Bryant eyed her keenly. “I heard the tail end of your phone call and I’ve been married enough times to sense that you were being nagged by your husband. He means well, Trish. And he’s right. You need to schedule an appointment right away. Now, shake on our deal.” He held out his hand and Trish reluctantly accepted it.
“Okay, Cooper.” Jake gestured at her with his coffee cup. “What’s goin’ on?”
After taking a quick survey of the nearby tables, Cooper determined that none of the other diners were the slightest bit interested in eavesdropping on their conversation, so she told her friends about her visit with The Colonel. They listened carefully, their coffees growing cold as she described The Colonel’s appearance and attitude. Cooper had just finished describing the Civil War items Frank Crosby had owned when their food arrived.
Jake sprinkled salt over every inch of his plate and then zealously carved into his pork chop. Simultaneously, Quinton drowned his French toast in a puddle of warm maple syrup while Savannah covered a piece of toast with a thick layer of apple butter. Bryant cut his smoked sausage patties into equivalent chunks and then looked up at Cooper. “Go on and take a bite before you finish. Cold pancakes aren’t very savory.”
“I’ll finish up for her,” Nathan volunteered as Cooper spread a pat of butter over the surface of the pecan pancake on the top of her pile. In between bites of egg sandwich, Nathan told his friends about The Colonel’s theory that ecstasy was the drug behind Frank’s overdose.
“I just can’t imagine any of the Door-2-Door volunteers walking around with a Ziploc full of ecstasy,” Trish shook her head in disbelief. “I thought—not that I know much about illegal drugs—that ecstasy was a party drug. You know, for the rich, hip, club-going crowds.” She patted Bryant’s arm playfully. “And I’m not taking a potshot at you for hanging out at those places with your twenty-something girlfriends, either.”
“Thanks.” Bryant smiled ruefully. “But I think you’re on the money about the drug’s reputation. I remember when a few of our investigative reporters went undercover to learn more about ecstasy. It didn’t take them long to see that popping these pills has become the thing to do for the young crowds at concerts, dance clubs, or those rave parties they’re so into. That’s why it’s called a designer drug, because it’s supposed to give you a high that can go on for days.”
Cooper nodded. “I read about it online. Ecstasy or E or X can give folks hallucinations and create short-term memory loss.” She paused to accept Nathan’s offer of a piece of bacon. “Ecstasy is also available in powder form, so it’d be easy to mix with food or dissolve into a liquid, like Mr. Crosby’s hot tea.”
Savannah put down her triangle of toast and sighed. “We need to have a more intimate gathering with our volunteer friends. I pray the police discover the identity of the killer soon, but if they aren’t successful, we’ll have to keep digging.”
“That’s where we arrive at the emergency part of this meeting.” Cooper hesitated and then confessed, “I want to go into Frank’s house and check around for the sword and the diary. If our bad guy tries to sell those things, there won’t be too many sources available to him. Or her. They’ll have to consign them with a local auction or antique store or sell them outright using an online auction site. If the diary contains the name of the soldier, than searching for the items will be much easier.”
“Why don’t you just tell the police about the diary?” Trish demanded. “They’ve got more manpower than we do to monitor eBay and interview Richmond area antique dealers. I, for one, am totally swamped this week, so why don’t we do our jobs and let them do theirs?”
Cooper hesitated. Trish had raised a solid point, so why did she suddenly feel the desire to defend her plan, to argue that in some way, it was her responsibility to search Frank’s house for clues? “Look. If the diary’s there, I’ll read it and hand it over to the police. I guess I’d just like the chance to see what caused Mr. Crosby such anguish over the loss of the sword, if that’s what was stolen, and I want to know the secret about this relative of his. It seemed to have ruined his relationship with his son and created this irrational hatred of the color yellow.”
