Cooper marveled time and time again over her grandmother's intuitiveness. She decided to be honest. "That woman who was killed ... I saw her a little over a week ago. I mean, she talked to me while I was working on her copier. Something was troubling her, but I don't know if telling anybody what she said to me will matter a lick." Cooper quickly went on to explain how certain the members of the Sunrise Bible Study Group were that Wesley Hughes hadn't killed his wife.
Grammy gave Cooper a sharp look. "Those folks you met today are hurtin' somethin' fierce. If you can do anything to grant that woman justice and to help an innocent man from being branded with a wrong he didn't commit--and you keep in mind that he might damned well have done his wife in, no matter what those Bible folks say--then you gotta share what you know." Grammy bent over and pulled up a drooping sock covered with polka-dotted Easter eggs. She never wore any jewelry or makeup, but she loved socks--the more garish the better.
"I know you've turned into a bit of a hermit since your man took up with another woman, Granddaughter, but there comes a time"--she wiggled her finger at Cooper--"when you need to dust yourself off and get back to the land of the livin'. You gonna spend the rest of your life puttering around this house, your nose stuck in some Time Life fix-it book and your hands buried in dirt when you should be changin' diapers and makin' supper for your husband?"
Cooper squirmed and began sweeping at the dirt with her left foot. Every conversation with Grammy ended with a similar lecture. Before her grandmother could get too warmed up to the subject, Cooper placed a hand on the old woman's twiggy arm. "I'll call one of the Sunrise members tomorrow and tell them all I know. Maybe figuring out what happened to Brooke is like figuring out what's wrong with a broken machine. I can probably be of some help to them."
"That's my granddaughter." Grammy seemed satisfied, but as she moved to return inside the house, she hesitated long enough to say, "But make sure you call one of the available male members in that group. If there
are
any. Now,
that
would be somethin' to pray for, girlie!"
4
The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails--given by one Shepherd.
Be warned, my son, of anything in addition to them. Of making many books there is no end, and much study wea ries the body.
Ecclesiastes 12:11--12 (NIV)
Monday was a run-of-the-mill day for the employees of Make It Work! Angela arranged a fresh bouquet of peach roses on the corner of her desk, Ben complained about his sore muscles and rubbed his left bicep on the way out to his van, and Mr. Farmer tried to reply as politely and succinctly as possible to Angela's scores of enthusiastic and unnecessary questions. Cooper wondered why her boss didn't ask Angela why she refused to use her state-of-the-art intercom system instead of sashaying back to his office with every new phone message, mail delivery, or interesting bit of gossip. He and Cooper were content to communicate through friendly waves and brief e-mails, especially since Angela seemed determined to fill all moments of silence with her bubbly chatter.
Cooper had spent the day emptying shredder receptacles around Innsbrook's office park. Make It Work! was one of the few shredding companies in Richmond. Ben, Cooper, and a part-time employee named Stuart had a rotation so that no one was routinely stuck with the monotonous task of collecting the green bags stuffed with minuscule pieces of paper. Mr. Farmer charged his clients reasonable fees for this shredding service and then sold the destroyed paper to a recycling company for another tidy profit. Thus, the account statements, tax forms, and other confidential documents of Richmond's top companies were reborn as rolls of paper towels and toilet paper.
Just once, when the shredding business was first getting underway, their boss purchased the recycled products for use in their own office. After one week, Angela threatened to quit if he continued to force them to use "paper as prickly as a thornbush." Mr. Farmer quickly relented and gave Angela permission to go on a shopping spree at Sam's Club with the company credit card. Even when she returned with an enormous bouquet of pink roses, a vanload of Charmin, and enough micro wave popcorn, soda, Slim Jims, and chewing gum to supply the employees with snacks for months, he did nothing but graciously thank Angela for her thoughtfulness.
Cooper laughed as her memory re-created the image of Angela, in a pencil skirt that threatened to burst apart at any moment, using a dolly to wheel in packages of Charmin.
