The Way of the Wicked (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 2) (20 page)

The warped wooden planks of the staircase leading up to the back door creaked when Cooper stepped on them. Flinching at the noise, she reached out and turned the flaking brass knob. It rotated, but the door remained firmly closed.

“Is it locked?” Nathan whispered.

Cooper tried the knob again. “I don’t think so. I can turn it clockwise as far as it can go, but the door is stuck to the frame—like it was painted shut.”

“Let me give it a shot.”

Stepping back onto the grass, Cooper watched as Nathan leaned his right shoulder against the door. Holding the knob with his left hand, he slammed his weight against the door. “Ow,” he muttered and then repeated the motion again.

Cooper glanced around nervously. To the west, a curtain of lightning set the sky aglow and then quickly disappeared. A fat raindrop fell onto the crown of her head as Nathan paused to rest.

“I’ve almost got it. Let me try something different.” He placed his foot in the center of the door and gave it a mighty kick. The warped wood splintered at the top corner, the door gave way, and Nathan practically fell forward into the house.

Stale air rushed from inside as they hustled into the shadowy kitchen. Cooper switched on her flashlight and moved around Frank’s metal table and folding chairs, keeping the beam of light pointed at the floor. Even in the minimal brightness it was apparent that every cabinet, drawer, and shelf had been rifled through.

“This place is a mess.” Nathan stepped over a saucepan. “I’d hate to have the cops search my house.”

“They’d probably knock all your action figures out of alphabetical order and damage the original packaging,” Cooper said in a lame attempt at levity. “You’d be in therapy for years.”

She led Nathan from the kitchen to the bedroom, frowning as her flashlight revealed an unmade bed covered with crumpled clothes. A putrid odor filled the room, and Cooper wondered when any of the linens or clothes had last been washed.

“It smells like a men’s locker room in here,” Nathan commented. “I don’t see a rocker. Come on, we should go.”

Cooper grabbed his arm. “Not so fast. The Colonel told me that Frank kept the Civil War sword in his closet.” She passed Nathan the flashlight. “Hold this while I look through these clothes.”

As Cooper rooted through soiled garments and mud-encrusted shoes, she wished she’d thought to bring the work gloves from her toolbox. Every time she shifted a mound of clothes, the stench of spoiled food and body odor assailed her nostrils. In any case, her search was in vain. There was no sword hidden on the floor or among the two moth-holed sweaters or the outdated blazer hanging limply from the wooden rod. The single shelf above the rod contained a few shoe boxes filled with random objects such as yellowed postcards, clip-on ties, Christmas tree ornaments, a belt with cracked brown leather, and an assortment of old magazines.

“The sword is definitely gone.” Cooper backed out of the closet and exited the bedroom. She passed the only bathroom, relieved that there was no need to search there, and returned to the front room, where she’d met Frank Crosby for the first and only time.

She stared at the chair where he’d taken his last breath and noticed a folded newspaper on the floor beneath the seat’s right arm. Bending over, she picked up the page containing the comic strips and word puzzles and saw that the crossword was incomplete. The empty boxes seemed to emphasize the vacant house and the sudden absence of its owner. As she stared at the newspaper in reflective silence, the rain began to patter lightly, almost timidly, against the window and Cooper wished that it would fall with a violence forceful enough to mask her sniffles.

Nathan squeezed her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said without turning toward him.

Composing herself, Cooper made her way to the television set in the corner of the room. The appliance sat on top of a scratched bureau. Next to the chest was a chairlike shape covered by a multicolored afghan. Cooper whipped the blanket from the rocker and beckoned for Nathan to bring the light closer.

She pressed her fingertips into the floral fabric, ignoring the layer of dust as she worked her way across the seat. Finding nothing, she and Nathan upended the rocker and discovered a four-inch piece of brown packing tape covering the upholstery across the back of the chair. Cooper eased the tape away and slipped her hand inside the rent in the material. As she reached deeper, her fingers brushed against a hard edge. The tear grew wider and she winced, but the damage allowed her to grasp the hidden book and pull it free from its spring and fiber prison.

“This is it.” Cooper exhaled. She examined the parcel, which was wrapped in a thin yellow towel.

“That must be the only yellow thing in this house,” Nathan said.

