but things were clicking and zinging through her brain.
People who worked in others’ homes knew all the family secrets, didn’t they? It was an unspoken code that they never told—and yet Irina had just blurted out some personal information about Emma and Michelle as if it were nothing. Maybe it was. Maybe Annie was making too much of it. But that, coupled with the way she had just treated her nephew, left Annie with a sudden dislike of the woman.
She looked carefully at the woman next to her. Rosa seemed to like Irina, and she certainly knew her better than Annie did.
Then again, after all these years, Annie was learning to trust her intuition, no matter the cold, hard facts.