Scrapbook of the Dead

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Book: Read Scrapbook of the Dead for Free Online
Authors: Mollie Cox Bryan
of paper encased in a plastic bag the group was mulling over.
    The detective cleared his throat. “It’s a scrapbook page. Evidence. I was wondering if anybody here knew anything about it.”
    â€œHow did you get it?” Annie asked.
    â€œI was at the crime scene first thing this morning, of course. How do you think I got it?” Bryant replied.
    Annie chilled. “Do you mean you found this on the body—on Esmeralda’s body?”
    He nodded. “In her hand, actually.”
    Annie smirked. She knew something he didn’t. Should she tell him?
    â€œWhat gives, Annie?” he said and took a sip from his mug. He read her too well.
    â€œWell, there was a scrapbook page at yesterday’s murder, too,” she responded.
    The detective almost choked on his gourmet coffee.

Chapter 8
    Beatrice sat in her chair and looked out over her clan—Jon, Vera, Eric, Elizabeth . . . and Cookie. Cookie and Elizabeth were on the floor playing cards and Jon, Vera, and Eric were watching a football game. Cookie troubled Beatrice. Hell, she troubled everybody. Nobody knew when she’d show up and her short-term memory loss came and went, much like her long-term memory loss. She was not quite the same woman they had gotten to know and love a few years back.
    â€œGo fish!” Cookie said to Elizabeth, who reached down for another card. Cookie had always been very good with Elizabeth, even when she was a baby. They had a connection.
    Cookie’s long, black hair had been cut short—Beatrice preferred her short hair because her long hair had engulfed her tiny face. And Cookie was gaining weight—not that she would ever be fat or even plump, but finally the young woman was getting some meat on her bones. She looked healthy—most of the time. The doctor who was her caretaker made sure that she ate. Sometimes, she’d sort of slump over and get a faraway look in her eyes, but her spark was back as she focused on the game in front of her.
    Bea could only take so much of the noise of the football game. She went to the dining room and switched on the computer.
    â€œGo, Steelers!” Jon yelled, “Touchdown, yes!”
    It was irritating, the way her sophisticated French husband was turning into a couch potato football fan. She bit her tongue—for the time being. Okay, the football culture was new to him; maybe it was just a stage.
    She read over the local news headlines. H ALLOWEEN P ARTY TO BE H ELD AT F IRE H ALL . Hmm. That’s new. A News Flash streamed across the screen. She clicked on it and began to read.

    The body of a young woman was found today along Cumberland Creek. It has been identified as the remains of Esmeralda Martelino, sister of Marina Martelino, whose body was found yesterday at Pamela’s Pie Palace. The bakery will remain closed until further notice.

    â€œI’ll be,” Beatrice said. “Sisters? Their killings most assuredly had something to do with one another.”
    â€œWhat’s going on, Mama?” Vera had gotten up to put the tea kettle on and was behind her mom. Beatrice filled her in.
    â€œWhoa!” Vera gasped. “Another murder in Cumberland Creek.” She sat down at the table, her mouth agape.
    â€œIt’s nobody we know, thank goodness, but still a tragedy,” Beatrice said, her heart thumping. Her home. Cumberland Creek. What was becoming of it? What to do about it? There was a killer on the loose!
    â€œSisters.” Vera said as she pulled up the chair and looked over Bea’s shoulder.
    â€œOdd, isn’t it? I never realized there were any Mexicans living around here,” Beatrice said.
    â€œThey sort of keep to themselves,” Vera said. “Several families live over at those Riverside Apartments on Druid Lane.”
    â€œI had no idea.” Bea was ashamed that she didn’t know who was living in her community anymore. Though the apartment and mobile home dwellers were not

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