Authors: Mollie Cox Bryan

Tags: #Cumberland Creek Mystery

Scrapped (10 page)

BOOK: Scrapped

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Leave it to Bea.
Annie lifted her head and watched as the young man put his hat back on.

“I’m new in the area, ma’am. You don’t know my people. And I am not a Mennonite.”

Chapter 25

Vera’s sweaty hands felt the cool steering wheel sliding beneath them. What a day. She glanced in her rearview mirror to see if Cookie was still behind them. She had insisted on following them to the nearest tire shop. Then they would have to turn around and head back to Cumberland Creek. “That doughnut of a tire is not going to take you up these mountain roads. It’s closer to the nearest shop than it is to go back,” she’d said.

And she’d left the man to walk the rest of his journey along the dusty mountain roads—which was fine with Vera and the rest of the women in the car, all of them thinking how incongruous that he was dressed like an Old Order Mennonite and yet was wearing earrings. But Annie was the only one who had seen the rune earring.

Damn. Annie, of all people.
She’d been seriously spooked by the whole hollow. And who could blame her, really? It didn’t take long for any of them to make the leap from the rune in his ear to the possibility of him being the killer of those two young women—as irrational as it was. Now that Annie knew more about runes, his weird earring was hard for them to shake. So, Vera wouldn’t be seeing her aunt Rose today. Her mom was in the backseat on the cell phone, now explaining the tire situation. At least they were back in cell phone range.

“After we get the tire on, I’m heading over to the police station,” Vera told them. “I think we need to tell Detective Bryant about that man.” She looked at Annie for some response, but she was staring out the window, deep in thought and pale. “Did you hear me, Annie?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” she said and went back to staring.

“Well, that’s that. We’ll have to go up next Sunday,” Beatrice said, clicking her cell phone shut.

“Busy weekend with Halloween coming up,” Vera told her. “But I guess we could squeeze a trip in on Sunday.”

“If we are not sacrifices to the gods of Halloween,” Beatrice said, grinning.

Cookie had invited them to a Halloween ritual. She called it
samhain
and pronounced it “sow-hane.” After trick-or-treating and once Elizabeth was asleep, the women were going to gather in Vera’s living room for a real “witch” ritual.

“It’s my favorite ritual. It’s our new year and the time we remember our loved ones who’ve died. I want each of you to bring a photo or an object that belonged to someone you loved that has died. It will be wonderful to share this with you,” Cookie had said.

“Sounds silly to me,” DeeAnn had remarked. “But if there’s a feast after, I’m in!”

The vegetarian potluck feast had hooked Vera, too. Besides, what was the difference between this ritual and any number of rituals she’d participated in at the local Baptist church? She trusted Cookie wouldn’t be conjuring evil spirits or sacrificing chickens. But she wasn’t sure what to expect.

She pulled into the Jiffy Lube.

“Finally,” Beatrice said. “Could you drive any slower?”

Vera ignored her. Driving with the doughnut of a wheel was not easy—no matter what her mother thought. Besides that, Vera was a little shaken. A flat tire was one thing, but that Luther guy was an oddball. Oh, sure, he helped them out and was nice about it. Dressed in the simple clothes of an Old Order Mennonite man and not being Mennonite? What was going on in that hollow?

The women made themselves at home with the free coffee in the waiting area while the car was in the shop. Vera took a sip and loved the way the coffee’s warmth traveled down to her stomach. It seemed to be getting colder, instead of warmer, throughout the day. The skies were tinged with murky gray. Was it going to rain? Snow?

Annie sat down next to Cookie and pulled out her notebook. Cookie elbowed her as she turned to speak to Beatrice, who was sitting on the other side of her. All of Annie’s things went flying. All the women bent to help her pick them up.

“What’s that?” Cookie gasped, picking up a loose page from the floor.

“Let’s see.” Annie looked it over. “Ah, those are the symbols that were carved into the bodies of those young women. The runes. I think this is the one that was painted on Bea’s house.”

Cookie’s face whitened. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“What is it?” Beatrice said.

“It was the same symbol on both of the women?” Cookie asked.

“Yes. On their arms and backs. I thought you said you didn’t know much about them,” Annie said, still gathering her papers.

“I don’t know many of them,” Cookie said. “But I think I know those symbols.”

