Violet grinned, reminiscing. “Vera always loved music. Any loud sounds, actually. Even after she started forget-tin’ things, she’d still love to hear a strong rain or a bowling ball strikin’ pins.”
“Or bingo tiles?” Cooper asked, trying to keep the revulsion she felt about Warren’s duplicity out of her voice.
“One of her favorite noises,” Velma said with grin. Then her humor vanished. “So what you’re sayin’ is that this person, this man who . . . killed my sister, actually led her around like she was some kind of pet before he took her life?”
Cradling her tea cup in search of warmth, Cooper was reluctant to answer. “I don’t know what his motives were, ma’am. And I’m sorry if I’ve caused you more grief by revealing all this. To tell you the truth, and I know this sounds crazy, but he acted like he really cared for your sister. It was like he really saw her as his grandmother. I can’t explain what caused him to turn from the conscientious guy who cut up Vera’s food for her into the monster who ended more than one life.”
“Of course you can’t, dear.” Violet touched Cooper’s shoulder. “None of us can wrap our minds around how such a twisted soul operates and it’s likely we never will. The Lord will judge this man and he will be found wanting, I’m sure of that!” She returned her hands to her lap and tried to steady their trembling. “Are the police goin’ to get him now?”
“Yes,” Cooper whispered soberly. “He lives in his family’s farmhouse out in Goochland. They’re on their way now.”
The three women fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Cooper finished her tea and a heavy drowsiness seemed to fall over her. She longed to go home and collapse in the cozy shelter of her apartment. Perhaps she’d call Nathan and ask him to drive out to see her. She’d like nothing more than to lie in his arms for a few hours, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.
“I’m going to wash this tea cup,” she said and stood. “Can I bring you anything?”
Velma shook her head. “We’re gonna sit here for a spell. I imagine we won’t have much quiet later on, so we should rest while we can.” She reached out with both of her arms and Cooper put down the tea cup and accepted the old woman’s tender embrace. “They’ll release Erik ’cause of you. Bless you, child.”
Cooper then turned and hugged Violet. All three women had tears running from their eyes. Shock, grief, anger, and the desperate desire to cling to hope was too much to hold inside.
“I wish I had known sooner,” Cooper whispered into Violet’s hair. “Your sister could have been spared. Forgive me.” She sniffed and then, drawing away from Violet, pressed a napkin against her red, blotchy face.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Violet managed a tremulous smile. “You brought daisies, and kindness, and justice into our home today. What more can we give you in return but our love and friendship and a lifetime’s worth of prayers?”
Velma wagged a finger at Cooper. “You stay in touch now, young lady. We’ve got a weddin’ to invite you to once we’re done grievin’ for our Vera. There will be laughter yet in these rooms if I’ve got any say in the matter.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cooper dried her eyes, cleaned up the tea things, and showed herself out.
Standing on the cement walkway, she was temporarily blinded by the brilliance of the afternoon sun.
“It’s over.” She raised her arms upward toward the fiery yellow and crimson-tinged treetops. A wind rushed through the leaves like a murmur of fast water over rocks and Cooper lifted her chin until her face was awash in cleansing light.
“It’s over,” she repeated and then turned her thoughts toward home.
17
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
the snares of death confronted me.
2 Samuel 22:6 (NIV)
Cooper climbed the steps to her apartment as though her legs were made of cement. She looked back over her shoulder and noticed the warm and welcoming light spilling from the kitchen window of her parents’ house below. It was a comfort to imagine her mother moving around inside, humming as she added ingredients to bubbling saucepans on the stovetop and then knocking the oven door closed with one of her round hips. Every now and again, she’d wipe a smear of dough or brown gravy onto the front of her favorite apron, which was decorated with bright cherries on a field of navy.
