The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (12 page)

Cooper forced a smile.
Pregnancy hormones,
she told herself.
Just pregnancy hormones
. “I’m sorry, Ash. I didn’t mean it that way. What I mean is that I can see how much it’s affecting you . . .”

A fresh stream of tears gushed onto Ashley’s cheeks. “Oh, Coop, you don’t know the half of it! It’s horrible! I’m so glad you’re here with me . . . And you, too, Nathan.”

Nathan smiled and took her hand for just a moment. While Ashley thanked him and Cooper in greater detail, he said nothing, but simply continued to smile and nod. There was nothing he could do to improve the situation. If he said anything, he might get yelled at, and he knew it. Nathan really was a very smart man.

Rhonda returned to the room, all smiles. “Well, this is an exciting evening!”

“That’s one way to put it,” Cooper said. “Is everything all right?”

The nurse nodded. “Dr. Birnbaum just wanted to make sure he and I were on the same page as far as Mrs. Love’s care is concerned.” She met Ashley’s gaze. “We want to do everything we can to make sure you and your baby are as safe and healthy as possible. That means bed rest.”

In another surprising transformation, Ashley sat a little taller, a maturity in her expression that Cooper hadn’t seen before. She took a deep breath. “As long as my baby’s going to be all right.”

Cooper leaned over and put her arms around Ashley as best she could. “You’re gonna make a great mom, Ash.”

Ashley returned the embrace. “I’m terrified.”

“I know you are. But you’re still gonna do a great job.”

Ashley laid her head back on her pillow. “As much as I hate to admit it, I do need some rest. Coop?”

“What is it?”

“Would you mind waiting here until Lincoln gets home?”

Cooper smiled. “I was already planning on staying, whether you wanted me here or not.” She gave Ashley a kiss on top of the head and walked with Nathan to the living room. When they were situated on the couch, she turned to him. “Do you mind staying?”

Nathan put his arm around her. “Not at all.”

“Thanks for coming tonight. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

“I’m just glad I could be here.”

Cooper sighed and let herself relax in Nathan’s embrace, her earlier disappointment overshadowed by what Rhonda had called “an exciting evening.”

“I still think of her as my little sis, you know?” Cooper said. “Immature and kind of bratty, but . . . She’s grown up. Just in the last few months, even, the last few minutes. She went from being concerned only about herself to being willing to do anything for the sake of her baby.” Cooper paused and looked up into Nathan’s face. “I’m proud of her.”

“You should tell her that. It’d mean a lot to her, coming from you.”

“I’ll wait until her hormones are a little more stable,” Cooper replied with a smile. “If I tell her I’m proud now, she might be happy, she might be sad, she might want to hurt me . . .”

“Then I think it’s a good idea to wait . . . You know, before we left the yogurt place, you started to say something. Sounded like it was important.”

Cooper tried to remember the eloquent speech she’d composed in her mind, but the words were all jumbled up after the call from Ashley. Besides that, she wanted to be cool and rational when she and Nathan had “the talk,” and now that she was thinking of children and pregnancy, she was already on the verge of tears.

She shook her head. “I’m too tired to think now. It can wait.”

• • •

The Hope Street Christian Academy parking lot was already filling up by the time Cooper arrived, and she was twenty or so minutes early. She wore black dress slacks and a blouse emblazoned with brushstrokes of color. It seemed a fitting way to honor Sylvia. Cooper stepped out of her truck, smoothed her clothes and hair, and took a deep breath. Events such as this were necessary and helpful to those grieving, but they were never easy. Tonight was sure to be exhausting, so Cooper prayed that she’d have the strength to encourage those who needed it most.

Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she made her way to the candle-lit path that began where the parking lot and sidewalk met and led to the main entrance to the school. The varying colors of the tea candle holders gave an artistic, if somber, ambiance to the entryway. Pastor Matthews stood at the door, greeting each mourner as they entered. Phillip Tyler, Trish’s husband, stood with him. Both were appropriately attired in dark suits, their expressions an appropriate blend of sadness and peace. Phillip, an elder at Hope Street Church, said nothing to the guests. Cooper assumed his presence was more for Pastor Matthews’s sake.

