The Deeds of the Deceitful

by Ellery Adams

  She could stop by her parents’ house, but she could never keep anything from them, and they’d worry about her. No, she’d pick up coffee on the way.

  While she sat in the Jeep, she called Angela to tell her she would be late for work, because she planned to stop by the local vehicle registration office. Before she could get a word in, Angela began to gush.

  “Cooper, your sister is such a go-getter. She’s already got things rolling for the wedding.”

  “I’m so glad.” Thankfully, Ashley had come through, because Cooper certainly hadn’t had time to think about the upcoming nuptials of Angela and Mr. Farmer.

  “We have dress fittings next Tuesday.”

  “We?” Cooper swallowed and gripped the steering wheel.

  “She knows someone at a fancy bridal shop downtown. I found the perfect dress, and your sister picked out yours. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

  “I . . . yes, very sweet.” Cooper made a note to call Ashley immediately. Why hadn’t she said anything yesterday? She could only imagine it was because she didn’t want Cooper to find out that she’d chosen a dress that Cooper would never, ever in a million years wear in public. Which would probably have a price tag she’d be paying off for months. She and Ashley had vastly different tastes, and she cringed thinking about what her sister might have picked out.

  “I thought we could go to dinner afterward to discuss the bachelorette party.”

  “Bachelorette party?” A headache began to form at the base of her head. Perhaps it was lack of caffeine, though she suspected it was much more than that. She’d so hoped Ashley handling Angela’s wedding meant a pass for her on involvement. It was becoming clear that she was wrong.

  “It’s traditional, Cooper. We’ll invite the girls from the office, and my very best friend in the world, Mona Lister, is going to fly in when we set a date. She’ll be my matron of honor. She promised to send her measurements to the shop since she can’t be here in person for the fitting.”

  “Her name is Mona Lister?”

  “Yes, that’s really her name.”

  “All right, then. Tuesday it is. I’ve got it on my calendar.” Along with a note to stock up on over-the-counter headache medication.

  “Did you hear about that car accident?” Angela clucked her tongue.

  “Which car accident is that?” Cooper asked weakly.

  “Loretta Atwood. Isn’t she related to the inn where Ashley scheduled my wedding reception?” Angela kept chirping along without taking a breath. “Poor woman.”

  “Angela, maybe we can discuss it later.”

  “Sure, sweetie. You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get here.” She paused. “Oh, I’ve got to go, the boss is calling.” She giggled. “I still like to call him that, even if he is my husband now.”

  “Tell him I’ll be in soon. I have to swing by the DMV.”

  “Don’t you worry, Coop. Take your time. Mr. Farmer will understand. This has been a stressful time for you.”

  Cooper was more than relieved to end the call. The last thing she wanted to talk about this morning was the inn. She certainly didn’t want Angela to know any details that might have her fretting about her wedding plans.

  The conversation with Angela had only served to remind her, yet again, that poor Loretta Atwood was dead. Some might say she got what she deserved, but if that was the case and everyone got what they deserved in life, the world would be a very different place. Cooper was grateful for the blessings she received daily, undeserving as she was.

  It took two hours for Cooper to get through the vehicle registration office. Despite her desire not to think about the weekend, that’s all she did while she sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair. Two hours to review the facts and wonder about Jon Eason’s role in everything. By the time she was done, it was later than she’d planned. Cooper grabbed a coffee at the closest fast-food drive-thru and headed into work with no new answers.

  She took a quick sip of the brew and grimaced. Burnt coffee. It would have to do. She pulled her backpack from the Jeep and crossed the parking lot, stopping at a black van with the Make It Work! logo splashed across the side in bright red lettering. Emilio Calabria, one of their regular employees, stood with a clipboard checking items on the inside. He looked up as she approached.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.”

  “’Morning, Emilio.”

  “How come there’s a police detective inside waiting for you in your office?”

  Cooper stumbled at the words, and her coffee flew from her hands to the ground. “Terrific.” She picked up the now empty cup and its lid.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” He winked. “Here I always thought you were a goody-two-shoes type.”

  She stared at him for a moment. The morning just kept getting better. “No, it’s a routine matter he’s checking into.”

  “Routine, huh? Well, if you need a bail bondsman, my girlfriend’s uncle can help you out. Let me know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Thankfully, Angela was absent from her position at the front desk, but her ever-present vase of roses sat on the corner of her desk. The plucky receptionist bought a dozen roses every Monday, with a firm belief that the week should always begin with fresh flowers. Cooper stopped to smell the flowers before she slipped into her office.

  “Ms. Lee.”

  Cooper dropped her backpack on the floor and faced Detective Olson, who looked far more alert than she could claim to be. “Detective, how may I help you?”

  “I’m here to follow up on the missing painting.”

  “So, it is missing.” She sat down behind her modest desk, processing that news and trying to figure out how that was connected to the death of Loretta Atwood. Somehow she doubted if Detective Olson would let her in on the details of the investigation so far.

  “According to Ms. Atwood, it is. However, there is no way to verify that the painting hanging in the great room was an original until Ms. Atwood comes up with the provenance.”

  “Provenance?”

