The Way of the Wicked (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 2) (26 page)

Cooper ran her hand through her hair. “How could the Door-2-Door killer have gotten milk into a senior center? You can’t just waltz into those kinds of facilities, can you?”

“No. There’s usually a check-in at the front.” Trish stared into the distance, equally puzzled.

Cooper grabbed her friend’s hand. “Oh, Trish. This is so awful!” She looked around for Nathan, longing for his comforting touch, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The volunteers began to drift inside, but Cooper didn’t want to be in the midst of the speculative talk about Erik’s guilt. Suddenly, she recalled an image of him and Violet giggling together, heads drawn close, shoulders touching. She remembered his contented smile earlier in the day. It was not the expression of a murderer reliving his sordid deeds, but of a man dreaming of a future with the woman he loved.

Without really thinking about her actions, Cooper got in her truck and headed for Violet’s house. She had little comfort to offer Violet, but perhaps having another person present who believed in her fiancé’s innocence would be a small balm.

Cooper didn’t pause long enough to consider that the woman who’d lost her sister and her future husband within hours might not be interested in receiving visitors.

16

Halfway to Violet and Velma’s, Cooper noticed that her truck was almost out of gas. She pulled into the closest Wawa. While the gas was pumping, she wandered over to the temporary tent near the vacuum station, where a young man wearing a green apron was selling cut flowers.

Cooper chose an arrangement of red, yellow, and orange gerbera daises mixed with a cluster of bittersweet for the grieving sisters. The boy wrapped the flowers in green tissue and tied them with a white ribbon. He chatted and smiled the whole time, and though Copper wanted to be friendly, she felt too numb to respond beyond a nod and a murmur of thanks.

There were no cars parked in front of Violet’s house when Cooper arrived, but the porch light was on. She didn’t know if it had been burning throughout the night and took it as a sign that she should go forward with her visit.

Velma answered Cooper’s gentle knock, but only after peering hesitantly through a crack between the wooden door and the locked screen door.

“Do you remember me, ma’am?” Cooper said, holding the flowers in front of her like a peace offering. “I was here with Erik last week.”

“Of course, child.” Velma unlocked the outer door and shuffled backward. “Come in.”

The air in the house felt heavy and still. Velma led Cooper to the sunporch and sank into the same chair she had occupied during Cooper’s last visit. The old woman seemed to have shrunk since then. Her face was especially pale and her eyes were dull and somnolent. Cooper laid the flowers carefully on the table and took the seat facing Velma.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” she said, wishing she could think of a more original expression of condolence. “For everything that’s happened. Can I do anything for you? Get you some groceries or run errands? I have the whole day free and I’d love to help.”

Velma turned toward the window as if she hadn’t heard a word. “I gave her the milk, you know. Brought it with me during our visit like I always do. Vera wanted it. Had to have it. The center doesn’t serve Richfood milk, and Vera won’t touch another brand. We’ve been drinking Richfood milk since we were little girls and it’s the only one Vera recognizes. She’d get real put out with me if I didn’t bring her that milk.” Her profile was etched with pain. “So I brought it to her every visit. How she smiled when she took that first sip. You’d have thought it was a bottle of Coca-Cola. We weren’t allowed to drink soda pop when we lived at home.”

Cooper touched the old woman’s dry, bony hand. “You didn’t do this to her, Velma. Someone else did. It’s not your fault.”

Velma’s eyes flashed and Cooper caught a glimpse of the woman she’d met a week ago. “I’ll tell you one thing—Erik didn’t do this. I know that man and it wasn’t
him.
Those police—they wouldn’t listen to me!” She gripped Cooper’s arm. “You have to talk to them! Make them see the light!”

“I will,” Cooper promised. “I believe he’s innocent, too. But why do they think he’s guilty?”

“Because he came with us to visit Vera. Violet wanted them to meet since she and Erik planned to marry in a few weeks.” Velma sighed. “Vera wouldn’t have understood who Erik was, but it was important to Violet that he shake hands with her other sister. But Erik never got to meet her. When we got to her room, we realized that the nurses were helping Vera take a shower, so we decided to bring him back another time.”

“This was Friday?” Cooper asked.

