Cooper fingered the shimmery material of a black-and-yellow collared shirt. The colors reminded her of Miguel’s nickname. “The bee,” she whispered and then looked over at Trish, who was producing a strange, strangled noise in the corner of the room.
Joining her in front of the nightstand pinned between the bed and the wall containing the room’s only window, Cooper bent down over an open drawer filled with lewd magazines.
“It’s not the porn that’s got me winded,” Trish breathed heavily, “but what’s underneath.”
Removing a pen from her purse, Cooper lifted the oft-used pile of magazines until she could see what was hidden below. She saw three neat stacks of money held together with rubber bands. The bills on the top were hundreds. Trish reached inside the drawer and quickly flipped through the nearest brick of cash.
“They’re all hundreds,” she stated in awe.
Cooper shut the drawer. “He could have gotten credit cards with his fake documents, but not cash. Miguel must have had another source of income besides his paycheck from Love Motors.”
“The cash is definitely odd. And have you noticed that there’s nothing personal in this apartment? No photographs, no letters—none of the paperwork we all have stuffed into drawers.” Trish walked out of the bedroom and Cooper followed her into the kitchen. “No catalogues, nothing’s taped to the fridge, there’s no calendar. Why is it our young man made no imprint on his own home?”
“Maybe he was afraid to,” Cooper suggested and then jumped as she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. Expecting Phil, Trish hustled to the sofa and slumped against the cushions.
The footsteps halted at the door and someone knocked tentatively.
Cooper’s heart began drumming loudly, but she opened the door to find an attractive Asian woman in her early twenties on the other side.
“Oh!” she squeaked. “I’m sorry! I heard people in here and wondered . . .” She leaned to the left in order to peer around Cooper. Spying Trish, she apologized again, yet was too curious to leave. “Are you Miguel’s friends?”
Cooper answered vaguely, “We’re visitors.”
Confused, the young woman peeked at Trish again. “Are you with the police? They interviewed me last week. Miguel liked to play his music too loud sometimes, but other than that, I hardly ever knew when he was home.” She sounded regretful. “I tried to get to know him. He seemed to like to go clubbing, so I invited him out with me and my friends, but he never came.” She pushed a wave of glossy black hair back from her face and studied Cooper’s mismatched eyes. “I’m Lisa. Who are you?”
“Feel free to come in,” Trish hailed her from the sofa. “I’m Trish Tyler. I’m a realtor. This is Delilah, my client.”
Lisa tiptoed into the apartment. “They’re already leasing this apartment? What are they going to do with all his stuff? Once, when I was opening Christmas cards by the mailboxes, I asked Miguel if he’d gotten any, but he said he had no family. Isn’t that so sad?” Her eyes grew wistful. “He was really sweet. I had a crush on him, big-time, but he wasn’t interested.”
“His loss, I’d say.” Trish gave the girl’s arm a maternal pat. “What happened to Miguel?”
“You don’t know?” Lisa’s jaw dropped. “He died. No one knows how. The police were here for hours. I know because I was home with a nasty virus. They even had those drug dogs, like you see at the airport.” She seemed pleased to be performing for a captivated audience. “But I heard one cop tell another cop that the place was clean.” She crossed her arms. “I could have told them that. Miguel was no drug dealer! He was polite and nice and shy. And he never had anyone over, either, so if was selling drugs, he must have been doing it somewhere else.”
Cooper looked around at the pin-neat living room. “I’m surprised the cops left this place so neat.”
“Oh, I straightened up,” Lisa admitted. “They let me. I told them I just wanted to do something for Miguel. I know that sounds dumb since he wasn’t ever coming back here.” She sniffed.
Touched by the young woman’s gesture, Cooper smiled at Lisa. “That was very thoughtful of you.” Then, a thought occurred to her. “Does this unit come with a garage?”
Lisa shrugged. “Got me. Miguel drove some clunker he bought from Love’s. I wouldn’t bother renting a garage for that car.”
Cooper suspected Lisa spent a good deal of time observing Miguel’s movements.
