The next day, Cooper hurriedly dressed for church, anxious to hear what her friends had to say about the Door-2-Door volunteers they had spoken with the night before. She’d completed the last segment of her Amazing Joseph homework just before going to bed, but had felt distracted by remembrances of the party as she flipped through chapters of the Bible or scribbled terse answers in her workbook.
When she walked into the classroom where the Sunrise group always met, she was pleased to note that her friends were already assembled there and waiting on her to begin.
“Who provided us with this lovely breakfast?” Savannah asked as Jake presented her with a flaky croissant brushed with melted butter and a salad made of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries topped by a dollop of crème fraîche.
“I did,” Nathan answered. “I was still full from last night’s dinner, so I thought I’d avoid our usual fare of iced pastries with a side of coffee cake. I know these croissants look heavy, but they’re actually whole wheat and won’t settle in your stomach like a pile of bricks.”
“You oughta start your own cable show.” Jake took an appreciative bite of croissant. “How many guys can come up with somethin’ this good made out of wheat?”
Savannah smiled as she tore off the end of her croissant with her elegant, paint-stained fingers. “Maybe Bryant can propose it to his network.”
Bryant mumbled something unintelligible and Nathan nudged his elbow. “Late night, Bryant?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to keep pace with Paige. I don’t know how she has so much energy after spending all day with her kids,” Bryant admitted reluctantly.
“A single mom has no choice. She’s got an entire family’s worth of responsibility on her shoulders.” Trish scrutinized Bryant over her coffee cup. “I know Paige is over thirty, but she sounds like she’s really got it together. Are you considering getting serious with her?”
Bryant shrugged and Savannah took advantage of the momentary silence to change the subject. “Let’s begin, shall we? Any prayer requests?
Quinton asked for a prayer for his nephew to heal quickly from a broken toe. “He shut it in the car door, poor kid,” he explained. “Second time he’s done that, too.”
“I’d like to ask for some clarity in regards to a new client I’ve recently taken on,” Nathan requested. “He brought me his product to photograph for the website and when I examined it, I don’t know, let’s just say I have my doubts about it.”
“What’s he hockin’?” Jake wanted to know.
“Muscle-building products,” Nathan answered. “He says his goal is to help little guys bulk up and gain confidence. I like the idea of his product, but I’m just not sure it is what he says it is. However, I have no experience with herbal medicines.”
“Maybe they’re some kind of harmful steroid,” Trish suggested, looking aghast at the idea.
Nathan held out his hands in supplication. “Everything appears to be above-board with his business. It’s just a feeling I have about this particular product. I don’t know anything about this type of item, so I have no right to assume that there’s something wrong with it, but I can’t seem to shake the possibility that my client and his goods aren’t all that they appear.”
Savannah nodded. “We’ll pray for the Lord to guide you in this matter, Nathan. Anyone else?”
After a brief hesitation, Cooper spoke up. “I have a prayer request for my sister, Ashley. She and her husband have been trying to start a family for about a year now. Things are . . . getting tense between them. I just worry about her, well, getting depressed because she’s not pregnant yet.”
Several of Cooper’s friends uttered sympathetic murmurs.
“I’ve got one, too.” Jake sat forward in his chair and clasped his hands together over his closed workbook. “You know, when I was readin’ about Joseph this weekend—when he gets thrown in the Egyptian slammer for some-thin’ he didn’t even do—do y’all know the part I’m talkin’ about?”
“Yes, the first part of Genesis 40, after Joseph is falsely accused of fooling around with Potiphar’s wife,” Savannah said.
“Yeah!” Jake tapped on his Bible. “Anyway, I remember that Joseph asked his cellmate, the cupbearer guy, to mention him to Pharaoh when he got called to give his defense. Joseph was hopin’ the cupbearer was a decent man and could help him get sprung from jail. Y’all with me?”
Everyone nodded in unison.
