As Quinton scrutinized the document, the rest of the group took their seats and opened their workbooks. When everyone was clearly prepared to start, Savannah asked the Sunrise members to join her in a prayer for those feeling sick, lonely, or lost.
"These cookies are divine," Savannah said to Cooper afterward. "I've got to get the recipe. We're starting to eat the same old boxed cookies and crackers at my couples group. These would certainly perk us all up." She dusted some crumbs from her fingertips. "Does anyone have anything to share before we dive in?"
"When I was doing the exercises on Ephesians this week, I thought of a strange coincidence between our study and our, investigation." Bryant held out his workbook. "Paul was in prison when he wrote this letter to the church, and yet it's still full of praise, worship, and love."
"And here we've got Wesley in prison, but he doesn't seem to be feeling anything but sorrow and hopelessness. He doesn't seem able to display Paul's optimism, isn't that right?" Trish directed her question at Savannah.
Before Savannah could answer, Jake slammed his workbook on his desk. "I wish a little bit of that wrath Paul talks about in chapter two, verse three would fall on the head of the lowlife who
should
be in prison for this crime."
"I don't know about that," Savannah countered with extreme gentleness. "I think we need a little more of God's grace and mercy, as mentioned in Paul's next two verses, in this crazy, mixed-up world."
Jake hung his head, obviously concerned that he had disappointed their leader. Cooper quickly passed him a butterscotch cheesecake square to perk him up again.
The group spent the remaining thirty minutes discussing their homework answers and then headed to worship service.
During the offering, Quinton pulled out a check from the inside pocket of his shiny suit coat and deposited it in the brass plate Bryant passed him. Cooper noticed Quinton drop a piece of paper while removing his check from his pocket, but she couldn't mention it to him as the entire congregation was engaged in singing a boisterous praise song. During the brief pause between the offering and the commencement of the sermon, Quinton was preoccupied with blowing his nose, so Cooper decided to wait until the service was over to hand him the paper.
However, immediately following the last note of the final song, Quinton fell into conversation with a man seated behind him. As she had no particular desire to be introduced to the man, his wife, or their six rambunctious children, Cooper reached under the seat, grabbed the paper, and headed out to the lobby.
She only took a momentary glance at the sheet, but it was enough to recognize that the words written in neat penmanship were those of a poem or possibly song lyrics. It was completely out of character for Cooper to read any document that did not belong to her, but having already scanned the first line, she felt compelled to finish it. Ducking behind a pillar, she absorbed the words as quickly as she could.
Sunlight, Moonshine
Sunlight, moonshine,
The deep and swelling sea,
My God, mighty and tender,
He made them all for me.
His fingers forged the mountains,
Stretched clouds across the sky,
My God, mighty and tender,
gave life to you and I.
(Chorus) My God, mighty and tender,
My God, timeless and true,
My God, mighty and tender,
I give myself to You.
The fragile wings of butterflies,
the stars burning above,
My God, mighty and tender,
I give to You my love.
"It must be a song," Cooper said to herself and then finished reading the lyrics, allowing the words to spread a warm calm through her. She also felt a flush of guilt at her surprise over the idea that Quinton, the wealthy and rather gluttonous financier, could have crafted such simple yet moving images. Then again, Cooper reminded herself, he was also sweet, funny, aching to please, and a fantastic baker.
"I don't want people to judge
me
like a book cover, but that's just what I've been doing with the Sunrise members," Cooper mumbled to herself. She though about how she had scrutinized Trish's home with such a critical eye, her assumptions that Bryant was a womanizer, that Jake only looked handsome when he was freshly shaved, and that Nathan's feet reminded her of Sasquatch. Ashamed, Cooper hoped she could find a way to make up her inaccurate judgments to Quinton and to the rest of her new friends.
Tucking the paper in her purse, Cooper looked around for the large man and then realized that her friends had probably all left for their lunch meeting, so she hurried outside to her truck.
