The Way of the Guilty

by Jennifer Stanley

  “Why am I thinking about the wrong man, Lord?” she whispered into her hands. “Why can’t things just move forward with Nathan the way they’re supposed to? And this whole thing with Miguel . . . am I looking in the right places? I feel like nothing is clear, but I sense danger up ahead. Lord, I really could use Your help. Guide me and protect me. Amen.”

  When Cooper walked into Make It Work! the next morning after catching an early breakfast with Quinton, Angela met her at the door. Dressed in a tight red pencil skirt and a snug black sweater made from an enticing fuzzy material, Angela’s ample curves were accentuated by a wide leather belt cinched tightly at the waist. A chunky bead necklace encircled her neck and her nails and lipstick were of the same tomato red as her skirt. Her platinum hair had recently been touched up at the roots and her fake eyelashes were especially dark and lush. Today, she’d applied her beauty mark just above her right cheekbone.

  “You’re a vision,” Cooper complimented her friend. “Are you celebrating a special occasion or are you and Mr. Farmer going out on yet another hot lunch date?”

  “This most certainly is a special occasion!” Angela drawled. “We’ve landed a major shredding account.” She grabbed Cooper’s arm. “We’re gonna need a new truck and a new employee to drive it, ’cause the entire office park that opened off the interstate has signed up for our complete shredding service package. And they want us to start in two weeks! I can’t wait to tell Mr. Farmer! We’ve got to get an ad in Job Finders as of yesterday!”

  “Get him to hire a woman. Even up the numbers around here.” Cooper pointed toward the front doors. There was Emilio, leaning against the hood of a Trans Am as he flirted with one of the employees of the Sun Goddess Tanning Salon located in the next building.

  Angela shook her head. “You got a point there, darlin’. Look what happened when he signed on that Yankee Doodle Hunk.”

  Up until that moment, Make It Work! had remained small enough for Cooper and Ben to handle all the maintenance and repair requests. Then, Mr. Farmer had branched out into the document-shredding business and Emilio was brought on board. Cooper recalled how Emilio’s arrival had disrupted the peace and camaraderie between the current employees and hoped the next new face wouldn’t upset the group dynamic in the same manner.

  “Mr. Farmer’s not in yet?” Cooper was surprised. She glanced at the clock behind Angela’s desk. “I don’t think I’ve ever beaten him to work. He usually likes to pore over the latest issue of Wired first thing in the morning.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Angela popped open her compact and puckered her lips in the mirror. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to compete with a bunch of gadgets and gears? It’s enough to drive a gal mad!”

  “Come on, no machine could hold a candle to you,” Ben stated gaily as he picked up the day’s work orders from Angela’s desk. “The boss man’s parking his car. I think this is the only time I ever gotten to the office before him.”

  Mr. Farmer entered the reception area with an audible sigh and a listless wave. He slowly pushed a ski cap off his head and stuffed it into his coat pocket. Static cling caused the remaining strands of his salt-and-pepper hair to stand straight up, like soldiers saluting a superior officer. He then removed a handkerchief from his other coat pocket, honked twice into its folds, and sighed again. His nose was pink and his eyes were bloodshot and watery.

  “Sounds like you’ve got one heck of a cold,” Ben remarked sympathetically.

  Their boss nodded and allowed Angela to take his briefcase so he could use both hands to sneeze into the handkerchief. “All made worse by lack of sleep,” he grumbled and walked back to his office without saying another word.

  The employees exchanged perplexed looks.

  “Don’t look at me! I stayed home to watch a Cary Grant marathon on AMC last night.” Angela trotted behind her desk, sprayed a curtain of perfume into the air, passed through the fragrance with her eyes closed, and clasped Mr. Farmer’s briefcase against her bosom. “I’ll take care of him. Emilio!” she shouted as their coworker sauntered through the door. “You’re late! Y’all hustle off and get on with your work orders! We need some peace and quiet ’round here!”

  As Angela sailed past, cloaked in a heavy layer of scent, the phone at her desk began to ring. She ignored the chimes and continued down the hall and into Mr. Farmer’s office. When a second line began to ring, Emilio turned to Cooper and asked, “What gives?”