Cooper unfolded the towel, revealing the brown leather cover of a small book. She opened to the first page and read the fluid black script: “The Diary of First Lieutenant Aaron Crosby.”

“You did it!” Nathan reached for the book. “Here. I’ll put it down my shirt so it doesn’t get wet. Now, let’s get out of this place before the storm hits.”

Together, they hastened from the house, closing the back door as firmly as possible. Despite the splintered wood, the door seemed to fit in its frame as firmly as before. For some inexplicable reason, Cooper was reassured by the fact that Frank’s house wouldn’t be exposed to rain or other intrusions for the time being.

The flickering light from behind the next-door neighbor’s curtained window echoed the lightning flashes above the roofs. Crouching low, Nathan and Cooper sprinted toward her truck as the rain intensified.

“What the—!” Cooper shouted, coming to an abrupt halt next to her truck.

She gaped in shock as she read the words painted onto her door. The message was quickly vanishing. The rain splashed against her truck, was mutating each letter, erasing the threat.

Both Cooper and Nathan had been able to see the message before it disappeared.

SEEK & DIE

“Someone was watching us,” Cooper whispered in dread.

And then the rain began to fall. Overhead, the night sky filled with black, roiling clouds.

• • •

Nathan insisted on driving Cooper directly to his house.

The trip to his downtown row house passed in a blur. Vacillating between rage and fear, Cooper couldn’t think straight. Her hands were shaking and she would have killed for a cigarette, but she’d given up smoking months ago.

Twenty minutes later, she stood mute in Nathan’s living room, squeezing moisture from the ends of her hair. “If we were in a movie, I’d be offering you a glass of brandy and forcing you to drink it.” Nathan opened a small cabinet next to the fireplace. “But my bar’s not that well stocked.”

Cooper sank down on the couch and listened to the clanking of bottles and the clinking of ice cubes hitting glass. Nathan handed her a tumbler.

“It’s whiskey. Just a shot’s worth, but it’ll help with the shock.”

Numbly, Cooper swallowed the contents. The alcohol burned a trail down her throat, warming the pit of her stomach and allowing her to gain control over the tremors moving through her body.

Gently, Nathan pried the tumbler from her hands and pulled her to him. At first, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, saying nothing, but then he began to stroke her hair. When he kissed her on the smooth skin of her forehead, she raised her lips and captured his in her own.

Nathan’s response was light and tender, but Cooper kissed him hungrily, opening her mouth greedily while pressing her body against his chest.

He pulled back and took both of her hands in his. Cooper looked away, embarrassed by her behavior. The threat painted on her truck was stirring so many emotions that she didn’t know how to react.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I think I just wanted to get lost with you for a moment, to avoid facing what just happened.”

Nathan reached behind his head and, grabbing a chenille throw, wrapped it around Cooper’s shoulders. “Come here,” he whispered and Cooper nestled against his chest. “Do you want to talk about the message?”

“It scares me,” Cooper whispered. “And infuriates me. The killer we’re supposed to be tracking knows our every move. We thought we were collecting clues, but this person’s probably been one step ahead of us the whole time.” She frowned. “How can we stop someone like that?”

Nathan gazed down at her. “For starters, we don’t let him get to us. We’re not going to be put off by some threat written in paint. I’m going to brew some coffee and then we’ll check out the diary you found. Tomorrow, you’ll turn it over to the police. Whoever wrote that threat will be back at Door-2-Door on Saturday . . .”

“So we need to ask all the volunteers where they were tonight. Then, we can narrow down the suspect list,” Cooper finished his thought.

“Exactly.” Nathan tucked a lock of hair behind Cooper’s ear. “As for tonight, I think you should stay here. I don’t want you to be alone after what’s happened. You take my bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa. The only way I’ll get any shut-eye is by knowing that you’re safe, so do this for me.”

Cooper gestured at her damp uniform shirt on her lap. “Okay, but I’ll have to put this in the dryer. It’s soaked. And I’m going to have to drive home pretty early to change or everyone’ll wonder why I’m showing up at Door-2-Door dressed for work!”

“Why don’t you take a hot shower? I’ll brew some decaf, start a load of wash, and lay out a pair of my pajamas for you.” Nathan smiled. “I’ll even make you one of my famous omelets in the morning.”

