Scrapbook of the Dead (17 page)

“So the police confirmed everything,” Beatrice said to Annie the following day.

Annie nodded. It was Monday and she had stopped by Beatrice's house to pick up some fabric for Ben's Halloween costume. Beatrice had an attic full of fabric and old costumes. “Sheriff Bixby apologized for not telling me what he'd found out about the Martelino family. He said he'd only just recently found out himself. Evidently, they're all in prison for running drugs.”
Could it be true? It seems so cliché.

“I wonder if they knew they were running drugs,” Jon said. “I just read an article somewhere about how some of these families are set up.”

“By who?” Beatrice said.

Jon shrugged. “Anybody who knows their vulnerabilities or someone who has some kind of power over them.”

“I don't know what their lives were like in Kansas,” Annie said, “but Hathaway definitely had power over them. And he out and out lied to us. I'm betting he has something to do with all of this.”

Beatrice's jaw set. “I didn't like the man. I don't think he's about helping people. He exploits them.”

“That would appear to be the case,” Annie said. “This may be a bigger story than the murder of two sisters. I have some work to do.”

“Thanks for giving us the addresses,” Beatrice said. “We can at least send them cards in prison, if nothing else. I've been meaning to ask you—what was the crop like at the Drummond house?”

“It was lovely. The house is in great shape on the inside.”

“Yes, I noticed that myself. I told Emma that.”

“Emma?”

“She's the woman who actually owns the place.”

“She doesn't live there?”

“No, she lives at Mountain View Assisted Living. She's agoraphobic, for one thing. Evidently her daughter who lives at the place has the same problem.”

“She wasn't at the crop. Just the woman who works for her and her friends.”

“Emma told me the most troubling thing,” Beatrice said. “She told me the sheriff had visited her and wanted to buy her place.”

“That's interesting, but not necessarily troubling,” Annie said.

“Well, maybe she was mistaken, but I don't think so. She said he threatened her,” Beatrice said.

“What? Surely not,” Jon said.

Beatrice shrugged. “She's not quite right in the head, I'll give you that. She's had a bit of a rough life. But I think basically she's still got it together. I don't know why she'd think he was threatening her if he wasn't.”

“Sheriff Bixby seems like a decent sort,” Annie said. “He's much easier to deal with than Bryant.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Beatrice said.

“Still,” Annie said with a tilt of her head. Her brows knit.

Beatrice had come to know and love that look. Annie was thinking and you could almost see her brain work.

“I've known a lot of people who seemed nice at first. Why would he threaten Emma Drummond?”

“You know, she didn't really go into specifics and I didn't push her. But that property is the only piece of land left to what was once a vast chunk of land—all owned by her family and the Drummonds. They probably want to build more apartments or something,” Beatrice said.

“But why would Sheriff Bixby care about that?”

“He's married to Emma's niece. Maybe she wants the land. I don't know. It's very odd.”

Annie sat back in her chair and smiled. “This community is amazing. I swear almost everybody here is related or almost related.”

“Huh!” Beatrice said. “It used to be even more like that. But with all the new people moving in, I'm not so sure who is who anymore.”

“New people like me?” Jon spoke up and grinned.

“Yes. Who are you anyway?” Beatrice said with a giggle.

 

 

Later on, Beatrice mulled over the conversation. Emma Drummond may not be all together, but she wasn't suffering from dementia or anything like that. Agoraphobia was different. It was more of a disorder than a mental illness—at least that was Beatrice's understanding of it. But she couldn't understand why Emma couldn't be treated with some kind of medicine and lead a normal life.

Maybe next time she visited, she'd find out.

Beatrice found herself looking forward to her next visit with Emma. It was comforting to have a woman around who was her age and still had it halfway together. At the same time, it brought up unresolved feelings she'd had years ago about Emma's husband Paul. In those days, not much was known about domestic abuse and most people turned a blind eye to it. In some parts, among some social classes, it was still expected that some men would occasionally beat their wives. Beatrice couldn't abide it, even then. And she had opened her big mouth, which sent Emma as far away from her as possible.

Yet, that might be the reason Emma was so welcoming with Beatrice these days. Had Emma really killed Paul? How would Bea ever know for sure?

“So, you've been taking the pills twice a day?” Dr. Flathers asked DeeAnn.

Jacob was standing closely beside her.

“I think so, though I may have taken more when it didn't seem like the pain was going away,” DeeAnn said. She hated being in the doctor's office.

“I think you did take more, or you'd still have them,” Dr. Flathers told her. “I'm only going to authorize this prescription for another week. If I have to, I'll send someone to your house to give you only two a day.”

“For God's sake,” DeeAnn said. “What is the big deal? I thought the pills were supposed to take away my pain. Why shouldn't I take another when one isn't working?”

“These pills are very addictive,” Dr. Flathers said.

“But I'm a big woman,” she replied.

The doctor took his glasses off and looked her in the eye. “I've taken that into consideration and given you the proper dosage. And if you hadn't noticed, you've actually lost some weight since you hurt your back. Now, if you're unhappy, you are welcome to get another medical opinion.”

DeeAnn
had
lost weight. All of her pants were baggy. She'd been in too much pain to shop for new ones.

“But you've been our doctor for twenty years,” Jacob said.

“I can still be your doctor and you can still get a second opinion. If you wish. But I would not be a good doctor if I allowed DeeAnn to abuse these pills,” said Dr. Flathers.

“Abuse!” DeeAnn cried. “I'm not abusing them. I'm in pain. Constantly.”

“Constantly?” Dr. Flathers asked, raising an eyebrow. “If that's the case, let's get another series of X-rays. Maybe there's something we missed.”

