"I'm not interested in any of those guys, but even if I was, I'd like to think they're not that shallow." Cooper returned her focus to Brooke's document.
"Oh, please!" Ashley dismissed the idea. "Everyone judges a book by its cover for at least the first few minutes. You ever want someone
else
to open up your cover and peer inside, then you better do something, 'cause right now your book title is
Thirty-Three and Heading Down the Road That Leads to Spinsterhood
."
Cooper scowled. "I'm not thirty-three
yet
. Now, do you want to hear about my experience at Hope Street or not?"
Ashley nodded and Cooper got up to brew some decaf coffee. As the girls ate several of their mother's raspberry squares, she filled Ashley in on the death of Brooke Hughes.
When Cooper was done, Ashley gestured at the scraps of paper. "So this mess is what you pulled out of the copier?"
Cooper smirked. "Yep. And this
mess
may actually contain some kind of a clue. It's real important for me to piece it back together. I'm not going to do anything else other than my job until this is done." Staring at the minute progress she had made, she sighed. "So far, the only word I've been able to make out is
Hazel
."
"Hazel? What's that?"
"I'm guessing it's a woman's name, but who she is and how she ties into this whole thing is a mystery to me."
"You're lucky, Coop. You're right in the thick of it all." Ashley folded her manicured hands and rested her lovely chin on top of them. "It's
so
exciting!"
Cooper frowned at her sister. "I don't think Mr. Hughes is feeling all too
excited
about what's happened. If it weren't for him and the fact that his wife was so nice to me, I'd be watching HGTV with a pile of gardening catalogues on my lap."
"Then thank God for small favors," Ashley declared. "Here you are with a real, live murder case that you could help solve. I mean, maybe you were
meant
to meet Brooke and these Bible study folks." She sighed. "See? You're lucky to have such an important role to play!"
Cooper watched her sister pout. "Aw, cheer up, Ashley. Maybe someone will meet their Maker by getting wrapped too tight in seaweed during your spa visit."
Ashley picked up the shopping bags and fluffed her radiant blond locks. "Well, it
could
happen! But for now I'll just have to settle for exchanging these clothes for some of those darling summer sandals I saw on display. Bye now!" She wiggled a few of her fingers in a lazy wave and then marched out the door. Cooper could hear the
clomp-clomp
of Ashley's designer heels as her sister made her way downstairs.
Shaking her head, Cooper got back to work. She was determined not to go to sleep until she had something to show her new friends at Hope Street.
5
The nations will see your righteousness,
and all kings your glory;
you will be called by a new name
that the mouth of the LORD will bestow.
Isaiah 62: 2 (NIV)
The morning of Brooke's funeral arrived and the weather seemed completely out of sorts for such a sorrowful event. A bright sun rose in a cloudless sky and the temperature climbed to a delightful sixty-five degrees by the time dark-clad mourners had gathered around Brooke's grave.
Cooper spotted the members of the Sunrise Bible Study Group clustered behind a tall man in a gray suit flanked by officers from the sheriff's department. Instead of joining them, she took a seat on a memorial bench several yards away.
As the minister spoke in a voice filled with gentle conviction, Cooper studied Wesley Hughes. He was thin and balding but still very attractive. His drawn face was splotched by tears and he kept his eyes riveted on his wife's casket. When it was time for him to sprinkle dirt into Brooke's grave, he fell to his knees, sobbing, and had to be supported by his two guards. A young man in his early twenties with closely cropped blond hair and broad shoulders embraced Wesley with a desperation that tore at Cooper's heart and she had to assume that he was Caleb, the Hugheses' son.
After the final benediction was spoken, the deputies led Wesley toward Cooper's bench and she realized that their brown cruiser was parked directly in front of her truck. A police officer with a grim face joined the threesome, but kept a respectful distance behind Wesley. At one point, Wesley stumbled. Instantly, Caleb surged forward and caught hold of his father's arm, which he held on to with a desperate possessiveness.