By the time Cooper pushed open the front door of Panera Bread on Broad Street, she saw most of the group already inside busy collecting their orders from the counter, filling cups with beverages, and distributing brown paper napkins around the tabletop. Cooper ordered a portabella and mozzarella melt with a small Greek salad and joined her friends.
"I know we're waiting for Bryant and Savannah," Quinton said after swallowing a mammoth bite of roast beef, cheddar, and all the fixings served on toasted Asiago cheese bread. "But I took a look at the paper Cooper put back together." He reached across the table and covered her thin hand with his meaty one. "Good job, by the way." He then pointed at the numbers on the top of the paper. "These are someone's credit card numbers. I believe that because credit cards are all assigned sixteen digits. Check it out." Everyone leaned over in order to view the numbers. "It seems like there are only fifteen here, but there's actually another digit beneath this ink smear. If you stare at it long enough, you can see a shape, but I'm not sure what it is."
Jake was skeptical. "Lemme see that." He plucked the paper off the table and peered at it while rubbing at the dark stubble on his chin. Cooper noticed that his foot was shaking back and forth beneath the table and wondered if he was exhibiting signs of nicotine withdrawal. When she'd stepped on the scale that morning and found that she had gained five pounds, she knew that she'd been eating twice as many Magnolia's Marvels in an effort to answer her own nicotine cravings.
"You're right, big man," Jake said to Quinton. "But it could be a four or a nine. It's too blurry to tell."
"Do you think the account is this Hazel person's?" Trish asked, poking at her Asian sesame chicken salad.
Quinton nodded. "I do. The numbers are written right after her name. We just can't tell what her last name is because of this hole here."
Nathan finished the final spoonful of his French onion soup and turned to Cooper. "This might be a crazy question, but is there any way this teeny tiny missing piece of paper could still be in the copier?"
Cooper looked thoughtful. "Maybe. I thought I got all the scraps, but I could check. I have a routine maintenance schedule at Capital City. They wouldn't pay me any mind if I poked around in Brooke's copier." She glanced at her friends, her mismatched eyes glimmering. "I might be able to nose about in her office too. There might be a clue in there."
"And what about the assistant you mentioned?" Trish added. "Cindi? Was that her name? Maybe she knows something."
As Cooper chewed, she tried to visualize herself prowling around Brooke's office after hours. She imagined finding a clue that would instantly exonerate Wesley and identify the real murderer. She saw herself shying away from camera lights and pictured Drew watching her on TV. However, that fantasy was quickly replaced by the visual of being caught by Capital City's security guards, roughly questioned by the police, and being fired from Make It Work! After that, the bank that had issued her Visa card would start calling, demanding to know why she hadn't made her payment against her staggering debt.
Turning over all these thoughts within seconds caused Cooper's throat to tighten, and a bite of her sandwich lodged in her windpipe. She began to cough, unable to swallow the congealed ball of mushroom, bread, and cheese.
"Are you okay?" Nathan inquired and then proceeded to thump her roughly on the back, which only caused her to stiffen further.
"Give her some water," Trish ordered. "Stop smacking her, Nathan. That doesn't help at all. I don't know
why
people always do that."
Jake put his hands out to stop his friends from further action. "Just leave the woman alone!" he barked. "Jeez, y'all hangin' all over her is just gonna embarrass her."
As Jake spoke, Cooper gulped down some Dr Pepper and managed to inhale a decent lungful of oxygen. "I'm sorry," she spluttered when she could speak again. "But I don't think I make a very good detective." She wiped her mouth with her napkin and dabbed away the tear that had inadvertently slipped from her blue eye during her choking episode. "I couldn't talk my way out of a paper bag. If I got caught, I'd need someone there who could think fast and tell a good tale. You know, in case we get in a bind."
"Yeah! You need to take someone with you, like, in disguise!" Jake looked expectantly at Cooper.
"Not Mr. Meteorologist Bryant. He's too famous!" Trish fluffed her coppery hair. "Me too."