When Cooper reached the door, she greeted Pastor Matthews with a warm embrace and Phillip with a firm handshake.

“I’m glad you were able to make it,” the pastor said slowly. He forced a gentle smile, but his eyes betrayed his fatigue. “Everything’s set up in Ms. Cassel’s room. Just follow the candles. If you’d rather, some of the teachers and students are in the church chapel. You’re welcome to join them.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

He shook his head. “You and the other Hope Street people being here is enough. We can really celebrate Sylvia’s life.”

The hallway lights were dimmed so that the candles marking the path were more distinct. At each turn in the hall there stood an easel with a Hope Street yearbook photo, every one of them including Sylvia. The glow of candlelight danced on the lockers and bulletin boards. Entranced by the light and the mood, Cooper accidentally kicked one of the little tea candles over. She bent down to put it upright before the flame caught the carpet, only to find that it wasn’t a real candle at all. It was battery-operated. She made a mental note to thank Pastor Matthews later for his forethought in safety . . . anything to encourage him through this difficult time.

When the candle was again in its place, Cooper continued toward Sylvia’s room. Parents and students huddled in groups of three and four, speaking in hushed tones in the dim light, away from the room full of people. Cooper tried to hear their whispered conversations as she passed, wondering what drew them out of the classroom and into the hallway. Cooper hadn’t known Sylvia, but if she were mourning the loss of a friend tonight, she’d want to be around people, around friends and family, not hiding away from the group.

Everyone grieves in their own way,
Cooper reminded herself as she came to the classroom.
There is no one right way to mourn
.

Cooper stepped out of the hallway and into the room, which was a stark contrast to the hall. Inside, the overhead lights were on and bright. People spoke at a normal volume, and while all the voices were sorrowful, they also held some degree of hope. Rather than easels with dark pictures bathed in candlelight, the walls were nearly covered in Sylvia’s artwork and that of her students—watercolors, sketches, still life photographs and oil paintings. It was a true tribute to who Sylvia was, who she had been and how much her students loved her.

The desks had been moved out of the room and chairs were placed along the wall, leaving the middle of the room for mingling. A coffeemaker sat brewing on a table beside the door, accompanied by a bakery box of muffins and all the necessary coffee accoutrements.

At the front of the classroom, beside the chalkboard, was a second table, draped in a clean white cloth. A large photograph of Sylvia served as the centerpiece, set between two tall white candles—real candles. The photo depicted Sylvia wrapped in a heavy green shawl, her red hair blowing in a strong wind and two dimples deep in her cheeks from a broad smile. She stood before a magnificent brick house, two stories high, with a body of water stretching out behind it. She looked so happy, so full of life.

A guest book was opened in front of the photo, signed by mourners, many of whom wrote a note about Sylvia’s impact on them or their children. Cooper considered writing something meaningful, but in the end only signed her name. She hadn’t known Sylvia well enough to write more.

The art room—one of the school’s larger classrooms—was filled to capacity with parents, teachers, students and friends. There had to be at least seventy people in the classroom and hallway, plus an unknown number in the church chapel. And it was still fifteen minutes before the celebration was scheduled to begin. Despite the stifling space, Cooper was glad to see such a good turnout. It was plain to see that Sylvia Cassel had touched many lives, and those influenced by her were ready to celebrate the woman they’d known.

Cooper looked around, seeking a familiar face. She spotted the Sunrise Bible Study members in the corner, sitting together and talking over coffee and muffins. She made her way through the crowd to join them.

Trish was the first to spot her and waved the end of her yellow scarf in greeting. She wore a blue fedora and a gray pant suit, which Cooper recognized from Trish’s real estate ads all over town. Beside Trish was Savannah, her hair down on her shoulders, draped over the wide neck of her long black chemise. Jake stood nearby in blue jeans, a work shirt and blazer, fiddling with his tie. Bryant and Quinton, both clad in dark suits, book-ended the group, each holding a snack plate with a couple muffins. One by one, as they saw Cooper approach, they met her gaze and smiled.

“Good to see you,” Trish greeted her. “Even under the circumstances.”

Cooper glanced over her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting so many people.”

“Sylvia was a blessing to many,” Savannah replied. She took Jake’s hand. “Gives me something to aspire to.”