Columbus squawked from within his aviary, and Cooper yelled down to him that she’d walk him later. Her promise seemed to excite the raptor further and it was with a twinge of guilt that she ignored his complaints and ducked inside her apartment to retreat into the pleasant quiet of her bedroom instead. However, Columbus’s screeches did not subside as they usually did, so Cooper relocated to her sofa and switched on the television, hoping some background noise would block out the hawk’s clamor.
HGTV provided the perfect pictorial balm. As the cameras panned over banks of perennial beds blooming alongside a quaint stone cottage nestled somewhere in the English countryside, Cooper felt her body sink deeper into the couch cushions. Her lids grew heavy and by the time the show’s narrator turned his attention to the charming home’s herb garden, Cooper was on the cusp of sleep.
When The Beatles burst into song from the speaker of her cell phone, which was buried at the bottom of her purse, she decided to ignore it. Repositioning herself on the sofa, she slipped her arm under a throw pillow, pulled a crocheted afghan over her legs, and prepared to take a restorative nap.
Her cell phone sang again.
“Damn it,” Cooper muttered crossly. She opened her eyes, but didn’t stir her body in any other way.
This time, the caller left a message and Cooper’s phone, which had an annoying habit of repeatedly chirping whenever it received a new voicemail, issued its first alert signal. Cooper counted to ten, slowly, and could just hear the sound of the message beep again.
“So much for a rest.” She swung her legs onto the floor and sat upright for a moment, reluctant to stand up. When the alert sounded for the third time, she threw off her blanket in irritation and grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter.
Bringing the phone to life with the touch of a button, Cooper noticed that the calls had both come from Rector. Regretting that she hadn’t answered him the first time, she was just about to prompt her phone to dial his number when a voice commanded, “I’d like you to put that down. Right now.”
Cooper swung around. Warren was leaning against the doorframe that led into her bathroom. He held a snack-sized plastic bag filled with what looked like crushed brown leaves in his hand and his eyes glinted with a strange and ominous light.
Without breaking eye contact, Cooper’s thumb edged toward the send button. Warren shook the bag and gave her a crooked grin. “Don’t do it or your family will suffer. You see, we had a little tea party while you were out.”
The phone clattered onto the floor as the implications of Warren’s words hit home. The phone’s battery, dislodged by the impact, skated into the shadows beneath the kitchen table. Cooper’s voice was taut with anger and fear. “What have you done to them?”
Warren shrugged. “I just introduced myself as one of your volunteer friends and invited them to share in my unique blend of Lipton’s Cranberry Pomegranate and Jimson weed.” He held up three syringes. “But don’t worry, a shot of this lorazepam and they should make it to the hospital without having a seizure. Jimson weed can make some people really agitated. Not good for the heart, you know.”
“Jimson weed?” Cooper was confused, and that made her feel even more frightened. “Is that some kind of poison?”
Again, the crooked smile. “It can be. But I’m disappointed in you, Cooper. You’re a country girl. And a gardener. I thought I could count on you to recognize the beauty and versatility of my favorite herb.”
“Sorry, but I’m not familiar with it.”
Gesturing at her kitchen chair, Warren moved forward a step. “Well, take a seat and I’ll tell you all about it. It’s understandable that you don�
�t recognize my plant because while you live in the sticks, you don’t live near any farms. When I was a kid, Jimson weed grew all over the edges of our cow pastures. It produces pretty purple or white bell-shaped flowers, but my grandparents warned me never to touch them, because the seeds hold power.”
“The power to make people sleep?” Cooper guessed. “All they need to do is ingest them somehow.”
Pleased, Warren dipped his chin in recognition of her reasoning skills. “The Indians—oh, excuse me—the Native Americans used Jimson weed in their sacred ceremonies. I think it was the Navajo who had a little chant about it.” His voice changed to a childlike singsong. “ ‘Eat a little, and go to sleep. Eat some more, and have a dream. Eat some more, and don’t wake up.’ That’s pretty accurate.”
“That’s why Frank Crosby lost a day. You didn’t give him enough to kill him, but he slept for almost twenty-four hours.” Cooper looked away in disgust.
