A Crafty Christmas (17 page)

Beatrice stood along the wall of Elizabeth's preschool. The school was in the basement of the local Methodist church, even though it didn't have anything to do with the church. She smiled as the other adults lined up behind her. She was always the first in line to pick up Elizabeth. She couldn't wait to spend the afternoon with her granddaughter.

When the teacher opened the door, she smiled at Beatrice. “Elizabeth, your grandmother is here,” she said, and Elizabeth came out of the room, already dressed for the winter day, holding a crayon drawing she had done in class.

“Let's go home, Granny. We have some cookies to bake,” Elizabeth said as she hugged her.

Beatrice's old heart melted a little every time Elizabeth hugged her.

“Okay, let's go,” Beatrice said as they left the warm building and ventured into the cold for the block and a half walk home.

“How was your day?” Beatrice asked her.

“Good,” she said. “We colored. I like to color.”

“Me too,” Beatrice said, and reached for her hand.

They walked up the first slope of the sidewalk and stood a minute to look at the white mountains against the blue sky.

“Mama's mountains,” Elizabeth said.

Beatrice cackled. “Well, that's a nice way to think of them.”

As they made their way, Beatrice noticed a man walking toward them. He was either new in town or perhaps just visiting. She'd never seen him before. But he looked odd—something about the way he held himself. Beatrice held Elizabeth's hand tighter as the man's gaze traveled to the child. Beatrice held her head up and said hello as he walked by. He nodded in return.

That reminded her to telephone Bryant to see if he'd found anything out about the stranger she had seen the other day. He probably wouldn't tell her, but she had to try.

The man who had just passed gave her the creeps. She couldn't say why. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she didn't like the way he looked at Elizabeth—almost like he knew her. She had learned throughout the years to trust her instincts.

Oh well, she noted as she followed the sidewalk toward home, he wasn't following them. He had gone on about his merry way. She sighed.

After they arrived at her house and were settled in, and before they started the cookies, Beatrice called Bryant.

“How can I help you?” he said.

“Did you ever find out who that strange man was?”

“Which strange man are we talking about, Beatrice?”

“The one I gave you the license plate number for.”

“Oh, he was just some guy staying at the new B and B over on Magnolia.”

“Of course!” she said. “I should have thought about that.” Her old friend Lydia's house, which had been bequeathed to her daughter, Elsie, was now a bed and breakfast. There was much fuss in the neighborhood about it.

“I guess the parking was full until later and he was moving his car,” Bryant said.

“Well, don't I feel like a fool,” she said.

“Well, don't. He was a stranger in your neighborhood. And you'd just learned about the note left in Sheila's mailbox. Makes sense.”

“Did you find out who did that?”

“Nope,” he said with a clipped tone. He was either unhappy that she asked the question or unhappy that he hadn't found the answer.

“I'll let you get to it then.”

“Beatrice, keep your ear to the ground. If you hear or see anything odd, please let me know,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, and hung up the phone. Oh bother, maybe she should have told him about that odd bird of a man she ran across today—but then she chided herself. She could get paranoid over this thing. The world was full of strange people, even in Cumberland Creek. Lawd. If she thought about all the strange characters she called her friends, that could give her a start.

There was old shifty-eyed Max Kruegar, one of the sweetest men she'd ever known. But he'd never look you in the eye; in fact his eyes always shifted around so it appeared he was up to no good. If someone saw him on the street, they might turn around and call the cops.

Oh, and then there was Penny, who had this odd giggle; every time she said something, she'd follow it with a giggle. It didn't have to be funny. In fact, most of the time it wasn't. She giggled out of nervousness because she was so shy. Someone might think her a crazy person escaped from the local hospital.

Then of course, there was her: Beatrice Matthews. She'd heard what people said about her. Most of it was true. She was quarrelsome and opinionated. At one point in her life, she had a relationship with the ghost of her husband and she believed you could manipulate time. Brilliant, but strange, people said. Hmph. She guessed she should settle down a bit about looking for strange people. What could you tell from the way someone looked, anyway?

Sheila, Vera, Paige, Randy, and Eric stood on the deck of the
Jezebel
and took in the sea and sky one more time before heading to the airport.