“This whole thing must have been quite a shock for you.” Trish gazed at the girl sympathetically and they chatted for a few more minutes, but Lisa didn’t seem to know anything more about her neighbor than she’d already told them. Casting a longing look around the room, she eventually returned to her own apartment.
A few moments after Lisa left, Phil returned with a small tin can of orange juice. It was the kind stocked in hotel minibars and Cooper wondered where on earth he’d found it. She thought she caught a whiff of vodka as he reached over to hand Trish the juice. It seemed as though Phil helped himself to a screwdriver now and then in the privacy of his office.
Again, she felt guilty for deceiving him. “I like this complex, Phil. This unit seems sad to me, as though there’s been some kind of loss here.”
“Wow, you’re good,” Phil uttered in astonishment.
Trish rose from the sofa on wobbly legs. “Does this unit come with a garage?”
“We have several garages available at the moment,” was Phil’s cryptic answer.
“Well, we’re sure there are plenty of suitable apartments for Delilah’s employees, even if she hasn’t found the perfect one today.” Trish wiped the can lid with a tissue and took a small sip of its contents. “I would be glad to take a few brochures along with me, Phil. You’ve been so kind. An angel, really.”
Phil beamed.
Back in the Mercedes, Trish and Cooper reviewed their findings.
They’d walked back past Miguel’s parking space and had noted his aged Chevy Cavalier. The car’s exterior was dented and scratched in several places and the interior appeared to be empty. It told them nothing about its owner.
“Time to pass the buck to Quinton, I’d say. I’m sure the police went over Miguel’s car carefully, so that’s of no help,” Cooper said. “We need to get a financial picture now. Even though Quinton will be researching a person that doesn’t officially exist.”
“Well, Miguel’s false identity enjoys watching TV, playing video games, singing karaoke, and looking at naked women,” Trish remarked with a sigh. The two women watched as Phil moved about inside his office. “I do feel kind of rotten about putting on that act for Phil Burgess. The guy’s just trying to do his job. To make it up to him, I’m going to go out of my way to send him clients.” Her mouth formed a small smile. “Even if The Inner Eye isn’t one of them.”
7
“I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.”
Romans 7:18 (NIV)
The next step in Cooper’s investigation was to deliver the documents in Miguel’s personnel file to Quinton. After completing her last repair job of the day, she drove to Wawa to fill up her truck and buy a hazelnut decaf. As her truck gulped down over seventy dollars in gas, Cooper called Quinton at home and asked if he was free in the immediate future.
“Meet me tomorrow,” was his cheerful answer. “Let’s go to Jimmy’s on West Broad and order breakfast. I could do with a three-egg omelet stuffed with mushrooms and provolone.”
“A pound of Japanese food today and a pile of pancakes tomorrow?” Cooper laughed. “I’d better go on a mighty long run after work this afternoon. See you at Jimmy’s.”
She turned and waved at the line of drivers waiting to use the pump. At five-thirty, Wawa was even more crowded than usual. With the lowest gas prices in town, people were willing to spend extra time idling in line, but Cooper knew she’d be risking her life if she left her car at the pump in order to go inside for a cup of coffee. She
moved her pickup to the only available parking spot at the rear of the convenience store. As she paused to toss yesterday’s newspaper into the Dumpster, she noticed a familiar figure jump down from the passenger seat of a RoomStore furniture truck.
Their eyes met over a row of industrialsized trashcans. Edward Crosby smiled and strutted over to where she stood.
“You following me?” he demanded, popping a stick of gum in his mouth.
Cooper looked over his khaki pants and blue long-sleeved polo bearing the RoomStore logo.
He pointed at the embroidered letters on his chest. “Do I look better in this than in the last uniform you saw me wearing?”
Remembering the beige scrubs he’d worn in jail, she nodded. “Blue suits you. How do you like the job?”
Edward shrugged. “The money’s crap compared to what I made before.” He snorted. “I could make this kind of paycheck in a single day without moving a muscle. Now I gotta carry entertainment centers up three flights of steps while some woman warns me not to get her carpet dirty.” He shrugged. “But I’ve got another job I like better.” Without elaborating further, he gestured at the store entrance. “If you’re going in to buy something, let’s go. This man needs a coffee and I gotta be back on the clock in thirty.”
