Scrapped (19 page)
Chapter 47
Even though it wasn’t Saturday when the croppers received Annie’s call, they all decided to meet in Sheila’s basement. Even though it was last minute, Sheila laid out a bit of a spread of snacks.
“I’ve been looking at Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows,” Annie began as the others gathered around, glasses of wine in their hands. Plates of cheese and crackers were sitting on the table.
“And did you get something in your eyes?” Vera asked.
“No,” Annie said. “It made me wonder if any of you know anything about Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows. I mean, what has she told you about it?”
DeeAnn shrugged. “The only thing she said about it to me is that it was like a witch’s journal. They keep notes and such in them.”
“I think that’s all I know, too,” Sheila said.
Paige nodded in agreement.
“That’s pretty much what she told me, too,” Annie said. “And that all makes sense . . . except for this. I found this tucked in it.”
“What is it?” Paige asked,
“It’s an envelope full of clippings.”
“About what?” Sheila asked.
“About this town. About Jenkins Mountain and the hollow,” Annie revealed.
“And look at this,” Paige said, reaching into the envelope. “A brochure about the caves.”
“Oh, that’s just the public ones,” DeeAnn said. “Not the good ones. They’re too distant.”
“And here are some clippings about Luther,” Annie said. “She either knew him before she came here or researched him after. It’s all pulled from the Internet. Turns out he was a brilliant medical student in Pittsburgh, then lost his family in a car accident and never went back to school. Get this. His mom was a linguist, and his father was a physicist.”
“Well, well, well,” DeeAnn said. “Isn’t that something?”
“Here’s a census report,” Sheila said. “About the town, what the median income is, what the agricultural crops are. There’s a lot of information here.”
“Cookie researched this area before moving here,” Annie said.
“That’s not unusual,” Paige said, then bit into a hunk of yellow cheese.
“No,” Annie said. “But with all the stuff in her scrapbook and now this, I’m beginning to think that Cookie came here for a reason.”
“What do you mean?” Paige said.
“I have no idea what I mean,” Annie said and smiled.
“Like a spy?” Sheila said, her eyebrows lifted.
“What would she possibly be spying on us for?” Vera asked and waved them off.
“Not us,” Annie said. “Someone else. But who? Luther?”
“Oh!” Sheila said as DeeAnn tipped over a glass of wine onto Cookie’s scrapbook.
They scrambled around to save the open page with the painted photo of the beautiful auburn-haired Victorian woman.
“Shoot,” DeeAnn said when the page came off in her hand.
“Let’s put it up on the window. Maybe if the sun gets to it . . . ,” Sheila said, but as she placed the page on the windowsill, she noticed something odd about it. “Well, I’ll be. There’s something hidden beneath the picture.”
Sheila carefully pulled out two folded slips of paper and unfolded one.
“A map,” Annie said.
“A gorgeous hand-drawn map,” DeeAnn said.
“It’s Jenkins Hollow,” Paige said. “There it is.... I don’t know what all this is.”
“That’s beyond the hollow. I’ve never visited that way. Who knows what’s beyond the ridge?” Sheila said.
Annie reached for the other slip of paper and unfolded it. “Lady Jenkins, four generations.”
“What?” Paige said. “Could she be a Jenkins, as in—”
“This looks very Victorian,” Sheila interjected. “I guess if she were four generations from the original Mary Jenkins, it might make sense.”
“But why would Cookie have her picture?” Annie said.
Chapter 48
Beatrice listened to her daughter ramble on about Annie finding clippings in Cookie’s scrapbook of shadows and then about seeing Luther at the hospital and calling the police on him. By the time they arrived, he was gone. So they were heading to Jenkins Hollow to try to find him tomorrow, just for questioning.
“He may be perfectly innocent, but I swear, that day he gave me the creeps, when I saw him standing there at the hospital. And Bryant did tell us, if we saw anything out of place, to let him know. And yesterday Annie found all these clippings about him. I think he’s certifiable.”
“Good work,” Beatrice said. “Let’s hope it means something. Let’s hope it gets Cookie out of jail and that justice is served.” She smacked her lips.
“Mother, are you eating? You know I hate it when you eat on the phone,” Vera said.
