Chapter 51
Beatrice couldn’t believe her ears. “Come again,” she said.
“Beatrice,” Bill’s voice said on the other end of the phone. “It’s Cookie. She’s asking for you. Look, I didn’t want to mention this to Annie or Vera or anybody. But Cookie is not doing good. She’s not eating, and she’s lost weight. I’ve tried talking with her. All she will tell me is that she didn’t kill those girls. She won’t open up to me at all.”
“But why me?” Beatrice said.
“I don’t know. But can you do it? I’ve talked to the police, and they will let you see her tonight.”
“I have Elizabeth tonight, and she’s here asleep. I can’t wake her. How about tomorrow?”
“Nah, I’ve gotten special permission for tonight. They won’t extend it for tomorrow. How about I come and stay with Elizabeth?”
“Well, okay,” Beatrice said. “I’m glad to help.”
But now, as she sat across the table from Cookie, Beatrice sort of wished she hadn’t come. Thin wasn’t the word. She was emaciated. Had she eaten or slept at all? She almost didn’t even look like herself, even as she managed to give Beatrice a little smile.
“Cookie, dear, you must eat something,” Beatrice said. “You look awful.”
“Bea,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “we don’t have much time, and they are watching us, you know? Let’s not waste it with you lecturing me. I simply have no appetite. You have to believe me. I will be fine. But you need to listen to me with an open heart and mind.”
Beatrice was slightly taken aback by Cookie’s candor. She didn’t look like she could sit up, let alone put a sentence together. Still, Cookie’s delicate beauty shined through, with her scrubbed-clean face and those intriguing green eyes of hers. In fact, she was much prettier this way. But how could she look so tired and hungry and still be beautiful? Beatrice wondered. Even the young woman’s bony fingers held a certain beauty in them.
“Okay,” Beatrice managed to say, still feeling confused as to why she was there. Why hadn’t Cookie called one of the other women? She tapped her fingers on the table. “What’s up?”
“Bea, I’ve wanted to tell you things from the start. There’s never been a right time.... But your research into quantum physics and time . . .”
Beatrice focused. Cookie was speaking her language. But it was surprising.
“In a way, it’s what brought me to Cumberland Creek, along with the huge calcite deposits in the mountains.”
Calcite? How odd. Vera had dreamed about the stuff, and now Cookie had mentioned it again.
Beatrice knit her brows. “What do you mean? My research has been out there for years. And still has yet to be proven. Also, most physicists think I’m a twit.”
“They are wrong.”
“How do you know? What are you? Are you a scientist?”
Cookie laughed. “Of a sort. But I want you to look at me, Beatrice.” She lowered her voice even further. “We come from the same bloodlines. It’s all I can say right now.”
A fire lit in Beatrice’s brain. Quantum physics. Same bloodlines.
“Are you a time traveler?” Beatrice blurted out.
“Oh dear, I thought I could explain this to you, but you’re getting the wrong idea,” she said and smiled. “I suppose you could think about translocation and invisibility like time travel. But it’s not time travel—more of a shifting from one plane to the next. Yes, it has happened that I’ve gained or lost a year or two . . . but it’s not time travel as you imagine it. Part of my ability has to do with the calcite. My robe is made from it, which helps to make it look like I’m invisible. You can read about that. Just a few articles out about it. But there’s so much more to it.”
Beatrice sat back in her chair. Had she just heard that? Was she having another crazy dream? Some sort of episode?
“Invisibility? Time travel?” Beatrice managed to say, while feeling the blood drain from her face. Was this young woman mad? One of the reasons time travel had yet to be accomplished was that even though they were somewhat successful with quarks and other subatomic particles, there was always a change at the molecular level. Too dangerous for people. Beatrice knew that.
“It’s not exactly safe . . . or easy. We are still working on that. And let me reiterate. It’s not really spiritual time travel. It’s more of a shift between—”
“Jesus,” Beatrice said. “It can’t be correct. It can’t be that you are one hundred percent okay and are traveling through time. It has disturbing relevant—”
“It’s going to take you some time to sort through everything I’ve just said to you and decide whether or not to believe me. I know it sounds crazy. Maybe it would be better for you to think of it as magic. In any case, we need to act quickly.”
“Act?” Beatrice said, sitting forward on the end of her chair.