Jake lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “If only you knew how many people were blessed by you every day.”

Cooper smiled at the warmth of the exchange. “I agree with Jake. And as for the crowd, I’m glad they all came out to spend time together in honor of Sylvia’s life. I saw Phillip outside with Pastor Matthews.”

Trish nodded. “He’s been the pastor’s right-hand man through a lot of this. Everyone at the school is being questioned, so Pastor Matthews doesn’t feel like he can ask any of them for help. Phillip volunteered to assist the pastor as much as he can.”

“He’s a good man,” Quinton declared through a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

“Which?” Bryant asked. “The pastor or Trish’s husband?”

“Both.”

Cooper looked around the room once more. “Has anyone seen Nathan?”

Jake shook his head. “Nope. Is he coming tonight?”

“He said he’d be here. Of course, he also said he’d be late, and . . .” Cooper looked at her watch. “We’ve still got some time before the celebration officially starts.”

Savannah stood. “In that case, may I suggest we all mingle and spread some joy amid the sorrow?”

Bryant looked down at his now-empty snack plate. “I think I’ll go mingle with the food table.”

After Trish delivered a swift elbow to his ribs, Bryant grunted and amended himself. “That is, I think I’ll visit the food table by way of mingling and spreading joy amid the sorrow.”

The group separated and meandered in different directions. Cooper slowly went back toward the front of the room, to the table with the photograph and the guest book. She studied the chalkboard, which had become a canvas for Sylvia’s art students. As Cooper looked on, a girl twelve or thirteen years old walked up to the board and began to draw a flower. But it wasn’t a simple flower with a circle in the center and five bulging petals. It was a perfect rose, just beginning to unfurl.

After watching for a few minutes, Cooper went up to the girl. “That’s impressive. Did Ms. Cassel teach you how to do that?”

The girl nodded. “I always liked to draw, but my mom was never much into art. I was always embarrassed by it. I thought it was a . . . a silly thing to do.” The girl looked over her shoulder at a woman speaking to a group of adults. One of the women—apparently her mother—returned the look before continuing her conversation with the other adults. “My mom still doesn’t get it, but Ms. Cassel did. So I’m trying to . . . not be embarrassed.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Cooper said, smiling at the girl. “You should be proud. You have a wonderful gift.”

The girl smiled. “Did you know Ms. Cassel?”

“Not very well, but we met, and I thought she seemed very nice. How long was she your teacher?”

“Two years.” The girl bowed her head. “Who knows who I’ll have now . . .”

“Don’t worry. Pastor Matthews hired Ms. Cassel. He’ll find another great teacher.”

“Sure he will,” the girl said. “But I won’t be here. My mom’s transferring me to a charter school.”

Cooper glanced back at the girl’s mother. “Why?”

“She says she doesn’t feel like I’m safe here anymore. My teacher was killed, and the police don’t know who did it. Tonight’s the last night I’ll ever be in this room.” The girl sniffed and quickly wiped away a tear. “I’m gonna miss it.”

Cooper ducked down so she was nearer the girl’s height. “Wherever you go, you’re still an artist, and nobody can take that from you. And trust me, life gets so much better after junior high and high school. Don’t let transferring schools get you down too much. Tonight, just remember Ms. Cassel and what a blessing she was for you.”

The girl nodded gratefully, turned back to her chalk picture and began to shade the rose petals.

Cooper turned away, ready to mingle with the grown-ups in the room, when two familiar faces caught her eye, two faces she hadn’t expected to see.

“Inspector McNamara?” she asked, going to them. “And Officer Brayden?”

Officer Brayden grinned. “It’s just Will tonight, Ms. Lee.”

“And I’m Cooper.”

McNamara adjusted his sport coat. “I’m still
Inspector.”

“Well, Inspector, I hadn’t planned on seeing you here tonight, either of you.”

“My niece is a student here,” McNamara replied. “I wanted to show my support for her so she knows that, even though this is a murder investigation, I do care about the people involved. However, I came straight here from the precinct and didn’t have a chance to eat anything. If you’ll excuse me, I’m headed over to those muffins.”

Left alone with Will Brayden, Cooper wasn’t sure what to say. She was ready to excuse herself, too, when he spoke.