  Cooper shrugged. “No clue. But I’m not sticking around or I might have to answer those.” She gestured at the flashes of red lighting up on Angela’s phone. Their consistent blinking conjured up images of irritated callers. When the third line lit up, all three employees sprinted to the locker room to change into their uniforms.

  Quinton called Cooper’s cell phone soon after she arrived at her second assignment—a small advertising firm located in the Fan District. A girlish secretary led Cooper to the room where the copier was kept. She eased opened the door and flicked on the lights without actually looking inside.

  “I apologize for the mess,” she whispered as her smooth cheeks flushed red. “Um, I believe some of the executives were celebrating in here last night.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. Bowman has this . . . tradition. He likes to make Valentine’s Day cards of his . . .” She stopped and then began again. “Let’s just say he’s gained some weight since last Valentine’s. You’ll see what I mean when you get a load of the copier. Uh-oh! I’ve got to bring Mr. Bowman his cappuccino. Excuse me.”

  The sound of men’s voices caused her to hustle off, patting her hair into place as she returned to her desk to greet her superiors and distribute the carton of Starbucks beverages she’d been busy labeling when Cooper appeared.

  The room Cooper entered gave evidence that the evening’s festivities had been quite raucous for the higher-ups at Bowman and Peters, Inc. Empty wine bottles were toppled across the surface of a polished conference table, a whiskey bottle was overturned in the sink, and the detritus of vegetable crudités and a fruit and cheese platter filled the room with the odor of rotting food. Kicking aside an empty cardboard bucket from KFC, Cooper noticed that a collection of stripped chicken bones were heaped in the exact center of the table. Balled-up napkins littered the floor and, to Cooper’s horror, a pair of ladies panties dangled from the light fixture above the conference table.

  The sudden vibrating of the cell phone in her back pocket was a welcome distraction from the sight of the ruined copier.

  “Are you busy?” Quinton asked as Cooper approached the machine.

  “That depends,” she answered with a smile. “I’m responding to a repair call. But they should have called a garbage disposal service instead. This copier is toast. Not only did some drunken VIP break the glass by sitting on it, but it looks like he proceeded to give it a good beating with a seven iron.” Retrieving the offending weapon from beneath the closest chair, she examined the scuffed metal surface and shook her head.

  Quinton laughed. “Oh, man! That must have hurt! I’ve heard of people my size busting the copier glass, but I thought it was just an urban legend. An office myth.”

  “I’d take a photo and post it on YouTube, but that goes against Make It Work! ethics.” Cooper leaned closer to the top of the copier. “Yuck. There’s blood on a lot of these shards. I feel really sorry for the ER nurse who had to pick out the rest of the glass with her tweezers.”

  “Or his tweezers!” Quinton added with an amused snort. “I like the idea of some bulky guy named Angus or Hans pulling them out. Roughly.”

  “I doubt the patient felt a thing. You should see all the empty liquor bottles in this room.” Cooper examined the copier’s battered paper drawers. “Any luck following Miguel’s paper trail?”

  She could hear a rustling on the other end of the line. “Let me dig out my notes. Miguel had been using his current set of credit cards for less than a year. I can’t find any financial records for this guy before that time. No bank accounts, tax
refunds, nothing.”

  Cooper was confused. “But he had another job before this one and needed forms to get paid. Wouldn’t he have had a W-2?”

  Quinton was silent for a moment. “Not if he got paid under the table. What was the name of his former employer? I’ll give them a call and pretend to be with the IRS. Perhaps I can discover his previous salary and position.”

  “Double A Auto. In Norfolk.” Cooper kicked aside a shard of glass with her work boot. “Though the recommendation letter might be a fake, too. I doubt Miguel is his real name.”

  “It could be,” Quinton countered. “The documents aren’t real, but he could still have had them made showing his own name. He didn’t steal anyone else’s identity. I already checked that out.”

  Somehow, Cooper was pleased to learn that Miguel wasn’t guilty of identity theft, even though he’d clearly committed a minor crime by purchasing false documents. “I wonder where you can buy a fake Social Security card?” she wondered aloud. “It must have been good enough to fool the human resources folks at Love Motors and the DMV as well.”

