Coop Knows the Scoop

by Taryn Souders

Chapter 7

  “Gramps!” I dashed down the aisle and around the corner to his side.

  He sagged against Mama.

  Tick supported Gramps on his other side and guided him toward a chair. They slowly eased him down. He sank, his face white.

  “Gramps?” I crouched at the base of the chair. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

  Mama moved toward the counter. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  Gramps shook his head. “Don’t.”

  She stopped and exchanged a glance with Tick.

  He held a hand up. “No. No ambulance.”

  She scrunched her brow like she was thinking hard. “Harley, I think—”

  “How about some water then?” Tick said.

  Gramps nodded, and Mama rushed to fill a glass.

  “Gramps,” I repeated. “What’s going on?”

  Liberty and Justice stood wide-eyed behind the armchair. In fact, everyone who was in the bookstore circled around Gramps’s chair.

  Tick squatted down and gently removed his photo from Gramps’s grasp. “What is it, Doc? You recognize this ring?”

  Gramps took the photo back and traced around the gold ring with his finger. “Tabby’s wedding ring.”

  Gasps filled the room. Mama’s hand flew to her chest. Tick slowly stood and locked eyes with Mama.

  “Who is Tabby?” Jus whispered to Lib.

  “Go get your folks, Justice,” Mama said, her voice tight.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He brushed through the crowd and dashed down the corridor.

  Mama turned to Tick. “Let’s get Harley back to my office.”

  Tick nodded. “That’s fine.” He turned and faced the crowd. “All right, folks, let’s give Doc some space.”

  He helped Gramps to his feet, but then Mama took over and led Gramps through the kitchen to where her office was. I wanted to follow, to let him know it would be all right. But my body was frozen.

  Tabby Goodman. My knees felt a little weak. Gramps never talked about my grandmother. Mama said she’d left Gramps a long time ago, and it was a sore subject. Like that was somehow a perfectly acceptable explanation. But it wasn’t. Not to me. I’d always wondered who she was and what she was like, and the fact no one would talk about her felt like I would never know all of who I was.

  “Now see here, Vidler.” Willy the postman squirmed his way to the front of room. “If that skeleton is Tabby Goodman, then I’m Beyoncé.”

  “Who’s Beyoncé?” croaked a voice from the crowd.

  Tick cocked his head. “How you figure, Willy?”

  Willy threw his arms up. “Because everybody knows Tabby left town forty-odd years ago.”

  “And y’all saw her leave?” asked Tick.

  “No,” piped a voice, “but she left a note. And we all saw that.”

  The crowd parted for the Feather sisters and their Friday green-feathered hats.

  Miss Ruth looked stricken. “It couldn’t be Tabby.”

  “The big-city girl went back to the big city,” said Miss Meriwether.

  Heads nodded, followed by a chorus of “that’s true” and “I remember.”

  “See?” Miss Meriwether squared her shoulders smugly.

  Mama returned. “Deputy Vidler needs facts, not gossip.”

  “Fiddle-faddle. Around here they’re interchangeable, you know that.” Miss Meriwether continued walking to the front and parked herself in front of Tick. Liberty once said that sarcasm was an accessory that Miss Meriwether wore often. And she would know. Liberty was fluent in two languages: Cussing and Sarcasm.

  “It’s not my place to say, and, mind you, I’m not one for spreading gossip—”

  Mama rolled her eyes. “Heaven help me,” she whispered.

  “—but Tabby’s clothes were gone from her closet.” She jabbed her finger at Tick. “She wanted to travel. She was a photographer, you know.”

  “No. I didn’t know,” Tick said. He looked to the crowd. “So none of you were surprised to hear she’d left town?”

  Willy shrugged. “Not really. She tried to fit in, but always was out of place.”

  “She left a note. Small-town, married life wasn’t to her liking.” Miss Meriwether drew herself tall and crossed her arms. “I don’t care who you think is lying in that grave, but whoever is, it sure as heck is not Tabitha Goodman.”

  Miss Ruth nodded her head in sisterly agreement.