“I'll never forget the way the sky looks here. The color, the light,” Sheila said. “I'm so glad you all came.” She wrapped her arm around Vera. “You too.” She wrapped her other arm around Eric. “Stick around, Eric, for more craziness.”

She was so thrilled that they'd made up last night while Vera was in the powder room.

“I've been thinking,” she said. “I hope you'll accept my apologies for what I said the other day. I'm really happy that you are in Vera's life.”

“I'd like to apologize, too,” he said to her, leaning in and grinning. “I'll try to be aware of girl time.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thanks for bringing us along,” Paige said to Sheila. “It was . . . an experience. But I really can't wait to get home.”

“Oh, I know. I miss Lizzie and Mama and the mountains and the snow,” Vera said. “But this has been a once in a lifetime trip. Of course, we could have done without the murders.”

Sheila grimaced. “I hear ya.”

“You know, I wish I could have continued with my investigation, talking with all the single men,” Paige said. “I felt so ill. But it was fun pretending to be single for a while.”

“Mother!” Randy said.

She shrugged and walked toward the elevator. “Your mother still has it going on,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Deal with it, Randy!” She laughed and Randy grinned.

“Well, all right then,” he said, grinning and following her.

Once at the airport, the group navigated their way through security and on to the plane without much ado. Within a few hours, they were back to Virginia, with its snowy mountains welcoming them from the air, offering their own beauty and light. Sheila once again found herself amused by travel—a few hours ago she stood on the deck of the
Jezebel
overlooking a beautiful glassy sea. Now they circled the Blue Ridge Mountains, waiting for clearance to land.

She should have been thrilled to be getting home. A part of her was, of course, but she still had lingering strange feelings about the cruise. She supposed she'd get over it at some point, but tripping over Allie, finding out she was murdered, being questioned by the FBI, them keeping her scrapbook for evidence—it was a lot to process. Not to mention that the name Sharon Milhouse had come up. That brought back horrible memories that she hadn't thought about in a long time. Of course, it had to be another Sharon. The Sharon she knew was sick and in the Richmond Institution. Or at least that was the last she'd heard of her.

“So which job are you going to take?” Vera said.

“I won't be working for Theresa Graves, I can tell you,” Sheila responded. “After all that heckling. And she was standing there with that weird dude.”

“Wonder what happened to him,” Vera said. “I didn't see him at all after we left the island. Maybe he stayed there.”

“As long as he's away from me, I don't care where he is,” Sheila said.

“I just have to say wow, my eyes have been opened to the scrapbooking industry,” Paige said. “It's so competitive. Who would have thought?”

Sheila thought a moment. “I suppose you have that in every business. Allie seemed to be the type to pay it forward. She loved my designs and seemed like she was really interested in helping me along.”

“It's a shame what happened to her,” Randy said. “I hope they find her killer.”

“Now that the FBI is involved, maybe they will,” Vera said.

Except for Randy, who had to get back to his job in New York City, the group had a two-hour drive from Dulles International Airport to Cumberland Creek, where their families all waited with bated breath.

When Steve opened the door to their home, Sheila fell into his arms and unraveled. It was too much. Too much. All of this: the excitement, the murder, being away from home. She enjoyed being respected for her work, but she hadn't realized how much she missed home and her husband until that very minute.

“So glad you're back,” Steve said.

Jonathon came running through the hallway and attached himself to both of them. “I missed you, Mama!”

Two of their other kids were sitting at the kitchen table and barely rose to give her a hug. High schoolers. They were way too cool to make a fuss over their mother. But Sheila could see it in their eyes. They were glad she was home, too.

She surveyed her house. Things looked pretty good. The boys had kept up with the housework, though, of course, the place still needed a good vacuum and dusting, and she didn't even want to look at the laundry or in the pantry. She knew Steve hated grocery shopping.

“I missed you, babe,” Steve said to her later as they readied for bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm feeling better,” she said. “I missed you, too.”

Steve was already in bed and he lifted the blanket and nodded for her to snuggle up. Which she did. Quite happily.

Annie tossed and turned most of the night. Mary was still on her mind and she dreamed of her and her father. The one person involved with the case that she hadn't talked with was Mary's mother, who refused to talk to her. Period. But Annie dreamed of her, too, the woman whose husband abused her daughter. What must she be going through? Then her dreams shifted to Hannah. Young and sweet and leaving for New York City. Talk about leading the lambs to slaughter.