“It wasn’t my intention to have him sleep any longer. Not that time. I was trying to get him to tell me where he’d hidden the rest of his Civil War treasures. I knew he was holding out on me and folks will spill their secrets once they’ve swallowed a bit of my brew.” Warren fondled the bag of tea leaves. “I got bored of trying to understand his gibberish about yellow this and coward that, so I decided that he needed to move on. He was tired of life.”
“Is that why you killed all those people? Because you thought they were done living?” Despite her fears, Cooper wanted to hear Warren’s motives. If she could pretend to be sympathetic and learn about how the poison worked, she might be able to save her family.
“Of course they were done!” Warren spat. “They were poor, lonely, pathetic. No one should end up in such an undignified state. That’s what happened to my grandparents. They were the ones who raised me. Then age started getting the better of them. They got stupid and weak and gullible and sold our land for nothing.” His hands gripped the tea bag until the leaves were crushed beneath his fingers. “I’ve had to work two jobs since I turned sixteen. All through my twenties, when I should have been having fun and seeing the world, I worked to keep the three of us going! And when they got so that I couldn’t take care of them, I figured out how much it would cost to put them in a nursing home and I knew I just couldn’t take any more!” He relaxed his hands and made a clear effort to calm himself. “I gave them a gentle way out.”
“But Mrs. Davenport wasn’t lonely,” Cooper argued tentatively. “She had her daughter.”
“That bitch!” Warren spluttered. “All she wanted was her mama’s jewelry. I was over there once when she was cleaning it. She asked to try on that necklace every time, saying that it looked better on her and that her mama was too old to wear it, but Mrs. Davenport liked to remember her husband by looking at it. She wanted to be with him. She’d told me that a dozen times, so I granted her wish.” He smirked. “And there was no way in hell I was going to let that greedy, miserable leech of a daughter get the jewelry, so I took it.”
“Please,” Cooper spoke plaintively. “I care about my family more than anything in the world. They’re not ready to let go. We’re happy the way we are. Please let me help them. I’m begging you for mercy.”
“Tell me the story behind your butterfly pin,” Warren said instead, sitting down at the table next to Cooper. “I’ve never seen you without it.”
Cooper stroked the filigree wings as if she could draw strength from the thin silver. “It was my grammy’s. She gave it to me when I was going through a rough time. My grandpa gave it to her for the same reason.”
“Would you say that it’s your most prized possession?” Warren leaned closer to her and Cooper tried not to flinch.
Instead, she cupped her hand over the pin, obscuring it from Warren’s covetous gaze. “That’s how you decided what you were going to steal. You took the one thing each person valued most. Mr. Manningham’s coin, Mrs. Davenport’s necklace, Frank Crosby’s sword, and Vera’s watch.”
“I had to collect a fee for my services,” Warren stated blithely. “And I needed to have portable wealth in case I had to relocate in a hurry.”
“But no one here needs your services. My parents and my grammy make the most of every day.” Seeing that her words had no effect on Warren at all, Cooper took surreptitious glances around her kitchen in search of a handy weapon. To distract him while she tried to concoct a plan, she asked, “Why Vera, Warren? Why did you treat her like your own grandmother and then murder her? I saw you with her at the volunteer dinner. You were so gentle, so attentive to her. I admired how you cared for her.”
For the first time, Warren seemed uncomfortable with their discussion. He picked at the red crust of a tomato sauce stain on the edge of Cooper’s table. “I missed Grandma Helen. She and Vera were a lot alike. I could tell Vera anything and she was always happy to see me. Even when she couldn’t remember my name, she’d smile like she knew me.”
Cooper tried to recall the specifics of Warren’s job. “And as the pick-up guy for LabTech, you visit nursing homes. That’s how you met Vera in the first place.”
“Nursing homes, hospitals, medical office parks. I see old people everywhere I go. Half of these people have no spirit left. They sap up the government’s money, make it necessary for thousands of able-bodied adults to give volunteer time and money to keep them alive, and all they do is look to their past—to loved ones that are long gone.”
