Coop Knows the Scoop

by Taryn Souders

  But that’s where my luck had run out. The only photo of Miss Meriwether was the size of a postage stamp from an old school yearbook.

  I’d just finished adding the new photos alongside Earl’s mug shot, when Justice’s voice bellowed and footsteps thundered up the stairs. I yanked Gramps’s torn-up wedding photo off the closet wall. I wasn’t ready to show that to anyone. Not yet. I hid it in my desk drawer just as Justice walked in.

  Liberty appeared behind him. “Hey, Coop.”

  Raindrops dripped from their hair.

  Justice flopped down on my bed. “Dad told us Beau was gonna be staying at your house. Tough break!”

  “Tell me about it,” I grumped.

  “Can’t he stay with a relative or something?” asked Liberty.

  I shrugged. “I guess there aren’t any close by. Tick’s bringing him over in a little bit. But I don’t want to talk about him now. He’ll ruin things soon enough when he actually shows up.” I motioned them over and stepped aside, revealing the case closet. “Take a look.”

  “Whoa, cool.” Justice stood riveted. “What is it?”

  “My case notes on Gran’s murder.”

  I’d written the suspect names above each picture. The names weren’t needed, but they made it look official.

  Liberty stepped closer to examine it. “This is awesome, Coop.” She snorted. “Nice picture of Earl.”

  “The way I see it, we’ve got four suspects. Five, if you count Gramps—but I don’t.”

  “Then why is his photo on the wall?” Justice asked.

  “To prove he’s innocent. Duh,” said Liberty.

  “These,” I pointed to part of the wall, “are our suspects. Want to hear my theories?”

  “Totally,” said Liberty.

  Justice nodded. “Shoot.”

  I pulled the cards I’d filled out earlier from my back pocket. “Suspect number one, Earl.” I taped the notecard under his photo.

  Suspect: Earl

  Motive: Gran knew he was stealing?

  Means: Embalming fluid (in muffins?)

  Opportunity: ?

  “When you told me earlier how Earl used to steal jewelry, it got me thinking. What if,” I said, “he started stealing more than just jewelry, like money from the memorial fund, and Gran knew about it? He has to silence her or risk heading back to jail.” I told them what I’d read about undertakers using arsenic a long time ago. “Working at the funeral parlor, he’d have tons of poisons to choose from. Then he stages it to look like a runaway, and steals her necklace—because old habits die hard.”

  “Makes sense,” said Liberty. “Tabby had the proof on her camera, and based on the last entry in the ledgers, she died the next day. If that doesn’t scream motive, I’ll wear a dress.”

  I turned toward my desk and picked Gran’s journal up. “I hadn’t told y’all yet, but Gran’s journal was mixed in with some of Dad’s stuff.”

  “Her journal, huh?” Liberty took it from my hand and flipped through the pages. “That’s cool! Does she mention Earl?”

  I nodded. “Nothing incriminating yet, except he was always baking muffins even back then—which might be how he poisoned her. I’m not done reading, but if he was stealing, I’m hoping she wrote about it.”

  “She was a southpaw,” said Liberty.

  “A what?” I asked.

  “She was left-handed.” She pointed to the journal. “See how the left side of each page always looks a little messy? That’s from where her arm slid across the page as she was writing and the ink smeared. Happens to me all the time.”

  “Hey, back to Earl for a minute,” said Justice. “How do you think his blood got on her ring?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I filled them in on everything I could remember from the Cut ’N’ Curl that morning. Liberty pretended to gag when I got to the part about Gramps giving Miss Ruth a promise ring. But then again, her favorite part of Romeo and Juliet was when they both went belly-up.

  “What if,” I said, “Miss Ruth killed Gran hoping Gramps would eventually remarry her? In her mind then, everything goes back to how it should’ve been.”

  “But you said they were friends,” Justice argued.

  “So were Caesar and Brutus,” Liberty said, “but Brutus still knifed him in the back. ‘Et tu, Brute’ mean anything to you?”

  “Not really,” muttered Justice.