Filling up her coffee thermos from the supply in the break room, Cooper resumed her accustomed sense of anonymity as she entered office building after office building, inserting a master key into the locked shredder receptacles. She replaced stuffed green bags with new empty ones, checked to make sure that the shredder was functioning properly by destroying a thick packet of papers held together with both staples and paperclips, and then moved on to the next site. No one spoke to her or showed her a fraction of the friendliness Brooke Hughes had.
After an uneventful day, Cooper hopped into Cherry-O and drove home. She made herself a tuna melt and a Caesar salad for dinner. As she ate, she stared at Nathan's business card. His company was called Spider Web Designs & Hosting. The card was printed on heavy gray card stock with a graphic showing an industrious spider spinning the letters
www
in a thin, silky-looking font. It was a simple yet striking card. Cooper thought that Nathan must be quite talented at designing Web sites if his business card made such a favorable impression.
Taking the last bite of her tuna melt, Cooper eyed the thumbprint cookies that Maggie had left on her kitchen counter. The strawberry and apricot jam in the center of each cookie glistened in the amber light of her cheap brass chandelier. She knew the cookies were rich and buttery and would be the perfect accompaniment to a cup of decaffeinated French vanilla tea followed by one or two cigarettes.
"No. I'm done with those," she reprimanded herself. "I can call a guy without needing a smoke."
In fact, Cooper was much more interested in finding out what had happened when the Bible study members visited Wesley Hughes in jail than submitting to her nicotine craving, so she pushed the plate a few inches away and picked up the phone. It had been a long time since she had called a single man at home and her fingers hesitated over the number pad. She couldn't help but experience a sharp pang that Drew's voice wouldn't be at the other end of the line, and Cooper tried not to think about the last time she had spoken to him, but the memory surfaced all the same.
Drew had returned to the two-bedroom apartment they had shared for more than four years--a hastily built yellow tower within walking distance of a grocery store and Home Depot--with a U-Haul van and his new girlfriend's brother.
"Trent's here to help me pack up my things," Drew had explained to Cooper three weeks after his arrest. "I'm going to live on my own for a while."
Sitting at her kitchen table nearly six months after this event, Cooper felt a flush of shame as she recalled how she had cried and begged Drew not to leave her. She remembered how Trent had carried out the last box without meeting her eyes and how Drew had kissed her on the cheek for the last time, whispering that he was sorry and that he hadn't planned on falling in love with Anna Lynne.
Reaching up to touch the smooth skin of her cheek, as though the flutter of Drew's lips still lingered there, Cooper dialed Nathan's cell phone number.
"I'm so glad you called!" Nathan exclaimed after Cooper identified herself. "We all thought you might have been a bit freaked out after yesterday."
"I was wondering how Brooke's husband is doing."
"We weren't able to see Wesley." Nathan became instantly dejected. "He was meeting with his lawyer all afternoon but we wrote him a note that said we'd be back and to hang in there. I can't even begin to imagine what that poor guy is going through. It's hard enough that he's lost his wife, but to be accused of killing her too... . Well! Our little group is not going to sit on our hands and let him go to prison or allow Brooke's real killer to go free."
"No offense," Cooper said tentatively, "but what can you guys do?"
"I believe there's power in numbers. We're going to do a little snooping and a whole lot of praying. Savannah was able to visit him today and he told her where he has a spare house key hidden, along with his blessing to search everything once the police are out of there. We're meeting at Trish's house after church next Sunday to come up with a plan."
"Why wait so long? Shouldn't we ... you guys get in the house right now?"
"We can't. Cops don't want anyone in there this week. They were pretty firm about that and we don't want to do anything to antagonize them or worsen Wesley's situation. Believe me, we're all frustrated by having to sit on our hands."
"At least you've got a plan," Cooper said soothingly.
Nathan hesitated and then said, "I hope you'll join us. You're coming to Bible study, right?"
Cooper had a strong feeling that she had something to offer in the group's efforts to assist Wesley, so she quickly said, "Yeah, I'm in."
