Before dragging the box of Dad’s books from the closet, I added a new question to my list.
6. Where is Earl? Did he steal the emerald necklace?
Then I grabbed the books. Reaching in, I pulled out two or three at a time, then spread them out on the floor. Then I did it again. And again. I kept doing it until the box was empty. The last group of books felt fatter in my hand. I set them down and found layered between two mysteries was a different book.
I brushed the dark brown leather cover. It was soft, and the edges of the paper were gold—like in Mama’s Bible. Only it wasn’t a Bible. It was a journal. Maybe Dad’s from when he was a kid?
I flipped open the inside cover.
Tabitha Goodman.
No, wait—it was Gran’s!
Gramps had said Dad used to look through her things in the attic. Maybe he found the journal and kept it with his books.
And now I had it.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said quietly.
Maybe there was something in her journal that could tell me why she was murdered. The Hardy Boys could wait. I had a real mystery and maybe just got my first real clue. I climbed onto my bed and leaned back against my pillow. What secrets did Gran’s journal hold? Did she write about just herself? Or did she add in some things about Gramps? She might’ve even written about Dad. My stomach tightened with anticipation as I opened to her first entry.
* * *
I tossed Gramps’s clean socks into his dresser drawer but it wouldn’t fully close. I groaned. I wanted to get back upstairs to Gran’s journal. So far it was pretty mind-numbing stuff like what she cooked for dinner or her struggles to make friends—although she did write Miss Ruth was fun. She hoped they’d be good friends. Oh, and how the construction of the new Piggly Wiggly had stirred up a rat colony. Rats and dinner were about as exciting as it got, but I was holding out hope things would get interesting soon.
I shoved against the bottom drawer. Paper crinkled. I squatted, pulled the drawer from the dresser, and peered into the space. Crumpled papers sat wedged in the back of Gramps’s dresser. I pulled them out, and torn bits of a photograph fluttered to the ground.
Why would Gramps keep a torn-up photo?
I shook all the photo pieces loose and flattened out the other papers—just a couple of old receipts, one for a cheeseburger and one from Suds’ Windy Bottom Gas and Bait.
Someone had worked really hard to obliterate the image of the photo—the pieces were tiny. A long time later, I sat back on my heels and stared at a wedding photograph. It was the size that would fit into a wallet. It was of Gramps and Tabby. She held a bouquet of flowers, and he wore the ugliest pale blue tuxedo I’d ever seen. But despite Gramps’s questionable wardrobe choice, they were smiling.
Something must have brought out the bear in him to rip their wedding photo to smithereens. But still he just couldn’t bring himself to trash the last shreds of a memory.
I let out a long breath. One of the shreds flipped over. Was that a smudge of ink on the back? I turned over more pieces. Something had been scrawled across the back of the photograph. As I flipped more pieces, the message, with some of the letters blurred, slowly appeared.
I’m sorry
Never Again
Hairs lifted on the back on my neck. Gramps didn’t have to sign it in order for me to recognize his sloppy doctor handwriting. What did he mean? What had he done that he would never do again? Was it something awful? Why would he write such an alarming note on a photograph…and a wedding one at that?
Chapter 16
A car door slammed. Voices traveled in from outside: Mama and Gramps. I quickly scooped up the pieces of the picture and stashed them in my pocket. I’d tape it together later.
The back door opened. Footsteps moved through the kitchen. Keys dropped on the kitchen table.
“Cooper?” Mama called.
Cooper. Yep. She was still mad.
“Cooper? Where are you?”
I shoved the drawer back into the dresser. “Coming, Mama.” I walked out of Gramps’s room. “I was putting laundry away.”
She nodded. “You can help Gramps get dinner ready. He said he’d cook tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gripped the banister and began to drag herself upstairs but stopped and turned around. “Cooper, about this morning.” She took a step down. “What happened? I’ll listen now.”
I raised a brow.
A hint of a smile appeared. “I promise.”
I sat on the bottom stair and she joined me.
“Beau was badmouthing Gramps,” I murmured, not wanting Gramps to overhear me from the kitchen. “Called him a murderer and a liar.” And then I told her about the name tag on Dead Fred.
“Yeah.” Mama kept her voice low and calm. “That would be upsetting. But, Coop, it doesn’t matter what other people say, because you know the truth. You’re going to hear things all your life that might make you mad, and you can’t react with a punch every time.” She held her hands out and then clenched them. “Did you know your brain is almost the same size as your two fists put together? Know what that means?”
I thought of saying it meant I should fight twice as often as I think, but settled for the safer answer. “No.”
“It takes two fists to equal one brain. I’m not saying don’t ever react, but I am saying think about your reaction good and hard. Violence is rarely the answer.” She cocked a brow at me. “You can’t shake someone’s hand if it’s curled into a fist. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She stood and went upstairs. “See you at dinner.”
I joined Gramps in the kitchen. Maybe I could figure out a way to ask him about the torn photo. Lord only knew how though. He’d already arranged slices of zucchini on the broiling pan. “We’ll roast these along with some salmon. Your mama likes fish, and she could use a little pampering tonight, don’t you think?” His voice was tight.
