Lastly, there was a young family that occupied half a dozen chairs next to the exit. Children between the ages of seven and two chewed on graham crackers, suckled noisily on juice boxes, clambered onto the swollen lap of their pregnant mother, or hung from the belt loops of their father’s pants. Despite their parents’ incessant requests that their brood whisper, the children filled the waiting room with squeals, whines, and giggles.
“This place is a circus,” Ashley murmured crossly. “If I have to watch that little boy take apart that uterus model one more time, I’m going to brain him with it.”
“According to this magazine, you should try to talk to young children about disciplinary issues before resorting to violence,” Cooper teased in an attempt to lighten her sister’s mood.
“We’ve been sitting here for almost forty minutes.” Ashley tapped her faux leopard-skin ankle boot impatiently. “I’m sick of waiting. I’ve been waiting months and months to get pregnant and now I can’t stand to waste another second wondering what’s wrong with me!”
Before Cooper could reassure her sister, the receptionist pushed open the glass window dividing her file folder–lined enclosure from the rest of the waiting room. Sliding on a pair of reading glasses, she examined the inside of a manila file and called out, “Ashley Love?”
“Present!” Cooper smiled as Ashley held up her right arm as though she were in a classroom. Folding her suede coat over her arm, Ashley approached the nurse in pink scrubs who held open the door leading to a warren of examination rooms. Cooper was inches behind her, practically treading on her ankles.
“Will this take long?” Ashley asked, her blue eyes anxious.
The nurse shook her head. “No, dear. We’re just gonna do an ultrasound. Shouldn’t take too long and nothin’s gonna hurt.” Taking Ashley’s elbow, she began to steer her into the hallway. “Your sister can come on back once Dr. Easter’s ready to talk to you in his office, all right, sug?”
As Ashley nodded like an obedient child, Cooper’s cell phone rang from within the interior of her purse. The nurse pointed at the “Please Turn Off Cell Phones In Waiting Room” sign posted on the surface of the door she was propping open with her wide derriere and scowled.
“I’ll be right here waiting for you. And don’t be nervous, Ashley. Everything’s going to be fine,” Cooper assured her sister as the nurse closed the door.
The Beatles continued to sing from the depths of her bag, so Cooper hustled out the office’s front door and pulled her phone out of her purse just as it fell mute. Noting that the missed call was from Nathan, Cooper settled herself on a bench overlooking a circular bed of fluffy purple dahlias and clusters of tall snapdragons with two-toned petals of gold and orange and called him back.
“Are you sitting down?” Nathan immediately inquired.
“Uh-oh,” Cooper moaned. “Not more bad news.”
She could sense Nathan choosing his words carefully. “Trish heard from Lali. The police are definitely viewing Mr. Crosby’s death as suspicious and have ordered an autopsy.”
“But that’s good. An autopsy will show how Mr. Crosby was poisoned or doped or whatever. That should help the police find their guy,” she stated with relief.
“I don’t know if you heard about the double murder that happened over the weekend, but it’s all over the news. Between that and the high-profile suicide, or apparent suicide, of the former Olympic gymnast, I don’t think the toxicology lab will move Frank’s case to their top of their list.”
“I did hear about the gymnast on the radio this morning,” Cooper said. “Irina Korolev, right? She won four gold medals in her career but recently got caught shoplifting from the petite’s section at Saks.” She watched as another pregnant woman waddled into Dr. Easter’s office. “Why do you say ‘apparent’ suicide?”
“The Times-Dispatch mentioned a theory that illegal steroids might be the true cause of death. Tobey showed me the article this morning after I corrected some minor errors on the Big Man site. He really wanted to emphasize that his products will remove the dangers of people coming to harm through the misuse of steroids. I’ve got to say, Cooper, he was really convincing, too. I believe I was wrong in questioning his sincerity.”
“You’re just being a prudent businessman,” Cooper assured him. “So do you think the double murder and Irina’s cases will get pushed ahead of Frank’s?”
Nathan sighed. “Yeah. In fact, I called the medical examiner’s office and found out that it takes as much as eight weeks for a complete tox report, so even though Mr. Crosby’s, um, body has been viewed, his cause of death could remain a mystery for another two months.”