Inside, Cooper poured coffee into the largest cup Wawa sold. As she fitted on a lid, Edward leaned toward her and whispered, “What happened with that dude? The one in your sister’s crib?”
Cooper avoided looking into Edward’s shimmering gray eyes as she passed him the coffee. “No one knows. Or at least I don’t. Neither Ashley nor her husband have received an update from the police.”
“Pfft!” Edward blew away a curl of steam escaping through a hole in his cup lid. “The men in blue ain’t gonna report to your sister or to you. Shoot, girl. They forgot about you before the sun came up the next day.” He shook his head in disdain. “Probably stuffed that Mexican boy’s file into a drawer and moved on to bigger and better cases. They got things going on in my part of town and folks are watching them. That’s what’s important. You following what I’m saying?”
“They’re all important!” Cooper retorted heatedly. “Justice is important!”
Edward stared at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes flashing. “Whatcha gonna do with that anger, girl? Let it go to waste? Or are you gonna use it? Change the world with it?”
Cramming a lid onto her own cup, Cooper shot back, “I’m doing something, don’t you worry!”
“Glad to hear it.” Edward’s hard look instantly softened and he gave her a satisfied smile as they joined the checkout line. “That’s what’s so amazing about you,” he continued, his smile dissipating. “You felt that kind of anger on behalf of my daddy. When he died, nobody else gave his death a second thought. Nobody gave a damn, but you wouldn’t let it go.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Because of what you did—the way you fought for righteousness—I’ve got your back ’til the day I die. I owe you, and a Crosby never forgets his debts.”
Cooper didn’t know what to say. She dropped her eyes and murmured her thanks.
“What was the Mexican boy’s name?” Edward inquired as he picked up a package of Hostess cupcakes. “I could ask around—see if he was in my old line of work.”
“This is a fake name, but it’s what he went by.” After scribbling Miguel’s full name on a napkin, Cooper passed it over to Edward. “Shouldn’t you avoid those places?” she asked carefully. “What if . . . you get drawn back in?”
“Nice to know you care.” Edward returned the napkin to her. “Put your digits on here, too. In case I dig up anything in my spare time.”
Cooper added her cell phone number to the napkin. She held it out to Edward and his hand shot out and closed around hers, forcing her to lose her balance and careen into his chest. “Of all the people in this town,” he whispered into her hair, “I need you to believe I have the power to change. Understand?”
Once again, Cooper felt as though she could simply melt into Edward’s chest. She wanted to linger in the moment, his breath stirring her hair, his hands capturing hers in a warm, strong grip. “I believe in you, Edward,” she whispered back, her voice more husky than she’d intended.
“Now that’s worth the price of coffee.” Edward laughed and handed money to the cashier. “And maybe one of my cupcakes.” He paused, as though debating the issue. “Nah. I’m keeping them both. I need the sugar rush.”
He walked Cooper to her truck and held open her driver’s-side door. “Be careful poking under rocks, girl. You never know what kinda creepy insect is hiding underneath. I can’t watch you all the time.”
“Watch me?” Cooper’s heartbeat accelerated wildly. “What do you mean?”
“Like I said. I got your back.” Edward winked and slammed her door shut. Without looking back, he jogged across the parking lot and climbed into the delivery truck’s cab. The truck reversed to the accompaniment of high-pitched beeping and, after issuing a burst of noxious gray smoke, merged into one of the westbound lanes.
At home, Cooper listened to the message on her answering machine with relief. It was Nathan, imploring her not to go out of her way to cook him anything fancy for dinner as he’d had a filling lunch. Distracted by her run-in with Edward, Cooper doubted whether she could produce anything more complex than a BLT, but after taking an hour-long jog along the serene country road leading from the Lee house to the hamlet of Gum Creek, she felt settled enough to blend together eggs, vegetables, and cheese. She poured the mixture in a prebaked pie shell and took a deliciously hot shower.