“Well, the cupbearer gets out, but he forgets about Joseph. Man, readin’ that burned me up! And right away, I started thinkin’ about the old folks Door-2-Door helps who have been left alone for whatever reason. My prayer is that the Lord won’t let us forget about them. I want to allow Him to just go on and work through our brains and our bodies to protect these folks and find the devil among them.” He glanced at his friends, his eyes fiery. “I know we’re talkin’ all this out after church, but I think we need to arm ourselves with prayer, kinda like we learned durin’ our Ephesians study.”
“Sharpen your weapons, maties.” Bryant swiped his Bible through the air as though wielding a sword. “People of faith can be tough guys, too.”
Nathan stood and pretended to parry with his own Bible. “Arrrgh! The Good Book is mightier than the sword.”
“Okay, Pirates of Pentecost!” Cooper laughed. “Watch out for the coffee cups.”
As no one else had prayer requests, the Sunrise members linked hands and bowed their heads while Savannah led them in prayer. They then spent the rest of the hour drinking coffee and sharing their views on Joseph and his prediction of Egypt’s seven years of plenty and seven years of famine. Afterward, the group adjourned to the auditorium for worship service and promised to reunite at Quinton’s townhouse by quarter of one.
Quinton’s Tudor-style town home on South Harrison Street was located beneath the shadow of Richmond’s venerable burial ground, Hollywood Cemetery. The cemetery rose in a steep hill to overlook the James and several of Richmond’s downtown neighborhoods. Quinton had told his friends many times that he loved living near the historic landmark and often took evening walks through the cemetery.
“When I think I’ve had a bad day because the stock market’s down or a client has left our brokerage firm for a competing firm, it only takes a stroll around that place to put things in perspective,” Quinton had once told them. “And it’s strangely peaceful to read the loving epitaphs people have written for their family members.”
Cooper had never been inside his home before, but she was impressed by the cleanliness of the walnut wood floors, glass-topped tables, and plush, leather furniture. Quinton had decorated his apartment using a multitude of brown and cream tones, punctuated by splashes of red and green, which appeared in the rugs, throw pillows, and in the lithographs grouped on his off-white walls.
“Quinton, I wish you’d come over and make my place look half as cool as this.” Jake pivoted around and around, impressed by what he saw. “I’ve still got my mama’s old flowered sofas and a coffee table that’s piled so high with magazines and tools and junk that its legs are startin’ to give.”
“I can’t take any credit for the décor in here. My sister’s an interior designer and I just gave her my Visa card and she took over.” He led his friends into his kitchen, which was illuminated by a series of pendant chandeliers with jewel-toned shades made of glass. “I bought sandwich fixings for our meal.” Quinton began pulling lunchmeat out of his gigantic Sub-Zero fridge. “And fresh bread from Montana Gold.” He looked to Trish for help. “Would you arrange the food on this platter?” He handed her an oversized brass platter. “I had to save all my exertions for a special dessert.”
“Hard salami!” Jake grinned as he hovered behind Trish. “I liked you before, my man, but I love ya now. This is my favorite.”
“I’ll stick to turkey and muenster,” Bryant said, assembling his sandwich. “You have any pickles, Quinton?”
“Oh, sure. And three kinds of potato chips.” He ripped open a bag
of barbeque chips and dumped them into a wooden bowl. “I’ve also got brownies.” He whipped the tin foil off a tray of brownie squares. “But these aren’t your run-of-the mill Duncan Hines boxed stuff. For you, my dearest friends, I’ve made fudge brownies with peanut butter frosting.”
“Quinton, thank you so much for providing for us today,” Savannah said as Jake helped her settle on one of the stools tucked beneath the kitchen island. Trish and Cooper also sat while the rest of the group leaned against the cabinets to eat.
They chewed in thoughtful silence for a few moments and Cooper wondered if they all felt as reluctant as she did to share their observances on their fellow Door-2-Door volunteers.
Nathan, who was standing near Quinton’s double sink, suddenly put down his ham and provolone sandwich and aggressively dusted crumbs from his large hands. “I’ve got to admit that I’m not looking forward to the work set out for us this afternoon. The two people I talked to last night were delightful—just as they’ve been at the Door-2-Door headquarters the past few Saturdays. It’s how I imagine they are all the time. Totally great.”