“Eight weeks? The killer could easily strike again in that amount of time!” Cooper jumped up from the bench, her alarm growing. “There’s got to be something we can do!” She began to pace around the circular flowerbed and the answer suddenly came to her. Swallowing hard, she said, “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow, Nathan?”
Nonplussed by her sudden change in tone, Nathan hesitated before answering. “I don’t have any plans and I’d love to see you. Is this a ‘date’ date or a quick lunch so we can come up with a brilliant plan to foil the Door-2-Door killer?”
“We have had some unusual dates, haven’t we?” Cooper murmured, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But this one might be our oddest one yet. I’m going to call Lali and get the details on the whereabouts of Mr. Crosby’s son and you and I are going to visit him.”
“Ah, I’m almost afraid to ask, but exactly where are we going for this romantic interlude? We’ve already covered dates in dark alleys, hospitals, and being held at gunpoint in an elevator.” Nathan laughed. “What’s left?”
“Oh, we haven’t been to this place before,” Cooper stated flatly. “Nathan, we’re going to jail.”
“Can someone explain Ashley’s problem to me in plain English?” Grammy demanded that night as the Lees gathered for supper.
“She’s got a bicornuate uterus, Grammy,” Cooper explained patiently. “That means it’s heart-shaped and she could have some challenges carrying a baby to term.”
“Can’t they fix that? Cut away the part that indents or somethin’?” Grammy speared a meatball with her fork and popped the whole thing in her mouth.
Cooper grimaced at the thought of a surgeon cutting away bits of her sister’s body as though removing undesirable pieces of fat from a roast beef. Staring at her plate of linguini and plump meatballs drenched in tomato sauce, she felt her appetite wane. “I don’t think they can fix it like that, Grammy, but Ashley will need surgery to remove the polyps she’s got in her uterus. The procedure is scheduled for next week.”
Maggie placed a basket of fragrant garlic bread in the center of the table. “She seemed mighty upset on the phone. I’m glad you went with her today, honey. It warms my heart to see you lookin’ after your baby sister.”
“Unlike that rotten man of hers!” Grammy grunted, her cheeks still stuffed with meatball. “I’d like to get that boy on the phone and give him a piece of my mind!” She stabbed at the air with her sauce-stained fork.
“Have some salad, Ma.” Maggie slid a bowl of greens mixed with Italian dressing toward her mother-in-law. “Let’s give Lincoln the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure he didn’t figure on Ashley bein’ scared of goin’ to the doctor. After all, she’s never been afraid of anythin’ except for spiders.” She sprinkled canned Parmesan cheese on top of her noodles. “I’m right sure Lincoln’ll be there for Ashley’s surgery. After all, she’ll need someone to drive her and look after her when she’s back at home.”
“You’ll see to it, won’t you, son?” Grammy turned to Earl. “That your daughter is taken care of by her man? He won’t make much of a daddy if he can’t even make time for his wife.”
Earl pushed his plate away, slowly finished chewing, and folded his hands together. “I don’t aim to interfere in either of my girls’ relationships.” He held up his finger to stop Grammy from interru
pting. “But don’t you fear. I will make certain that Ashley has the help she needs during this time, even if I’ve gotta take off work to do it.” That being said, Earl pulled his dish back within reach and resumed the deliberate consumption of his supper.
“And what about you?” Grammy’s steely gaze settled upon Cooper. “Any big dates in your future? You haven’t been spendin’ as much time with that Nathan boy as I thought you would.” She pointed her fork at her granddaughter. “You ain’t playin’ hard-to-get are you?”
“Absolutely not! And I’ll have you know that we are seeing each other tomorrow—for a really hot date!” Cooper declared as she wiped her mouth with a dramatic flourish using a Casper the Ghost paper napkin. “I’m taking Nathan to visit an incarcerated drug dealer at the county jail. Now, if that doesn’t make him fall head over heels for me, I can’t imagine what will.”