Laughing, Cooper opened the blanket and invited him to share its warmth. “What woman could resist that offer?” The pair sat in silence for a moment before Cooper said, “I’m so grateful you were with me tonight, Nathan. If you weren’t there, I would have been really frightened. For some reason, I feel like nothing bad can happen when you’re with me.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to be with you all the time.” He gazed at her tenderly, kissed her lightly, and then jerked his thumb toward the stairs. “Now, get in the shower. I have lots of work to do.”

13

When the Sunrise group gathered in Door-2-Door’s kitchen on Saturday morning, they were all grateful to be out of the cold and damp. It had been raining since dawn and the precipitation was tinged with a winter’s chill that drove the volunteers directly to the coffee station.

Following Quinton’s suggestion, each of the Bible study members made plans to ride with a volunteer they hadn’t talked with much. Cooper chose Erik, the retired principal with a penchant for lake fishing and online gambling.

“Can we take your car? I’m a bit low on gas,” Cooper told him once their coolers were packed.

“Sure thing,” Erik replied amiably. Even though Cooper was half his age, he insisted on pushing the cart bearing the coolers and Sunday food boxes down the steep loading ramp.

Outside, the rain pecked at their exposed skin while they filled the backseat of Erik’s SUV. As Cooper opened the door to the passenger side, anticipating the dry warmth of the car’s interior, she nearly sat on a bouquet of pink carnations arranged in a cushion of purple tissue paper. Luckily, Erik snatched them out of harm’s way in the nick of time and gently laid them on the floor of the backseat

“Those flowers are lovely,” Cooper said, hoping to discover who they were intended for, but Erik deflected her question by complaining about the weather and the astronomical price of gas.

“Over three bucks a gallon!” He shook his head in disgust. “Drives up the price of everything else, too. Food. Services. Our heating bills are going to shoot through the roof over the next couple of months.” He waved at a driver looking to change lanes. “I remember when my cost of living was half what it is now and I had a salary back then. Now I just have my pension.”

“Is that enough to live on these days?” Cooper asked as casually as possible.

Erik shrugged. “I do okay. My house is paid off, so I don’t have to worry about a mortgage anymore. I’m pretty handy and that keeps me from having to write checks to the repair man.” He sighed. “I don’t spend much on my hobbies, either, but I’ll be buying gas for my boat even if it goes to five bucks a gallon.”

“I can guess what one of your hobbies is.” Cooper gestured out the water-splattered windshield at the fishing pole holders strapped to the front of Erik’s SUV. “What are the others? I could use some cheap hobbies. I’ve gotten totally addicted to pedicures.”

“Well, I can’t say that’s one of mine.” Erik laughed. “I like to play poker on the Internet. It’s free. I know there are sites where you can pay to play, but I certainly wouldn’t waste good money on a card game where I can’t see the other players’ faces.” Erik parked at their first delivery stop. “I guess Door-2-Door is a hobby. I’ve been doing this since I retired. Only costs some gas and time, and I’ve worked for my community my whole life, so it feels right to continue.”

“You seem to really like this route, too.” Cooper watched Erik carefully for his reaction. Although he hopped out of the truck to retrieve one of the coolers, he couldn’t disguise the rush of blood tingeing his cheeks red.

“Nice folks on this route,” he murmured cryptically.

They delivered a meal to a Mrs. Lockhart, who lived in a tidy one-bedroom apartment off Broad Street. Mrs. Lockhart was in high spirits and informed Erik and Cooper that her son and daughter-in-law were relocating to Richmond and had invited her to live with them.

“I won’t be needing Door-2-Door much longer,” she told them proudly and then reached out to Erik. “But I’ll miss seeing you. You’ve always been so kind to me.”

Erik squeezed the old woman’s hand. “I’m glad to lose you to your family. We need to move on now, ma’am. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

At least that’ll be one less client for the Door-2-Door killer to prey on,
Cooper thought with relief, hoping that Mrs. Lockhart’s son would relocate his mother with alacrity.

During the next three stops, Erik conducted his deliveries with polite efficiency and Cooper realized that even though he’d stuck with the same route for over a year, he wasn’t exactly on intimate terms with the clients.