  “Ruth is a suspect, but I sure hate thinking she’s the murderer. She’s practically my grandma, and I don’t know how she would’ve gotten the arsenic.” I added her card to the wall. “Plus, she’s no bigger than a pickle, so I have a really hard time seeing her drag a body all the way to the playground and then burying it.”

  Suspect: Miss Ruth

  Motive: Jealousy/Marriage

  Means: ?—but no strength to drag a body

  Opportunity: ?

  “Agreed. We need someone with a car,” said Liberty. “That’s why Earl’s the perfect suspect. He could’ve put the body in the back of his hearse, and no one would ever know. But as for arsenic, you know it’s in rat poison, right?” said Liberty. “And back then you could buy it at the drugstore.”

  “What?” I stared at her.

  “Yep.” She walked over to my computer and typed something into the search bar.

  “You sure ’bout that, Lib? How do you know?” asked Justice.

  “Because I read. You should try it sometime,” she said over her shoulder. “Pharmacists used to keep a list of everyone who bought the stuff. It was actually called a poison registry—kinda a cool name for it.” Her fingers flew over the keys as she continued her search. “And if you know your way around the library, like yours truly, and you learn some awesome research skills, like yours truly, you can find that list. It’s one of the many perks of helping out in the library.” Moments later, Liberty leaned back in the chair, arms crossed and a smug smile plastered across her face. “Forget embalming fluid, Coop. According to this, the whole town owned arsenic.”

  “I’ll be,” I muttered, staring at the screen. Great. Yesterday I didn’t have enough suspects, and today I had too many.

  Justice leaned over Liberty’s shoulder and then looked at me. “Kinda weird so many people in Windy Bottom bought rat poison around the same time, don’t you think?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not. I remember an entry in Gran’s journal about people seeing lots of rats once the Piggly Wiggly started to be built. The construction probably messed up their nesting grounds and stuff, and that’s why the rats were out into the open.”

  Justice shuddered.

  “Well,” I said, “at least now I can fill in the means section on the rest of my suspect cards.”

  “Only if their names are on the poison registry, though. How far does that list go back?” Justice asked.

  “A long time,” said Liberty, turning back to the computer. “And I don’t see Miss Ruth’s name anywhere.”

  “But look.” Justice jabbed a finger at the screen. “There’s Miss Meriwether’s name. And they live together, so Miss Ruth still could’ve used it.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  I grabbed a pencil and erased the question mark on Miss Ruth’s card in the closet, then wrote Rat Poison. I did the same to the cards I held in my hand and glanced at the time. “I got to hurry before Beau gets here and ruins things.” I taped Burma’s card under his picture.

  Suspect: Burma

  Motive: Angry (for losing Miss Ruth)

  Means: Rat Poison

  Opportunity: ?

  “Picture it,” I continued. “Miss Ruth, the love of his life, vows to never love another. He’s lost his chance. Burma blames Gramps. Maybe he decides that if he can’t have his happily ever after, then Gramps shouldn’t, either. He waits for Gramps to leave for the clinic, poisons Gran, fakes her disap
pearance, and types the letter.”

  Liberty tilted her head to the side, like she was weighing the validity of my theory. She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “It’s the weakest, but we can still check if he had an alibi.” I held up a finger. “I have one more theory.”

  “Please tell me it’s Miss Meriwether,” said Justice. “To be as cranky as she is, she must’ve murdered someone.”

  Liberty flicked the back of his head with her finger. “Just because someone’s grouchy, that doesn’t make them a murder suspect.”

  “It does in my book,” muttered Justice.

  “Mine too.” I taped up the last card.

  Suspect: Meriwether Feather

  Motive: Revenge

  Means: Rat Poison

  Opportunity: ?

  “Revenge?” Liberty scrunched her nose.

  “Think about it. Gramps totally jilted her little sister—the only person she actually likes in the whole town. Humiliated her. Left her at the altar, whatever you want to call it. And Miss Meriwether is overprotective on steroids. How many times have we overheard her at the bookstore telling Miss Ruth to put on a sweater, or take her vitamins, or not to eat a donut, or don’t use artificial sweetener, or something else neurotic?”