"And you probably don't have a uniform my size," Quinton said glumly.
Jake elbowed Nathan in the side. "That leaves you and me, man."
"Maybe I could go with Cooper and check out Brooke's computer files," Nathan said, after a moment's hesitation. "As long as you're cool with this." He met Cooper's eyes and held them. "You'd be risking your job by sneaking me in the building."
"I know the risks," Cooper answered. "But it's a gamble I'm willing to make."
Nodding briefly, Nathan pulled out a copy of the fax they had discovered at the Hughes home. "Cooper's a better detective than she thinks, folks. She found this during our search Wednesday night." He placed the paper on the center of the table alongside the battered document from Brooke's copier.
"Hazel again!" Trish exclaimed.
"Well,
we
certainly didn't find anything." Quinton gestured at Trish. "Seemed like a nice house belonging to a close, loving family. No skeletons in any of their closets. Except for Hazel. Someone wanted Brooke to keep
her
a secret."
The group fell silent, absently picking at the remnants of their lunches as they pondered over the meaning of the threatening fax.
"I think Cindi could be important. All assistants have the inside scoop on their bosses," Quinton said as he examined the glossy surface of the red apple on his tray. "
Someone
needs to talk to her and someone also needs to get into the computers at Capital City and enter in this account number. We need to know who Hazel is and since Capital City has over forty million customers, I don't think we're going to find one of them without bending some rules."
"What about the police?" Trish countered. "We're a little out of our league here and I think we need to leave this matter to the experts."
Nathan shook his head. "I called them about the faxes. They said they would look into it, but they were more concerned about me being in the house than anything else. I think we need some concrete evidence to show them before they're going to take action."
"Yeah, they've already bagged their bird and put him in a cage," Jake said with a snarl. "Why should they do more legwork on an open-and-shut case?"
"I don't think we should judge the police too harshly," Trish's voice was firm. "Think about what they're dealing with these days. That little boy who was kidnapped, those drug-related killings last week, and now an arsonist at work downtown ... I think they need our support for
all
of these unresolved cases."
Abashed by Trish's uncharacteristically empathetic statement, Jake nodded. "You're right. I just hate sittin' and twiddlin' my thumbs while Wesley loses hope with every passin' day by." He looked around. "Where on earth is Savannah?"
Quinton cleaned up his tray and went to order a caramel latte. Cooper was about to join him at the counter so she could return his song without the others overhearing their exchange, but Nathan wanted to talk over details of how and when they would go to Capital City together. By the time Quinton returned with a whipped cream mustache dripping down onto his upper lip, the others had finished clearing their lunch trays and Savannah had finally arrived.
"I'm having a strong feeling of deja vu," Trish said glumly as she gazed up at Savannah's drawn face.
"I don't know what's happening to our congregation." Bryant helped Savannah sink into a chair as she allowed her purse to drop to the floor with a thud. "First Wesley, and now this." She paused to catch her breath. "You all probably know or have heard of Jed Weeks. He coordinates home visits for the members of our congregation who aren't able to attend worship service."
With the exception of Cooper, everyone nodded.
"What you may not know is that he started the program because his wife, Eliza, is unable to make it to church," she continued. "Eliza asked Pastor Matthews to take over last week's duties as Jed was heading out of town for a weeklong fishing trip." She sighed and placed her hands on either side of her temple. "Eliza called Pastor Matthews last night and asked him to take over Jed's duties for another week."
"What happened to Jed?" Quinton asked, his eyes fearful.
Savannah shrugged. "Eliza called both sets of neighbors at their river house. According to those folks, Jed never showed up." She wrung her hands together. "Eliza fears that he might be having an affair and has run off with another woman. I pray that she's wrong about Jed, but either way, Eliza is going to need some help until her sister can fly in from Alabama as the poor soul is wheelchair bound. I know I keep placing weight on your shoulders, but can I count on you all to help me share in this burden?"
