The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (18 page)

“True. What names have you narrowed it down to?”

“If it’s a boy, we’re thinking he needs a good strong name, like his daddy’s. I’m a fan of Jefferson, but Lincoln doesn’t want to start a trend of being too presidential. Then there’s Ethan and Brandon. I like Brandon Jefferson Love myself, but I haven’t quite convinced Lincoln. We’ve narrowed down the girl’s names to three, also. Amy and Madison . . . But Madison is still too presidential . . . My favorite is Hannah.”

“I like it,” Cooper said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “What about Cooper Madison Love? Has a nice ring to it.”

Grammy cackled. “And if it’s a boy? Are you still gonna push for the name Cooper then?”

Cooper shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

For the next two hours, they laughed and talked and laughed some more, until Lincoln arrived. He was expecting to see Cooper. What he found was the entire Lee clan.

“Well, well, what’s this?” he asked as he entered the master bedroom. “Looks like I missed a party.”

Ashley waved him over and gave him a big hug. “They surprised me with a family picnic! Isn’t that wonderful!”

Lincoln smiled at Cooper. “That is absolutely wonderful. Thank you.”

Cooper put an arm around his shoulders in a sisterly half hug. “We’re always glad to invade your home, Lincoln. Always.”

Shortly thereafter, the Lee family bade Ashley and Lincoln good-bye and left the couple to relax with several weeks’ worth of leftovers.

As they walked to the car, Maggie wore a contented smile. “That was just lovely. It’s been a while since we had a good family sit-down.”

Grammy sighed. “Once that baby comes, I have a feeling we’ll be eating most every meal together if you and Earl get your way.”

“We’ll
try
to give them their space,” Maggie argued. “I don’t know that we’ll succeed. Don’t tell me you’ll mind if we have your granddaughter and great-grandchild over for dinner regularly . . .”

“Heavens, no! Every day, if you can manage! I’m just itching to see my first great-grandchild, but until then, we ought to have more of them big meal parties. I enjoy a good meal with family and friends.”

“I agree.” Maggie stood in the Loves’ driveway, thinking. “Cooper, why don’t you invite your Bible study for lunch after church this Sunday?”

“You sure?” Cooper asked, counting Bible study members in her head and comparing that to the number of chairs at her parents’ table. “Will there be room?”

“Sure there will be!” Maggie exclaimed. “We’ll pull in a few folding chairs if we have to. Earl!”

Cooper’s daddy snapped his head up from the car’s side mirror, which he’d been polishing with a handkerchief. “Hmm?”

“Earl, this works out just perfect! I can cook that roast you bought on sale.” Maggie put her arm around Cooper. “Your daddy bought a roast big enough to feed the whole church, because he said he got a good deal on it. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to cook it or freeze it, but that’d be a good size for your group! I’ll put it in early, and if you get home in time for a late meal, it ought to be just perfect!”

Cooper couldn’t resist her mother’s enthusiasm. “I think a big lunch sounds great. I’ll let everyone know.”

10

Cooper called the Sunrise Bible Study members as soon as she got home and was glad to hear that everyone was excited for a lunch with her family. They exchanged info about Sylvia—Cooper giving the lowdown on Abbi Merken and Nathan sharing the conversations he, Quinton and Bryant had had with the Hope Street teachers. Unfortunately those conversations hadn’t amounted to much. No one knew of anyone who had a grudge against Sylvia, and they all sincerely missed her.

Cooper was also glad to find that Savannah and Bryant were willing to go with her to visit Sylvia’s ex-husband, Lewis, the following evening.

“I was hoping Nathan could come,” she explained to Savannah, her last phone call of the night. “He’s busy with a client.”

“Nathan’s busy these days,” Savannah replied.

“He did a site for a new frozen yogurt shop, and they’ve referred all their small business associates to him.”

There was a pause before Savannah spoke again. “You sound like you’re not entirely thrilled.”

Cooper took a deep breath. “I’m just . . . concerned.”

“That he’s working too hard?”

“That he’s working so hard because . . . You know what? It doesn’t matter. He’s working. Quinton has baking plans with his girlfriend, and Trish and Phillip have a date night.”

“Good for them!”