“Somebody’s only pretendin’ to be good,” Jake reminded Nathan. “This ain’t gonna be a smooth road we’re treadin’, but we’ve got to walk it to find out the truth.”
“Should we get started, then?” Savannah asked the group.
At that moment, Trish’s cell phone rang and strains of Pachelbel’s Canon echoed throughout the kitchen as she removed the cacophonous instrument from her purse and glanced at the Caller ID. “It’s Lali,” she said with surprise and answered the phone.
The Sunrise members watched with a tense curiosity that quickly turned to alarm as Trish’s violet-tinted eyes grew round with shock. Her hand flew over her mouth, but not before she murmured, “No!” She listened for another moment; her expression growing more and more dismayed, and then slowly closed her phone.
Trish placed her right palm on the countertop to steady herself. “Lali called . . . she wanted us to know . . .” She took a deep breath and began again. “She wanted to tell us that Mr. Crosby is dead. The paramedics believe it was heart failure at this point.” She looked up, her eyes meeting Cooper’s briefly before traveling around the room. “And I’m afraid they found him sitting up in his chair.”
10
Make plans by seeking advice; if you wage war, obtain guidance.
Proverbs 20:18 (NIV)
Quinton’s brownie tray clattered to the counter. “Not another one.”
“That makes three Door-2-Door clients that have been found . . .” Nathan forced the word out. “Dead. Sitting in their chairs.”
Cooper stared at his stricken face, but her mind was miles away inside Frank Crosby’s small, disheveled house. She visualized his quivering hands—the loose and wrinkled skin, the blue-purple of the swollen veins on the backs of his palms, the irregular speckles of brown from wrist to knuckle. She saw Frank clutching his borrowed newspaper, the wobbling letters scratched inside each crossword square with the nub of a pencil. The scent of urine and stale sweat invaded her memory, forcing her to wince involuntarily, but the remembered odor was quickly supplanted by the picture of the old man alone, releasing his last breaths into the musty air of his decaying room.
Cooper couldn’t stop her tears from falling.
She was not alone. Savannah had her head bowed and though her hands covered her mouth and nose, the liquid pooling in her dark blue eyes trickled over onto her fingers. Trish and Jake had their arms around one another—their expressions a mixture of sorrow and fresh, bright anger. Bryant and Quinton gazed dully at the floor while Nathan twisted a paper napkin around and around his thumb as though it were a manacle.
After a moment, he placed a hand on Cooper’s arm. “You just met Mr. Crosby the other day. This must be especially tough for you.”
Bryant’s head snapped up. “And I found Mrs. Davenport!” He turned to Trish, his eyes uncommonly hostile. “I suppose Lali’s told the police? They’ve got to conduct an autopsy and find out what this fiend is using to send these old folks off to sleep. And don’t tell me that we’re not involved, because from where I’m standing, we are definitely involved!”
Startled by Bryant’s vehemence, Trish shrugged helplessly. “She called the police. I have no idea what’s going on beyond what she told me.”
“No sense leavin’ this mess all in their hands,” Jake stated firmly. “I say we go ahead with our suspect lists. We’ve helped the cops before and you know these Door-2-Door folks are gonna be more themselves with us than with a bunch of tough-lookin’ uniforms carryin’ guns and wooden sticks.”
The group members all looked to Savannah to gauge what she thought of Jake’s suggestion. Their leader closed her eyes and murmured an inaudible prayer. At first, everyone watched her lips move, nearly hypnotized by the serenity that immediately flooded her features, but soon each of them followed suit by bowing their heads and shutting their eyes.
Several minutes passed before Savannah let out a restorative sigh. “One of the names for God is the Ancient of Days. I think that title came to my mind because I was asking God to help me understand why someone would be preying on these helpless, ancient souls. I asked Him to help quell my emotions, to give me the clarity of insight and to release my anger, as it does us no good.”
