“Well, you know Nathan. He’s sweet, smart, and cute, and everyone likes him,” Cooper began.
Grammy crushed the butterscotch between her molars. “I believe I’ve met the man a time or two. Don’t beat around the bush, child. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Edward. The man with the motorcycle who brought me to Ashley’s house when my truck got a flat.” Cooper wound a loose thread from Grammy’s bedspread around her middle and index fingers. “I went out with him last night. We were just trying to find out more about Miguel since the case is still unsolved, but we went to a dance club and—”
“I’m old, girl!” Grammy slapped the thread from Cooper’s hand. “Git to the meat of the matter before I turn ninety!”
Cooper flushed and blurted out, “I’m tempted by him! I keep imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to have his arms around me.” Her face burned. “I try not to, but I can’t get him out of my mind!”
Pressing a butterscotch into Cooper’s hand, Grammy eased back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “Lemme tell you about this lady from church this mornin’. She and I were waitin’ to use the bathroom—you know they’ve only got two stalls for all us women in that church—and I asked her how she came by the sling she was wearin’ over her shoulder. What do you think she said?”
“I have no idea.” Cooper wondered where her grandmother was heading with this anecdote.
“Turns out, she was tryin’ so hard to fit into a girdle that she pulled her shoulder. She had a date, see, with a fellow she knew about forty years back and she wanted to look her finest for this man.” Grammy glanced over at the framed wedding photograph on her dresser. “But she wasn’t the same girl. We all change, granddaughter. There are different seasons to our lives.”
“Sorry, Grammy, but I’m not following you.”
“What I’m sayin’, child, is not to wrench loose a limb tryin’ to fit yourself to one man or the other!” Grammy barked good-naturedly. “Which one fits you? Which fellow wants you just as you come—flaws and all?”
Cooper mulled this over and then responded, “Edward doesn’t really know me. He sees me as this Angel of Justice or something. But I feel capable of anything when I’m with him. Like I could rise above myself.”
“And Nathan?” Grammy queried, reaching for another candy.
“He goes to church, cares about his family, and works hard. He’s educated, funny, and . . . safe.”
Grammy cackled. “You know, men used to say that all women were either Marilyn Monroe or Jackie Kennedy, but the perfect woman would be a bit of both. Damn fools. We’ve all got two sides. Edward isn’t some beguiling demon sent from below just to raise your body temperature any more than Nathan is some choirboy who drifted down on a cloud from heaven.” She wagged her finger and her expression turned stern. “Either way, you gotta straighten your feelings out right quick before you lose ’em both and end up marchin’ down the aisle with Little Boy. So get busy with your soul-searchin’, you hear?”
“Yes, Grammy.”
“Go on and sneak me some of your daddy’s sliced ham first. I’m feelin’ peckish.”
Even though she knew full well that the ham would end up in Little Boy’s belly, Cooper agreed to the request.
She’d barely fished the deli meat from the refrigerator when Ashley appeared and hung from the open fridge door. Fascinated by how she was making bottles of ketchup, mustard, and dill pickle spears quake, she peered into the refrigerator’s interior and slurred, “Isfereanyjuish?”
“What?” Cooper’s eyes dropped to the bottle of vodka in her sister’s left hand.
“Juish! Juish!” Ashley bellowed in a most unladylike fashion and then hiccupped.
Cooper tried to take the bottle away but Ashley hugged it to her chest. “Thass mine! Get yer own!”
Placing both hands on Ashley’s shoulders, Cooper steered her inebriated sibling to the nearest kitchen chair. “What the hell, Ashley? I’ve never seen you drink liquor straight. In fact, I’ve never seen you drink anything right out of the bottle and, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s the middle of the afternoon! What’s going on?”
Ashley put her arms on the smooth planks of the family’s farm table and allowed her forehead to fall onto the makeshift pillow. “Dizzy,” she muttered.
“You need some fresh air.” Cooper hoisted her sister back to her feet and nearly dragged her out onto the patio. They stood there for a few moments as Ashley groaned and Cooper wondered if her sister was going to be sick. “If you’re going to puke, turn to the right,” she ordered. “That empty plant pot will do just fine.”
