Chapter 54
It was 4:00 a.m. when Beatrice’s phone rang.
“This better be good,” she said into the phone.
“Mama,” Vera’s raspy, tired voice said. “I’m in jail.”
Beatrice sat straight up in bed. “What?”
“Bill’s not answering his house phone or his cell phone. He needs to come down here to the jail.”
“He’s here,” Beatrice said. “I’ll get him up. We’ll both be there.”
“No, you need to stay with Lizzie. Please.”
Beatrice could hear voices in the background.
“All right, all right,” Vera said haughtily. “I’m getting off the phone.”
“What on earth?” Beatrice said.
“It’s DeeAnn, Sheila, and Paige. They need to call their husbands, and these police are just the most impolite group of people I’ve ever seen. Obstruction of justice, my hind end,” Vera said.
“Where’s the fifth musketeer?” Beatrice suddenly wondered out loud.
“Oh, Mama. She was shot. She’s in the hospital.” Vera’s voice cracked. “They won’t tell us a thing.”
“Shot?” Beatrice said. “Annie was shot? What nonsense were you into tonight?”
“I have to go. Bye.” Click.
Beatrice struggled to get her old body out from the tangle of blankets. She reached for her robe. Never thought she’d see the day that she’d be waking up her ex-son-in-law to go bail her daughter out of jail. Obstruction of justice? So, that was why they’d all left the crop. They were out messing around with the investigation. Good for them. The police didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. But then again, apparently, neither were they.
Bill awakened quickly and was out the door before she knew it.
“Now, don’t dawdle,” she yelled after him. “I need to get over to the hospital and see Annie.”
He turned and looked at her. “What?”
“Annie was shot,” Beatrice told him.
“What were they all doing last night?” He flung his arms out in exasperation.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said and shut the door to keep the cold air from getting into the house.
She walked into her kitchen and went straight for the coffeepot. After she wrestled with it and got the coffee brewing, she sat at the table. There was Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows, with its shiny metallic cover gleaming in the dim light. Damned thing. Now Beatrice had to figure out how to get it to the mountain, to the cave, to the exact rock—the diamond-shaped rock inside the first passage.
She still considered Cookie’s story. Wasn’t sure she believed it. But just in case, she’d do her part. In the meantime, she remembered she had some egg custard pie in the fridge and decided to finish it off. Fortification and comfort all in one smooth, sweet, creamy pie.
She knew she had a hell of a day in front of her. Her daughter was in jail. Annie was in the hospital, and her nephew was coming to pick her up around noon. She’d called her cousin Rose to ask her to help her out with the scrapbook. Rose never came off the mountain, but her sons did, and one of them would happily come and get her for a visit. She’d packed her bags before going to bed last night.
She could trust Rose. She’d promised Cookie that she wouldn’t tell anybody. She knew that Rose would help her and not ask many questions. After all, Beatrice had done the same for her. They were family. The bonds were long and deep.
By the time Bill came back, Lizzie had eaten her breakfast and was watching Sesame Street. Beatrice was pacing the floor when her daughter walked in. Of course, she went right to Elizabeth and loved her up.
“Mama, miss you,” Lizzie said. “Dad, miss you,” she said, lifting her arms to her father.
“Want to go in the backyard and swing?” he said.
She squealed in delight.
“There’s some muffins on the table,” Beatrice told her daughter. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for staying with Lizzie,” Vera said and wandered into the kitchen. “Thank God you’ve got coffee.”
“Of course,” Beatrice said. “Have a cheese muffin. Want me to make you some eggs?”
Vera sat at the table and drank her coffee, reached for a muffin. “Mama, what’s that doing here?”
“I wanted to look at it,” she replied. “Now, what happened last night?”
Vera told her mother what she knew. “Paige and I were sitting in the car, and we heard the shot. We took off up the path and ran smack into Zeb and Luther. The next thing we knew, the cops were there—”
“Where?” Beatrice asked.
“They followed us.”
“What about Annie?” Beatrice said.
“I called the hospital on the way home, and she’s in critical but stable condition. Some man shot her. Nobody knows who he is. Not Zeb. Not Luther. But they do have him.”
“How did they get him?”
“DeeAnn strong-armed him, knocked him down, and he hit his head on a rock.”
Beatrice couldn’t help but smile at the thought of sweet, round-faced DeeAnn pushing the shooter to the ground. Well, if that don’t beat all.