The stink of salmon assaulted my nose, but I’d eat crow if it meant being back in Mama and Gramps’s good graces.
“Yes, sir.”
“Crack that back window open, would you? There’s a reason they don’t make salmon-scented candles.”
A crack wasn’t going to cut it. I opened the window all the way. And decided to ease in with a question for Gramps. “So, I was thinking about stuff while you were gone.”
“Hmmm?” He concentrated on drizzling olive oil over the zucchini.
“Oh, you know,” I shrugged. “Like how sometimes we do things we regret when we’re angry.”
Gramps nodded. “You regretting that fight with Beau? I hope so. That’d show some maturity on your part.”
I did not regret my fight with that low-lying snake, but I wasn’t about to argue the point.
I cleared my throat. “So…umm…have you ever done anything you’ve regretted, Gramps?”
He grunted. “Of course. There’s only ever been one perfect man to walk this earth, Coop, and it’s sure not me. Hand me the salt.”
I sighed. This wasn’t working. “But what about when you get angry? I mean real angry. Give me an example. And…and it doesn’t have to be a recent time. It—it could’ve been from years ago. Have you ever…you know…done something?”
“Like punching someone?” He got a funny, faraway look in his eyes. “Nope. I’m not the violent type. I learned a long time ago it’s best to settle things quiet-like. And,” he looked at me almost coldly, “I’d take whatever steps necessary to make sure that I’d never again have the same problem with that person.”
I gritted my teeth. “Okay, so maybe not punching someone, but have you ever, say, like…destroyed something?”
Gramps wrinkled his forehead. “What are you playing at? Are you saying, in some convoluted way, that you have anger issues? Did you punch a wall or somethin
g?”
He looked around him, maybe searching for holes in the Sheetrock. This conversation wasn’t heading in the direction I was trying to steer it.
“No, Gramps!” I rolled my eyes. “Sheesh. I’m just curious. I—”
Someone knocked on the front door.
“I’ll get it,” I said, welcoming the chance to step away.
Tick stood at the door. Behind him was another deputy—tall and built like a grizzly bear. I swallowed and gestured for them to come in.
“Hey, Coop.” Tick fidgeted with the brim of his hat. “Your gramps home?”
“In the kitchen,” I said.
He sniffed the air and walked toward the kitchen. “Fish?”
The grizzly bear removed his hat and followed Tick.
“Yep.”
“’Evening, Vidler,” said Gramps, his head practically in the oven. He did a double take at the sight of the other deputy.
“This is Deputy Gomez.” Tick gestured with his head.
Gramps nodded a greeting. “Have a seat. Salmon should be out in about ten minutes if you want to stay for dinner.”
Both remained standing.
Tick rested his hat on the table. “I’m afraid it’s not a social call, Doc.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re here on official business.”
Gramps pulled out a chair and looked my direction. “Coop, go tell your mama that we’ve got company.”
Tick waved his hand. “Oh, don’t bother Delilah. It’s you I came to see, Doc.”
“Don’t bother who?” Mama brushed past me. “Hello, Keith.” She ran her fingers up the side of his arm as she passed.
Tick stiffened.
She faced the man with Tick. “And you are…?”
He shifted his hat under his other arm and reached out his hand. “Deputy Gomez, ma’am.”
She furrowed her brow and sat next to Gramps. “What’s up?”
Tick met Mama’s eyes. He looked to me and darted a glance back to Mama.
She swiveled in her chair to me. “Coop. You’re grounded, remember? Up to your room.”
She couldn’t be serious! Not now. “But, but…dinner—”
“I’ll bring you up a plate.” She pointed to the doorway. “Go on.”
I knew when my bacon was burned, but I also knew where to find another hog. Even though I was grounded and might get more consequences, there was no way I was going to miss out on what Tick or Deputy Gomez had to say. Not when there was a perfectly good oak tree right outside my bedroom window. I scurried upstairs to my room, climbed out my window, and shimmied down the tree before dashing around to the backyard.
“…cause of death was acute arsenic poisoning,” Tick was saying as I hunkered down under the kitchen window.
A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps shuffled across the wooden planks. A cupboard was opened and closed. Water poured from the tap of the kitchen sink into a glass.
Tick cleared his throat. “Doc, because of the…uh…circumstances surrounding Tabby’s murder—”
“Circumstances?” Mama cut in sharp.
A mosquito wailed near my ear. I shooed it away.
“Doc, were there marital problems?” Tick sounded like he wanted to melt into a puddle. “Fights? Money issues?”
“What? How dare—no! No—of course not. You talked to Earl, didn’t you? What has he been telling you?”
“The district attorney considers you a person of interest. A record search showed you bought arsenic three weeks before your wife died,” Deputy Gomez said.
“For heaven’s sake!” Gramps shouted. “I was a doctor. For years, arsenic, in a highly diluted form, has been used to treat various ailments.”
“But you’re the one with the motive,” Deputy Gomez said. “You stood to benefit the most from her death. Financially.”