“It’s hard to think at all considering what we’re up against, but here’s a thought: Lali told us that Mr. Manningham and Mrs. Davenport were both in their nineties.” Nathan frowned. “Do you think this person believes he’s releasing them from pain or the indignities of becoming old so they can find peace?”
“Like some kind of mercy killer?” Jake shook his head. “Except for bein’ old, they didn’t have diseases or painful cancer or anything. Maybe he thinks they’re poor and lonely and are better off bein’ with their loved ones who have already gone on to heaven.”
“If he believes in heaven,” Trish snorted. “No one can decide on behalf of another person that it’s their time to die. That is the Lord’s prerogative!”
“He’s a merciful killer, because he kills gently, but I doubt he’s doing this out of pity. More like greed. Or fear.” Cooper drummed her fingers on the countertop. “I don’t think Mrs. Davenport was too troubled by loneliness. Lali told us that her daughter visited regularly. They used to polish her jewelry and try it on, right?” She turned to Nathan. “And Mr. Crosby was in his late seventies. I know that’s no spring filly, but it’s not the kind of old where people start feeling that their bodies are rotting while their minds are still sharp. He could have lived for two more decades for all we know.”
“But maybe the murderer thought that Mr. Crosby wasn’t living at all,” Nathan argued. “That he was miserable and longed to let go of life.”
“I agree with Cooper. These are not acts of kindness and we are not going to figure out the why until we figure out the who,” Quinton asserted as he cut a large brownie square for himself. “I know this looks callous, but I need to eat when I’m anxious.” He bit off half the brownie. “And I’m really anxious right now,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate and peanut butter.
Savannah held out her hand. “Come stand by me, Quinton.”
He hastily complied and she leaned her petite body against Quinton’s large, thick torso, and he was clearly comforted by her nearness.
“The Ancient of Days is eternal,” Savannah intoned. “He has the power of judgment. We do not.” Her voice was infused with the strength of conviction. “But I believe we can work our hardest to do His will and I am quite certain that we have a role to play in making sure justice is done. We can begin by sharing what we discovered at the party, putting together a list of who might have the strongest motive to steal from these elderly people, and continue to get to know them. If the police solve the case—wonderful. If they reach a dead end, then perhaps we can raze some of the obstacles in their path.” She turned her warm blind gaze upon her friends. “We are a community. We must help one anot
her, trust one another, and shield our neighbors from harm.”
Bryant laid a briefcase on the counter, removing a legal pad and a ballpoint pen from inside. “Anything relevant from last night’s party can be immediately shared with the police.”
“If there is anything relevant,” Quinton said gloomily.
“I wonder if anything’s missin’ from Mr. Crosby’s house,” Jake mused as each member retrieved the notes they had recorded on their fellow Door-2-Door volunteers. “Did Brenda say anythin’ about him havin’ family?” Jake asked Cooper.
“He’s got a son—” Cooper began.
“Then he’s sure to look into his father’s death!” Trish declared, smoothing a creaseless sheet of creamy card-stock covered by florid handwriting. “Personally, I think a relative is better suited to help the police search for clues than we are.” Trish touched a lock of carefully placed copper hair and continued quickly, as if to forestall all possible argument. “Being Mr. Crosby’s son means that he can ensure an autopsy is performed and he’s certain to know if his father owned anything valuable. We can hardly rummage through his house.”
Cooper opened her mouth to disagree with Trish, but before she could speak, Quinton said, “You’re assuming quite a lot about the son.” His hand inched toward the brownie pan. “Father and son may not even be close. Does the kid even live locally? If he’s in the picture, why did Mr. Crosby need the services of Door-2-Door every single day? Why didn’t he visit—?”
“It’s not possible for him to visit his daddy!” Cooper stated forcefully before the conjecture could continue. “The son’s in jail.”
Nathan’s eyes widened. “Why?”
Cooper tried to recall what Brenda had told her. “He’s a drug dealer. I believe he tried to sell heroin to an undercover cop. I got the impression that this wasn’t the first time he’d been caught, either.”
Path of the Wicked Page 15
