The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (27 page)

“Mr. Wilburson, where was that picture taken?” She pointed, and Lewis turned to look. He rose and let his gaze linger on the photo before handing it to Cooper.

“That was at her family’s vacation home on Lake St. Clair. It was passed down through her father’s side for generations.”

“It looks nice.”

“Sylvia came from a lot of money. Rich. A gambler’s dream girl. By the end of our marriage, that house was all that was left of her family’s fortune.”

Cooper’s eyes widened. Before doing her Internet research she hadn’t realized just how much money Sylvia’s family had. Now she had a good idea of the vast wealth of the Cassels. “You gambled it
all
away?” She instantly regretted the tone she used.

Lewis didn’t seem to notice. He just nodded. “That’s what happens when a girl like that marries a guy like me.”

“May I ask a rather rude question?”

“You be rude? Really? If you think barging into my house and interrogating me has been the
polite
way to do things, I’m afraid to hear what you think is
rude.”

“I know Sylvia didn’t have much, but who gets her estate now? Who inherits?”

“Ah. Sylvia was an only child. We have no children. She had no family left to speak of.”

“What about a will? Did she leave anything to anyone else?”

Lewis rose and disappeared into the hallway. He emerged a few minutes later with a large envelope. “This is a copy of Sylvia’s will. Whatever she had left is mine. Go ahead, you can take it.”

“Why would she leave her family estate to her ex-husband?” Cooper asked. “If you don’t mind my asking . . .”

“I do, but I have a feeling you’ll be back at my door if I don’t answer. When we were married, Sylvia always tried to fix me . . . help me change . . . to be a better man. Even before I got in too deep, she saw me as a project. After the divorce, she didn’t stop. Abbi told her she was just enabling me, but Sylvia didn’t listen.”

“But she divorced you. She obviously knew there was a problem she couldn’t fix.”

Lewis shook his head. “Sylvia had her moments of stubbornness—the move from Detroit, the divorce. She’d start on the right path and then revert back to her old ways. When push came to shove, she couldn’t stand the idea of me being lost and alone. I’m ashamed to say I used that to my advantage. Sylvia would swear she was through helping me, but the very next time I was in trouble, I’d beg for help, and she’d cave. If I were half the man she deserved, I’d have stopped asking for money the second the divorce went through, but I think we both know I’m not anywhere near half the man she deserved.”

“So leaving the estate to you was Sylvia’s last-ditch effort to help you get out of your gambling debts.”

“It’s the kind of woman she was . . . Probably did more harm than good to both of us, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

He started for the door.

“Don’t you want the will back?” Cooper asked.

“Like I said, it’s a copy. I’d rather be rid of it than have to see you again.”

“If you dislike me so much, why did you tell me about your past with Borreo?”

Lewis sighed. “I’m a gambler, Ms. Lee. Always have been, always will be. It’s my nature. I bet on Sylvia, and she bet on me, and for a while, we were both winners. Every good winning streak comes to an end. Believe it or not, I never wanted to hurt her in life, and I’m certainly not going to let you ruin her reputation in death. If some of my muddy past needs to come out to keep her good name intact, then . . . Well, I guess that’s all I can do.”

He opened the door to let her out.

“Thanks for the information,” she said.

“You can thank me by staying away.” Lewis closed the door behind her, and she heard the dead bolt slide into place.

For a moment, Cooper stood on the front porch, wishing she’d been able to dig deeper. Lewis obviously knew more about John Borreo than he’d shared, but obviously Cooper had gotten all the information Lewis was willing to give. Slowly, she walked toward her truck, took the key from her pocket and drove away.

She was so deep in thought that she’d been on the road a good fifteen minutes before she realized she was missing something.

“Oh, no,” she groaned. “My purse.” It was still sitting on the floor by Lewis’s couch. She turned around and headed back. “So much for keeping my distance.”

A half hour after she’d left Lewis’s house, she was back again. The sun had set completely, and the moon cast an eerie glow over his home. The decrepit house might as well have been haunted.

Cooper tried to stay calm.
Great inspiration for my birdhouse,
she thought.
Dead plants, empty planters, broken boards.
She gulped.
Just inspiration. That’s all it is. Nothing to be scared of.