I wondered if Gramps’s face was red. Or if the vein in his neck that always twitched when he got mad had got to twitchin’ yet. And what did Gomez mean by saying Gramps would benefit financially? Gramps had been the town doctor. He wouldn’t have been hurting for money.
Sheesh. Just because Gran had some money to her name when she died hardly gave Gramps a strong motive to kill her.
Mama’s voice quaked. “This is ridiculous! What are you saying? Harley wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
Tick let out a strained sigh. “Delilah—”
A chair skidded across the floor and hit the wall.
“Don’t you Delilah me, Keith Vidler.”
“Delilah, please.” Tick’s tone grew soft, like he was using his voice to defuse a bomb set to explode...that bomb being Mama. “He needs to come in for questioning.”
“Now hold on.” A hand pounded the countertop. “I did not kill my wife!”
I was pretty sure Gramps’s family tree could be traced back to Honest Abe. If he said he didn’t kill anybody, he didn’t kill anybody.
“Are you nuts?” Mama said.
“You’re not arresting Gramps!” I shouted through the window.
The four of them were still staring at the kitchen window when I busted through the back door.
“Cooper!” Mama said. “What—”
I marched over to Tick. “You were supposed to help him, not throw him in a cell!”
Tick put his hands up. “I’m not throwing—”
Deputy Gomez took a step toward me. “He’s not arresting him, son—”
“I’m not your son.” Then I turned and glared at Tick. “And I’m not yours, either. My dad is dead.” I clapped my hands over my mouth. Because what I should’ve said: Gramps is my dad…sort of.
Tick nodded.
Deputy Gomez rested his thumbs on his utility belt. “It isn’t a request. He needs to come with us to answer some questions.”
Gramps stood. “Don’t worry, Coop. We’ll get this straightened out. I’ll go with Keith and answer his questions. This is just a formality, right, Keith? Why, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. You know I didn’t kill my wife.”
Tick sagged as though standing was a struggle for him. “That brings me to my next point.” He paused before continuing, like he didn’t want to have to say what was coming next. “I’m no longer working this case. I can’t. Because of my relationship with you. The chief decided it’d be best if someone else took over. The county temporarily assigned Deputy Gomez.” His hands dropped to his side. “I’m here more as…a…friend.”
Tick sounded pathetic.
Gramps scoffed.
Mama stared in disbelief.
“Some friend,” I muttered.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Tick continued. “You have to understand that.” He looked at Gramps. “This particular district attorney—he’s young. It’s an election year and he’s trying to make his record shiny.”
Mama gave a stone-faced nod, but said nothing.
“Dr. Goodman,” Deputy Gomez said. “We need to search the house. I’ve got officers waiting outside.”
“What the devil for?” Gramps turned to Tick. “We already searched her things. You were there.”
Tick held his hands up. “I know, but—”
“I can come back with a warrant if necessary,” Deputy Gomez said.
The way he treated Gramps was really beginning to tick me off.
The vein on Gramps’s neck had gone from twitching to pulsating. “Search the whole house for all I care.” He crossed his arms.
Gomez turned to Gramps and gestured toward the door. “Dr. Goodman, if you don’t mind, let’s head to the station while the officers are engaged here.”
Gramps looked to Mama. “Call my lawyer. Vernon’s number is in my office—above my desk. Have him meet me at the police station.”
She nodded.
I hugged him.
He wrapped his arms
around me and held tight for several moments. Then Tick walked outside with him toward Gomez’s squad car and opened the car door for him. Gramps waved to me as he was driven away.
Three policemen I didn’t recognize stood next to their cruisers. Tick gestured for them to come inside.
They were going to search the house and try to find something to make Gramps look guilty. I didn’t know them, and I already didn’t like them, and I especially hated Tick. “Traitor,” I said under my breath.
Then a realization hit me: If they found Gran’s journal, they would take it for sure. I wasn’t finished reading it. Thank goodness the wedding photo from Gramps’s dresser was still in pieces in my pocket. They’d think Gramps was guilty for sure with that creepy message on the back. A sour taste formed in my mouth. I had to keep them out of my room until I could hide the journal. I needed time, which meant I probably needed to act nice.
“Umm,” I turned to the officers. “How about I show you guys to the attic? That’s where her stuff is.”
“I got it, Coop,” said Tick, “but thanks. Watkins, you come with me. Harrison, take the second floor, and Caesar, you can start here. Coop, you and your mama need to stay downstairs, please.”
“But, but—wait!” I yanked on Tick’s arm.
He stopped and raised a brow. The other two paused at the base of the stairs.
“Uh, umm. My homework. Can I at least get that from my room?” I leaned toward Tick. I pointed to my black eye. “You might’ve heard already, but I was in a bit of a brawl with Beau Knapp today.”
Tick nodded.
“I’ll be spending the next couple days at home,” I said. “Miss Grupe gave me a ton of work. I need to get started right away… It’s for my own safety.”
“Your own safety?” asked Tick.
“Mama’s madder than a bull with his horns caught between fence rails,” I whispered with a shrug.
Coop Knows the Scoop Page 8