“How did you get Vera off the grounds of her center?” Cooper wanted to interrupt his train of thought. “Didn’t anyone challenge you? After all, if her sisters found out you were borrowing her, they’d surely have reported you.”
Warren waved off the suggestion. “Oh, please. One of Vera’s regular nurses has a thing for me. I told her how much I missed my grandmother and that I’d like to bestow my affection on someone like her, and this woman practically rolled out the red carpet and packed the wheelchair into my trunk. She’s how I came to find out about Vera’s milk quirks and which days her sisters would visit. Such an agreeable lady—the nurse—but a bit old for me.” He laughed dryly.
Cooper could feel the seconds ticking by. What was happening to her family? Were they asleep? Hallucinating? Having heart issues as Warren had insinuated? “It’s not our job to decide when people are ready to die,” she told him firmly.
Warren resumed his arrogant, straight-backed posture. “Eventually, we’ll all be turned off like a light when we reach a certain age. I’ve read about that notion in dozens of science fiction books. It’s the humane thing to do and my teas are such an inexpensive and painless way to administer a dose of everlasting peace.”
“You’re crazy,” Cooper whispered and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t afford to upset the man sitting beside her. He was a calculating, unhinged murderer and the lives of her beloved family members depended on her remaining calm and rational. “What I mean,” she hastily adjusted her tone, “is that you could have had your real Grandma Helen, but you . . . let her go. Why do that to Vera when you felt like you had a relationship with her?”
“She begged me to end it!” Warren exclaimed. “Vera had lucid moments like Helen did, and just like Helen, it made her sick to know how mixed up her mind was. She knew she was a burden on her two sisters. She talked to me about how they’d spent all of their savings paying her medical bills. The guilt was eating her up.” He turned to Cooper and she was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. “Vera knew about the others. She knew about the Jimson weed. She told me I had done right. She asked me to put it in her milk, so I did.”
“The poisoned milk wasn’t from Velma or Violet’s Sunday sandwich bag?”
Warren shook his head. “No. It was just a milk carton I took from Door-2-Door’s cooler. Jimson weed doesn’t taste too good, so I was forced to use smelly herbal tea on everyone else, but Vera knew what she was drinking and didn’t care. She wanted her last drink to be milk because it made her feel like a girl, so that’s what I gave her.”
He picked at the tomato sauce again. “I’m going to miss her. We understood each other.” His eyes bored into Cooper. “I knew you’d find me out if you ever saw a picture of Vera, so I’ve been following you. I saw you go into the house where her sisters live, so I crept around back and watched all three of you through a window. I know the cops are probably at my place right now, because you told them all about me.”
“So why are you here?” Cooper asked, and looked around her kitchen for something to use as a weapon.
Placing an unnaturally cold hand over hers, Warren answered, “For you. I’m hitting the road and I’d like some company. You’re smart and funny and damned pretty. I’d be proud to have you with me as I start my next adventure.” His look hardened. “Come with me and your family lives. It’s as simple as that.”
Cooper swallowed. Her time was running out. Warren had told her his motives and his methods. Eventually, he was going to grow bored with talking and then he’d have to act. She had little doubt that he’d let her family succumb to the effects of the Jimson weed, so she had to agree with his warped notion that he’d provided a service to the elderly he’d murdered in order to survive this ordeal.
“I see what you’re saying about senior citizens. I fought against it at first, but now it makes more sense to me,” she spoke softly after taking a deliberate pause. “My grammy misses everyone who’s gone on ahead of her, too. Especially her husband. I guess when you spend most of a lifetime with someone and then they’re not there, you feel like half a person.” Cooper met Warren’s curious stare. His hand slid away from hers. “She hasn’t been eating well lately and she’s getting pretty depressed. Maybe she’d want . . .” She trailed off, acting uncertain.
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