Angela rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. I told you before, he’s had a bazillion chances to reel me in.” She crossed her arms defensively and stared at Cooper from beneath her fake eyelashes. “What is with you today? Your tongue is sharp as a lightnin’ bolt and you look like you haven’t had a wink of sleep. Is it Nathan?”
“No. Everything’s going fine with him.” Cooper felt queasy just thinking about the phone call she would inevitably be receiving from Investigator Rector. “Ashley’s having surgery today,” she provided Angela with a partial truth. “I’m a little worried about her. I just won’t be able to concentrate until Mama calls and tells me she’s okay.”
“Oh, honey. She’s gonna be right as rain.” Angela threw her arms around Cooper. “And I’m sorry that I’ve been so self-centered lately. It’s gettin’ older that’s doin’ it. I wanna take care of somebody and I want somebody to take care of me.” She smiled and her eyes turned misty. “Now. I want you to take the white roses from Costco to your sister with best wishes for a speedy recovery from all of us. I’ve got a drawer full of Hallmark cards and I’m gonna get everybody to sign one for her. And you tell me if you need to leave early today. I’ll rearrange your schedule in a flash.” She snapped her manicured fingers.
Cooper felt a rush of affection for her friend. “Enjoy your flowers, Angela. No matter who they’re from, someone obviously recognizes what a catch you are.”
A flicker of genuine sadness passed across the secretary’s face and it was that brief glimpse of Angela’s fear of aloneness that propelled Cooper to march right into Mr. Farmer’s office. Her boss was bent over a spreadsheet, an adding machine close to his right hand and the latest issue of Popular Mechanics next to his left. He looked up at her, blinking, as though surprised to see another human being in his lair.
“Good morning.” He removed his glasses, drew his hand away from the adding machine, and waited for her to speak.
Cooper shut the door behind her and, after removing a pile of newspapers from the only other chair in the room, sat down and faced her boss. “Sir. Have you been sending Angela roses?”
Mr. Farmer blushed from the bottom of his cheeks to the bald spot in the center of his head. “Well, I—”
“Because I know you care about her and that you might believe she has feelings for Emilio. In a sense, she would like him to have feelings for her, just for vanity’s sake, but the truth is that she wants a man to share her life with. The man she’s waiting for is not Emilio.” She stared intently at Mr. Farmer. “It’s you.”
Flustered, her boss’s fingers twitched erratically and his pinkie hit the total button on the adding machine. Numbers appeared on the thin strip of white paper as the machine buzzed in a wild frenzy of ink. Mr. Farmer reached out to turn it off, but he couldn’t control the trembling of his hands, so Cooper walked around the desk and flicked the switch for him.
“You’ve got to make a bold statement, sir. Not roses. Something that declares how you feel in a big way. Prove to her once and for all that you’re willing to take the risk and ask her to be with you.” Cooper paused, wondering if she was making a grave mistake by issuing orders to her boss. “Forgive me for butting in here, sir, but she’s been miserable lately and I think you have, too.”
After a pregnant pause, Mr. Farmer issued the briefest of nods. Finally, without meeting Cooper’s eyes, he murmured, “What should I do?”
For the moment, Cooper forgot her own troubles. Perhaps she could balance out her reckless act of breaking into Frank’s house by finally bringing Angela and Mr. Farmer together. With a grin, she resumed her seat across from her boss. “Don’t worry, sir. I have an idea.”
Cooper’s first appointment after lunch was at an unexpected location. Lali Gupta had phoned earlier in the day and requested an annual service contract with Make It Work!
“The director asked for you personally.” Angela handed Cooper a work order. “They’ve got a busted copier and fax machine. Get her to sign our annual contract form before you leave, too. Mr. Farmer is going to give them a special rate ’cause they’re a nonprofit. He’s got such a big heart, that man.” Opening the makeup compact that was never far from reach, Angela reapplied a layer of scarlet lipstick. “He asked me to stay late tonight. We’ve never worked a minute past five before. I can’t imagine what he’s up to.”
