The Graves of the Guilty (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 3) (9 page)

“Like total crap,” she said truthfully. “And I know I look awful.” She picked up her
Directing Our Passion
workbook. “I didn’t finish the homework, either. The question about Corinthians twelve—the one about spiritual gifts—I couldn’t answer that one at all. I don’t know if I have any.”

Nathan wiped Frito dust onto a napkin. “Of course you do. Look how many mission families you’ve found homes for. With all the support your company gives to the church for its East End housing project, your spiritual gift has been to put roofs over people’s heads. That’s no small feat.”

“And you convinced me to do the plumbing for a bunch of those houses,” Jake added. “Now
that’s
talent—to get a plumber to work on a Saturday during football season.”

Trish closed her workbook. “I know we should focus on our study, but I can’t concentrate until we get this out of the way.” She slowly removed her baseball cap.

Cooper stared at the patches of pink skin peeking through the limp hair on Trish’s head. “It’s awful, isn’t it? I look like a soccer ball.” Her voice trembled and Bryant took her hand in his.

“You’re going to be the most gorgeous bald woman in all of Richmond,” he whispered.

Bryant then got up, fetched his electric clippers from the kitchen, and returned with a dining room chair. Nathan and Jake spread out two large Hefty bags in the center of the floor and placed the chair on top of them.

Quinton got a towel from the downstairs bathroom and motioned at the chair. “Your seat awaits you, milady. Bryant’s Beauty Boutique is open for business.”

Nodding, Trish moved to the chair. Quinton covered her shoulders with the towel and then kissed her on the cheek. He closed the towel at her neck using a plastic snack bag clip and then backed up, giving Bryant space to work. Not for the first time, Cooper thought about what a caring and wonderful husband Quinton would make.

“I’m scared!” Trish cried.

Cooper longed to remove her friend’s fear. “Do you want me to read something aloud?”

“That would be nice. How about a little Samson and Delilah? That seems appropriate.” Trish’s attempted laugh came out sounding like a strangled sob.

Opening her Bible to Judges, Cooper kept her voice soft and level as she recited Samson’s victories over the Philistines. “‘See if you can lure him into showing you the secret of his great strength and how we can overpower him so we may tie him up and subdue him. Each one of us will give you eleven hundred shekels of silver.’”

“Damn those shekels of silver!” Jake called over the sound of the buzzer.

Cooper glanced up and was momentarily distracted by the locks of Trish’s red hair raining to the ground. She returned to the narrative, bringing Delilah’s passionate pleas to learn the source of Samson’s strength to life with her voice.

“‘Having put him to sleep on her lap, she called a man to shave off the seven braids of his hair, and so began to subdue him. And his strength left him.’” Cooper paused, concerned over the negative wording of the latter phrase.

Nathan stooped down in front of Trish and smiled. “Good thing
your
strength is elsewhere, huh?”

Trish nodded.

“Sit still, woman!” Jake commanded. “Your barber isn’t that skilled. He might shave off one of your eyebrows.”

Bryant turned off the clippers and began to gently brush stray hairs from Trish’s neck and shoulders. “Ready?” he whispered in her ear and then pressed a hand mirror into her palm.

As Trish raised the mirror and stared at her reflection, her friends held a collective breath.

Trish raised a shaking hand to her head and stroked the bristles on her scalp. Her lower lip trembled, but she could not hold back the force of her grief. “Oh, God!” she called out in pain and then buried her face in the hair-covered towel.

Jake jumped to his feet. “Come on now! You have all those fancy wigs to wear!” He raced from the room and returned, modeling a strawberry-blonde wig that fell in shiny waves past his shoulders.

Hesitating, Trish raised her head and watched as Jake sashayed into the room, his hips swaying from side to side. “Y’all can just call me Jane Fonda.” Taking Bryant’s arm in his, Jake batted his eyelashes at the meteorologist. “
You
can call me
Miss
Fonda, you sexy thang.” He then sauntered over to Quinton and sat right on his lap. Toying with Quinton’s bow tie, Jake flicked a lock of hair over his shoulders and whispered huskily, “And
you
can call me Barbarella, big boy.”

Nathan followed Jake’s lead and popped on another long wig in a deeper shade of red. “Do I look like a Desperate Housewife?” he asked coquettishly, tying on an apron from Trish’s pantry. “Come on, Jane. Let’s aerobicize and then make some cupcakes!”