As though inspired by the suggestion, Ashley uttered a single, guttural moan and then emptied her stomach into the container that would be filled with fresh basil come summertime.
“Ugh.” Cooper made a mental note not to partake of Maggie’s first batch of pesto sauce. When Ashley had finished purging her stomach, she sank to the ground and pressed her face against another flowerpot. Cooper gathered her sister into her arms and wiped the sweat-dampened hair away from her cheeks. “What happened?”
Ashley’s body had gone limp. Through closed eyes she whispered, “I asked Lincoln a whole mess of questions and I found out about that guy, Alex.” She sighed and Cooper tried not to pull back as she caught a whiff of her sister’s breath. “ ’Cept his name’s not Alex, it’s Alek. And he’s not a guy.”
“Alek is a woman?”
“Yeah. Go figure.” Ashley pushed a strand of blonde hair off her forehead. “Aleksandra. That’s who Lincoln’s been with all these nights.” Her mouth curled into a snarl. “Aleksandra, Aleksandra, Aleksandra.”
Cooper was losing feeling in her toes. Ashley’s skin was cold and both sisters had come outside without coats. “What you need is coffee and a shower, but not in that order.” Cooper wrinkled her nose. “Come on, Ashley, we’ll figure this out.”
“I’ve figured it out,” Ashley sneered but then sagged, the fight gone out of her. An hour later, she was clean and a good deal more lucid. Cooper had loaned her cotton sweatpants and a University of Richmond sweatshirt. She then helped her get comfortable on the sofa, covered her with an afghan crocheted by Grammy, and placed a giant mug of black coffee in her hands.
Cooper sat down next to her and muted the television. “Feel better?”
“No,” Ashley replied and Cooper was pleased to see the return of her sister’s customary pout.
“It’ll help to talk about it. Start from the beginning.”
Ashley nodded blankly. “I waited up for Lincoln last night and just as he tiptoed into our room I switched on the lights. He froze like a deer in front of an eighteen-wheeler and I told him it was high time he came clean about these extracurricular meetings.”
“Go on,” Cooper prodded and handed Ashley one of their mother’s iced almond cookies.
Wolfing down the sugary treat, Ashley gestured at the plastic baggie and Cooper handed it over, staring in fascination as her sister consumed three more cookies within a matter of seconds. “Sorry,” she said in between swallows. “I don’t remember eating today.” She dunked a cookie into her coffee cup, bit it viciously in half, and then licked the icing from her fingertips. The latter action made her appear so vulnerable and childlike that Cooper had to refrain from embracing her again.
“Lincoln tried to convince me that the meetings were Alek’s idea,” Ashley continued. “That she’s been working overtime to figure out how to make his dealership rise above all the area dealerships, including the other Love franchises. Apparently, she’s worked at six different car places and knows more than Lincoln does about trends and cost effectiveness and all the rest of that junk.”
“Is it her ideas that have made winter sales figures so high?” Cooper asked hesitantly.
“That’s the picture Lincoln painted. Said she’d convinced a whole bunch of customers to purchase the most expensive cars their credit could buy. Talked them into the costliest warranty packages, too. The dealer
ship makes a nice bundle on those.” Ashley sneered and continued, “Plus, many of those customers brought family members in within a month or two. Husbands and wives, parents and kids, brothers and sisters. Customer-loyalty purchases out the yin-yang.”
Cooper was impressed. “And here I thought the whole country was broke. She must have some incredible business savvy.”
Scowling, Ashley tossed the rest of the cookies on the coffee table. “That’s great, Coop. Why don’t you join them the next time they go out to P.F. Chang’s or Morton’s or Bookbinders or”—her voice rose with every restaurant name—“or for a quickie at the Holiday Inn Express!”
“Did Lincoln admit to having an affair?” Cooper winced, expecting her sister’s tirade to escalate.
Ashley shook her head. “He says it’s all business—that he’s been trying to get out from under his daddy’s thumb for years. I guess he’s cooked up bunches of schemes to change the business but was afraid to swim against the tide without proving himself first. Alek’s smarty-pants ideas have let him do that now.” Her face was infused with sadness. “He’s so happy, Coop, and I had nothing to do with it.”