She knocked on the door, announcing herself as she did so. “Mr. Wilburson? It’s me again. Look, I know you don’t want to talk, and I don’t blame you, but I need my purse. I left it by your couch.”

A few seconds of silence passed and then she knocked again. “Mr. Wilburson, I know you’re there! If you could just pass my purse out the door, I’ll be on my way.”

Still nothing. Cooper tentatively tried the doorknob, and to her surprise, the door cracked open.

“I thought I heard him slide the dead bolt,” she said quietly. Then she called out, “Mr. Wilburson, your door is unlocked, so I’m coming in. I’m getting my purse and then leaving. All right?”

She pushed the door open the rest of the way. Yes, she was sure he’d fastened the dead bolt after she’d left.

Cooper wished she hadn’t come alone. “Mr. Wilburson? Lewis?”

She tiptoed into the living room and found her purse sitting right where she’d left it. She looked around the room for any sign of Lewis. His car was still in the driveway; he couldn’t have simply disappeared.

Purse in hand, Cooper crept to the kitchen, following the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Perhaps Lewis was enjoying his coffee so much that he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he was on the phone or listening to music.

But none of those things was true. As Cooper walked into the kitchen she saw Lewis’s body on the floor, surrounded by blood.

14

Cooper waited in her truck until she heard the sirens. She met Inspector McNamara and Officer Brayden at the front door. Silently, they followed her inside to the kitchen where Lewis lay.

McNamara knelt beside the body. “Looks like he’s been stabbed . . . a lot.”

Cooper gulped back a wave of nausea, overcome by all the blood. “The same as Sylvia,” she managed to squeak.

“Did you touch anything?”

“I checked for a pulse. That’s all.”

“What I’m asking is, will we find your fingerprints anywhere else?”

Cooper nodded. “Not in the kitchen I don’t think, but in the living room you probably will.”

McNamara stood and whispered to one of his officers before turning back to Cooper. “Officer Brayden will take your statement . . . in the other room. You don’t need to stay here and watch.”

Brayden took Cooper by the elbow and gently led her to the couch. For a few minutes, they sat without speaking while Cooper tried to organize her racing thoughts. Not an hour ago Lewis had been alive. Not an hour ago, she’d seen him and talked with him. It felt like a lifetime ago. For Lewis, it had been a lifetime ago.

“Ms. Lee, I’m sorry, but we need to get this sorted out,” Officer Brayden said softly. “What were you doing here?”

Cooper began slowly. “I came to see Lewis.”

“Why?”

“He’s Sylvia’s ex-husband. I thought he might know something.”

“About Sylvia’s death?”

Cooper nodded.

“You know, it’s not your job to investigate her murder.” Officer Brayden put his hand on hers. “This is something you don’t need to deal with. That’s my job and Inspector McNamara’s job.”

“I know, but . . .”

“But you like to fix things.”

“Yes. I felt like I needed to do something to help. After all, Sylvia was killed in my pastor’s office at my church, and I knew who she was. I just came to see Lewis because I thought he might be able to help.”

“And did you learn anything?”

“Maybe. When Sylvia was in Detroit she taught at a prep school attended by the son of a mobster, a man named Borreo. Borreo went into hiding, and immediately thereafter, Sylvia and Lewis moved from Detroit to Richmond.”

“Are you saying you believe Sylvia was involved with the mob?”

“No, but Lewis was. He worked at a racetrack owned and operated by Borreo, before being fired because of a gambling problem that got out of hand.”

A skeptical smile appeared on Officer Brayden’s lips. “Ms. Lee, I appreciate you wanting to help, but do you really think a mobster in hiding came out of hiding to murder an art teacher and her gambler ex-husband?”

“It may not be all that far-fetched,” Inspector McNamara announced from the doorway. She turned as he continued. “My brother was FBI before he retired and he loves to shares his stories about the ‘good old days,’ when he was cracking down on organized crime. He talks a lot about tracking down scouts.”

Cooper listened with interest. Could it be true that she was on the right track? “What’s a scout?”

“High-profile mobsters don’t like to live in sewers, waiting for the police to go away; they take on a new identity and relocate. But they need to find a safe place to relocate to, a place they haven’t lived before, a place where they’re not known.”

“So they send scouts to find the perfect location,” Cooper concluded. “Do you think Lewis could have been a scout?”