As the group drew closer to the sheriff's department cruiser, one of the deputies reached out for Wesley, but Caleb inserted himself between the guard and his father. His young face was etched with anger and pain and he balled his hands into fists and clenched them helplessly at his side.
"Why isn't my dad out on bail?" he shouted to a man in a dark blue suit who had also detached himself from the mourners in order to bid Wesley good-bye. When the man did not respond, Caleb's voice grew shriller. "What kind of lawyer are you?"
The solitary police officer turned to the young man. "Son, we're doin' all we can to look out for your father. Don't make things harder on him than they already are."
"What do you know about him?" Caleb seethed. "I don't want advice from anyone unless you can help me get my dad out of jail! He didn't do this!"
"I'm Investigator McNamara," the burly officer replied and handed Caleb a business card. His voice softened as he studied the grief-stricken young man. "You can call me anytime, son, to check up on your dad."
Caleb stared at his father and Cooper almost winced. The young man's vulnerability was so poignant that she longed to comfort him. It was apparent that Wesley Hughes had no solace to offer his son. He looked like an empty shell. Sorrow and hopelessness had slumped his shoulders and his eyes were dull. He mechanically squeezed Caleb's hand and slid into the backseat of the sheriff's cruiser, as mindlessly as a cow being sent to slaughter.
Investigator McNamara clapped a strong arm around Caleb's shoulders and held it there a moment. "You'll be all right, son. I know this day seems as dark as they come, but you'll be all right."
Caleb wriggled away from McNamara's touch. "Will you swear to me that you'll look for the real killer, even though you've got my dad in custody? Swear to me that you won't take the easy route and let an innocent man suffer! That man"--he jabbed his finger toward his father--"loved my mother more than life!"
McNamara never took his eyes off Caleb. "I understand, son. Now, let's not put your father through any more grief."
As Caleb slumped off, McNamara's and Cooper's eyes met. He studied her for a moment and she felt the heat of his penetrating stare. She finally averted her gaze and, without saying good-bye to the other Bible study members who were engaged in conversation with the other mourners, walked off to her truck. Once inside, Cooper spent several minutes rubbing the leather-wrapped steering wheel as the image of Caleb's anguished face swam before her eyes. Once again, her longing for a cigarette almost seduced her into driving straight to the nearest convenience store.
"I must help Brooke's son," she muttered, shaking off the temptation. "We've got to get his daddy freed."
Back at home, Cooper settled down at her kitchen table, picked up her magnifying glass and a scrap of Brooke's document, and prayed, "Guide my fingers, Lord." And then she got to work.
Cooper was so engrossed that she forgot she had wanted a cigarette a few hours earlier. She forgot to drink her afternoon coffee or dig around in her parents' kitchen for her daily dose of her mother's cookies. She didn't think to take Columbus out for a meal or water the plants in her green house. She forgot about everything but the grief-stricken visage of Brooke's son.
"You got such a long face on, I can't tell if you're goin' to church or to a hangin'," Grammy remarked the next morning as she and Cooper crossed paths in the backyard. Grammy used a tissue to toss a stunned mouse into Co-lumbus's cage. Once the hawk had swallowed his breakfast, Grammy blew him a kiss, shuffled through the house, and stood impatiently by the front door. Cooper followed behind, knowing that Grammy's balance wasn't what it had once been and that she might require help negotiating their gravel driveway. Grammy checked her reflection in a cracked compact and then gave her granddaughter the once-over. "What's that you got in your hand?"
"My workbook for Bible class." Cooper realized that she was unconsciously curling her book into a tube. "I was just reading over my notes again."
"Listen. There's no right or wrong answer to these things, girl." Grammy hitched up her navy blue knee-highs and licked her finger in order to rub a spot of dirt from her shoe. "This is about bein'
on
a path--not gettin' to the end of it."
Cooper nodded. "I like that. You know, you're pretty smart, Grammy."
"Used to be, anyways." Grammy held out her scrawny arm. "How about walkin' an old lady to your daddy's car?"