Now Cooper did take hold of her sister’s hand. “Then be happy with him, Ashley. Since things are going so well, ask Lincoln to spend more time with you. Have Alek over for dinner. Then the two of them can talk business and you won’t miss out on seeing your husband. Get involved. Share your opinion. Show both Alek and Lincoln that you’re not just a pretty face. You’ve always helped me out when I’m in a tight spot.” She gripped Ashley’s fist and forced the fingers to uncurl and relax. “Close the space between you and your husband.”
“Easy for you to say,” Ashley grumbled. “I checked out this woman’s picture on the dealership’s website. She’s gorgeous. Auburn hair, blue eyes like a Husky, and judging from how much of the doorway she fills, she must be about six feet tall.” She snorted. “And in case you forgot, I’m not much of a cook.”
“But I’m decent,” Cooper answered. “I can prep some Dijon lamb chops for you and Mama can whip up a fancy-looking tart.”
Ashley giggled. “A tart for a tart. Perfect!” Despite the rueful remark, she’d brightened considerably over the idea of inviting the finance manager to dinner. “You’re right. I’m not going to play the desperate housewife. I’m going to be part Martha Stewart, part Oprah, part Angelina Jolie. I’ll do exactly as you said—close the space between us. Thank you. Thank you for making sense of this mess.” She reached over and gave Cooper a hug.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Cooper checked her watch and wondered if Nathan had arrived early for their dinner date.
But he usually knocks and then comes in, she thought curiously as she opened the door.
It wasn’t Nathan.
“Edward?” It was so incongruous to see his black-clad form standing on the top stair. She blinked dumbly, wondering how he’d found her house when she’d never replied to his text message.
He held up a bottle of red wine and a loaf of crusty Italian bread. “You didn’t tell me when to come over, but this seemed like as good a time as any.” He pushed the bread into her arms and she had no choice but to accept it and invite him inside.
“You remember my sister, Ashley?” Cooper said as they entered her tiny living room.
“Who could forget?” Edward answered with an enigmatic twinkle in his gray eyes.
Ashley flushed prettily and gathered up the afghan so Edward could sit beside her.
“Good thing you’re here, too,” Edward stated decisively to Ashley as though he was calling a board meeting to order. “We gotta go over this thing again. Right from the night you found Miguel. A detail’s been missed. I feel it in here.” He pounded on his muscular chest with his right palm and then examined a colossal stainless-steel watch. “It’s after five. Let’s pour some sour grapes, break some bread, and make headway on this case.”
When Cooper didn’t react, Ashley cheerfully replied, “I’ve had enough alcohol for the rest of this decade, but I’ll take some bread. Got any cheese, Cooper?”
Cooper nodded and walked slowly into the kitchen to unwrap the small wedge of Havarti she’d bought the day before. As she cut the cheese into thin slices, her hands trembling around the knife hilt, she listened to the blending of voices as Edward and Ashley fell into easy conversation in the next room.
In the midst of arranging the bread and cheese on a platter, another knock sounded on her door followed by a burst of cold air flowing into the kitchen. Someone else had just entered the apartment.
“Hi,” Nathan greeted her as he stepped into the room. He placed another bottle of wine onto the counter and removed his coat, only pausing briefly to look at Cooper.
“What?” He looked perplexed. “Am I too early?’ He gestured toward the kitchen window. “Looks like you’re having a party up here. I recognize Ashley’s car, but whose motorcycle is that?”
Cooper swallowed and gripped the cheese plate. “Come on into the living room. There’s someone you need to meet.”
10
“If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat;
if he is thirsty, give him water to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head,
and the LORD will reward you.”
Proverbs 25:21-22 (NIV)
Cooper wriggled her toes in the bubbling water of the foot spa and sighed deeply.
The morning had not gone as planned. First, she’d listened to the curt voicemail Angela had left on Cooper’s cell phone saying that she wouldn’t be showing up for work. As a result of her friend’s truancy, Cooper had been forced to man the phones and rush out during her lunch break in order to complete two repairs as well.