  “Documentation. The history of the owners of the painting. In this case, a signed certificate from the artist.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was the painting in the great room a Deveraux?” Olson shrugged with the skepticism of years on the job. “Even if I presume that it is”—he paused—“or was, it’s entirely possible that the real painting was removed long ago and replaced with a copy.” He pinned her with his gaze. “That said, you may have been the last person to see it on the wall, besides the thief.”

  The way he said the words gave her a shiver. As though she was in the room with the thief. Was she? “But I didn’t actually see anything, Detective. It was dark.”

  “You may have seen more than you realize.” He nodded toward her chair.

  Cooper rubbed her eyes. It was a good thing she didn’t wear makeup. If she did, it would have been smeared off long ago. She leaned back in her chair, praying a large cup of coffee would miraculously appear.

  “I’d like you to think about that evening, Ms. Lee. Aside from what you reported, are there any other sounds or impressions that you recall? They may not seem significant, but trust me, even the smallest detail can crack a case wide open.”

  “I was pretty engrossed in my novel during most of the Scrabble game. I don’t remember once looking at the painting. The only thing that sticks out in my mind is the sound of the front door of the inn slamming at eight. And it’s just as I told you yesterday. Although I never officially met Loretta Atwood, I did hear her slam doors a few times since I’d arrived on Friday. I’m sure everyone did. That was a Loretta slam.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, there was one thing, and it may be nothing . . .”

  “Go ahead. Your nothing may give us a lead.”

  “The French doors in the great room were open went I went in there to retrieve my novel after spending time in the dining room with Mindy. They were not open while the Sunris
e Bible Study was in there.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this in our preliminary interview?” He frowned with suspicion.

  “I didn’t really think about it until I got home and went through everything that happened at the inn.”

  “Who opened them?”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

  “So, between the time that your friends left the room and you entered it to pick up your book, someone opened the doors.”

  “I know it sounds a little strange, but that’s all I know.” She looked at him. “Detective Olson, is the second painting an original Deveraux?”

  “Once again, all we have is Ms. Atwood’s word. There’s much that needs to be verified in this situation.” He stood. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”

  Much to be verified? He didn’t sound as though he believed the paintings were authentic. She’d have to talk to Mindy about that.

  Cooper walked him out of the office and then marched straight to the break room. A sign was taped to the expensive coffee maker that Mr. Farmer bought the staff last year. Out of order was written in Angela’s fancy handwriting. She groaned and headed back to her office.

  Sitting at her desk, Cooper tried to concentrate, but the idea that someone could have been in the great room when she walked through occupied her thoughts.

  She kept looking at the clock as the workday dragged. Each time she got started on a project, she’d find herself staring into the distance while her mind skipped from one fret to another.

  What would happen to Atwood Inn? And Mindy. And Angela’s reception.

  And what about Magnolia’s Marvels? Mama had worked for years toward her goal of seeing her treats in a display case at her local store. Cooper would be crushed if her mother lost everything because of someone else’s malicious action.

  “It’s nearly lunchtime, Coop.”

  “What?” Cooper looked up to see Angela standing in the doorway. “Do you need me to make a run?”

  “No. Brandi is going to Casa Grande. The sampler platter, per usual?”

  “No, but thank you. I don’t have much of an appetite. I think I’m going to go over to Lamplighter to get a coffee.

  It was a seventeen-minute drive from the Innsbrook complex where Make It Work! was located to the nearest Lamplighter at the Addison Street Café location. Well worth the drive for Richmond’s best coffee. Cooper stood in line and tried to pretend she was starting this day over. She ordered a cup of coffee and a croissant and sat outside at a table with her laptop. Everything was better with a good cup of coffee. It helped that the weather was perfect. A warm breeze brushed past, taking with it the cobwebs that had cluttered her mind for the last twenty-four hours.

  An hour later, Cooper completed her paperwork and felt much better. Downing the dregs of her coffee, she looked up and spotted a familiar face walking toward the café.

  Jon? What was he doing in this end of town? When he smiled, her heart did a little flip-flop.

  “I’m not stalking you, I promise. Your office manager, Angela, said I could find you here.” He motioned to the bench on the other side of the table. “May I join you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m going to grab a coffee. Want anything?”

  She held up a hand. “I’m good.”

  Cooper’s gaze followed him as he slipped inside the glass doors. She couldn’t deny the pleasure at seeing him, despite her misgivings, because the man was a suspect. As was she, her mind shot back quickly.

  Maybe she should cancel his visit to her home. She didn’t want to, but really, what did she know about the man? And why had she made such a spontaneous offer anyhow? It wasn’t like her.

  “You okay?” he asked when he returned.

  “Yes. Why?”

  Jon frowned and placed his coffee on the table before sitting down. “It looked like you were arguing with yourself.”

  “I was. This whole thing with Loretta Atwood . . .” She raised a hand and then dropped it in her lap. “It’s taking up all the available brain cells I have left. I can’t focus, and I can’t sleep.”

  “I know. I get that. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I need to reschedule my visit with your mother . . . and your greenhouse.”