“Well, for God’s sake, Cookie. If you know something, spit it out,” Vera said.

“What I know about runes is the simple divination patterns. That in itself is kind of controversial. I’m sorry I didn’t see the combination before. Anyway, some scholars think it was more of a language than a divination tool,” Cookie said. “But this looks like the Three Lifetimes Spread, which is what a rune reader would use to portray character.”

“And?” Vera said.

Cookie placed the paper on the floor. “You see, it’s five symbols.” She pointed to each of them and counted. “The center rune is your present character, the top rune is your future lives, the bottom rune is your past lives—”

“Lives?” Annie said. “Reincarnation?”

Cookie nodded. “The left rune is your future in this life, and the right rune is your birth or childhood.” She paused, running her long, skinny fingers across the page. “If a rune is reversed, it has the opposite meaning from the upright rune. We have a reversed rune here at the bottom. Nauthiz reversed, which would mean ‘bringer of pain, suffering.’ Here’s another reversed one. Um, I think it’s called Fehu, which would mean something like ‘mindless joyousness that should be avoided at all costs.’”

“That’s the one they painted on your house, isn’t it?” Vera said, squinting her eyes.

Beatrice nodded. “What about this one? I like this one,” she said, pointing at the center of the page.

“That is called Uruz, which means ‘strong woman,’ ‘wild ox,’ ‘darkness,’” Cookie replied.

“How could it mean all three of those things?” Vera said.

“They weren’t meant to be read in English or even taken literally, Vera. Stay with me here,” Cookie said and paused. “This rune is Wunjo reversed. That means ‘a crisis, difficult passage, or an absence of joy.’ The top rune is Isa, or ice, ‘something that impedes or a kind of spiritual winter.’”

“What does it all mean?” Annie said.

“It’s obvious,” Beatrice said. “It means a strong, stubborn woman who needs to be tamed. You came about from much darkness and tragedy, and you offer joys of the flesh that only cause trouble. You have left pain in your path wherever you’ve been, and ahead of you is only coldness and loneliness.”

“Beatrice, you are a woman of many talents,” Cookie said and smiled.

“Humph,” Beatrice said. “It’s not brain surgery, my dear.”

Chapter 26

Beatrice hated the police station almost as badly as she hated the hospital. Yet she’d spent more time in both of them the past few years that she ever had in her previous seventy-nine years. But the group decided they would go together to tell Detective Bryant what they had learned. She didn’t care for the man but had softened to him with the latest incident of the rune being painted on her house because of his concern for Annie. She completely agreed with him that Annie needed to be more careful. She breathed a huge sigh of relief when Annie allowed him to alert school officials to watch her boys carefully, and to instruct the local patrol to go by her place several times a night. It wouldn’t be intrusive at all.

She unwound her red scarf. Damn, it was hot in here—one of the many reasons she hated the place. Also, it needed a good cleaning. Couldn’t they get somebody to come in and clean the place up? It wasn’t just the piles of papers and pens all over the place, the half-opened drawers, and the clothes flung over chairs. It was also the real dirt on the floors and the windows. You could hardly see out. Then you never knew what drunk or other lowlife the officers would have trudging along in front of them on their way to the cells. It just made Beatrice uncomfortable. She couldn’t wait to leave.

Detective Bryant came into the room. “Ladies, what can I do for you?” He looked directly at Annie.

“We think we have some leads for you,” she said to him.

What was wrong with her? Beatrice looked at her, and she seemed pale, certainly not herself.

“Why don’t you all come into my office?” he said. “Follow me.”

Finally, a soft chair,
Beatrice thought when they entered his office, and plopped herself into it.

Annie and Vera told the detective about the suspicious young man, and he asked what he looked like. Beatrice whipped out her cell phone.

“I’ve got a picture of him right here,” she said.

“Mama, why didn’t you say?”

“I just did,” Beatrice said, handing the phone to the detective.

“Ms. Matthews,” he said, looking at the picture, “I’m going to need to keep this phone until I can get this photo downloaded into our system. Just in case.”

“Damn. When do I get it back?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he said, just when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me.”

“I guess I’ll have to use my landline. I was just thinking about getting rid of it,” Beatrice said.