“You know what they say about curiosity,” Quinton warned. “Sorry, Cooper, but I’m with Trish on this one. You may have found out about an important clue, and that’s great, but let the people experienced in these things figure out what to do with it. Like Savannah said, we’ve got to concentrate on the volunteers.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, ’cause if this slime ball is hoarding all the stolen loot at home or knows other scumbags to hawk it to, we’re not going to find ’em that way. We gotta get a look at these people’s souls somehow. That’s what we need to puzzle out right now.”
Chastised, Cooper ate the rest of her meal in silence. She knew that her friends were right and that she should turn matters over to the police, but after talking to The Colonel she felt that she owed it to him to personally find some answers.
After filling their stomachs with eggs, pancakes, sausage, bacon, hash browns, and biscuits, the Sunrise members were too stuffed to even contemplate dessert. They settled their bill and then waddled outside into the crisp evening air. No one had arrived with a clever idea on how to get closer to the Door-2-Door volunteers.
“I’ll see you all at Door-2-Door this weekend. Try to talk to the volunteers as much as you can while you work. See how they act with the clients. Watch where they go inside the house if they suddenly separate from you,” Savannah advised as she accepted Jake’s arm. “I’m hoping to have some information to share with you come Sunday morning as Jake and I are calling on Leo Saturday night.”
“You’re a brave woman,” Bryant praised Savannah.
Jake scowled. “Hey. I’m gonna be there, too, remember?”
“With your vanload of pipes!” Trish laughed.
The group exchanged good nights and dispersed to their cars, but Cooper and Nathan lingered behind.
“What’s on your mind?” Nathan asked, slipping his arm around Cooper’s waist.
Cooper gently pushed him away in order to look into his eyes. “I know what they said about letting the police look for the Civil War stuff in Frank’s house is right, but I just can’t hand it over without seeing for myself. I want to better understand the man who died. I want to be able to provide some answers to his son.” She hesitated and then decided to trust Nathan with her decision. “I’m going over there tonight. To Frank’s house.”
Nathan didn’t speak right away, but his expression showed his internal conflict. His warm brown eyes searched her face for a few moments and then, finally, he nodded. “You aren’t going alone.”
“We can take my car.” Cooper smiled in gratitude. “I’ve got two flashlights in my toolbox.”
They drove to Frank’s house without speaking, letting the easy-listening station fill the silence with Celine Dion and Michael Bublé’s melodic crooning. As they headed east on the Interstate, Cooper noted a bank of ominous thunderclouds in her rearview mirror. She felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as the memory of her dream of floating on a rushing river toward the fearsome storm returned to her with fresh intensity.
Unlike her dream, however, Cooper was moving away from the storm at a rapid pace. Still, she knew that once they reached Frank’s house and spent time searching inside for the sword and diary, it wouldn’t take long for the cloud mass to catch up.
Feeling on edge, Cooper gazed out at the blue-black highway, trying not to pay attention to how much the road resembled a meandering river or that the dark trees encroaching toward the shoulder looked awfully similar to the sinister pines from her nightmare.
By the time she brought her truck to a stop two blocks away from the sad white house where Frank Crosby had died, a persistent breeze had sprung to life, carrying with it the scent of rain. Cooper retrieved the flashlights and she and Nathan walked hurriedly toward the house, looking over their shoulders to make sure they weren’t being obse
rved. Nathan headed straight for the front door, but Cooper grabbed his arm and shook her head.
“Not that door. Around back.”
Nathan followed her through the overgrown strip of grass bordering the sagging chain-link fence dividing Frank’s property from the adjacent house. As they passed between the two bungalows, Cooper noted the illuminated window on the side of the next-door neighbor’s home. The consistent flickering light and intermittent sounds of canned laughter suggested that its occupants were watching television. Based on the volume of the set, Cooper felt confident that there was little threat that the neighbors would overhear any activity taking place inside Frank’s residence.
The warped wooden planks that made up the staircase leading to the back door creaked as Cooper set her work boots upon them. Flinching at the noise, she reached out and turned the flaking, brass knob. It rotated, but the door remained firmly closed.
“Is it locked?” Nathan whispered.