At five-fifteen in the afternoon, the nightmarish ringing of the phone finally fell silent and Cooper knocked on Mr. Farmer’s closed door with plans to inform him that she refused to repeat the miserable experience of being Angela for a day. She felt as though she’d said, “Thanks for calling Make It Work!, how can I help you?” one thousand times. She didn’t want to see a telephone for the rest of the week.
As a result, she banged on Mr. Farmer’s door with more force than she’d intended.
“Come in,” her boss mumbled lugubriously. Cooper entered to find him staring fixedly at his computer screen. When she approached the desk, he clicked his mouse and a wallpaper image of M.C. Escher’s merging black and white fish replaced whatever image he’d been gazing at with such mournful longing.
“Sir, I know it’s none of my business, but have you spoken to Angela since your, um, since Mrs. Farmer was here?”
Her boss rubbed his temples. “No. She won’t return my calls. I’ve even driven over to her house, but I don’t think she’s staying there. Betty Boop likes to be taken out at regular intervals when she’s not in doggie daycare and there hasn’t been a Yorkie in sight.” He shook his head. “Nobody’s home. I can tell.”
Hesitating, Cooper spoke softly. “Sir, you must have known she’d be upset to discover the existence of a Mrs. Farmer.”
Mr. Farmer’s forehead creased into unhappy wrinkles. “Bea can be quite abrupt, I know. That’s why I’ve waited so long—” He gripped his mouse and leaned forward in his chair. “Did she say something rude to Angela? Something horrible?”
Cooper knew she should tread carefully. After all, the woman in question was the boss’s wife. On the other hand, Angela was a cherished friend and hadn’t deserved the scornful, patronizing tone Mrs. Farmer had used to address her. “She was pretty impolite, sir. Kind of looked down her nose at us. Angela didn’t take that well, but it was hearing that there was a Mrs. Farmer and this Mrs. Farmer owned half the business . . . now that really got to her.”
Her boss’s eyes bulged from their sockets and he eased himself to a standing position. He placed his balled fists on the desktop and hunched forward, looking like a crazed ape about to launch an attack on an intruder. “Do you mean . . . ?” He swallowe
d, his face drained of all pigment. “Angela believes Bea is my wife?”
“Yes,” Cooper stated flatly. “What else would she think?”
Unexpectedly, Mr. Farmer began to laugh. It started as a wet rasp deep in his throat and then rose, like a gurgling water fountain, until he was holding his round belly and chortling with mirth. “Bea . . . is . . . not . . . my . . . wife!” he said in between guffaws. Cooper waited mutely for her unpredictable employer to calm down.
After an interminable minute, Mr. Farmer grabbed a tissue from the top drawer of his desk, blotted his eyes, and blew his nose with a loud honk. “Mrs. Farmer is my sister.” Collapsing into his chair, he released an audible sigh. “Bea was married when she was very young. Like many gals these days, she hyphenated her name to Allen-Farmer. After her divorce, she just went by Beatrice Farmer, but everyone kept calling her Mrs. and she didn’t bother to correct them. I think she liked being a Mrs. without being married! But it’s confused a lot of folks, including you and Angela, it seems.”
“It was logical to assume she was your wife, sir,” Cooper pointed out.
“Sure it was.” Mr. Farmer nodded. “Bea’s also a silent partner in the business. When our folks passed on, she and I put every dime of our inheritance into Make It Work!” He shook his head. “Bea and I . . . we’ve been one another’s main source of company for a long time. I think it’s been hard for her to see me . . . fall in love.”
Cooper thought, If only Angela could have heard him just now!
Giving Mr. Farmer her warmest smile, she said, “I’m sure it’s difficult for your sister, sir. I know I’ve been envious of my sister’s happiness before. Maybe when you and Angela get together again, you can invite Bea along. Give the two women a chance to get to know one another.”
“If I can find my sweet Angela, that is!” her boss exclaimed. “It’s bad enough that I miss her on a personal level, but I can’t have my best repairperson manning the phones, either. Ben would quit if I asked him to fill in and Emilio has that horrible accent and can’t spell. You’re the only employee capable of running the whole show.”
The Way of the Guilty Page 14