“She said they hired a sitter so they have the whole evening to themselves. What about Jake? Is he available?”

“He has work, too, I’m afraid. It seems there’s always some plumbing work that needs to be done.”

“In that case, it looks like it’ll be the three of us—you, me and Bryant. I’ll swing by your place after work.”

“And I’ll check and see if Bryant can meet us here,” Savannah said. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

• • •

Another awkward day of work passed as Cooper tried to find an opportunity to talk with Josh about the work thefts. But the moment never felt right. By mid-afternoon, she gave up for the day and focused solely on her work. As soon as five o’clock rolled around, she bolted, heading toward Savannah’s house. Bryant was already there when she arrived, and he and Savannah were out the door before Cooper had even parked.

“Good to see you,” Bryant said as he opened the passenger door for Savannah. He hopped in the backseat.

“You, too.” Cooper eyed a covered baking dish Savannah held on her lap. “Whatcha got there?”

“I thought a casserole might make a nice icebreaker for when we meet the man,” Savannah replied. “From what you said about him, he may not have many friends who’ll bring him food during his time of mourning. Are you all right, Cooper? You look tired.”

“I, uh. I guess I didn’t tell you guys what’s going on at work.” Cooper backed out of the driveway. “With the whole Ms. Donna situation, I didn’t think about it while I was with you Sunday. Some stuff has gone missing at work, and my boss thinks there’s a thief in our midst.”

“That’s tough,” Bryant said, shaking his head. “Too much theft going on around here, if you ask me.”

“People want more stuff and more money.”

Savannah adjusted one of the air vents. “Sometimes they just fall on hard times and don’t see any other way out.”

“You sound like Mr. Farmer,” Cooper said with a laugh. “He’s convinced there’s a thief, but he’s also convinced whoever it is must have a good reason.”

Bryant poked his head up between the driver and passenger seats. “There’s no good reason to steal from somebody else.”

“I’m not saying there is,” Savannah countered. “But I am saying that folks sometimes don’t realize there’s another way.”

Bryant sat back in his seat. “Well, I’m sorry for what’s going on at work, Coop, but as far as this evening goes, I think we’re off to a good start.”

Cooper glanced back over her shoulder. “How so?”

“You knew Sylvia, so you’ve got an in.”

“I didn’t really
know
her.”

“You knew her better than either of us did. And Savannah’s an artist, like Sylvia was. This Lewis guy may trust her because she has that in common with the woman he lost.”

“Or he may distrust me because of it,” Savannah argued.

“True. That is a possibility. But if he distrusts you, then I’m here.”

“What’s your in?”

“I’ve been married three times. I understand bad marriage and divorce. Whatever his story is, I can empathize, to a degree—his fault, her fault, circumstances beyond their control. I’ve been there and done that.”

Cooper hadn’t thought about it until now, but Bryant was right. Their trio was perfectly suited. “We’ll work him from all angles. Artist, divorcé, acquaintance and casserole. Do you suppose this is how Inspector McNamara interrogates people?”

They laughed in response and then turned up the radio and listened to music all the way across town.

Lewis Wilburson lived in a small one-story with a red-brick edifice that needed a good power washing. His front porch furniture was made of rotting plastic and rusted metal, and the planter under the front window contained only dirt—not even the remains of a plant.

Cooper knocked, making sure Savannah and her casserole were in view of the eye hole in the peeling brown door. If Lewis didn’t want to see people, the food might be their best bet of gaining entry and starting a conversation. Bryant brought up the rear, wearing his classic smile, which made him such a popular meteorologist with the female population of Richmond. After a third bout of knocking, the door opened.

Lewis was a thin man, somewhere between emaciated and healthily slight. He had a scraggly black beard speckled with little bald patches, wide eyes and unkempt black hair with a few streaks of white. He looked utterly shocked to see people on his porch.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice more gruff than Cooper had expected. He looked down at the casserole. “Not buying anything and not interested in giving to no charities.”

He started to shut the door, but Cooper blocked it with her foot. “Are you Lewis Wilburson?”

He studied her through a narrow gaze. “Who are you to be asking about Lewis Wilburson?” He held the door still, ready to slam it as soon as she moved her foot, which she had no intention of doing.

