Chapter 39
Beatrice needed to think about something other than the murders, Cookie, and that strange but beautiful scrapbook of hers. It was giving her indigestion. She finally had some peace and quiet, so she sat at her computer and checked her e-mail. Aha. There was an e-mail from her friend in Paris.
My dearest Beatrice,
How are you? I hope that my e-mail finds you well. I have not heard back from you. Are you okay?
My ankle is healing nicely, and I will be as good as new very soon. The nights in my apartment have been gloomy and cold since you left. Will you come back soon? Next year? There is a place here for you.
Did I tell you about my grandson? He wants to study physics in America. Your field, yes?
Beatrice’s heart leapt. Of course he knew that.
I am hopeful to visit him (and you) when he settles in. We are not sure which university yet. Well, my dear, I am off to get a bite to eat with my grandson. Good boy. Very smart. I wish you could have met him.
No time for that, Beatrice thought and grinned, then clicked off the e-mail. It was good to make him wait a little. She didn’t want him to think she had nothing better to do than sit around waiting on his e-mail. She’d get back to him later. Even though he was in Paris, she still felt a little restricted by him. She didn’t want him to know that, nor did she want to feel anything for him at all. It was best for both of them to take their time about things.
Beatrice heard a car pull up to the front of her house. Its headlights shone briefly in her window. Who could that be at nine thirty on a Sunday night? She stood and looked out the window. Annie?
“What are you doing here?” Beatrice said, opening the door.
“I just need to talk to somebody. Run a few things by you,” Annie said.
“Come in. Sit down. Do you want a drink? Tea? Water?”
“No,” Annie said as she took off her coat and laid it on the back of the couch. “I won’t be long.”
“Okay,” Beatrice said, sitting in her rocking chair. Annie still looked pale—along with looking harried and tired. Circles under her eyes. Hair falling half out of her ponytail. Annie had never been like Vera, who used to be perfectly made up all the time, but tonight she looked particularly unkempt. That old University of Maryland sweatshirt should be put out to pasture.
“I’m trying to put this all together. I can’t stand the thought of Cookie in jail, you know?”
Beatrice nodded.
“So I visited with Mary Schultz today and confirmed that there was a shunning. The Carpenter girl.”
“Makes sense,” Beatrice said after a moment.
“She was pregnant. That baby is hers, of course.”
“Hmm. Well, now. Who is the father?”
“Good question,” Annie said, rubbing her hands together. Beatrice noted her fingernails were bitten down to their nubs.
“And what does Rebecca have to do with any of that?”
Annie shrugged. “They were good friends. I spoke with Rebecca’s mom, who didn’t know that Sarah was pregnant. She said she’d wished that she knew, but Rebecca never said anything to her.”
“That’s typical,” Beatrice said and rolled her eyes.
“Then there’s this odd business with this group of people at the Nest—”
“Whoaaa!” Beatrice said. “Who said anything about the Nest?”
“Well, I talked about it with Mrs. Collins today. She said that it’s a weird mix of people up there. They are not really Mennonite.”
“I’d say.” Beatrice had always felt a strange mix of fear and embarrassment when she thought of the Nest, especially when she was around the bright and cosmopolitan Annie, She didn’t want her to think badly about the Appalachian people. Annie had already seen some of the worst, and yet she was still here. So she must see the best in them, as well.
“I wouldn’t say this to just anybody, Beatrice, but I think there is something big happening. Something more than Cumberland Creek, more than Jenkins Hollow or the Nest. So far, the CDC has been involved, the FBI, and Detective Bryant is not letting Mary Schultz talk to me. And the murdered girls were onto something. Someone needed to shut them up. Those rune symbols? They mean those girls were a problem to someone, you know?”
“So,” Beatrice said, “you have two girls labeled as a problem . . . by someone. They know something. They both show up dead with the markings on them. One has had a baby. And that baby was almost killed on the mountain, left for dead.”
“On the same spot where they found Cookie’s earring.”
The women sat in silence.
“I looked Cookie up online,” Annie finally said.
“And?”
“The detective was right. There’s not a trace of her anywhere.”
“Pshaw. What does that mean?” Beatrice said.
“I mean, I can’t find birth records, work records, previous addresses, passports. Nothing.”
Beatrice’s stomach sank. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that last slice of chocolate cake. All of the evidence seemed to point to their friend Cookie. Or at least to her knowing more than what she let on.
“But what would Cookie have to do with that mess up in the mountains?” Beatrice said.
“The only time I knew her to even be up there is when she went up for her retreat that day.”
“You mean the day we had the flat tire?”
Annie nodded. “And she had that character, Luther, in her car.”
Beatrice didn’t know what to say or to think. She decided not to tell Annie about the scrapbook—about the suspicions it had created. She’d tell her tomorrow, after she had a good night’s sleep. She could see this weighing heavily on Annie—and she didn’t want to add to her trouble. Not tonight. It seemed as if Cookie wasn’t who they thought she was. But Beatrice knew that very few people were what others thought they were. Look at Maggie Rae, who had quite the secret life. Look at her, Beatrice Matthews, soon to be eighty-two, with a beau in Paris. Who would’ve thought?
Annie went on. “There’s another thing Mrs. Collins mentioned. Remember Zeb? Tina Sue’s husband?”
“Of course.”
“He’s got something to do with that strange group of people in the Nest,” Annie said and yawned.
“Tina Sue didn’t mention that, eh? I told you she wasn’t to be trusted. Hell, I’d have trusted her sister over her any day of the week,” Beatrice said.
Annie looked deflated.
“Annie, I think you need to go home and get some sleep,” Beatrice finally said to her. “You look tired. Your body has been through hell. Your son was in trouble at school. Your friend Cookie is in jail. Things don’t seem to add up. I agree. But we are missing a huge part of this story. We’ll come up with a plan, just not tonight. The police will figure it out. It will be okay.”
Annie smiled at Beatrice and sighed. “I hope you’re right, but this whole thing gives me really bad feelings. I can’t even explain the way it makes me feel. The other thing is, Bryant is withholding information.”
“No surprise there.”
“Seems that both girls had worked at Harmony Bakery.”
“There’s not many places they can work up there. That may not mean anything at all.”
“Except that Rebecca’s body was covered in flour,” Annie said.