  “Okay.” She said the word slowly. Here she had considered canceling, and he beat her to it. Cooper Lee had been dissed.

  “Cooper, it’s not that I want to.” He blew on his coffee. “But I had to get a job until the inn can consider opening. While there was no love lost between Mindy and Loretta, she won’t proceed with the grand reopening until the investigation is closed. She wants to honor Loretta’s memory.”

  “Mindy is so gracious.” She looked at him. “Do you think she’s going to be able to open the inn?”

  “Eventually. And there are a few loyal employees who will be back to help when she does.”

  “Tony Mancuso and you?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “You don’t believe Tony is in any way involved, do you?” Cooper asked.

  Jon gave an adamant shake of his head. “Tony would never, ever do anything to harm Mindy or the inn.”

  “Do you think he put roses in Loretta’s car?” Cooper asked. “That may be exactly what resulted in Loretta’s demise.”

  “Tony is innocent,” Jon repeated. “How about if we change the subject.”

  “Sure. Where are you working right now?”

  “La Grotta Ristorante, and I’m on the schedule for this Saturday.”

  “Wow, really? That’s wonderful. My mouth waters just thinking about the menu at that place.”

  “You’ve been there?” he asked.

  “Once, for Ashley and Lincoln’s wedding rehearsal dinner. I still have dreams about the pasta.” She sighed, remembering the melt-in-your-mouth homemade fettuccine with prosciutto, shallots, and fresh basil in a tomato cream sauce.

  Jon chuckled. “It’s amazing, I agree. And I’m fortunate they took me on part-time. It will help pay the bills until the inn moves forward.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ here.”

  “But I’m pretty bummed about Atwood Inn. There’s so much more I want to do there. A community garden to launch a garden-to-table menu, and yes, a greenhouse. It all makes me wish we could get this case solved quickly and move forward.”

  “I agree. So many people are touched by this tragedy,” Cooper said.

  “You mean, so many people are suspects,” he said.

  “That too,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “Do you think I could stop by to meet your mother the following Saturday? I’ve already asked for the morning off.”

  “Um, well . . . Sure.” As she said the words, Cooper realized how much she really wanted that to happen. She wanted to know her mama’s opinion of Jon, because she didn’t trust her own.

  Jon wrapped his hands around the mug and met her gaze. “How are you doing, Cooper?”

  “Detective Olson visited me this morning.”

  “Another statement?”

  “Yes.” She released a breath as the headache she’d left behind threatened to start again. “This time about the missing Deveraux painting.”

  “I heard about that. But why would he think you know anything?”

  “I may have been present when it was stolen.”

  Jon’s jaw practically dropped. “You were?”

  “It’s possible. To tell you the truth, I don’t want to talk about it. I came here to escape my troubles, not to let them follow me.”

  “Don’t you think you might be in danger if you have information about the painting?”

  Cooper blinked and swallowed hard at his words. “I guess I never thought of that.”

  “Be careful, Cooper Lee.”

  A dark cloud overhead shifted to cover the blue sky. Cooper shivered. The sunny day became ominous as Jon’s words sank in. Was it possible she knew more than she realized? She took a quick glance around. Suddenly, everything and everyone became suspect. A
n unwitting thought came to mind: The only way to ensure her safety and a positive outcome to the situation would be to stay one step ahead, and she couldn’t do that alone.

  Perhaps it was time to discuss everything with her Bible study friends.

  • • •

  “You are looking at a man who is officially off the market!” Bryant said as he stood in the doorway of the Sunrise Bible Study classroom the following Sunday morning, grinning widely.

  “Bryant! Congratulations,” Trish said. She offered him a hug.

  “I should have made a cake,” Quinton said. “Wait! I did.”

  “Did you really?” Cooper asked. She had only just stepped into the room before Bryant. She put down her Bible and study guide and offered Bryant a hug as well.

  “Yes, I did,” Quinton continued. “I remembered he was going to Lemaire last night and took a chance that Jane would say yes.”

  “A chance? Did you really say that?” Bryant asked.

  “Just kidding.”

  “Where’s the cake?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t smell cake, Quinton. You aren’t joking, are you?” Savannah asked. “Because after eating your cakes, teasing us would be a very bad joke.”

  “I never joke about baking. It’s in the church kitchen refrigerator because it’s topped with a frosting made with real whipping cream. I’ll go get it.”

  “We haven’t had one of Quinton’s baking projects in a while,” Jake observed.

  “No. We’re way overdue,” Cooper said. The banker was by far the reigning baking royalty in the group. Since her mother wasn’t a member of the group, there was no competition.

  “I smell chocolate and vanilla bean,” Savannah said as Quinton entered the room minutes later, carefully holding a large covered cake holder.

  “Spot on, Savannah. I was starving for chocolate cake from the Mixing Bowl. The trouble was, it was midnight when I got my hankering, and they were closed, of course.” He removed the lid. “Voilà.”

  The group inched closer to the four-layer chocolate cake with fluffy white frosting in between layers and slathered on top in swirls.

  “Quinton, you’ve outdone yourself,” Bryant said. “This looks like it belongs in a bakery window. What is it?”