If Cooper had been hoping to shock her grandmother, she failed entirely. Grammy’s only reaction was to shrug and reach for the garlic bread. “First you spend time packin’ food for a bunch of old coots and now you’re gonna hang out with the jailbirds.” She waved an aromatic heel of bread at Cooper. “And you wonder why you ain’t married?”
The next day, Cooper spent the commute into work praying for an extremely busy morning. She hoped to be so caught up in the business of collecting copiers from a large furniture chain undergoing bankruptcy that she could momentarily forget her plans to visit the local jail during her lunch hour.
Upon her return from the furniture store’s Southside location, she backed her van into one of Make It Work!’s garage bays to find Emilio waiting for her on the loading dock.
“Thought I’d give you a hand unloadin’. I know you can haul these big machines as well as any guy, but I can’t have you hurtin’ yourself when I was close enough to help.” His mouth split into a wide, confident grin, making it clear that he expected Cooper to respond to his charm.
Cooper gestured from the ramp attached to the back of the van to the heavy-duty hand truck parked against the side wall. “That’s nice of you, Emilio, but I’ve been loading and unloading copiers for years. I’ve got a system.”
Emilio leaned against the van, crossed his arms so that his fists pushed his well-developed biceps into even larger masses, and snorted. “Fine, fine. I’m down with all that women’s lib stuff. If you wanna be Miss Tough Cookie, I’ll just hang out and watch you do your thang.” He smiled again. “But I’m right here if you need me.”
“Don’t you have shredders to empty?” Cooper asked as she pushed the hand truck up the ramp.
“I finished early. I wanted to ride with you and pick up the rest of the machines from that furniture warehouse. It’s so cool that that business is completely broke. All that over-priced, ugly stuff is gonna get sold for what it’s really worth. And I can’t stand their commercials, you know?” Emilio snorted derisively. “Every freakin’ football game I have to sit through five minutes listening to the BIG, BIG SALE! What a bunch of bull—”
“You’re right. Their ads are annoying,” Cooper agreed. “And I don’t know why everyone’s trying to use penguins to sell stuff these days. They’re cute, but I don’t see the connection to dining room sets.” She pushed the edge of the hand truck beneath the first copier. “Still,” she grunted as she eased straps around the bulk of the machine. “Dozens of folks are going to lose their jobs because this chain of stores is closing. And in this economy, it’s going to be tough to find new work.”
Emilio shrugged, unconcerned. “They’re always hiring at Burger King.”
Before Cooper had a chance to remark on her coworker’s lack of empathy, Angela arrived at the loading dock, her heels clicking a sharp staccato on the cement floor. “What are you two up to in here?” she demanded, eyeing Emilio with suspicion.
Cooper was too focused on maneuvering the copier down the ramp to be polite. “What does it look like?” she snapped. “Unloading the van.”
Angela pretended to be hurt. “There’s no need to get all huffy. I was just gonna take lunch orders and I thought I heard voices in here.”
“Lunch? You’re on, beautiful!” Emilio sidled over to Angela and held out his arm. When Angela took it, he suddenly whisked her around so that she was facing him and began a spontaneous waltz across the floor. As they returned to where Cooper stood next to the empty hand truck, Emilio dipped Angela so low that her platinum-blonde bob swept the ground. Holding her there, he gazed into her eyes, smiled charmingly, and then kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got the grace of a ballerina?” he whispered, gazing at Angela with what Cooper assumed was feigned devotion.
Over the top of Emilio’s bent head, Cooper noticed Mr. Farmer’s stocky shadow suddenly disappear from the doorway leading into the garage.
“Oh! You are too, too much! And lunch is my treat,” Angela cooed to Emilio, the look of adoration that had disappeared last week having instantly resurfaced in her eyes.
Disgusted, Cooper ignored the pair and finished emptying the last copier from the van.
I’m going to have to have a chat with Mr. Farmer, she thought. Or Angela will end up heartbroken. And broke.
“Nervous?” Nathan inquired as Cooper met him outside the Henrico County Sheriff’s Office.