Velma nodded. “Right after lunch. They found Vera the next morning. She left this earth sometime in the night, but she was sitting up in bed with her magazine on her lap, like she was just taking a break in the middle of reading a long story.”

“And you told the police that Erik never actually saw your sister?”

“I certainly did, but he was in her room and that’s all they seemed to care about!”

Cooper fell silent, feeling that the only service she could provide at the moment was to listen. She rubbed the older woman’s hand gently, silently reassuring her that she had all the time in the world to sit with her.

“Vera was an old woman,” Velma said matter-of-factly. “Her mind hadn’t been right for a long time and now she’s with our Lord. If someone hadn’t sent her to heaven before she was called, I could be at peace with her passing, but my heart is heavy. Violet’s shut up in the bedroom, refusing to eat or speak, and the wrong man’s been arrested.” A single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.

“I wish I had more comfort to give you, but I can tell you that this is not an open-and-shut case for the police,” Cooper told Velma. “All of the other victims were robbed. When they search Erik’s home, they won’t find the stolen items or a pile of extra money in his bank account. Most importantly, Erik has no motive. His dreams came true when Violet agreed to marry him.”

Velma dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve and looked at Cooper hopefully. “But he had the opportunity to mess with the milk or leave it on Vera’s nightstand during our visit. Isn’t that enough?”

“To hold him for questioning, but that’s it,” Cooper said. “Of course, it would be better if they had someone
else
to question. I hate to picture Erik in a cell.” She paused to once again consider the desires and behaviors of the other volunteers.

“I’m going to get these flowers a drink,” Velma whispered and walked away.

Thoughts whirled around in Cooper’s mind and she tried desperately to sort through the tangle of images and ideas in search of something useful.

“Is there a visitors’ log at Vera’s living center?” she asked when Velma returned bearing a white pottery pitcher and a pair of scissors.

“There sure is. During the day, you sign your name and put down the name and room number of the person you’re going to visit. There’s a gal working up front and she waves folks through unless she doesn’t recognize them. We never have to sign in, of course, and neither do deliverymen. Things get stricter in the evening. I believe they lock the outside door after eight, but we rarely visit that late.”

Cooper frowned. “I’m not so sure if reviewing those sign-up sheets will help much, but I’m confident the police will look them over closely.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, thinking hard. “What about the nurses? Wouldn’t they have noticed a stranger entering Vera’s room?”

Velma shrugged. “I imagine so, but there are several shifts, and they also rotate halls quite often so they can get to know all the residents. There aren’t enough nurses to watch what’s happening in every room every minute. Someone could have dropped off that milk and been gone before anyone noticed.”

“I hope the police show photos of the Door-2-Door volunteers to the nurses. Maybe they’ll recognize the real killer.
If
he or she is really a volunteer.” Cooper tore the tissue paper wrapped around the flower stems. “Why would someone go after Vera? It doesn’t make sense. The other victims lived alone and owned something valuable that this crazy person wanted to possess.”

Velma reached for one of the flowers. “We don’t have anything worth taking, but Vera’s watch was special. Her husband gave it to her on their wedding day in the forties. It was from Tiffany’s and was gold. I suppose it’s worth a pretty penny by now.”

Cooper whistled. “I imagine you’re right.” She scowled. “But how would the killer know you brought your milk to Vera?”

“I’ve been doing it since the get-go. Either I mentioned it to one of the volunteers or Violet did. Maybe even Erik, but I don’t remember.”

“Did Violet drink her milk?”

“Nope. She gave hers to the police.”

As Velma eased the daises into the pitcher, Cooper stared at a hairline crack running beneath the handle to the base of the pottery container. The true killer was not unlike the flawed pitcher. He or she looked and acted completely normal, but in some way they were damaged. There was a fracture in their psyche that compelled them to steal and to commit the most grievous crime against another human being: murder.

“I need to review that suspect list we made at Quinton’s house,” she muttered to herself. “There has to be something we overlooked.”

