Scrapped (23 page)
Beatrice and Jon shrugged.
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.
Chapter 59
Annie’s head was spinning, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was stuck in a hospital bed and couldn’t get up and go home on her own if she wanted to. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure that she did. She felt terrible. Even with all the pain meds. She still ached everywhere, not just her lower back. When she tried to move her arm, it felt like she was moving through heavy water. Her head throbbed, and her mouth felt cottony. And, worst of all, her brain was foggy.
Amid all the turmoil, pain, and confusion, she was getting weird vibes from her husband. He was ticked off. Sure, he was kind and considerate and he loved her. . . . She was lying in a hospital bed. But he had also let her know that he wasn’t happy that she was here. She never should have gone to the mountain—or at least she should have gone with the police. She knew that. So did her editor—also not happy.
She knew that Mike had grown tired of not having his wife around for days when they lived in D.C.—and of not knowing if she was safe. When they moved to Cumberland Creek, he thought that part of their lives was over. But Annie had gotten sucked into it again.
Nothing like a bullet in your back to shift your focus back to where it belongs.
Actually, the bullet was more in her ass—thank God it was good and fleshy there, or else there might have been some damage to her actual spinal cord.
Actually, the bullet was more in her ass—thank God it was good and fleshy there, or else there might have been some damage to her actual spinal cord.
She sifted through the memories of the past few days and shuddered. They still had no idea who murdered Rebecca and Sarah. The police were combing the mountains looking for someone, but who? And would they ever find them in the vast and dense geography that was Jenkins Mountain? She had some murky memories surfacing. Words like
sacrifice
and
calcite.
Was she dreaming? Was she remembering?
sacrifice
and
calcite.
Was she dreaming? Was she remembering?
She wished she could turn over on her stomach to sleep. She managed to roll over on her side and look at the pattern on the wallpaper.
“Would you like the TV on?” the nurse said as she entered the room.
“No,” Annie said.
The woman lifted Annie’s arm and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around it. Then she took her temperature. “Your temp has gone up. Let’s give you a little more Tylenol.”
Annie downed the pills and curled back into a ball on her side.
Could Beatrice have helped Cookie escape? Well, why not? Maybe she sneaked something into the cell. What? A key?
How did Cookie manage to get out of the building without anybody noticing? The courthouse and jail were right smack in the middle of town. How could she have left without anybody seeing? Was it at night? Early morning? Damn that Cookie. If she were innocent, why would she escape from jail?
Just then someone entered her room. She could feel a breeze, looked up and saw Hannah, Rebecca and Sarah’s friend, standing by her bed. A smile spread across her face.
“Your story is all over the paper,” Hannah said. “You’re going to be okay?”
Annie nodded. “I’m too rotten to die. And you?”
She nodded. “But he’s still out there somewhere, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I’m sorry,” Annie said.
“You are so . . . brave,” Hannah said and sat down on the chair next to Annie’s bed, reaching down to the floor for something. “I’m not sure I’d have gone to the mountain in the dark. And I live there.”
“Brave or stupid,” Annie muttered.
Hannah laughed, her face lighting up, beaming.
“You should do that more often. You’re so pretty when you smile,” Annie said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
“My parents are waiting for me in the hall. They thought it would be okay.”
“You can come and visit me anytime,” Annie said. “You don’t have to wait until I’m shot.”
“Lord willing, that won’t happen again,” Hannah said, suddenly serious. “You know, Rebecca was in the bakery late on the night she died,” she said with her voice lowered. “When I left at ten, she was still there. It wasn’t usual. She kept watching the clock, as if she were going to meet someone, and I caught her looking in the mirror a few times. I thought maybe she had a date.”
“Did you ask?”
“No. I wish I had. I was in a hurry to leave. She said she’d close, and I left,” she said.
“Thanks for telling me that,” Annie said.
“I have to go.” She stood and reached for Annie’s hand, held it firmly. “I’m going to pray for you.”
Usually, Annie would have some snarky remark about that. But Hannah was sincere—she believed what she was saying had meaning to Annie and that it was the best thing she could do for her. Goodness emanated from this young woman.
As she turned to go, the nurse walked in the room, followed by two friendly-looking men, obviously not from the area.
“Mrs. Chamovitz?” said the nurse.
“Yes?” Annie sat up more.
“These doctors are from Eastern Psychiatric Hospital. They want to chat with you.”
The nurse raised Annie’s bed.
“What? Why me?”
“Calm down,” the nurse said. “They’re not here to evaluate you.”
“Okay,” Annie said, looking over at the doctors as they approached her bed. “How can I help you?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Chamovitz. I’m Dr. Greenberg, and this is Dr. Stanley.” He pointed at the other doctor. “We, ah, sometimes work with the FBI on missing persons cases. And we received this e-mail today from the FBI.”
He handed her a sheet of paper.
FBI Alert
Wanted: Cookie Crandall
Underneath was a picture of Cookie.
“What do you think? You know her, right?” Dr. Greenberg asked.
Annie didn’t know if it was the news or if she was just feeling worse, but her stomach lurched and waves of heat emanated from her skin. She could barely nod. Was it Cookie all along? Had Cookie murdered those young women and tried to murder that baby?
She should have known it—between her weird scrapbook and all the other coincidences.... Annie should have known it. No. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Cookie was not a murderer.
“We’ve just come from the jail and learned of her escape,” Dr. Stanley said. “It’s a pattern with her. She moves from town to town, gets into trouble, and escapes. She’s brilliant. But quite dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Cookie?” Annie said.
Dr. Stanley nodded. “Yes, she suffers from countless delusions. In lay terms, she has a split personality disorder, of sorts.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with her. I don’t understand it. If she was that sick, why wouldn’t I have picked up on it?” Annie said.
“Which personality did she use? The artist? The witch? The time traveler?” Dr. Greenberg asked.
The blur in Annie’s head was taking over.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling very well,” she said.
“Sure,” Dr. Greenberg said. “We’re sorry to bother you, but we’ve been here a few days already and we’re heading out of town tomorrow. We wondered if you had any idea where she could be.”
Beatrice,
Annie thought, but shook her head no. Her head sank back into the pillow. She turned back to face the wall with its weird wallpaper. The patterns reminded her of those damned runes.
Women who cause trouble
. Beatrice had to know something about where Cookie had gone and how she got there. Annie was certain of it. But she was too damned tired to even speak.
Annie thought, but shook her head no. Her head sank back into the pillow. She turned back to face the wall with its weird wallpaper. The patterns reminded her of those damned runes.
Women who cause trouble
. Beatrice had to know something about where Cookie had gone and how she got there. Annie was certain of it. But she was too damned tired to even speak.
Before she finally closed her eyes, one question formed in her mind: Did he say time traveler?
Annie dreamed of mountains and tunnels and caves. Runic patterns written into rock. Lights and shadows. Finally, Cookie, in what appeared to be the center of a cave, surrounded by beautiful waterfalls and rocks. She smiled at Annie, reached out and lifted Annie’s chin. Such a soft touch. Such a loving gesture. So much friendship and warmth.
How could Cookie have killed anybody? Was she mentally ill, like the doctors said? With these thoughts entering her dream world, Annie awoke with a start, surprised to find her face wet with tears.
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