of paper encased in a plastic bag the group was mulling over.
The detective cleared his throat. âItâs a scrapbook page. Evidence. I was wondering if anybody here knew anything about it.â
âHow did you get it?â Annie asked.
âI was at the crime scene first thing this morning, of course. How do you think I got it?â Bryant replied.
Annie chilled. âDo you mean you found this on the bodyâon Esmeraldaâs body?â
He nodded. âIn her hand, actually.â
Annie smirked. She knew something he didnât. Should she tell him?
âWhat gives, Annie?â he said and took a sip from his mug. He read her too well.
âWell, there was a scrapbook page at yesterdayâs murder, too,â she responded.
The detective almost choked on his gourmet coffee.
Chapter 8
Beatrice sat in her chair and looked out over her clanâJon, 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 sheâd 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.
âGo fish!â 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.
Cookieâs long, black hair had been cut shortâBeatrice preferred her short hair because her long hair had engulfed her tiny face. And Cookie was gaining weightânot that she would ever be fat or even plump, but finally the young woman was getting some meat on her bones. She looked healthyâmost of the time. The doctor who was her caretaker made sure that she ate. Sometimes, sheâd 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.
âGo, Steelers!â Jon yelled, âTouchdown, yes!â
It was irritating, the way her sophisticated French husband was turning into a couch potato football fan. She bit her tongueâfor 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. Thatâs 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 Pamelaâs Pie Palace. The bakery will remain closed until further notice.
âIâll be,â Beatrice said. âSisters? Their killings most assuredly had something to do with one another.â
âWhatâs going on, Mama?â Vera had gotten up to put the tea kettle on and was behind her mom. Beatrice filled her in.
âWhoa!â Vera gasped. âAnother murder in Cumberland Creek.â She sat down at the table, her mouth agape.
âItâs nobody we know, thank goodness, but still a tragedy,â 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!
âSisters.â Vera said as she pulled up the chair and looked over Beaâs shoulder.
âOdd, isnât it? I never realized there were any Mexicans living around here,â Beatrice said.
âThey sort of keep to themselves,â Vera said. âSeveral families live over at those Riverside Apartments on Druid Lane.â
âI had no idea.â Bea was ashamed that she didnât know who was living in her community anymore. Though the apartment and mobile home dwellers were not