  “Maybe not,” said Tick. “The body hasn’t been identified. Just the ring.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Gordon had joined Mama and Tick at the counter. Liberty, Justice, and I quietly stood next to them.

  “We’ll watch the store,” Mr. Gordon said. “You best take Doc home, Delilah.”

  I followed Mama and Tick into the kitchen. I wanted to see how Gramps was. But before we got to the office, Tick stopped Mama.

  He pulled a black notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. “Do you know who Tabby’s dentist was?” He avoided Mama’s eyes. “For her old dental records. To establish an ID.”

  “I never met the woman. Steven didn’t even know her. Who was the dentist in town when you two were boys here?”

  “Doc Orr—but he retired ages ago. Wonder what he did with his records.”

  I had an idea and nudged Tick. “What about me? I’ve seen enough cop shows on TV to know you can use my DNA. If enough of those genetic doohickey things—”

  “Genetic markers?”

  “Yeah. If enough markers show up on the test, that means the skeleton is my grandma.”

  Tick glanced at Mama and then at me. “I know this isn’t nice news to hear, but it would definitely help get some answers. And, for Doc’s sake, we need to make a positive ID as soon as we can.”

  Mama nodded.

  “This is a difficult time, Coop, and I appreciate your willingness to help. I know your gramps does too. Let me get one of my CSIs down here. We can swab the inside of your mouth and get it to a lab. A cousin of mine teaches at the forensic college in Atlanta. She owes me a favor and should be able to fast-track the results. I still might need to sweeten the deal with a steak dinner, but we should know very soon if the remains are Tabby Goodman’s.”

  Chapter 8

  When I got home that afternoon from cutting the Feather sisters’ grass, Gramps was in his recliner. The Windy Bottom Breeze, still folded, rested in his lap as he stared off into space. I guess if you already knew the news, there wasn’t much point in reading the paper.

  “Hey, Gramps.”

  He glanced at me as I plopped onto the sofa. There seemed to be more specks of gray in his hair tonight. “Heard what you did for Vidler and getting him some DNA.” He sighed. “Thank you.”

  I nodded. We passed the next several moments in a silence so heavy it felt as though an anvil had been dropped into the room. What do you say to someone whose wife’s body may have been discovered? I pushed myself off the sofa. “You don’t have any sweet tea, Gramps. I’m going to get you some.”

  He waved his hand and started to speak, but I dashed toward the kitchen before he could tell me no.

  Three different casseroles dropped off by various members of the Windy Bottom Compassion League sat on our counter. Mrs. Alcott had also baked her prizewinning German chocolate cake, and I didn’t have to look, but I could smell Earl’s formaldehyde-scented muffins. Did he keep his baking supplies in the morgue?

  Mrs. Alcott ran the Compassion League, a club of church ladies who cooked food for people when an emergency or illness interrupted normal comings and goings. According to Miss Ruth, it was also a great way to catch up on the local gossip. Usually a spread like what covered our counter required a serious illness or recent death. I reckon the ladies made an exception when Gramps learned that his runaway wife might instead have been a murder victim.

  Mama shut the refrigerator doo
r and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “How’s his headache?”

  “I didn’t know he had one,” I said.

  “I’m fine, Delilah,” Gramps hollered from his recliner.

  She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to decide if he was telling her the truth.

  “I don’t buy one penny of that statement,” Mama said under her breath to me. “Dinner’s ready and it will do you good to eat,” she called to Gramps.

  * * *

  We had a dining room, but Gramps had turned it into his study ages ago, so we ate at the kitchen table. I liked it better that way. Life was cozier around a kitchen table than some stuffy dining room.

  Gramps said grace, but then instead of digging in, spent dinnertime rearranging the food on his plate.

  “Harley, eat.” I’d never heard Mama use her “don’t-argue-with-me” tone on him before.

  I could’ve used my knife to cut the tension instead of the meat loaf.

  “What if that really was Tabby lying dead in the ditch?” He glanced up from his plate. “What if she didn’t run off?”