"Good." Nathan sounded pleased. "We could use all the assistance we can get. And speaking of help, did you need some guidance getting started on your workbook?"
"I haven't bought it yet, but it's on the top of my list of things to do." She took a cookie off the plate and inhaled its sweet aroma.
"Listen, I know it must be awkward for us to be recruiting you in the midst of our concern for the Hughes family, and even though I've only met them a few times, they were so warm and generous of spirit." He paused. "It's hard to explain. If only you could have talked to one of them, you'd understand."
Now Cooper knew she couldn't remain silent about her encounter with Brooke for another second. "I actually called to tell you that I met Brooke Hughes two Fridays ago."
"What!" Nathan's gentle voice turned urgent. "How? Why?"
She hesitated again. "Well, I install and repair office equipment and she had a problem with one of her machines."
"Whoa, cool job. Go on."
Relieved that Nathan hadn't passed judgment on her unusual career choice, Cooper told him every detail of her encounter with Brooke.
"There's got to be something incriminating about that document she needed to copy." Nathan sounded excited. "But you didn't look at it? Not at all?" His hopeful tone deflated somewhat.
"No. I make it a point not to look at the content of any documents," Cooper replied firmly.
"Right. Of course." Nathan grew quiet as if he was thinking hard. Cooper could hear his breath on the other end but found his silence rather disconcerting. She noticed that she had unconsciously ripped her napkin into little shreds during the latter part of their conversation. Suddenly, as she gazed at the mess she had made, she remembered the scraps of paper wadded up at the bottom of her toolbox. "Nathan?" She sat up excitedly. "I don't want to make any promises, but I might have part of that document at work."
"How?" He sounded confused.
Cooper described the chaotic state of Cindi's desk and overflowing garage can. "There was no place to throw out the pieces that were jammed inside the copier, so I put them in my toolbox."
"Can you tape them together?" he asked eagerly.
"It's going to take a couple of days. Some of the pieces are the size of cupcake sprinkles. Plus, I still don't know if anything is readable on there. Most of it's probably full of smeared ink."
"Will you give it a try anyway?" Nathan persisted.
"Yes, of course!" Cooper promised with feeling, wishing that she hadn't been so pessimistic. After all, she might actually be in possession of a clue about Brooke's death.
"Listen, since you met Brooke, you'll probably want to go to her funeral," Nathan said "We're all going to mourn Brooke but also to show our support for Wesley. Savannah says that he'll be there, under guard, of course." He paused again. "I'm sure their son, Caleb, will be there too. Can you imagine what that poor guy is going through? I mean, he's not a little kid or anything. He's in grad school, but I'm sure he's a wreck with one parent killed and the other in jail." Nathan sighed sympathetically. "If he sees how many people believe in his father's innocence, it might lessen his pain by the smallest bit, ya know?"
"Does he have any other family?" Cooper hated the idea of Brooke's son dealing with such a tragedy on his own.
"According to the church grapevine, he's staying with his grandparents. A lot of folks from Hope Street have been visiting him since his father's arrest."
"That's good. And if nothing else, the church women won't let him go hungry," Cooper replied, stalling for time. She was reluctant to attend Brooke's funeral. After all, she was still only on the periphery of both the church group and the Hughes family and was certain she'd feel extremely uncomfortable. Still, Brooke had gone out of her way to show Cooper kindness, and she owed it to her to show up and pay her respects. "When is the funeral, Nathan?" she asked.
"Saturday at Westhampton Memorial Park. It's just a graveside service at ten. I guess Wesley wasn't allowed to plan a church memorial," he added glumly.
"I'll be there," she responded decisively.
"And the document? Can you bring it with you on Sunday?" Nathan asked with renewed hope. "Maybe we can make some sense out of what ever we
can
read. I'll let Trish know you'll be coming to lunch at her place after the worship service. If we all put our heads together, I'm sure our purpose will be made clear." He took a breath, as though unused to speaking so many sentences in a row. "So you'll join us for both the study and the lunch, that is, if you're free?"