As Cooper guided her grandmother to the backseat of her father's rusty Oldsmobile, her parents stepped outside and, hand in hand, promenaded toward the car as though they were marching down the aisle for the first time after being pronounced man and wife. Cooper smiled. Few days passed when she didn't yearn for a love like the one her parents had. It wasn't so long ago that she felt that she and Drew would become just like her parents. She had even envisioned what their babies would look like.
Earl and Maggie exchanged morning greetings with their oldest daughter while Grammy settled herself inside the car and rummaged around in her canvas purse. Just as Cooper was about to shut the door, Grammy sprayed Cooper's entire torso with a liberal dose of her powerful perfume.
"That'll get ya some male attention!" she announced triumphantly.
"Ugh!" Cooper managed to splutter in between indignant coughs, swiping frantically at the beads of scented mist plastered on her shirt. "Grammy! What is this stuff?"
Grammy slammed the door closed and rolled down her window inch by tedious inch. "I got it at the Dollar Tree. Came in a real nice pink bottle. Have a fine time at church, Granddaughter. Let's go, Earl!" She directed her son. "I wanna get my usual seat up front."
"I smell like a PEZ factory!" Cooper called after the retreating car and then checked her watch. There wasn't enough time to change her peach blouse, so she sped to Hope Street Church with both of Cherry-O's windows down, goose bumps blooming on her arms. By the time she reached the classroom where the Sunrise Bible Study met, she could only hope that no one would notice the perfume.
Unfortunately, Jake started sniffing the air the second Cooper entered the room. "You wearin' perfume?" he asked her. "It's nice. Smells like ... I don't know, cotton candy?"
Savannah inhaled as well, waving her hand in Cooper's direction. "Hello, Cooper. My, it
is
a sweet scent. Reminds me of those candy necklaces. I loved those things, but once I'd eaten it, my neck would be all kinds of sticky." She smiled at the memory. "Speaking of eating, dig in, my friends. We've got two lessons to cover today, so let's fill our plates and then open our books. I know everyone's mighty eager to talk about our plans to help the Hughes family, but that'll keep until we've fueled ourselves with a generous helping of spirit."
Quinton gave Cooper a gallant bow and gesticulated at a square table laden with aromatic baked goods, sliced fresh fruit, and a coffee urn. "I'm so glad to see you this morning. Come grab a plate. Or two. They're kind of small." He grinned warmly. "Did you have any trouble finding the workbook?"
Cooper helped herself to a cinnamon roll and five slices of crisp Gala apples. "I had to ask for help," she admitted as she poured herself a cup of coffee into one of several mugs showing Moses parting the Red Sea. A brilliant sunrise sent its rays over the mountains of water and ignited Moses's long, white beard and his wooden staff with rosy yellow light.
"We all need help sometimes," Savannah said from her seat. "Speaking of which, would someone be good enough to get me a few pieces of fruit? And I believe my nose is detecting Quinton's blueberry coffee cake, so I'll just have to add that to my order, please."
Jake leapt out of his chair. "I'll get you a plate, Savannah. Let's see, you like strawberries and take milk in your cuppa joe but no sugar, right?"
"You've got a great memory, Jake. Thank you."
Jake beamed as he cut a mammoth square of coffee cake and took every last strawberry from the fruit bowl before placing Savannah's plate on the desk in front of her.
Once everyone had gathered refreshments and returned to their seats, Savannah cleared her throat. "This study focuses on the apostle Paul and the letter he writes to the church in Ephesus. Now, Paul was actually Jewish and his name was really Saul, but since he was writing to a Roman audience--to those living in Asia Minor--he adopts the use of a Roman name."
Pushing a piece of black hair away from her eyes, Savannah's face creased into a self-effacing smile. "When I first began selling my paintings, and that was some years ago, I decided that I needed a more cosmopolitan name than Savannah Knapp. So I choose Alexandra Van Briggle. Can you believe that?" She chuckled and the group members joined in. "I didn't sell a single painting until I began using my real name. Turns out folks were willing to buy art from a simple Southern gal after all." She made a sweeping motion with her arm, encompassing the group members. "Have any of you ever changed your name to suit your audience--to fit in better?"