“Okay.” Detective Bryant put his cell phone down on the desk and sat down in his chair. “Do you have something else for me? You said something about the rune symbols . . . if that’s what they even are.”

“Yes, we know what they mean,” Annie said and told him.

“Who told you that?” he asked when she was finished.

“Cookie Crandall,” Annie answered.

“How does she know about runes?”

Annie shrugged. “She said she didn’t know much about them, but she knew what these meant.”

“Interesting,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll give her a call.”

“She’s on her way to a retreat,” Beatrice said. “Up on the mountain.”

“Alone?”

“Yes,” Beatrice replied. “We tried to talk her out of it.”

“I see. She’s not afraid, knowing a killer is on the loose?”

Nobody replied.

“Sometimes that woman doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose,” Beatrice said to break the silence.

“That’s not exactly what I was thinking, but I hear you, Ms. Matthews.”

“Maybe we should try to find her,” Vera said.

Annie spoke up. “Why are you all so worried? If anybody can take care of herself, it’s Cookie. C’mon. She hikes and camps by herself all the time.”

“Yeah, well, she also picked up a guy she doesn’t know and gave him a lift,” the detective said, with an edge to his voice. “You know some very smart women can be stupid when it comes to placing themselves in danger.” He smirked as he looked at Vera, Beatrice, and Annie.

“We aren’t here for a lecture, Detective,” Annie finally said. “We thought we could help out the investigation.”

“And get more information for your story?”

“Now that you mention it, of course,” Annie said, sitting up even straighter.

Beatrice beamed. Annie could handle that detective. She looked over at Vera, who was playing with a loose string on her knit purse. Where was her daughter’s head these days?

Later, the blue light of the computer washed over Annie’s fingers as she tapped the keyboard. Done. She’d like to let it sit a day and then proofread it, but she didn’t have the time. It was almost midnight, and her eyes hurt from the strain and her lower back ached. She probably needed an ergonomic chair. Who could afford it? She was making so little as a freelancer for the paper, it was barely worth working. Still, she liked to keep her fingers in it.

Tomorrow she’d finish the final touches on the boys’ Halloween costumes—somehow. She wasn’t a seamstress. It was good that they chose costumes that needed very little sewing. Ben wanted to be the Mad Hatter from
Alice in Wonderland,
and Sam a cowboy.

She slid her glasses off her face, placed them on her desk, and thought about the day’s events. Evidently, the person who killed both young women knew them, thought they were evil, and considered them troublemakers. But why? That would seem to be a key piece of the puzzle. Maybe Rose could have answered it. Maybe not. Maybe she would next week. But Annie wasn’t sure she could wait.

She climbed in next to Mike, who was softly snoring, and snuggled next to him under the blankets. Thoughts of bills that needed paying, lunches that needed to be packed, money that needed to be sent to the school for pictures . . . Oh, and there was the soccer game on Saturday. . . .

The alarm went off sooner than she wanted. When Annie lifted her head from the pillow, she felt a rush of dizziness and nausea. She’d felt the same way yesterday. She lay back down and closed her eyes. Maybe it would go away.

Mike came into the room “Honey, do you know where my red tie is?”

“No,” she managed to groan.

“Annie?” He came over to her and leaned on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I feel sick. Just give me a few moments.”

She pulled the covers closer and closed her eyes. She woke back up in a quiet house and looked at the clock. Eleven thirty. Feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland, she sat up slowly. No dizziness or nausea. But she had to pee badly, and oh God, she was so hungry. When was the last time she ate?

When she entered the kitchen, she wanted to cry. It was a complete mess. Mike had left the dirty pan that he had used to fry eggs on the stove, not even bothering to place it in the sink to soak. Bits and pieces of cereal were all over the counters and the floor. The boys’ cereal bowls were still on the kitchen table. Dishes were piled in the sink—and the dishwasher was not more than a foot away.
Oh well,
she thought and shrugged. At least she’d gotten some sleep before she had to deal with the mess.

Thank God enough coffee was left in the pot for her to pop a cup in the microwave and heat it up.

She took her hot cup to her desk and flipped the on switch for the computer. She was going to look up this Luther character. She couldn’t remember exactly if she had been dreaming about him, but he was definitely on her mind this morning. Had she gotten his last name?
That’s right.
It was Vandergrift. She keyed in his name and clicked on the first link. She read over the obituary of his mother, a linguist who had specialized in ancient Nordic languages.
What?