“Okay,” Jacob said. “Let's do that. Is there another pain medication we can give her?”

“Jacob!” DeeAnn hissed. “I like those.”

“I can see that,” Jacob said after a pause.

“There are others we can try, but anything in this group of painkillers will have the same addictive quality. This is the most effective kind of painkiller on the market. After a few more weeks, I'd like to see you go down to one a day,” Dr. Flathers said. “But first, let's get more X-rays.”

“Really?” DeeAnn said. “Do you know how uncomfortable and painful that's going to be?”

“Is she always this big of a pain in the ass?” DeeAnn heard a voice say from the hallway. In walked her daughter Tracy, who was supposed to be in Texas . . . in school.

“What are you doing here?” DeeAnn asked. Her spikes of mother's intuition were raised.

“You're a sight for sore eyes,” Jacob said as his daughter hugged him.

“What's going on here? Did they call you in for reinforcement?” DeeAnn sat with her arms crossed.

“Not exactly, Mom,” Tracy said, leaning over and kissing her. “I finished a couple finals and wanted to see you. That's all.”

“All the way from Texas? I wasn't born yesterday,” DeeAnn said, wondering who had set this up.

“No, indeed,” Dr. Flathers said. “Here's the prescription. Two a day. Now I'll have my nurse make an X-ray appointment for you. Are you free today?”

DeeAnn snorted.

Jacob shifted his weight. “I really should be going back to work.”

“I'm here,” Tracy said. “I'll take you to get X-rayed and get your prescription filled. We can have a nice visit.”

DeeAnn loved Tracy with all of her heart—and then some—but she had the bedside manner of a drill sergeant. DeeAnn was not looking forward to her being around when she didn't have the mettle to defend herself.

“Sounds good to me,” Jacob said and kissed first Tracy, then DeeAnn. “Be a good patient.”

“Humph,” DeeAnn said, reaching for her cane. She hated the thing. It made her look old. But it helped manage the pain—a bit. “Might as well get this over with.”

 

 

After her X-rays, during which the technicians managed to get her in some of the most god-awful and uncomfortable positions, Tracy drove her to the pharmacy, then home.

“Was that Cookie walking along the street?” Tracy asked her.

“Yes, that's just about the only thing she does now. She walks and walks. Sometimes she shows up at the strangest times.”

“So she's no better, huh?”

DeeAnn shook her head. “I have to wonder if she'll ever get better. Or if she even wants to. She seems to really not like the doctor she's working with now. He follows her around and she says he's a pain. I don't think she wants to remember.”

“Why wouldn't she?”

“I don't know, honey. I think there's something awful in her past she doesn't want to face.” DeeAnn sighed.

“What could be more awful than being accused of murder, being arrested, then kidnapped and struck by lightning?” Tracy wondered.

“There's plenty that could be worse than that,” DeeAnn said, thinking about the Martelino sisters. “Plenty.”

Sometimes Internet research wasn't enough. But today, there was hope.

A few years back, Hathaway Transatlantic had been investigated for human trafficking. Newspaper articles and research papers had been published on the net. Annie read and read, gobsmacked by the fact that Hathaway was still in business, skirting around the law with high-paid lawyers, no doubt. She read an article from a newspaper in Texas.

Hmm. Of course not
, Annie thought with a smirk. Almost all of the clippings she read were the same kind of story. The middlemen were the ones on the take. The company needed to police more. They paid fines and moved on. But one thing that never came up was sex trafficking. Annie was at least pleased about that.

Every incident mentioned involved restaurants, which led her squarely back to Pamela.
Pamela, what have you gotten yourself into?

Annie pulled up the public records from the county where the Pie Palace was located. Owners of the property were listed as Pamela and Evan Kraft. No real surprise there. And it didn't appear anything was unusual with the permits or plans.

Annie keyed P
AMELA
K
RAFT
into Google. The first page was nothing more than PR pieces about the restaurant, her Web site updates, and so on. The second page listed some genealogy sites.
What the heck?
Annie clicked one. Turns out Pamela was really into genealogy. Well, that wasn't unusual. Especially for someone who appeared to be enamored with the past as Pamela was. Annie didn't get the whole “rockabilly lifestyle” thing, but to each his or her own.

Annie scrolled through the Kraft family tree.
Interesting.
There was a Bixby connection. Looked like Pamela's second cousin was Sheriff Bixby, who in turn was married to a Drummond. That much she already knew from Beatrice. Pings of her reporter's intuition zoomed through her.
What is going on here? Is this all just a coincidence that all of these folks are related? And are all involved somehow with the Martelinos? Or not?

Beatrice had said that Sheriff Bixby threatened Emma Drummond. Surely that was a misunderstanding. The woman was elderly and agoraphobic. Perhaps he frightened her without meaning to.

But perhaps not.

Perhaps he wasn't as pleasant as he seemed.

Had Annie been taken in by a smiling sheriff? In some ways, Bryant was actually easier to deal with—at least he was honest, even if he was a sarcastic grump. But Sheriff Bixby? Always smiling, polite, and friendly. She should have suspected him from the beginning—not necessarily of committing murders, but of knowing more than what he'd been telling. Yes, she was certain of it, the more she mulled things over.

Annie planned her next steps—talk to Pamela again, talk to the sheriff, then talk with Bryant.

In the meantime, she had several of the Martelino sisters' scrapbooks to look through. Vera and Sheila were coming over tomorrow to help her sort through them. Maybe, just maybe, something in those books would point them to who killed the young women.

Annie didn't have the heart to sort through the scrapbooks alone. Not this time.