“I heard what you told Officer Brayden,” McNamara began. “You said Lewis had ties to this Borreo fellow, and he had a gambling problem. If he was indebted to Borreo, Lewis might have become a scout in exchange for having his debts forgiven.”

Cooper snapped her fingers. “Abbi did say that Sylvia and Lewis had money in the bank once they moved. And it sounded like it happened overnight . . . They went from having nothing because Lewis gambled it all away to being on firm financial footing.”

“I assume you’re referring to Abbi Merken, Sylvia’s friend.”

“Have you talked to her?”

McNamara gave her a look. “Of course
I’ve
talked to her. I’m a policeman. That’s my job. Why were you talking to her?”

Cooper hesitated, and McNamara put up his hands to stop her from answering. “Never mind,” he said. “I don’t want to know today. Ms. Merken didn’t tell us that part—about money in the bank.”

“She probably felt more comfortable talking to Trish and me.”

“Humph.”

Cooper turned her attention to Officer Brayden. “Could that be the solution? Lewis was a scout. Sylvia was collateral damage for his being involved with the mob?”

“I doubt it’s that simple,” Brayden replied. “But it might be a place to start. I’m not sure . . .”

He was interrupted by a very loud Inspector McNamara, shouting into his phone to an underling back at the station. “I need you to pull everything we have on this . . . uh . . . uh.” He put his hand over the receiver. “Brayden, the fellow in the kitchen?”

Brayden mouthed, “Lewis Wilburson.”

“Right, pull everything we have on Lewis Wilburson. And I also need you to find everything you can on uh . . . Brayden, the mobster?”

“John Borreo.”

“Yes, John Borreo. News stories, police reports, anything you can get your hands on. And if that’s not enough, give my brother a call. I’m sure he’d relish telling more stories.” He continued to speak as he walked away, leaving Cooper with Officer Brayden.

“He’s stressed,” Brayden commented when the inspector was out of earshot.

Cooper sighed and rubbed her temples. “That makes two of us.” She felt a warm, strong hand against her back, rubbing softly between her shoulder blades. Cooper tensed even more and moved away, her lips pursed stubbornly. She didn’t want to give Brayden the wrong idea.

“Why don’t you go home?” he suggested, his voice low and tender. “Get some rest. Try not to think about Lewis. We’ll take it from here.”

Cooper lingered for another moment, confused and embarrassed. Then she rose, shook his hand and left.

• • •

Cooper couldn’t eat dinner that evening, even though Ms. Donna was truly pleasant company. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about what had happened, especially not over the dinner table. She managed to tell everyone that Lewis was dead, but she didn’t tell them how or that she’d seen the body. That was as far from polite conversation as it gets.

Once again she couldn’t sleep. She tried to take Brayden’s advice; she tried not to think about Lewis, but it was impossible. She’d seen him covered in his own blood. His image was burned into her brain just as surely as was Sylvia’s. She’d never forget either of them.

Since tea had helped quiet her nerves the night before, she headed down to the kitchen again, hoping there was still some chamomile left.

She found Ms. Donna by the teakettle, the same as last night.

“So we meet again,” Ms. Donna said, smiling over her own tea. “You didn’t talk much over dinner. Is everything all right?”

“All this death is just . . . getting to me.”

“Did you know Lewis well?”

Cooper shook her head. She retrieved a mug and chamomile tea bag and put more water in the kettle.

Ms. Donna sipped her tea, watching Cooper. “You saw, didn’t you.”

Cooper paused and turned to Ms. Donna. “How did you know?”

“I see it in your eyes. Death leaves a mark, and if you know what to look for, you can tell when someone has looked on death recently. You saw his body.”

“I found his body.”

Ms. Donna, wide-eyed, set aside her cup and hugged Cooper, just as Cooper had hugged her the night before. “I’m sorry you had to see him. Was it bad?”

“He was killed the same way Sylvia was. It was pretty bloody.”

“Sweetie, what were you doing discovering a dead body?”

Cooper couldn’t help but smile. “That’s a funny question coming from you. You’re the one who originally discovered Sylvia. And you’re going to ask me what I was doing?”

“We both know what
I
was doing when I found Sylvia.” Cooper arched a brow, but Ms. Donna waved her hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Hypothetical and theoretical and blah, blah blah. We still both know what I was doing. How on earth were you in a position to come upon a corpse?”