Chapter 58
“It’s a damned shame they won’t let us bring you any food,” Sheila said, ignoring Mike’s explanation of how the doctors wanted to keep Annie on a bland diet for a few days. “Everybody knows there’s nothing that will make you heal faster than homemade food—even if you still are in the hospital.”
“I agree,” Annie said, smiling weakly and shrugging.
“They didn’t say anything about booze, did they?” Vera said and smiled, pulling out a bottle of white wine from her bag.
“Now, wait a minute,” Mike said. “Annie’s on all kinds of medication. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“When did you become such a party pooper?” Annie said.
“Since my wife was shot while she was on some damned foolish escapade,” Mike said.
It could have been a mean statement, but it came out so softly and with such care that Vera found herself envious of his concern. But Annie didn’t look pleased. Of course, she was not herself. Annie’s surgery went well, but she still didn’t remember a lot of what went on that night. Vera wished she could erase it all from her mind. She wished she could go back to Saturday night and talk them all out of going to Jenkins Mountain. None of them had realized the depth of the depravity they would be walking into.
Annie could have been killed. Shoot, any of them could have been. These people were not messing around. They probably had killed the two young women and tried to kill the baby. Lord, what had they been thinking, going up there?
“So . . .” Vera sat down on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Weird,” Annie said.
“Uh-huh. Of course,” Sheila said.
“Did you hear the big news?” Vera asked.
Annie shook her head.
“Mama has a boyfriend,” Vera said, looking at her pink fingernails, thinking she’d need another manicure soon.
“Yep,” Sheila said, pushing her glasses back on her nose. “And he’s French.”
“French?” Annie grinned. “Really? Beatrice?”
“I know,” Vera said. “It’s so out of character. But you should have seen her blushing and smiling and, um, sparkling.”
“That’s so wonderful,” Annie said.
Vera frowned. “I’m a little worried. I mean, who is this guy?”
“Obviously, she met him in Paris and had a bit of a fling,” Sheila stated.
“My mother has never had a fling in her life. My father was her only boyfriend, her husband, and she hasn’t had any interest in men since he died.”
“Maybe it’s about time,” Annie said. “Why are you so concerned?”
“I guess it’s because I don’t want her to get hurt,” Vera said after a moment.
“There are no guarantees,” Annie said. “But Beatrice can take care of herself.”
“I hope so. It does explain a lot about her trip, why she’s been so secretive. I’m going to investigate a little further.”
“What is she doing on Jenkins Mountain?” Annie asked.
“She goes up there every now and then to visit with Rose.”
“Is that all she’s up to?” Annie said and yawned.
“Of course,” Vera said, looking at Sheila, who was deep in conversation with Mike about soccer. “What else?”
“I don’t know. I just thought it odd that now—after everything—she would choose to go up there.”
“It’s a big mountain,” Vera said. But her stomach flopped around. “She won’t be anywhere near where the investigation is.”
Just then a series of noises erupted from the hallway and the door to Annie’s hospital room flew open.
“Where is she?” Detective Bryant said.
Sheila stood; Mike walked stiffly around to the other side of Annie’s bed; and Vera squealed, her hand clutching her chest.
“Whatever do you want?” Vera said, spreading her arms in Annie’s direction. “Annie is right here.”
“I’m not talking about Annie,” the detective said, out of breath, uniformed officers coming in behind him.
“Who are you talking about, then?” Mike said. “I mean, really, barging into this room after Annie’s surgery! What do you think you’re doing?”
Detective Bryant shrank back into himself and drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, Mr. Chamovitz. We’re looking for Cookie Crandall.”
“Cookie?” Annie tried to sit up even farther in her bed, her hospital gown pulling on her. “What’s going on?”
“Cookie is gone,” the detective said.
“But I thought she was in jail,” Vera said, her heart racing.
Bryant nodded. “She was.”
“Then what are you talking about?” Vera said.
“She escaped from the jail,” he said reluctantly. “We thought she might be here.”
Vera’s mouth dropped open.
‘Well, now,” Sheila said with a grin. “How did she manage that?”
Annie went white. Unfortunately, the detective noticed it.
“What do you know?” he said.
“Excuse me,” Mike interrupted, “but I’ve about had enough of this. My wife has been in the hospital for two days. She knows nothing about where Cookie is.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chamovitz. But this is a serious matter. We have a murder suspect who has escaped from jail. Could you or your wife—or anybody in this room—be harboring a fugitive?” The detective placed his hands on his hips, revealing his gun and his badge perched on his belt.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while the officers looked in the hospital room’s empty closet, under the bed, in the bathroom.
Annie looked at Vera. “I’m sorry, Vera. But do you think . . .”
“What?”
“Do you think Beatrice knows anything about this?”
“What?” Vera said. “My mother? Oh no, I wouldn’t think so.” She shook her head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sheila offered.
“She loves Cookie. And Beatrice was the one visitor she would see. Remember?” Annie said.
“Why d-didn’t I think of that?” the detective stammered.
“Well,” said Sheila, “you’re obviously not as bright as Annie.”
Mike smirked. “Nobody I know is, Sheila.”
Vera stifled a giggle while watching the detective’s face turn all shades of red.
“C’mon guys. Let’s get over to Ivy Lane,” Detective Bryant muttered.
Annie, Mike, Sheila, and Vera sat quietly as they watched the police officers go. After they left, Vera reached into her purse for her cell phone. It was time for a call to Aunt Rose.