  Quinton took a sip from something and exhaled. “Can’t help you with that one. I’m fresh out of underworld contacts.”

  Cooper picked up a sliver of glass and touched its jagged point. “But I may have one,” she mumbled and pictured Edward leading her into a shadowy alley. There, between a Dumpster and the rusted fire door of some vacant store, he’d slip a folded bill into the hand of a figure wearing a hooded sweatshirt in exchange for a whispered name.

  Unintentionally, she gripped the piece of glass more firmly and the edge bit into her finger. The brief flash of pain jerked her back to reality. Cooper thanked Quinton, got off the phone and told the embarrassed secretary that the damaged copier would have to be replaced. She then headed off for her next assignment.

  Cooper returned to the office shortly after noon bearing ham and cheese sandwiches on pumpernickel for herself and Angela. Ben and Emilio opted for Buffalo Wild Wings for lunch, but Angela refused to dine there on the grounds that she’d spend the rest of the day smelling like hot sauce.

  As she approached the reception desk, Cooper was greeted by the sound of high-pitched barking, and she smiled as Angela’s Yorkshire terrier slipped and skidded across the laminate floor in order to reach her.

  “Why, Betty Boop! You look mighty sweet!” Cooper scratched the tiny dog behind the red-and-white polka-dot bow between her ears and admired the terrier’s matching polka-dot sundress. “Angela, you and Betty are quite the pair of fashionistas. Did you spray her with your perfume?”

  Angela swatted Cooper’s arm with an unopened letter. “What kind of mama do you think I am? She’s just come from the groomers.” She scooped up her dog and planted a series of kisses on her small black nose. “I wanted to show Betty off to Mr. Farmer, but he hasn’t come back from lunch yet.”

  A pout began to form on the secretary’s mouth as she sat down across from Cooper in the break room.

  “Is anything wrong?” Cooper asked as she handed Angela a sandwich and a bag of Rold Golds.

  “Mr. Farmer’s actin’ real funny today. He said it was awful timin’ to have a cold because he’s gonna need every spare drop of energy to face his one o’clock appointment.”

  Cooper waved her pickle spear at the clock. “Who’s he meeting?”

  Angela frowned. “Hell if I know! I’m just his office manager—the person who books each and every meetin’ he’s had in the past five years. I don’t know a single thing about this appointment, and do you know what? I’m not too happy about that!” Angela angrily bit a pretzel in half.

  Hoping to distract her friend, Cooper told her about her plans to invite Edward Crosby to join her for a night of club-hopping on Saturday in hopes of discovering new information on Miguel.

  “And Nathan doesn’t mind?” Angela’s pencil-drawn eyebrows shot up her forehead.

  Cooper fiddled with her sandwich remains as her neck flushed.

  “Oh, my word, you’re not going to tell him!” Angela shouted and then leaned toward her friend. “Why, Cooper Lee, I do believe you have the hots for a drug dealer!”

  “Former drug dealer. And I do not!” Cooper retaliated and then tore one of her bread crusts into shreds. “Actually, I don’t know what I feel about him. But every time I’m near him, my body turns into jelly and it’s as though someone’s turned up the thermostat. I can barely breathe.”

  Angela shook her head. “Girlie, you are in a fix! This boy’s got a hold over you and you’d better figure out what you’re gonna do about it before you see Nathan again.”

  “I know, I know.” Cooper sighed.

  Just as Angela launched into a string of questions regarding Cooper’s weekend plans, a woman’s voice called out, “Hello? Does ANYONE work here? HEL-LO!”

  Cooper indicated that she’d take care of the lunch debris and Angela hustled out to her desk. By the time Cooper approached the area in order to collect the afternoon work orders, the visitor was roaring at Angela.

  “YOU DARE TO TELL ME THAT HE’S NOT BACK THERE AND THAT YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE IS? ARE YOU A SECRETARY OR A CALL GIRL?”

  Though she wanted to retreat in the face of the woman’s overt hostility, Cooper had no intention of abandoning her friend. Taking one look at Angela’s crossed arms and pursed lips, Cooper stepped in front of her.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” she asked the grim-faced matron who responded by tapping the toe of her boot in impatience.