At that moment, Violet appeared at the end of the hallway leading into the sunroom. For a second, Cooper thought she was seeing a ghost. Violet was dressed in a white bathrobe with a white shawl wrapped around her narrow shoulders; her slippered feet made no noise. Her white hair was loose and tumbled over her shoulders like a snowdrift. She clutched something against her chest and her amethyst engagement ring winked as she passed through a slim sunbeam.

“Violet. Our new friend has brought us daises.” Velma held her hand out for her sister. “And hope.”

Cooper offered her chair to Violet, who dropped into it without saying a word.

“She believes in Erik, too, Vi. She doesn’t think the police will be able to keep him too long.” Velma touched her sister’s knee. “We should get ourselves together. They’re going to want to talk to us more. If you want to help Erik, we must trust in the Lord and shake off our despair.”

“It’s always been the three of us,” Violet whispered, looking down at the framed photograph she grasped so tightly. “Maybe it was a sin to love another. Look what happened after I gave in to my feelings.”

“That’s hogwash and you know it!” Velma spoke sharply. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. It was my milk, after all.”

“The fault lies with the horrible person who poisoned the milk—not with either of you,” Cooper gently interjected. “You are both victims, just as Vera was a victim. Just like the other seniors.” Cooper lowered her voice. “I believe God delights in love, Violet. I saw the joy in Erik’s eyes and anyone could tell that his heart was singing. How could that not please every ear in heaven?”

“She’s right, Vi, and you know it.” Velma crossed her arms and sat up straighter in her chair.

Violet looked at Cooper and nodded in gratitude. “Thank you for coming today. I hear the truth in your words.” She held out the photograph so that the light fell onto it. “I’m just having a terrible time thinking about the years to come without Vera being with us. I feel like part of my self has been ripped away. Even though she didn’t always know us, we were still together. We were family.” She traced a thin finger along the wooden frame. “Now someone’s taken her from us and I’m just so damned angry! It’s
God’s
right and His alone to call His children home.”

“I’m angry, too,” Cooper said softly. “Someone has worn a mask of goodness and charity in order to do evil, and my friends and I haven’t been able to see the true face of this person. I can’t understand why I can’t see
more clearly.”

“That’s what Vera used to say when we were girls,” Violet said with a hesitant smile. “She had glasses all her life. Always picked out the wildest ones in the store, too, didn’t she, Velma?” She held the photograph out for Cooper to see. “This was taken last year by one of Vera’s nurses. Look at those beauties my sister’s wearing!”

Cooper cradled the picture carefully in her hands and examined the image of the three sisters. Unlike the ones on display in the living room, this photograph, which Violet had carried out from her bedroom, showed the women in their old age. Velma and Violet were seated in hard-backed chairs on either side of their sister, who was comfortably ensconced in a peach-colored upholstered chair. Cooper’s eyes took in Vera’s face and the frame nearly slipped from her paralyzed fingers.

“Oh, no!” she gasped.

Thrusting the photograph into Violet’s hands, Cooper dug around inside her purse until she came up with Rector’s card. With trembling fingers, she jabbed at the number pad of her cell phone.

When he picked up after half a dozen rings, Cooper was feeling dizzy and breathless. “It’s Cooper Lee and this is urgent. I think I know who the killer is!”

Rector listened carefully to what she had to say and then told her to stay put. Without another word, he abruptly ended the phone call. Cooper held the phone in her hand and then glanced back at the photograph of the three sisters.

Could I be right?
She stared at the similar smiles, the crinkles of skin at the corners of their eyes, the age-spotted hands holding on to one another.
How could someone be that vile? Someone I thought was truly good.

Suddenly, she felt she was going to be sick. “Excuse me!” she called out to the bewildered sisters in a panicked voice and dashed down the hall.

She made it to the bathroom just in time and dropped to her knees over the toilet as her stomach emptied itself. When the nausea eventually passed, she sat back against the wall and took several deep breaths. Her skin was clammy and strands of sweat-dampened hair clung to her forehead.

Closing her eyes, memories of her Saturdays at Door-2-Door flooded her mind. She recalled the celebratory atmosphere of their potluck dinner, the playful dancing, the feeling of partnership in accompanying the volunteers on their routes. These pleasant images were immediately dimmed by the troubled countenances of Frank Crosby, the Colonel, and now, of Velma and Violet.