“Me, either,” Cooper replied innocently. “But he’s got some nasty-looking spreadsheets in his office, so it can’t be anything fun.”
Frowning in disappointment, Angela returned to her desk while Cooper slid the Door-2-Door paperwork onto her clipboard and headed out to a work van. Emilio intercepted her before she could open the driver’s door.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Emilio leaned against the van, his knuckles pushing his biceps outward. “How was the weekend? Did you sit around, eat bonbons, and maybe wonder just for a minute what I was doin’? ’Cause I was thinkin’ about you. Let’s go out tonight. I became good buddies with one of the chefs at Ruth Chris. We could eat like kings. What do ya say?”
Emilio was the last person Cooper wanted to see at the moment. Hoping to run him off, she opened one of the van’s rear doors, planted her toolbox firmly on the floor, and slammed the door shut. Giving him a wide berth, she walked back to the front of the van. “I had a lovely weekend, thank you. I ate a bunch of fried food, broke into an old man’s house with my boyfriend, received a threatening note from a serial killer, went to church, and then turned myself into the police because I broke the law and I damned well knew it. In fact, I’m waiting for a phone call from one of the detectives who’s probably going to tell me to get my ass down to the station before his coffee gets cold, so if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get to this next job as quick as I can.”
Instead of being repelled by Cooper’s caustic demeanor, Emilio inched closer to her. “You don’t need to make up stories to impress me. I already think you’re awesome.”
“Well, the feeling’s not mutual!” Cooper snapped and then jumped into the van and locked the door.
As she sped off, Emilio stared after her. “She likes this cat-and-mouse game, but I’m not a patient guy.” His mind conjured a fantasy scene in which Cooper served him a gigantic rib-eye while modeling skimpy lingerie. “Time to get rid of this so-called boyfriend. She needs a real man.”
Emilio turned back to the office, hoping to flirt with Angela until she gave him some useful information about Cooper’s boyfriend. Whistling Wild Thing, Emilio strutted across the parking lot, his wavy, dark hair blowing in the wind and his eyes narrowed in determination. At that moment, he looked more like a wolf than a man.
When Cooper approached Lali Gupta’s desk, she was shocked by the woman’s appearance. Lali was a wreck. Her black hair was stringy and dull, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and her blouse was wrinkled and had been buttoned incorrectly. Even her nails had been chewed into jagged fragments. Cooper wished she could find a way to comfort the unhappy woman, but she knew that only the police could offer Lali the kind of resolution she desperately needed.
Despite knowing the answer, Cooper asked the volunteer director how she was holding up. Lali sighed heavily. “There was a story in Sunday’s paper about the suspicious deaths of our clients. I knew it would come out sooner or later, but the timing is really awful because we just sent out our quarterly requests for funding last week. We’ve had two corporate accounts already call this morning to say that they’ll be donating to a different cause in the future as they don’t want their names connected to our troubles.”
“That’s awful.”
“If we lose any more benefactors, we’re going to have to turn away clients.” Lali rubbed her temples. “I can’t stand the thought of saying no to people who have a true need for our services. I don’t even know where we’re going to scrape together the money to pay for our current clients.”
Cooper observed the men and women seated in nearby cubicles. Every one of them was engaged in a phone conversation, and as Cooper wo
rked on the broken fax machine located in the middle of the row, it became obvious that the Door-2-Door staff was putting every ounce of their energy into garnering donations. Even though their pleas were replete with passion and conviction, most of them hung up their phones without having secured any funds.
Angrily twisting a screw into place, Cooper reflected that the Door-2-Door killer had already stolen the lives of several helpless elderly men and women, but now, the villain was also diminishing the chances for other aged Richmonders to receive the meals they desperately needed.
“It’s out of our hands now,” Cooper reminded herself with a whisper.
When her repair on the fax machine was complete, she packed up her tools and relocated to a hallway outside the conference room. The copier, a refurbished Canon image-Runner 6000, looked as though it hadn’t been serviced since it left the factory. Cooper accessed the interior of the machine and began her analysis of the existing problems. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice a pair of black boots appear behind her toolbox. She gazed up to see Campbell standing there, his massive arms on his hips and a playful smirk on his face.