Cooper tried the knob again. “I don’t think so. I can turn it clockwise as far as it can go, but it’s like the door is stuck to the frame—like it was painted shut or something.”
“Let me give it a shot.”
Stepping back onto the grass, Cooper watched as Nathan leaned his right shoulder against the door. Holding the knob with his left hand, he slammed his weight against the door. “Ow,” he muttered and then repeated the motion several times.
Cooper glanced around nervously. To the west, a curtain of lightning set the sky aglow and then quickly disappeared. A fat raindrop fell onto the crown of her head as Nathan paused to rest.
“I’ve almost got it. Let me try something different.” He placed his foot in the center of the door and gave it a mighty kick. The warped wood splintered at the top corner and, being off-balance, Nathan practically fell inside the house.
Stale air rushed from inside as they hustled into the shadowy kitchen. Cooper switched on her flashlight and moved around Frank’s metal table and folding chairs, keeping the beam of light pointed at the floor. Even in the minimal brightness it was apparent that every cabinet, drawer, and shelf had been rifled through.
“This place is a mess,” Nathan mumbled, stepping over a saucepot. “I’d hate to have the cops search my house.”
“They’d probably knock all your action figures out of alphabetical order and damage the original packaging,” Cooper replied in a lame attempt at levity. “You’d be in therapy for years.”
She led Nathan from the kitchen to the bedroom, frowning as her flashlight revealed an unmade bed covered with crumpled clothes. A sour, putrid odor filled the room, as though none of the fabrics had been washed for years.
“Ugh. Smells like a men’s locker room in here,” Nathan commented. “I don’t see a rocker. Let’s go!”
Pulling her shirt up over her mouth and nose, Cooper said, “Not so fast. The Colonel told me that Frank kept the Civil War sword in his closet.” She passed Nathan the flashlight. “Hold this while I look through these clothes.”
As Cooper rooted through soiled garments and mudencrusted shoes, she wished she had thought to bring along the work gloves from her toolbox. Every time she shifted a mound of clothes, the stench of spoiled food and body odor assailed her nostrils, but her search was in vain. There was no sword hidden on the floor or among the two moth-holed sweaters or the outdated blazer hanging limply from the wooden rod. The single shelf above the rod contained a few shoeboxes filled with random objects such as yellowed postcards, clip-on bowties, Christmas tree ornaments, a belt with cracked brown leather, and an assortment of old magazines.
“The sword is definitely gone.” Cooper backed away from the closet and exited the bedroom. She passed the only bathroom, relieved that there was no need to search there, and returned to the front room where she had met Frank Crosby for the first and only time.
She stared at the chair where he had taken his last breath and noticed a folded newspaper on the floor beneath the seat’s right arm. Bending over, she picked up the page containing the comic strips and word puzzles and saw that the crossword was incomplete. The empty boxes seemed to emphasize the vacant house and the sudden absence of its owner. As she stared at the newspaper in reflective silence, the rain began to patter lightly, almost timidly, against the window and Cooper wished that it would fall with a violence forceful enough to mask her sniffles.
Nathan squeezed her shoulder. “You holding up okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she replied without turning toward him.
After wiping her face with her sleeve, Cooper continued toward the television set in the corner of the room. The appliance was positioned on top of a scratched bureau and next to the chest was a chairlike shape covered by a multicolored afghan. Cooper whipped the blanket from the rocker and beckoned for Nathan to bring the light closer.
She pressed her fingertips into the floral fabric, ignoring the dust being coaxed from between the tight stitches as she worked her way across the seat. Finding nothing, she and Nathan upended the rocker and discovered a four-inch piece of brown packing tape covering up the upholstery across the back of the chair. Cooper eased the tape away and slipped her hand inside the rent in the material. As she reached upward, her fingers knocked against a hard edge. Pushing her hand further into the chair, she winced as the tear in the fabric grew wider, but the damage allowed her to grasp the hidden book and pull it free from its fibrous prison.