  The woman, who was short and pudgy but carried herself with authority, closed her eyes, exhaled loudly, and looked Cooper over. “Well, perhaps you understand the Queen’s English.” She spoke very slowly, as though addressing a simpleton. “I am here for an appointment with Mr. Farmer and this secretary,” she spoke the word as though referring to something incredibly distasteful, “insists that he is not in the building.”

  “I’m afraid our employer isn’t here at the moment,” Cooper assured her softly.

  The woman pushed back her coat sleeve in order to examine the face of her gold watch. “Well! I am a busy woman and I’m also a tired one, so I shall now march back to his office and wait for him there. No need to show me the way.” She raised a gloved hand at Angela.

  Angela shook her head defiantly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow visitors in Mr. Farmer’s office without him being there.”

  “You can let me in, blondie!” She opened her Gucci purse and dug out a silver flask from within. “After all, I own half this joint.”

  Scowling, Angela took a step toward the stranger. “What did you say your name was, Ms. . . . ?”

  “It’s Mrs.!” the woman snapped, flicking the tail end of her cashmere scarf over her shoulder. She waddled down the hall toward the office and then paused to call over her shoulder, “Mrs. Farmer! You got that, blondie?”

  8

  “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it.”

  James 2:10 (NIV)

  Cooper stood in front of the full-length mirror in Ashley’s bathroom. She wore a leather mini skirt, black leggings, knee-high black boots with formidable heels, and a T-shirt covered with the design of a Chinese dragon.

  “Add a tight suede jacket to the ensemble, and you’re ready to hit the clubs,” Ashley pronounced. She stood behind her sister and held an enormous pair of silver hoops beneath each ear. “Perfect. These give you a little ghetto edge. Now you need to tease your hair. And make it high. I’ll loan you some gel and some decent holding spray. I’m sure you’re still using grocery store junk.”

  Pivoting slightly, Cooper frowned over the amount of leg protruding from the short skirt. “There’s nothing wrong with Suave. If you read the labels, you could see they’re all made out of the same chemicals. Isn’t this skirt a bit too short? How will I be able to sit down?”

  “You’re not going to be sitting down, remember?” Ashley laughed. “Jeez. It hasn’t been that long since you were o
n the scene with Drew. You’re only in your thirties, Coop.”

  “My ex and I went to mainstream hangouts, like the club inside the Sheraton. They played Top 40 music and didn’t stay open past midnight. After I described Miguel’s clothing style to Edward and a little about his taste in music, he told me we’d be meeting at a dance club downtown. And not until ten-thirty.”

  Ashley yawned. “Good Lord, that’s late! I’ll be in bed with Nora Roberts by then!” She slid an arm around Cooper’s waist and squeezed. “You’re doing the right thing. I admire your tenacity.”

  “Even though I’m going out with Edward?” Cooper asked.

  “It’s not a date.” Ashley handed her sister a tube of garnet-hued lip gloss. “He’s helping you investigate, that’s all.”

  When Cooper remained silent, her sister stopped rifling through her makeup drawer. Their eyes met in the mirror. “Oh, my word, you’ve got a thing for him, don’t you?”

  “Edward’s just more exciting because I don’t know anyone like him.” Cooper focused on applying the lip gloss. “He’s intriguing. But you’re right. It’s not a date.”

  Ashley sat on the granite countertop and rubbed moisturizer onto her cheeks. “I saw the way he looked at you, Coop. Be careful. You’d better tread lightly around that man. He’s like a caged tiger that’s been released back to the wild.” Her eyes flashed as she warmed to the metaphor. “On the prowl. And he’s picked you, big sis, as his prey.”

  “You’ve got some imagination, Ashley. Let’s go downstairs. I need to drink twelve cups of coffee if I’m going to survive this night.”

  “Rrrrrrrr.” Ashley made a rumbling noise deep in her throat and curved her hands into mock claws. “Come here, you sexy little rabbit.”

  “Knock it off, Tony.” Cooper grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her out of the bathroom. They stepped over the trail of deflated shopping bags littering the bedroom floor and headed downstairs. Ashley tiptoed on the carpet and continued to growl like a tiger.