“Land sakes, can’t a woman have a bite while her daughter’s mouth goes a mile a minute?”
“Oh, Mom,” Vera said. “You can be so rude.”
“I’m old, and you’re my daughter. Why do I need to be polite? Besides, these peanut butter cookies are to die for. I love them warm out of the oven,” she said.
“We’ll be right over,” Vera said. “Don’t you dare eat them all.”
Beatrice smiled and sat back in her rocker. Vera was easy. It was so joyous to see her daughter eat after all these years of dieting. A few years back, she just stopped and gained about twenty pounds—and she filled out beautifully. Beatrice would never understand the desire for extreme thinness. Ed used to say that he liked to have something to hold on to.
But when she thought of thinness, she thought immediately of Cookie, who had said she ate as she pleased, but never seemed to gain an ounce. She wondered how she was faring with jail food, given that she didn’t eat meat and liked only local, organically grown food. She and all the other townsfolk had been eating locally for years. Now it was a movement. That always made Beatrice snicker. Still, it was a good movement.
She rocked and looked out on the gray skies. Thank goodness for the fall. The summer was way too hot. Very little enjoyment in that. Before she knew it, it would be Thanksgiving. She couldn’t believe how fast time was moving.
Time.
Ah yes, Beatrice had pondered the issue of time her whole life, but the older she became and the less of it she had, the more she thought about Richard Feynman’s theory of time reversibility.
Quantum electrodynamics. Oh, let it roll around in your head,
Beatrice thought. She loved those words.
Ah yes, Beatrice had pondered the issue of time her whole life, but the older she became and the less of it she had, the more she thought about Richard Feynman’s theory of time reversibility.
Quantum electrodynamics. Oh, let it roll around in your head,
Beatrice thought. She loved those words.
Richard’s assistant, Jewel, had called her one night to discuss his “diagram,” which represented the interaction of two particles as the exchange of a third particle.
“Let me run this by you, Bea,” Jewel had said.
She remembered the day perfectly. Vera was sitting on her lap. She had the flu and was burning up with fever. Ed was making a few house calls and would be home shortly.
“Time is on one axis and space on the other, and the interaction is viewed as happening both in forward and in reverse time,” she’d said to Beatrice. “Do you have it pictured?”
“Hold on,” Beatrice said, reaching around Vera for a tablet on the phone stand. She drew the diagram as Jewel spoke.
“An electron on its way from point A to point B can bump into a photon, right? You can see that it can be drawn as sending it backward not just in space, but also in time. Then it bumps into another photon, which sends it forward in time again, but in a different direction in space. In this way, it can be in two places at once.”
She hadn’t understood it right away. Then she’d seen the paper on it, and it clicked.
So theoretically, if photons behaved this way, one had to wonder about bigger objects. Like people. Ah, if she could go back in time, would she? There was no doubt in her mind that if she could figure out a way, she would go back to when she had just married Ed. Just to experience the newness of their love once again. She’d always love the man—even if she was attracted to another man. Love was love.
And would she go forward in time?
Hmm.
She didn’t think so. If she had to be without Ed for the rest of her life, she’d choose here and now and Vera and Elizabeth.
Hmm.
She didn’t think so. If she had to be without Ed for the rest of her life, she’d choose here and now and Vera and Elizabeth.
Chapter 49
Saturday night at Sheila’s crop Vera was thinking about the hummus and the freshly made pita she was eating. Fresh pita made by an expert baker, Vera thought, was so much better than what was in the stores.
“Damn, this is good,” Sheila said after a bite of the pita dipped in the hummus.
DeeAnn leaned across the table and picked up a piece of the flat, round brown bread. “Thanks,” she said.
“I like what you’re doing with your book,” Paige said, leaning over DeeAnn’s shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to do one.”
“What are you doing?” Vera asked.
“I’m making a scrapbook of recipes, stories about the food, and pictures of it. Even have some pictures of people,” DeeAnn said. “Like, look at this. She’s my grandmother, and she’s holding the peach pie that I have the recipe for. And there was this story about the neighbor’s dog getting into the pie one day. She left it on the windowsill, and the screen had a little tear in it. Somehow that dog ripped the screen and got ahold of the whole pie!”