  Mama peeked at me, then back at Gramps. “Harley, please.”

  He quit playing with his food and set down his fork. “After she left town, I spent months hoping she’d change her mind and come back to me and Steven. I even set an extra place at the table for dinner each night. Left the porch light on too. Here I was thinking she abandoned us. But what if…” He dropped his head in his hands and sighed. “What have I done?”

  “We still don’t know for sure the remains are Tabby’s,” Mama said.

  He slid his chair back and stood, holding his plate in his hand. He walked over to the trash can, stepped on the pedal to open the lid, scraped the uneaten food into it, and set his plate in the sink. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Mama set her fork down. “Harley, I don’t—”

  “I’ll be fine, Delilah.” Gramps smiled, but it was fake. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I just want to grab some fresh air. A quick trip around the block. Then I’ll be back.”

  I crammed the last bite of meat loaf into my mouth and quickly swallowed. “I’m finished too, Gramps.” I pushed my chair back. “Want me to come with you?”

  “Not tonight, son. You’d find me poor company.”

  My shoulders dropped.

  He tousled my hair. “But thanks for the offer.” Unanswered questions seemed to cling to Gramps. And something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Grief for sure, but something else? Maybe guilt?

  No, that was silly. Guilt about what?

  “You help with dinner cleanup, Coop,” Mama said as Gramps shut the back door behind him. “I’m almost done, and then I’ll give you a hand.”

  Scowling, I picked up my plate and walked over to the sink. I smacked the faucet handle to turn the water on and tried to drown my frustration in dish suds. Gramps’s silhouette shrank in the distance as I looked out the kitchen window.

  I’d never known much about Tabby. Who was she? Where did she come from? What did she look like? So many questions. But the question that looped over and over through my mind was, did she really ever leave Windy Bottom?

  Silence hung in the kitchen air as I washed and Mama dried. We had a dishwasher, but whenever Mama had something pestering her, she’d do dishes by hand. Said drying kept her hands from wringing and her mind from fretting.

  “Mama, what do you know about Tabby?”

  She sighed but kept drying. “She was your gran, Coop. Don’t call her Tabby.”

  I shrugged. “All right, what do you know about Gran?”

  “Hardly a thing.” She put one plate in the cupboard and picked up another. “I know she was a photographer, and Gramps met her while he was at medical school. They got married, came back here so he could open his practice. She left about a year after your daddy was born.”

  Poor Gramps.

  “Delilah?” Tick’s voice sounded down the hall.

  “We’re in the kitchen, Keith,” she called. “Come on through.”

  “I wanted to swing by and check on Doc.” He threw his hat on the table. “Hey, Coop.”

  “Gramps went for a walk.” I said.

  “Don’t suppose I could talk you into some iced tea while I’m here?” he asked Mama.

  “I can do better than that.” She waved her hand toward the Compassion League’s buffet. “Help yourself.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Perfect.”

  “What did the lab say?” I asked.

  “Easy there, Coop.” He spun back around to the food on the counter. “Oh, is that Mrs. Alcott’s German chocolate cake?”

  “Earl brought muffins,” I offered.

  Tick looked over his shoulder at me, his face twisting. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

  Mama pulled a chair out and sat next to him as he ate. She absentmindedly rubbed her ring finger. If there weren’t dishes to wash to keep worrisome thoughts away, she’d start fiddling with imaginary jewelry that hadn’t been on her finger for a couple years.

  “Hey, Coop. When I’m done eating, want to play some gin rummy to pass the time until your gramps gets back?” asked Tick.

  Tick was a lousy gin rummy player—Texas Hold’em was more up his alley—so I’d no doubt he suggested the game to placate me.

  But tonight I needed something that would allow me to stick around maybe longer than they’d want. “How about we build a cardhouse instead?” Cardhouses were quiet. People tend to forget you exist when you’re quiet.

  The ice cubes from the sweet tea clinked against the glass as he took a sip. “Sure.”

  “I’ll grab a few decks from the living room.”