“Well, well. So you’re our repairman, eh? A woman wielding tools is a cool thing. It’s easy to forget that our volunteers have lives outside of my kitchen.” He stroked the braid hanging down from his beard. “I won’t be seein’ you guys this weekend.” He blinked and the amused glimmer vanished. “Keep an eye on things for me, would you?”
Cooper’s mind raced. Did Campbell realize that the killer was likely one of his Friday or Saturday volunteers? Was he leaving town because he was guilty?
“Of course I will,” she assured him. “But I don’t quite give off the same vibe of authority as you do. Guess I could rent one of those muscle suits, but there’s no chance of me growing a Fu Manchu by Saturday.” She wiped her hands on a rag. “So where are you off to?”
“I’ve gotta run to the beach. There’s this girl there. Aurora. She’s a bartender at one of the big hotels on the strip. She rides a Harley, she sings like an angel, and she’s tough as nails.”
“And pretty?”
The light returned to Campbell’s eyes. “The most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth. And I’m gonna meet her folks for lunch on Saturday. She wants to be serious about our relationship and if this is what it takes to officially make her my own, then I’ll meet her family, her preacher, her high school teachers, her Girl Scout leader—anybody!”
Cooper wiped some ink from her wrench and smiled. “I heard that you’ve liked this woman for a long time but she didn’t really, um, return your affection. How’d you get her to change her mind?”
“With this.” Campbell turned his back on Cooper and then yanked his tight black T-shirt over his head. A spectrum of colors covering the skin of his back was suddenly revealed. Cooper found herself staring at the biggest tattoo she had ever seen. It began as blue waves on his lower back—an ocean filled with tropical fish and fingers of coral. Above the curls of white foam in the middle of Campbell’s back, porpoises leapt from the surf. An enormous sunrise, created with dazzling yellows, oranges, and hot pinks, spread from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Striped sunrays radiated outward from the edges of Campbell’s shoulders to the base of his neck. Doves carrying red roses in their beaks flew upward toward the ornate black letters spelling out the name Aurora.
“Wow,” Cooper breathed.
Campbell pulled his shirt down over the taut muscles of his back and swiveled around. “That’s what Aurora said. She figured I must really want the real thing with her to do what I did.”
Cooper nodded. “Yeah, I would say so! That’s a pretty permanent gesture.”
“She’s all I ever wanted.” Campbell held out his hands as though he meant to grab the handlebars of his bike. “In a few days, it’ll be time to ride to my lady. Anita’s filling in for me this weekend, but help her keep an eye on everybody. If I catch the piece of scum that’s been messin’ with my food, I’m gonna think of all new uses for that deep freeze.”
“I’ll do my best,” Cooper promised him and then watched as he walked away, his burly figure buoyed by a litheness that could only be attributed to happiness.
He’s not the killer, she thought. Like Erik, Campbell is motivated by love instead of money. So who wants money, or to deliberately hurt old folks, more than anything else? That’s our murderer.
Before she had the chance to review her mental list of remaining suspects, her phone rang. Swallowing, she saw that the number belonged to a Taylor Rector. She was being summoned.
Nathan happened to call her cell right after she got off the phone with Investigator Rector and he insisted on accompanying her to the police headquarters. Although Cooper argued with him over his decision as she drove toward Parham Road, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I was with you, remember?”
“You wouldn’t have been there if I’d just kept my big mouth shut about what I was doing. I refuse to let you get in trouble with the cops because you were trying to be a good boyfriend.”
“It took me long enough!” Nathan countered. “I kept putting work before you. Not anymore, Cooper.”
Though pleased by his comment, Cooper couldn’t let Nathan share the blame for her rash behavior. “I’m pulling into the parking lot and I refuse to tell you who I’m here to see. Please wait for me out in the lobby, Nathan. Just knowing you’re close by will mean the world to me.”
Nathan mumbled something noncommittal and said good-bye.