Cooper glanced at a small placard positioned alongside the sidewalk. It had an arrow pointing to the closest set of double glass doors and simply read: JAIL. Gripping her trembling fingers, she tried to control the feeling of nausea that had plagued her since she’d pulled into the visitor’s parking lot.
“I’m terrified. I’ve gotten my share of speeding tickets, but that’s as far on the wrong side of the law as I’ve been.” She observed the stream of lawyers, uniformed deputies, and civilians marching in and out the door. “This is like a city within the city and it’s kind of overwhelming.”
“You’ve only got an hour, right?” Nathan prodded gently.
Cooper nodded. “I ate a Subway sandwich in the van after a midday pick-up. There was no way I was going to make it ’til three-thirty. Angela thought I was totally bonkers for taking such a late lunch hour, but I didn’t feel like explaining to her that visiting hours at the county jail don’t start until later in the afternoon.”
Nathan held the door open and Cooper passed into the lobby, where a long line of people waited to sign up for visitation. “I take it you haven’t told Angela about our current case,” Nathan said as he fidgeted with the car keys in his right pocket. “I thought she was one of your closest friends.”
“She is, but she’s been so wrapped up in Emilio worship lately that she can’t think about anything else.” Cooper noticed that once people reached the front of the line they were asked to present their driver’s license to the woman behind the counter. Relieved to have something to do as they waited, she removed her license from her wallet, her hands still shaking as though she were incredibly cold.
Nathan snatched it from her and examined her picture. “Whoa! Did you spend all day at the DMV before they took this?”
“No!” Cooper reclaimed her license. “Actually, this guy walked past me and let loose the nastiest gas cloud I’d ever smelled. That’s when the DMV employee decided to take the picture. And no matter what I said, she wouldn’t do a re-take.”
“Ah, government agencies.” Nathan swept his arm around the room. “So who’s Emilio?”
“Our new coworker. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women and apparently, Angela agrees,” she replied sourly.
Nathan nudged her playfully as the line moved forward. “And you don’t?”
“No way. I prefer guys who collect Star Wars figures,” Cooper stated in a low voice and was pleased to see a flush of pleasure color Nathan’s cheeks.
All too soon, they arrived at the front of the line. “We, um, we’re here to see Edward Crosby,” Cooper informed the young woman seated at the desk, repeating the name Lali had given her over the phone.
Wi
thout looking up from her computer, the sheriff’s office receptionist stated, “Your identification, please.” She typed so quickly that it seemed as though she were playing a challenging piece on a concert piano instead of inputting data regarding inmate visitation schedules.
Nathan handed her their driver’s licenses and leaned over the tall desk in order to see exactly what she was typing. After shooting him an irritated look, the woman returned their IDs and called, “Next, please.”
“Um.” Cooper edged closer to the desk instead of backing away. “What do we do now?”
Hesitating, as though she was surprised to be asked such a question, the woman replied, “Wait until the deputy calls Edward Crosby,” and then turned her attention to the next person in line.
“But what if, um, Mr. Crosby’s not expecting us?” Cooper blurted.
“They never know who their visitors are,” the woman explained as the other visitors grumbled with impatience. “They’re just told they have a visitor and are brought to the visiting area.”
“So he might not talk to us,” Cooper said to herself, her fingers twisting in agitation. “After all, he doesn’t know us from Adam.” Too flustered to sit down, she and Nathan stood to the side of the check-in desk, listening as the next woman in line shouted in outrage after being informed that the inmate she wished to see had lost his visitation rights.
“What you mean? He been tossed into isolation again? He told me all y’all got it out for him! He shouldn’t be here in the first place. The man’s innocent!” The woman placed one hand on her hip and pounded on the receptionist’s desk with the other. Within seconds, a sheriff’s deputy appeared from nowhere and, gently taking hold of the woman’s elbow, steered her away from the line. No matter how much she ranted at him, the deputy remained quietly courteous. Without breaking eye contact, he described the infraction that had caused her boyfriend to be placed in isolation, but the woman was incapable of listening. After interrupting his explanation with a guttural, animalistic snarl, she threw up her arms in disgust and stormed out the front door, leaving a trail of expletives in her wake.
Path of the Wicked Page 17