  I rummaged through the side-table drawer for cards. The back door opened, and a chair scraped against the floor in the kitchen. Gramps’s and Tick’s voices carried down the hall as they greeted each other.

  I grabbed a deck, slammed the drawer shut, and raced back to the kitchen. Edging my way around the adults, I silently prayed Mama wouldn’t banish me from the room. The stool at the breakfast bar offered the perfect out-of-the-way place to eavesdrop unnoticed. I slipped the cards from the box.

  Gramps took his glass of water and sat next to Mama.

  “Apologies for interrupting your evening, Doc.” Tick’s hands ran back and forth along the back of the chair in front of him. He faced Gramps. “I got the DNA results back from my cousin.” He paused. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, Doc, but it is Tabby.”

  Gramps dropped his head in his hands. “Sweet Jesus.”

  “No,” Mama whispered.

  My insides stiffened.

  “I know it’s a shock.” Tick pulled the chair away from the table and sat facing Gramps. “This afternoon, Meriwether Feather mentioned Tabby had left a goodbye note.”

  “It’s probably a fake, though, right?” I said. So much for me being quiet. “Obviously she didn’t run away. Someone killed her and then typed that letter to make it look like she did.”

  Mama shushed me.

  Gramps gazed at the floor. “No. That’s just too awful. I can’t imagine…” He looked up at Tick. “Is that what you think?”

  Tick shifted uncomfortably. “Well… She didn’t bury herself.” He looked at me. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean the note’s a fake. She might’ve been planning on leaving but got interrupted.” Tick leaned back in his chair. “I know it’s a long shot, Doc, but do you still have that note?”

  Gramps took a drink of water. A long one, like he needed time to think, then nodded. “For months I kept it in my pocket. I guess I was hoping if I looked at it enough times I’d see something I hadn’t noticed before, and it’d lead me to Tabby. Finally decided to put the note, along with the rest of her things, up in the attic. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.”

  He set his glass on the counter. �
��We can go up there and look.”

  Chapter 9

  The attic sat at the top of a narrow and dimly lit staircase. I’d never explored all its nooks and crannies—just helped Gramps bring down decorations for Thanksgiving and Christmas and such—so I couldn’t wait to see what cool stuff was hidden there.

  And seeing wouldn’t be a problem given the fact that after an encounter with a mouse in a box of Christmas decorations a couple years back, Gramps had installed lighting powerful enough to startle any living thing away.

  Gramps climbed the stairs first with Tick, Mama, and me following behind. He opened the door and flipped on the light. I waited a couple moments for my eyes to adjust to the brightness. Stuff was scattered willy-nilly. Broken bits and bobs, old furniture, decorations for various holidays, and more.

  Tick let out one long whistle.

  “I know it looks like a tornado just went through here, but it’s actually organized,” said Gramps. “I have a system.”

  “I hope you used a different ‘system’ to organize your patients’ medical files. How can you find anything up here?” asked Mama.

  Gramps pointed to the far corner. “Back there is where all her stuff is. I haven’t been through it since I hauled things up here.”

  We started to make our way to a hodgepodge of stacked boxes, old luggage, and trunks.

  “Anything you can remember about the note would be helpful,” said Tick, stepping over a couple boxes. “Like the kind of paper it was written on and—”

  Gramps disappeared briefly behind the fake Christmas tree. “It wasn’t handwritten. It was typed. On plain white paper.” He reached the corner and picked up one of the boxes from the top of the stack. With a grunt, he handed it to Tick. “Careful. It’s heavy.” He turned to Mama and me. “How ’bout Keith and I go through the boxes? Delilah, you take those trunks, and Coop, you sift through those bags and suitcases over there?”

  “You got it, Gramps.” I knelt down and pulled a duffel bag toward me. I wanted to be the one to find the note. It would be another way for me to help Gramps besides just giving my DNA.

  A musty smell hit me in the face as I unzipped the bag and pulled the items out one by one. Nothing but shoes and a couple old scarves. Not to be discouraged, I stuffed the items back in, zipped it shut, and pushed it away.