Nathan arrived just as Cooper had finished drying her hair. He hung up his coat and the oven’s timer went off. “Something smells good, though it doesn’t seem possible that I could ever be hungry again after lunch at Grandpa Eddie’s.” He leaned against the counter and watched Cooper gather her hair into a ponytail. “My client and I split an okra basket and a barbequed rib and hot wing basket. After that, I still managed to eat an entire pig sandwich and peanut butter pie.” Nathan washed his hands and began to chop the two tomatoes positioned on the cutting board.
Drawing the asparagus and Swiss cheese quiche from the oven, Cooper scrutinized the browned crust and smiled. “You’ll get your fill of vegetables tonight. The menu is quiche and tossed salad. And all I have for dessert is a box of Junior Mints.”
“The perfect movie snack. If you don’t have Milk Duds, that is.”
Nathan placed the salad bowl in the center of Cooper’s table and poured the wine. Over dinner, Cooper described the state of Miguel’s apartment.
“Stacks of cold hard cash? Just sitting in a drawer?” He was intrigued. “Maybe Miguel’s illegal status caused him to feel safer having his money at home instead of in a bank. A savings account means more paperwork.”
“But he must have written checks,” Cooper argued. “How else would he pay his bills?”
“With a credit card. He could charge his rent, his utility bills, food, gas, and anything else to the credit card and then send them a cashier’s check each month to cover the minimum payment.” Nathan helped himself to a large wedge of quiche. “This looks fantastic.”
Cooper cut a smaller slice and lifted it toward her plate, leaving a trail of melted Swiss on the tabletop. “I hope Quinton comes up with a major lead. If he doesn’t, you and I are going to have to visit some of Miguel’s favorite karaoke clubs this weekend in hopes of finding someone who really knew him.”
Nathan twirled a length of cheese around on his fork. “Um, I might have to drive back to Arlington this weekend.” He studied his laden utensil intently. “Rob could use a hand painting his basement, so I’ll probably drive up Friday afternoon, before rush hour.”
Rob was Nathan’s college roommate, and though Cooper knew he was a close friend, she was surprised that Nathan planned to spend two weekends in a row in Arlington. Cooper contemplated another Saturday night without her boyfriend and frowned.
How can
Nathan believe that helping his friend paint is more important than helping me investigate Miguel’s murder? she thought crossly. Well, I’m not going to let Nathan’s absence stop me. If I have to visit Miguel’s haunts without a date, so be it.
Aloud, she simply said, “I’ll be thinking of you while sampling neon-colored drinks and listening to people sing ‘I Will Survive’ and ‘Summer Nights’ over and over.”
“ ‘Summer Nights’? The song from Grease?” Nathan shivered. “I hope the songs are more contemporary than that!” He laughed. “Better bring some ear plugs. If those folks sing like Rob or . . .” he trailed off and shoved another bite of quiche into his mouth.
Cooper was disappointed and more than a little miffed that Nathan seemed perfectly willing to turn her loose in a crowded bar so that she could question a bunch of strangers while he painted his friend’s basement walls. Growing grumpier by the minute, she cleaned up the dinner plates in relative silence and then dumped the Junior Mints into a bowl.
The couple got comfortable on the couch and, after quickly devouring the chocolate-covered mints, watched a lackluster comedy in which a jilted wife exacted revenge upon her husband and his girlfriend (who turned out to be their son’s science teacher). The final confrontation between husband and wife was especially slapstick and Cooper had never been so relieved to see the end credits appear on screen.
“That movie was a total flop,” Nathan declared as he ejected the DVD from Cooper’s machine. “I’ll drop this off at Blockbuster on my way home. Thanks for a great dinner, Coop. Without you, I’d never eat my vegetables.” He planted a brief kiss on her lips, squeezed her tightly, and then jogged out to his car.
Cooper watched his pea-colored BMW back out of the driveway. Long after the cylindrical beams from his headlights had been swallowed by the darkness, she stared out the window.
“Something’s up with him,” she muttered to her reflection. With a sigh, she turned away from the blue-black sky and pulled her flannel pajamas out of a drawer. When her mind recalled the sensation of Edward Crosby’s breath in her hair, she pushed the memory aside and knelt down beside her bed to pray.
The Way of the Guilty Page 10