  They nodded.

  “Miss Velma said Miss Meriwether was fit to be tied when Gramps stood her sister up,” I said. “So maybe she kills Tabby, buries the body, and writes the note. Now Gramps has to live with the humiliation that his wife walked out on him—just like he walked out on Ruth.”

  Liberty blew her bangs from her face. “I can understand that as a motive for when Doc and Tabby first moved back to Windy Bottom. But after two years?” She shook her head. “Something must’ve happened for Meriwether to get a hankering for revenge if that’s the case.”

  She made a little bit of sense, but I wasn’t ready to let go of Miss Meriwether as a suspect. “People are like volcanoes. Unpredictable. Who knows when they’re going to explode? And, remember when the skeleton was first discovered, she tried to convince people it was from a family burial site,” I said. “She didn’t want people to know what she’d done.”

  “It’s a stretch,” said Justice. “But it would explain her cranky attitude and the fact she doesn’t like you—since you’re related to Doc.”

  “She doesn’t like anybody,” I said.

  Liberty stood back and examined the case closet. “Well, my money’s on dog-tag-stealing Earl. And if Earl had gone back to stealing jewelry—like Tabby’s emerald necklace—maybe he still has it. If we found it, it’d be an open-and-shut case.”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  Liberty pointed to a different photo. “Is that your grandma?”

  “No. That’s Miss Ruth, only like, way younger.”

  Justice elbowed Lib aside and squinted at the picture. “She and your gran sure look a lot alike.”

  I leaned in. “I hadn’t really noticed before but, yeah, you’re right.” I compared the photos of Miss Ruth and Gran. “Gran’s taller, but they have the same hair color, and both could stand to eat a few cheeseburgers.”

  “Can’t say that about Miss Meriwether, that’s for sure,” muttered Justice.

  Miss Meriwether was built like a John Deere tractor.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Liberty.

  “We do what police do and question the suspects, only we don’t want to spook the killer.”

  “I know!” Liberty said. “What if we say we’re writing a tribute to Tabby for the school paper?”

  Justice stared at her. “We have a school paper?”

  “We do now.” Liberty grinned.

  “Lib, you’re a genius,” I said. “We can ask questions all day long, and no one will get suspicious. Tomorrow’s Friday, and I got to cut the Feather sisters’ grass, so I’ll talk to them then.”

  “I’ll take Burma,” said Justice.

  “I want to look for other typewriters too,” I said. “That note could’ve been typed anywhere—not just at Gramps’s house. But Lord only knows how I’m going to do that without looking obvious.”

  Liberty cleared her throat. “You realize everyone had typewriters back then, right? And the chance folks still have them is, like, practically nonexistent.”

  “I know, but I can’t just sit around and do nothing, letting Gramps look guilty.”

  Mama’s voice floated upstairs as the front door closed. I put my finger to my lips, signaling Justice and Liberty to be quiet. From the lilt of her tone, she was asking a question, and even though I couldn’t make out her words, I recognized the low grumbling voice that answered her.

  “It’s Beau!” I slammed the closet doors shut. “I don’t want him seeing our notes or anything. I need that like a snakebite.”

  “Coop!” Mama called from downstairs. “Our guest is here.”

  Which, loosely translated, meant your living nightmare is about to begin.

  “I’m coming.” I took a deep breath and turned to Justice and Liberty. “Act natural.”

  Liberty leaned against the closet doors and tossed her baseball back and forth between her hands. Justice flopped on my bed with a book from my nightstand.

  “Justice, I said act natural.” I grabbed the book from his hand and wandered out to the landing. At the bottom of the steps, Beau stood between Mama and Tick holding a duffel bag. Mama looked up at me. She arched her brow, saying nothing, but still managing to get her point across. It was a warning shot.