“Good thinkin’, Bree! We can stir a bunch of vodka into the batter!” Jake trilled.

Suddenly, the two bewigged men were doing jumping jacks and leg kicks. Their hair flew wildly about their faces as they grunted with exertion. Trish’s quivering mouth curved up into a smile. By the time the men began a series of frenzied abdominal crunches, everyone was laughing. Trish even put down the mirror and relocated to her former place on the sofa.

Cooper took the opportunity to remove the Hefty bags from the center of the room and carry them to the trash can in the garage. As Nathan removed the “barber’s chair,” she handed Trish the lavender hat and scarf set she’d bought the day before.

“To keep you warm.” She hugged her friend tightly. Trish tried on the hat and examined herself once again in the mirror. She then wrapped the scarf in a fashionable knot at the base of her neck.

            “I knew you could get me through this moment.” Trish smiled gratefully at the Sunrise members. “Laughter is definitely the best medicine, but knowing I can count on your friendship is what will carry me through the next round of treatments, the next dose of fear.” She sighed. “I’m just grateful that the rest of you haven’t had to experience a week as bad as mine!”

Nathan and Cooper exchanged rapid glances, but they weren’t quick enough to escape Jake’s notice.

“What was that?” he demanded. “You two have something to tell us?”

Knowing that it would be a great relief to share the burden of Miguel’s death with her closest friends, Cooper sat down on the carpet and quietly told them about what had happened Monday night.

Trish gave Cooper an apologetic look. “I take it back. Your experience was much worse than mine.”

 “It seems like the case is already growing cold,” Cooper said. “And because I saw Miguel’s body, I feel like I owe him something. He doesn’t appear to have any family—there’s no one to mourn him or to ensure that justice is done on his behalf.” She exhaled, realizing how forcefully she’d been speaking.

Savannah glanced in Cooper’s direction. “Bearing witness to this young man’s death has taken its toll on you. I can hear it in your voice.”

“It has,” Cooper confessed. “And on my sister, too.”

Bryant pushed chips around on his plate. “Maybe the police will come up with fresh leads this week.”

Cooper’s eyes flashed.
“Maybe
isn’t good enough. I wasn’t sure if it was my place to get mixed up in Miguel’s case, but now I think it’s the right thing to do, and I’d like your help. We’ve conducted investigations before and have made a difference. We can make a difference again, I’m sure of it.”

“The first thing to do is to get to know who this Miguel fellow was,” Jake said. “Sounds like nobody has a real line on the guy.”

Quinton nodded in agreement. “If we could see where he lived, give his financial records a solid going-over, find out what his hobbies were . . .”

“We might discover who wanted to hurt him,” Nathan finished.

Trish sat up straighter on the sofa. “I can get you into his house, no matter where it is. I think that’s where we should start. You can tell a great deal about a person by going through their drawers.” She flushed. “Not that I’d ever do that.”

Bryant shot her a worried look. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

 “I listened to Pastor Matthews’s sermons via podcast. Like he says, we’re being called to act. This group. Right here. Right now.” She jabbed a throw pillow for emphasis.

 “That’s exactly how I feel,” Cooper said. “Something outside of myself is telling me not to let this go.”

Quinton toyed with the gold ring on his right ring finger. “I’m in. Just let me get some dessert before we start the planning and scheming part of the afternoon.”

The others echoed his sentiments and joined Quinton in the kitchen to be served one of his peanut butter cup brownies. Cooper was too full from the half bag of Fritos she’d eaten to have dessert, so she was the only person in the room when Savannah spoke.

“Cooper.” Savannah placed her palms on the worn, supple cover of her Bible. “I find it very interesting that Edward Crosby is part of this story. I doubt his being there that night was pure coincidence.”

Reddening, Cooper gazed out the window into Trish’s enclosed backyard, where bowed forsythia branches leaned over the brown-speckled grass. Cooper could easily imagine how well the yellow flowers would show against the backdrop of red brick come springtime.

What will Edward Crosby bloom into?
she wondered and then turned back to Savannah.

“I have a feeling I’ll be seeing him again,” she said. “Though how Edward can help us is a mystery to me.”