“This is it.” Cooper exhaled. She examined the parcel, which appeared to be wrapped in a thin, yellow towel.
“That’s got to be the only yellow thing in this house,” Nathan commented.
Cooper unfolded the old material to reveal the brown leather cover of a small book. She opened to the first page and read the fluid, black script: “The Diary of First Lieutenant Aaron Crosby.”
“You did it!” Nathan reached for the book. “Here. I’ll put it down my shirt so it doesn’t get wet. Now let’s get out of this place before the storm hits.”
Together, they hastened from the house, closing the back door as firmly as possible. Despite the splintered wood, the door seemed to reinsert itself in its frame as steadfastly as before. For some inexplicable reason, Cooper was reassured by the fact that Frank’s house wouldn’t be exposed to the rain or other intrusions for the time being.
The flickering light from behind the next-door neighbor’s curtained window echoed the lightning flashes above the roofs. Crouching low, Nathan and Cooper sprinted toward her truck as the rain intensified.
“What the—!” Cooper exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the driver’s side of her truck.
She stared dumbstruck at the words sprayed onto her door. Even as she processed the meaning of the letters written in fingerpaint, the rain was mutating them, dissolving them, erasing them.
But Cooper had had a chance to read them first.
SEEK & DIE
And then the rain began to fall, the large droplets thoroughly obliterating the threat scrawled onto the crimson paint of her truck.
Nathan insisted on driving Cooper directly to his house.
“You’re in shock,” he told her, removing the wet car keys from her hands and leading her to the passenger door of the truck. “Now get out of the rain and let me drive.”
The trip to his downtown row house passed in a blur. Vacillating between rage and fear, Cooper couldn’t think straight. Her hands were shaking and she would have killed for a cigarette, but she had given up smoking months ago.
Twenty minutes later, she stood mute in Nathan’s living room, squeezing moisture from the ends of her hair.
“If we were in a movie, I’d be offering you a glass of brandy and forcing you to drink it,” Nathan opened a small cabinet next to the fireplace. “But my bar’s not that well stocked.”
Cooper sank down on the couch and listened to the clanking of bottles and the clinking of ice cubes hitting glass. Nathan handed her a tumbler.
“It’s whiskey. Just a shot’s worth, but it’l
l make you nice and toasty inside.”
Numbly, Cooper swallowed the contents without pausing for breath. The alcohol burned a trail down her throat, warming the pit of her stomach and allowing her to gain control over the tremors moving through her body.
Gently, Nathan pried the tumbler from her hands and pulled her to him. At first, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, saying nothing, but then he began to stroke her hair. When he kissed her on the smooth skin of her forehead, she raised her lips and captured his in her own.
Nathan’s response was light and tender, but Cooper kissed him hungrily, opening her mouth greedily while pressing her body against his chest. Abruptly, she broke her lips away and began to kiss his neck, nibbling the soft flesh beneath his ear. Roughly tugging on his shirt, she slid her eager hands upward along the bare skin of his back, her mouth returning to meet his.
He denied her his lips. Instead, he kissed her in the soft depression between her collarbones as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her uniform shirt. He yanked the fabric free on one side, exposing her shoulder, and she groaned as he traced a slow line with his fingertips from the ridge of her shoulder to the swell of her right breast.
They kissed again, heatedly, discarding their shirts onto the living room floor. Nathan unhooked Cooper’s bra and, pulling it free from her body with one hand, cupped the base of her neck with the other in order to crush her torso against his. He lay back on the couch, allowing Cooper to fall on top of him, her hair forming a curtain against the light of the room’s single lamp.
Breathing hard, Cooper brushed her fingers against Nathan’s belt buckle. As she did so, he broke away. “Are you sure?” he asked her, his voice hoarse with desire.
Cooper nodded, but didn’t speak.
They stared at one another for a moment and then Cooper looked away, embarrassed by her conflicting emotions. She wanted Nathan, but she knew that having been in such close proximity with a murderer was clouding her judgment.
Path of the Wicked Page 19