  “Head upstairs, Beau, dear,” Mama said. “You must be exhausted. Coop will show you where you’re sleeping. Just make yourself at home.” She smiled sweetly at him, but it was wasted. He never bothered to look up from the floor. He dragged himself up the steps, clomping as he went. You’d think he wore cement blocks instead of dirty running shoes.

  It was the first time I’d seen Beau since our fight. The colors on and around his nose matched those on and around my eye. I turned away as he reached the top step and stalked into my room.

  “You’re over there,” I said, not even bothering to point to the made-up mattress in the corner. He could figure it out.

  Beau threw his overnight bag onto the floral comforter. It bounced off and rolled onto the floor. “Only reason I’m here is ’cause your house is closer to the hospital.”

  “I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here.” I joined Liberty and leaned against the closet door, crossing my arms.

  Glaring, he sat on the bed, pressed his back against the wall, and drew his knees up. He looked like a cornered animal.

  Liberty’s eyes darted over to Beau as she caught her ball. “Sorry about your dad, Beau.”

  He grunted. “What are you losers doing here?”

  Liberty’s jaw tightened.

  “They’re not losers,” I shot back.

  Justice swung his legs off my bed and walked around to where Beau sat. “She was just being nice. The only loser here is—”

  Tick tapped on the door and walked in. “All settled, Beau?”

  He nodded.

  Tick reached into his pocket and handed Beau a slip of paper. “Here’s the number to the hospital and your dad’s doctor. He said call whenever you want. And Coop’s mom said she’ll drive you up to see your dad tomorrow.”

  Beau took the paper.

  Tick turned and eyed me with a look I swear Mama had taught him. “Good night, Coop.” He nodded at the twins. “Justice. Liberty.”

  * * *

  At night I’d usually lay in bed, face the window, and stare at the moon. Then I’d replay memories of Daddy like an old movie reel in my head. When he was alive, he and I often stayed up late on full-moon nights and see who could spot the Man in the Moon first. Since his death, full moons had become, well…sacred.

  Beau ruined that. He slept next to the
window.

  I didn’t want him anywhere near my line of sight, so I rolled over and stared at the closet doors. But there were no memories of Daddy on those doors. I didn’t care about Gramps’s rule about not leaving a bad situation without finding two good things about it. There was nothing good about Beau being here, and he couldn’t leave soon enough.

  Chapter 24

  I woke up early and crept downstairs for breakfast. For all I knew, Mama was going to force Beau and me to eat every meal together, and I was not about to let that happen. I dropped the last Pop-Tart in the toaster with a smile. Beau would be stuck with plain ol’ cereal.

  Mama appeared in the doorway just as the toaster spit out my pastry. “Is Beau still asleep?”

  I couldn’t care less and shrugged. “Guess so.”

  She shuffled toward the coffee pot and tapped the brew button. “I’m not going to preach at you, but I hope you understand Beau didn’t somehow orchestrate all this just so he could make your life miserable. He isn’t happy, either.”

  “I know. But I hope no one here thinks we’re suddenly going to become friends just because he’s staying here. He can ignore me, I’ll ignore him.”

  “Your dad had to learn to get along with people he didn’t necessarily like in the Marines,” she said.

  “He was also trained to take out an enemy without leaving a mark.”

  Mama put her hand on her hip. “Cooper.”

  I put my hands up. “Sorry.”

  “All I’m saying is, it might be hard to cold-shoulder someone you’re sharing a room with and who’s walking alongside you to school every day. Make an effort, okay?”

  “I seriously doubt Beau will walk alongside me,” I muttered.

  * * *

  I was right. Beau trudged behind Liberty, Justice, and me when we walked to school that Friday morning. As we hurried to Miss Grupe’s classroom, it occurred to me there was a lot of pointing and whispering in my direction. I chose to believe it was because everyone knew Beau was staying at my house.

  The other option was people thought my gramps murdered his wife.

  Miss Grupe was cool and didn’t make a big deal about my return. Right before the end of the school day, she tapped her podium with her ruler. “Before you’re dismissed, I want to discuss our first essay of the year. The theme is ‘time.’”