“I’m in trouble here. I need to get out of here, and you can help me.”
“First, I’m expected to believe you are from the future or are time traveling or something. Then I’m told my theory is correct, just a little off, and now you want me to help you escape?” Beatrice pushed her glasses back on her nose. Damn, she would have to get them fixed again.
Cookie nodded and met her eyes.
Beatrice was finding it all hard to believe, but then again, why not? She’d never believed in ghosts before she lost her husband, and yet she’d been haunted by him for years. She had believed with all her heart that waves of time could be penetrated, manipulated, traveled through—and here sat, perhaps, living proof. But Cookie, of all people? On some level it made sense. She was so different from anybody Beatrice had ever known—the kind of difference that she’d normally pooh-pooh. But there was an underlying quality to her character that Beatrice found compelling and likable. Now it made a strange kind of sense—especially if they were family. Or was Cookie just disturbed?
In either case, Beatrice decided to go along with it. What the heck. It couldn’t hurt. What else did she have to do?
“First, this is the most important thing. You have to promise not to tell anybody,” Cookie said.
“Oh.”
“I’ve kept your secret about your boyfriend. Will you keep this one?”
“Sure,” Beatrice said. “It’s too bad, though. There’s a couple people I’d like to call and rub their noses in it.”
“Be patient.”
“Well, okay,” Beatrice said reluctantly.
“I have the robe made of calcite, so that’s taken care of on my end.”
“What? How?”
“One side of the fabric of my robe is a calcite compound. The other side is a terry-cloth robe. This is technology that is known about now, but there’s more to it than what the general population knows. Anyway, they let me have it here. This isn’t a high-security prison.”
“Oh, right.”
“There’s a book on my closet shelf at home. A scrapbook of shadows. You need to get it,” Cookie said.
“Oh dear,” Beatrice said. “Hmm. I think Annie has it.”
“Damn,” Cookie said. “I hope you all don’t mess with it much. It’s a powerful book that also works with the calcite. But, listen, can you get it?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I just need for you to get it and take it to a spot on . . . What do you call it now? Um, yes, Jenkins Mountain.”
“What? How can that help?”
“It has a device in it that will open a portal of energy for me. Can you do it?”
“Sure. But don’t you need to be there?”
“No, I have a matching device implanted in me.” She pulled back her hair and pointed to what Beatrice would have thought was a suspicious-looking mole.
“Oh.”
“It doesn’t matter where I am. Its energy will be enough for me to get home,” she sighed. “You’ve got to be very careful, Bea, to see that nobody catches you or takes the book before you have it in place.”
“Why?”
“Because a group of people at Jenkins Mountain are messing with this. The group at the Nest is creating dangerous rifts, but they don’t know how to manage it. If they figure it out, there will be big problems. This book is the key. You must guard it.”
Beatrice’s heart leaped. This was getting more interesting—and more strange—by the minute.
“There’s one more thing. If my calculations are correct—and they usually are—you have three days.”
“Three days?”
“Yes. Everything has to be just so. The moon, the season, the planets. Everything aligned.”
“I think I can manage that. But, Cookie, what about you? Will you be okay? You look dreadful, I’m sorry to say.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ve been here before, believe me, and suffered the consequences. I know what I need to do. I just need to get that book to the cave,” she said. “You know the one I mean.”
Suddenly Beatrice knew exactly what she meant. A crystal-clear picture came to her mind. A cave deep in the hills, one she used to play in as a child sometimes. She and her cousins played house there. Pretended it was a castle, with its calcite crystal walls. Goodness, she hadn’t thought about that place in years.
On the drive home, it occurred to Beatrice that they hadn’t even discussed the murders for which Cookie was being held on suspicion. Lord, she was exhausted. Here she was, out at ten o’clock on a Saturday night. Well, since she was up, she’d stop by the crop at Sheila’s to see if she could get the scrapbook from Annie.
When she pulled up to the basement side of the house, she noticed that Vera’s van wasn’t there. Snack run? Beer run? It was too early for Vera to go home. Beatrice slid open the sliding glass door, and all the lights were on—but nobody was there. Had they all gone to get some food? How odd.
She poked around on the table. Plenty of food here. Drink, too.
Then she saw the scrapbook of shadows sitting on the table.
Good. One problem was solved. She placed it under her arm and dashed out to her warm car.