After checking in at the front, Cooper was led through a warren of desks by a stern-faced and uncommunicative officer until they reached a wooden door bearing Investigator Rector’s name on a brass plate.
The investigating officer was not what Cooper had expected. He was about her age and, due to his ruddy cheeks and freckled nose, had a boyish appearance. His hair was roguishly wavy and his brown eyes, tinged with green, were framed by a sweep of dark eyelashes that most women would kill for. A file folder was open in the center of a disheveled desk and, by pointing at one of the two empty chairs pushed against the back wall, Rector indicated that Cooper should sit while he wrapped up his phone conversation.
Swallowing nervously, she noticed that Aaron Crosby’s diary had been transferred to an official plastic evidence bag and was placed in a prominent position on the policeman’s desk.
“Ms. Lee, I presume?” Investigator Rector said rhetorically as he replaced his phone receiver with a firm click into the cradle.
“Guilty as charged,” Cooper replied and then silently cursed herself for such a poor choice of words.
Rector raised his brows, unamused by her quip. “Breaking into a sealed crime scene is a felony, Ms. Lee. In certain circumstances, you could be looking at a steep fine.” He held up a thin sheaf of stapled papers. “I’ve checked you out. Fortunately, you’ve got a clean record. Not even a moving violation in the past six months, so what made you suddenly decide to tamper with evidence and hinder a police investigation?”
Cooper took a deep breath. “I wasn’t trying to interfere with your case, sir. I paid a visit to Frank Crosby’s son and he told me about the existence of a diary and a sword. Until then, it didn’t seem like there was anything valuable in Mr. Crosby’s house and that he had been killed for no reason.” She gazed at the diary. “It had been a long time since The Colonel, I mean, Edward Crosby, had been in his daddy’s house. He and Frank didn’t get along and I didn’t want to waste your time unless he was telling the truth about those items, so I went to look for them myself.”
Rector’s eyes flashed, but his lips curved into the hint of a smile. “You were just watching out for us, is that it? Didn’t want us to waste valuable manpower?”
Cooper’s falsified tale withered under Rector’s scrutiny. “I met Frank Crosby. He was nervous, and bitter, and, I’m ashamed to say this, but a little disgusting, too. His house was a mess, his clothes were gross, and he had no one to care for him. The bigge
st highlight of his day was when he could get his hands on the neighbor’s newspaper so he could work the puzzles.”
After a pause, Rector said, “Go on.”
“I pitied Frank. I wished for a better life for him.” Cooper gazed at her hands. “And I was grateful to him, too, for he made me realize that I had so much to be thankful for. With his son in jail, I felt a responsibility to find out what happened to him. I know that might not make sense to you, but when I thought about someone stealing from and then . . . poisoning my own Grammy, I just couldn’t sit by and wait. Something . . . inside drove me to act.”
“Tell me about the sword,” Rector prompted.
“Edward told us that his father kept Aaron Crosby’s sword in his bedroom closet. It was supposed to be in excellent shape and Frank liked to take it out of its scabbard every now and again to clean it. I don’t know any other details about it, but maybe Edward does.”
Rector pivoted in his chair and turned his attention to his computer keyboard. “Let’s see.” His fingers worked rapidly. “According to this auction site, Civil War swords complete with scabbard sell for a range of six hundred to three thousand dollars.”
“That’s it?” Cooper was shocked. “Frank got killed for that amount of money?”
“People have been killed for much less, Ms. Lee. Still, it makes me wonder if money is this guy’s main motive after all,” Rector mumbled to himself. “Our killer is angry with senior citizens for some reason. He or she wants to get rid of them, but doesn’t have what it takes to do it with his own hands. Therefore he poisons them so they just slip away.”
“He can feel less guilt that way,” Cooper suggested quietly. “As though he’s done them a kindness by relieving them of their sad lives. It’s almost as though he hates them, but cares about them, too.”
Studying her again, Rector folded his hands together. “And were you alone when you went to Frank’s? I’m just asking out of curiosity.”
Path of the Wicked Page 22