After the boys had gotten off to school and she was clearing away the breakfast dishes, Paige called her.

“We're ba-ack,” Paige said in a sing-song voice. “How are you and what's been going on in Cumberland Creek?”

“I'm fine, and Cumberland Creek has not been the same since you all left,” Annie said. It was true—at least for her. She was glad they were off the ship and home. Now they could put the murders behind them and get on with life.

“Did you get your book done?” Paige asked.

“I'm polishing it a bit before I send it off to the publisher,” Annie said. “Did they solve the murder?”

“No,” Paige said. “The FBI talked with Sheila and Vera and that's the last we heard of it. Now how about that strange postcard in Sheila's mailbox? Did they find out who left it?”

“No. The trouble is Steve and Sheila were both gone when it was left. When he came home, the postcard was in the mailbox. They have no idea how long it had been there, only that it wasn't there when either one of them left.”

“Maybe it was there longer than they knew,” Paige said.

“Steve's been working with Bryant on this,” Annie said. “I'm sure he told him that.” She placed the last dish in the dishwasher. “How was the cruise, other than the murders?”

Paige sighed. “It was good to get away with Randy. I'm hoping he comes home. He's thinking of changing jobs. I think he wants to leave the city.”

“That would be awesome,” Annie said. “How would Earl feel about that?”

“I'm not sure,” Paige said. “We're making progress.”

“Did you learn any new scrapbooking techniques?”

“Oh yes. I'm sure we'll get to that during the crop this Saturday,” Paige said. “It was really scrapbooking overkill.” She laughed.

“How is Sheila?” Annie asked after a moment.

Paige paused. “I really don't know. She seems fine. But she has definitely been spooked by all of this. Imagine tripping over a dead body. Any dead body, let alone a woman you respect and admire. Then the concussion put a damper on the next few days. I could tell she wasn't feeling well. But she still managed to get a few job offers.”

“Freelance?” Annie said. That, of course, is what Sheila had been hoping for. But Annie had warned her about it—people often had misconceptions when it came to freelancing. It was not as easy as it sounded and some of these work-for-hire contracts—at least for writers—were bad news. She hoped that Sheila hadn't signed anything yet.

“I think she's going to work with David's Designs. She'll have to make monthly trips to New York, but most of her work will be done from home,” Paige said.

“David's Designs? Wow,” Annie said, sitting down at the kitchen table and fingering her new art journal. She loved this. It had become a ritual every morning to sit and work on this journal. She was producing something totally new for herself. It was so satisfying. And she was also keeping up with her Hanukkah scrapbook. She would have a lot to share with her friends on Saturday night.

After Annie and Paige said good-bye, Annie worked more on her art journal. This time, the word she painted on the page was “Home.” Traditional images of home and hearth played through her mind. But she drew waves. Waves upon waves.

When she was finished with her page, she went to her computer and checked e-mail. She noted that her request for the death report of Allie had been sent. She shrugged internally; now that her friends were home, she wasn't certain she cared about the murder that much. But the report might be interesting to look over. She clicked on the pdf file and printed out the two reports.

Then the phone rang. It was a call from the boys' school.

“Mrs. Chamovitz?”

“Yes,” she replied, thinking,
What now?

“This is Beverly Adams, the school nurse. Ben is sick. He has a very sore and red throat and a temperature,” she said. “It may be strep. It's going around the school.”

Poor, sweet, Ben. And damn, there goes my day
, she thought. “I'll be right there to pick him up. Thanks.”

After she dressed, she called their pediatrician for an appointment. Annie found herself hoping it was strep because antibiotics could help and within twenty-four hours her kids often bounced back. She hated for him to be sick at Hanukkah.

As she was leaving her home and thinking about the holiday, with snow coming down and all of her neighbors' homes decorated, she once again thought about Hannah and made a mental note to send her a care package when she got to New York. Or maybe even visit her, if she could swing it.

When she finally saw her boy in the nurse's office and how sick he looked, fear rolled through her. He was green. What had happened? He'd been healthy when she sent him off this morning—at least she thought so. This had come over him so suddenly. He stood and fell into Annie's arms. And then threw up all over her.