Savannah smiled. “Have you ever considered that
you
might be the one helping
him
?”

6

Within two days, Trish had secured an appointment to view the empty apartment directly above Miguel’s. Since they couldn’t directly ask to see Miguel’s place, Cooper had had to concoct an elaborate plan to get close to his unit. Ashley had made their scheming easier by providing her with Miguel’s apartment number and had also agreed to hand over a copy of the young man’s file. The two sisters met for lunch at their favorite Japanese restaurant in order to conduct the exchange.

After ordering the businessman’s box lunch, a hearty sampling of sesame chicken, fried rice, vegetable tempura, six California rolls, and a halved orange, Ashley slid the file across the table, careful to avoid spilling the pottery tumblers of hot green tea. Cooper noted that her sister had elected to wear a lined trench coat instead of one of her warmer jackets.

“What? No sunglasses? No pen that shoots laser beams?” Cooper teased, but Ashley was not amused.

“Lincoln specifically asked me to stay out of this affair, and even though I can’t forget about Miguel Ramos, I can at least feel rotten about deceiving my husband.”

Cooper waited until their waitress had delivered bowls of salad in sweet ginger dressing before speaking. “You need to tell Lincoln how you feel, Ashley. You two have been brought together by Miguel’s death—don’t let that fade away. Be honest with him.”

Ashley shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Lincoln’s really stressed at work right now. His daddy’s breathing down his neck over the salary he’s paying the finance manager he hired back in October. What Lincoln needs is a quiet and welcoming home environment, and it’s my duty to give him that. After all, he hasn’t discovered shopping therapy.” She opened the neck of her coat to reveal a stunning silver and turquoise necklace. The chunky stones highlighted Ashley’s cerulean blue eyes and her halo of blonde hair. As usual, her skin was flawless and smooth—every attractive feature accentuated by the skilled application of costly makeup.

Pushing her empty salad bowl to the side, Cooper took a sip of hot tea and tried to wrestle down her anger. She failed. “Then do as Lincoln asks and forget about the case! The Sunrise members will handle it. Go back to your stores and your tennis league and your benefits. Forget that you ever found a dead man in your garage.” Cooper hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but her sister’s ambivalence was infuriating.

“If you were married, you’d understand that there’s give-and-take involved between spouses!” Ashley snapped, jabbing at a tomato wedge with her chopstick and pointing it threateningly at Cooper. “I will help you any way I can, but I am
not
going to feel guilty for protecting my marriage or for moving on with my life!”

The sisters glowered at one another until the lacquered lunch trays arrived. It was difficult to be cross when presented with such an artistic arrangement of delicious food. Cooper picked up the rose sculptured from paper-thin slices of ginger and brought it to her nose. “Let’s call a truce. We won’t get anywhere bickering.” She inhaled the heady fragrance of the spice and then gazed at her sister. “Did anything in this folder catch your eye?”

“There’s not much there,” Ashley replied after a punishing pause. “The standard hiring documents. Interview notes. A glowing recommendation letter from Miguel’s former employer. And all the identification papers, which we now know are forged.”

Swallowing a savory mouthful of potato tempura, Cooper frowned. “Doesn’t sound very promising. I hope Miguel’s apartment reveals a bit more about his life.”

“There’s one thing you won’t find in the folder.” Ashley sprinkled low-salt soy sauce over her rice. “Apparently, every mechanic and lot attendant gets a nickname within the first few days of working at the dealership. After talking to his employees, Lincoln found out that Miguel’s was
abeja,
which is Spanish for ‘bee.’”

“Why? Because he worked so hard?” Cooper asked.

“No. According to Lincoln, the veteran mechanics usually come up with the nicknames, but Miguel informed them that he already had one. He said that he used to be called
ardilla,
or squirrel, but that he had traded in his bushy tail for a stinger.” She shrugged. “The guys got a big kick out of this and made so many lewd jokes over the whole stinger thing that Miguel got really mad. It was the only time they ever saw him riled up, so maybe his pride over this nickname is significant.”

“Let’s think about this,” Cooper said. “What’s the difference between the two creatures?”

Ashley shifted rice around in the bowl. “Pretty much everything. One’s an animal. One’s an insect. Squirrels like nuts. Bees make honey. I don’t see how this is important.”