“What kind of dog?” Sheila asked. “Big?”
“I think it was part German shepherd and part wolf, and it was huge. In those days, there were wolves everywhere—or at least it seemed like it,” DeeAnn said.
“I think that the idea of a scrapbook of recipes is a good one,” Vera said. “Your kids will love that. Someday.”
“Someday is right,” DeeAnn grumbled.
The sliding glass door opened, and Annie walked into the room quietly. Everyone muttered hellos, barely looking up from their projects. Paper and pens were scattered all over the table, along with ribbons, lace, and glue. Plates of cake, hummus, bread, pretzels, and cookies sat in between the scrapbooking supplies. There was a cleared spot. Annie’s spot. Next to it was Cookie’s spot, also empty.
“Hey,” Annie said, dumping her bags on her chair and walking to the refrigerator. She pulled out a beer and opened it with a hiss. She set the bottle down on the table after taking a drink.
“Just so you all know, I’m back from talking with Bryant. The police have yet to find Luther,” she told them. “Evidently, they think they saw him in the security tapes. He might be the one who kidnapped the baby. And when Vera called, they were already out looking for him.”
“Those hills go deep out there, and the people are not apt to be helpful to the police,” Paige said.
Sheila piped up. “And there’s caves, too. I remember going in some of them when I was a kid.”
“Mama has always talked about those caves,” Vera said. She shrugged. “I’m sure the police know about them.”
“I’m surprised you’re not with them,” Sheila said and looked at Annie.
Annie looked surprised. “Why would I be with them?”
“To get the story, of course,” Sheila answered, setting down her glass of wine.
“I’d rather not go out to those mountains,” Annie said. “Sorry, but it scares me out there. I’ve got a family. A husband. Two boys.” Her voice caught in her throat. She cleared her throat. “I’ve got too much to lose by walking into a possible trap of weirdos out in the middle of nowhere. “
“Oh, Annie, they’re not all like that,” Vera said, her heart beating faster. Annie looked away, into her box of photos. “Besides, the police are there. I’m sure they’d protect you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Annie said. “I don’t know if they are capable of it.”
“Well, now,” DeeAnn said, “I’m sure they’d try.”
“Two girls dead. Obviously, whoever is doing this has nothing against killing people,” Annie said. “And then there’s Zeb.”
“You let him have it,” DeeAnn said. “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Annie said.
Vera wanted to change the subject. She was increasingly uncomfortable with these murders, and she was uncomfortable with Annie’s dilemma—that she was Jewish in this small community and seemed always to be fighting psychic battles, even some very physical ones. Always having to be ready when the questions came: Why don’t you celebrate Christmas? Why don’t you come to our church? And now her boys had to fight battles that no child should. Religion should not be used as a way to divide people. Vera had stopped going to church years ago, when the gay issue came up.
“How is Ben doing?” Vera finally said.
“He’s fine now,” Annie said. “Though I’m not sure he’ll be fine for the whole time he’s in school.”
“Where are the parents of these other children?” Sheila almost yelled.
“The kids are just spouting their parents’ viewpoints,” Annie said, setting out her scrapbook. “Those views seem to be more popular than I imagined.”
“I don’t believe it,” DeeAnn said. “I don’t believe that the people in the community hate witches, or anyone, for that matter. I mean, here we are. We disagree all the time. We’re all of different backgrounds. And we set that aside.”
“Not everybody feels the way you do. I mean, look at this business with Cookie. Don’t you think some of us here at this very table suspect her because she’s a witch?” Annie said.
“Now, hold on,” Paige said. “It has nothing to do with that. It has to do with that book. I don’t give a hoot if she’s a witch or a wizard. Facts is facts.”
“What about the person? Not the book. Not the religion. The person!” Annie said.
The room was silent, except for the music playing.
Sheila turned the music up a bit. “I love this song.”
“Nice beat,” DeeAnn said, and stood to dance around a bit at her chair. She was a large and curvy woman. Watching her move to the music was like watching the earth move.
Vera laughed. “You missed your calling!”
When the song was over, and all had calmed down, Annie cleared her throat.
“I brought the scrapbook,” she said quietly. “Does anybody want to see it again?”
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