Scrapbook of the Dead by Mollie Cox Bryan Page B

Cumberland Creek, Virginia. One of your workers was recently killed here. Her name was Marina Martelino. There’s a group of us in town that would like to send condolences to her family. Is that possible?” Beatrice asked.
    â€œWhat are you asking? For an address?” Linda said.
    â€œYes, I’d like the address of her parents.” Parents that have lost two daughters here in Virginia, where they were sent to work to send home money to help out the family. Beatrice’s stomach tightened.
    â€œOne moment please,” Linda said.
    Jon gave up his stance and sat down on the couch next to Beatrice. Weird 1970s music played over the phone as the minutes ticked away.
    â€œMrs. Chevalier?” Linda Smoke interrupted the groovy music.
    â€œYes, I’m still here,” Beatrice said.
    â€œI’m sorry. I can’t find any records for Ms. Martelino.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMaybe they have been misplaced. Or—are you certain you have the right agency?”
    â€œYes, yes, I’m certain.” Beatrice was trying not to show her impatience.
    â€œMay I take your phone number and get back to you? I’ll continue to search when I can,” Linda said.
    â€œMighty nice of you,” Beatrice said and then gave her phone number. “Now, are you in Mexico?”
    â€œNo, Ma’am. The agency is housed in China.”
    â€œWell, I do thank you for your help. Folks here just want to reach out to the family.” Bea was tempted to add and I can’t believe how difficult this is .
    â€œKind of you,” Linda Smoke said.
    After Beatrice hung up the phone, Jon said, “No address?”
    â€œMarina’s files have been misplaced,” Beatrice said.
    â€œI smell something—how you say?—fishy,” Jon said. “Misplaced files? Everything is on the computer these days. I don’t understand.”
    â€œMaybe not in China,” Beatrice said.
    â€œBut an international employment agency, surely,” Jon said.
    Beatrice thought a moment. “You’re right. Why would she not want to give me the information? I’ll call back and find out.”
    Beatrice dialed the number. No answer. None. The phone rang and rang. She slammed the phone down. “All I wanted to do is send my condolences, but this is a bit much. You’d think I was asking for the moon.”
    â€œNo answer?” he said. “Maybe it’s nighttime there and the woman has gone home for the day. Let’s try again tomorrow.”
    â€œSounds good to me,” Beatrice said.
    Beatrice’s phone rang. It was Mike Chamovitz.
    â€œSorry to bother you, Beatrice,” Mike said, “but Annie is out on a story and I’ve gotten a call from a client who’s in town and wants to meet for coffee. I can tell her no, but it would be a good thing if I could tell her yes. The boys are in bed. I’d really appreciate it if you could stay here until Annie or I can get back home.”
    â€œA client this time of the evening?” Beatrice asked. Mike was a pharmaceutical sales rep.
    â€œVery unusual,” he agreed.
    â€œWell, of course I’ll be there. But where’s Annie?”
    â€œShe had a meeting with the sheriff and something came up,” Mike replied.
    â€œThe Martelino case?”
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    â€œBut duty calls,” Mike said. “See you in a few?”
    â€œOf course,” Beatrice replied.
    â€œWhat is it?” Jon asked, leaning in toward her.
    â€œI’m going over to watch Annie’s boys,” Beatrice said, getting up from the couch. She found her purse and keys. Jon was on her heels.
    She frowned. “What are you doing? You almost knocked right into me.”
    â€œSorry, but I’m coming with you, of course.”
    She reached over and touched his cheek. “Thank you, Jon.”
    On the walk over to Annie’s house, they were quiet. They walked past the