The phone rang.
Damn.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey, Annie. It’s Steve. How’s it going?”

“Fine, Steve. What’s up?”

“We loved those articles on the murders and wondered if we could get a little more.”

“What more is there to say?”

“The publisher would like a background piece on the area where they lived, Jenkins Mountain.”

“Seriously?” Annie said when her cell phone began to buzz. “Can you hold on? My other phone is ringing. I need to get it.”

She picked it up.

“Mrs. Chamovitz?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ralph Miller, assistant principal at the elementary school.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Well, yes,” he said, hesitating. “It is now. But Ben’s been in a fight, and we’d like you to come to the school to pick him up. I think he just needs some cooling down time.”

“What? What happened?” Annie’s heart raced.
Ben? In a fight?

“We’ll discuss it when you get here.”

“I’ll be there right away.”

Damn.
Her editor would have to wait. And so would Luther. Wouldn’t you just know it? Days went by and Annie rarely heard from her editor—or had any interesting research leads. And this was the first time she’d been called to the school. There had to be a mistake. Her son? In a fight?

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she said into the other phone. “I have to go to the school. Can we talk about this later?”

“Sure,” he said. “But not too much later.”

He hung up. Her heart sank. She knew what he was thinking.
School? I need a story, and she has to go to school?

Oh, the world was unkind to mothers.

Annie hadn’t even taken the time to run a brush through her hair. And as she sat in the office waiting room at the school, she realized she had a little ketchup stain on her black jeans.
Damn.
Maybe nobody would notice if she just kept her bag over it. To top it all off, she was starting to get cramps.

“Mrs. Chamovitz, you can go in now,” said the perky blond secretary.

Annie stood and felt dizzy, again. She steadied herself on the chair and walked into Ralph Miller’s office. He stood and smiled, reaching his hand across the desk.

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Chamovitz. Please sit down.”

“Thanks,” she said. He looked like a kind old man, with nice little creases around his eyes and mouth. Impeccably groomed gray hair. Not good looking, kind of plain, but in a pleasant way.

“Ben hit a young man this morning,” he said.

“Did he hurt him?”

“Yes. He has quite a shiner.”

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I don’t understand. He’s never had a problem before. What happened? Do you know?”

“As far as I know, it had to do with, um . . . ,” he said, looking away briefly, then back at her. “Your religion.”

Annie’s heart nearly stopped. Her cramps were getting worse with each breath. Now she felt sweat beads forming on her face and head.

She was speechless.

“Today was the first day of our Weekly Religious Education program. All the other children were being bused to the church. Of course, you opted for Ben to stay behind. Questions came from his classmates.”

Her boy. Her sweet Ben.
She imagined him all alone, surrounded by taunting children. She wanted to cry. “And?” she managed to say. Was her heart even beating? Was she even still breathing? “Where was the teacher?”

“The teacher was there, of course,” he said. “That’s why we know exactly what happened. One boy provoked Ben and started taunting him.”

“What? How?”

“That’s not the issue. The issue is that Ben attacked him, punched him in the eye.”

Annie tried not to laugh, but a bubble of embarrassed pride welled up in her chest. Her son had defended his faith.

“Mr. Miller, we do not condone violence in our house, and I’ve always told my kids that if they get into trouble at school, they will be in trouble at home. We will deal with Ben. But you have to tell me what the boy said.”

He looked down as embarrassment washed over his face, and then looked quickly away.

The cramps in Annie’s gut were getting so horrible that she was not sure she would be able to stand up when the time came. She sat back in her chair, took a deep breath, and tried to remain as calm as she could.

“Where does a child get such an ignorant attitude, Mr. Miller?”

How horrible was it? The principal couldn’t even meet her eyes, let alone tell her what the child had said. Even though she was not naive about such ignorance, Annie had never been confronted with this before.

“You find many attitudes in this school, Mrs. Chamovitz. But, unfortunately, we can’t tolerate an outburst like this and need to send a clear message to all parties. We have to ask that you take Ben home for the rest of the day. Violence will not be tolerated in our school.”

“What about ignorance?”

“Excuse me?”

BOOK: Scrapped

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