“We’re members of a Bible study at Hope Street Church, which works with Hope Street Christian Academy, where Sylvia worked. We wanted to offer you our condolences.” She glanced at the casserole, hoping to direct Lewis’s attention to it.

Savannah removed the dish’s cover and the smell of homemade chicken pot pie casserole filled the air. “May we come in and talk for a bit?”

Lewis, entranced by the smell, took a long, deep sniff of the air. He licked his lips. “I s’pose if you came all this way . . .” He stood aside and opened the door.

They made their introductions as they entered and then followed Lewis to the living room. The interior of the house was in the same state of disrepair as the outside. At first, Cooper wasn’t sure if Lewis was so distraught over Sylvia’s death that he’d let the housework go, or if he was just a slob. The closer she looked, the more she bet on the latter; the dust and dirt on every surface had been building up for months, possibly even years.

The air was stale and sour, but Cooper, Savannah and Bryant smiled anyway, taking seats on a dusty couch when Lewis bade them sit. He made himself comfortable in a padded rocker beside the fireplace. Photos on the mantel provided the room’s only color and life. Everything else was drab and dirty.

A few uneasy, silent moments passed.

“Thanks for letting us in,” Cooper finally said. “We’re sorry to bother you.”

Lewis replied with a grunt as he rocked in his chair, eyeing each of them in turn. His eyes went back to the casserole, and Cooper wondered if there would be any discussion at all. Lewis’s only interest seemed to be the casserole.

Suddenly, Lewis brightened a little. “Coffee? I was just about to make some.”

His visitors nodded, and he scurried off to the kitchen, but not before Savannah handed him the casserole.

“Wow,” Bryant whispered, glancing around the room. “I was never this bad a housekeeper after a divorce.”

“To be fair,” Savannah said, “this may have nothing to do with the divorce. He was likely a terrible housekeeper from birth.”

“Yeah, but . . .
wow
. How do you live like this?”

Cooper shrugged. “I imagine you get used to it after a while.” The window shades were all closed and filthy. The coffee table was covered in papers—various household bills, letters from friends expressing sorrow at Sylvia’s passing and a pile of advertisements. “Do you think he’ll talk at all? Will he tell us anything useful?”

Lewis returned shortly with four cups of hot coffee. He had a crumb on his chin, evidence that he’d already tasted Savannah’s casserole. Hopefully it would loosen his tongue.

“Ran out of sugar,” he said. “And the milk’s gone sour. Hope you like it black.”

Cooper smiled and took a drink. The coffee was strong and bitter. She forced herself to swallow. “Coffee is coffee, right?”

Lewis drank half his mug in one gulp, with no sign that he found anything wrong with the flavor. Whether it was from the caffeine or the casserole Cooper didn’t know, but Lewis suddenly perked up. He sat taller. His eyes were brighter. And he started to talk. “So you knew Sylvia?”

Cooper cleared her throat to give herself a moment to answer. The last thing she wanted to do here was lie to Lewis’s face now that he was talking. Finally she answered, “I met her at a recent school function, and she was very nice, very amiable.”

Savannah set her cup down on the coffee table. “We saw her artwork in her room. She was very talented.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Lewis said.

Bryant jumped in. “Savannah here is an artist, too, so she really knows what she’s talking about.”

Lewis studied Savannah’s face quizzically. “You’re an artist?”

Savannah smiled and then laughed. “A legally blind artist. I know. It’s like the beginning of a bad joke. But, yes, I’m a folk artist.”

“Well, how do you like that?” Lewis nodded approvingly. “I bet Sylvia would’ve liked to get to know you. She has a soft spot for folk art. Leastwise she did back when I knew her
.
I suppose I don’t know what she had a soft spot for these days.”

“How long had you been married?” Bryant asked. Cooper cringed. It was a personal question out of left field, and she wasn’t sure how well Lewis would handle its intrusive nature. But as Lewis was considering his answer, Bryant added, “I’m a divorcé myself. It’s never easy.”

“You look too young to be divorced,” Lewis replied.

Bryant smiled sheepishly. “Three times.”

“Well, I only had the one, and that was enough for me. We were married for six years. Divorced four years ago, but we were on the rocks for a good long while before.”

Cooper took another drink of her coffee, immediately regretting it. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”