The Graves of the Guilty (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 3) (16 page)

Cooper swallowed and gripped the cheese plate. “Come on into the living room. There’s someone you need to meet.”

10

Cooper wriggled her toes in the bubbling water of the foot spa and sighed.

The morning had not gone as planned. First, she’d listened to Angela’s curt voice mail saying that she wouldn’t be coming into work that day. As a result, Cooper had been forced to man the phones and rush out during her lunch break to complete two repairs as well.

At five fifteen in the afternoon, the nightmarish ringing of the phone finally stopped. Cooper knocked on Mr. Farmer’s closed door intending to tell him that she refused to do Angela’s job for a second day.

“Come in,” her boss mumbled, and Cooper entered to find him staring at his computer screen. When she approached the desk, he clicked his mouse and a wallpaper image of M. C. Escher’s merging black and white fish replaced whatever he’d been gazing at with such mournful longing.

“Sir, I know it’s none of my business, but have you spoken to Angela since, um, since Mrs. Farmer was here?”

Her boss rubbed his temples. “No. She won’t return my calls. I’ve even driven to her house, but I don’t think she’s staying there. Betty Boop likes to be taken out at regular intervals and there hasn’t been a Yorkie in sight.”

Cooper hesitated and then said, “Sir, you must have known she’d be upset to discover the existence of a
Mrs.
Farmer.”

Mr. Farmer’s forehead creased into unhappy wrinkles. “Bea can be quite abrupt, I know. That’s why I waited so long—” He gripped his mouse and leaned forward in his chair. “Was she rude to Angela? Did she say something horrible?”

Cooper knew she should tread carefully. After all, the woman in question was the boss’s wife. On the other hand, Angela was a cherished friend who didn’t deserve to be treated with such disrespect by anyone. “She was pretty impolite, sir. Patronizing. Angela didn’t take that well, but it was hearing that there was a
Mrs.
Farmer and that this
Mrs.
Farmer owned half the business . . . now
that
really got to her.”

Her boss’s eyes bulged and he slowly got to his feet. He placed his balled fists on the desktop and hunched forward, looking like a crazed ape about to launch an attack on an intruder. “Do you mean . . . ?” He swallowed and tried again. “Does Angela think Bea is my
wife
?”

“Yes,” Cooper said. “What else would she think?”

Unexpectedly, Mr. Farmer began to laugh. It started as a wet rasp deep in his throat and then rose, like a gurgling water fountain, until he was holding his round belly and chortling with mirth. “Bea . . . is . . . not . . . my . . . wife!” he said in between guffaws.

Eventually, Mr. Farmer grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk, blotted his eyes, and blew his nose with a loud honk. “Mrs. Farmer is my
sister.
Bea was married when she was very young. Like many gals these days, she hyphenated her name to Allen-Farmer. After her divorce, she went by Beatrice Farmer. Everyone kept calling her Mrs. and she didn’t bother to correct them. I think she liked being a Mrs. without being married. But it’s confused a lot of folks, including you and Angela, it seems.”

“It was logical to assume she was your wife, sir,” Cooper pointed out.

“Sure it was.” Mr. Farmer nodded. “Bea’s also a silent partner in the business. When our folks passed on, she and I put every dime of our inheritance into Make It Work!” He shook his head. “Bea and I . . . we’ve been one another’s main source of company for a long time. I think it’s been hard for her to see me . . . fall in love.”

Giving Mr. Farmer her warmest smile, Cooper said, “I’m sure it’s difficult for your sister, sir. I know I’ve been envious of my sister’s happiness before. Maybe when you and Angela get together again, you can invite Bea along. Give the two women a chance to get to know each other.”

“
If I
can find my sweet Angela, I will!” her boss exclaimed. “It’s bad enough that I miss her on a personal level, but I can’t have my best repair person manning the phones, either. Ben would quit if I asked him to fill in and Emilio has poor grammar and can’t spell. You’re the only employee capable of running the whole show.” Flushing at the compliment, Cooper eyed the wall calendar behind Mr. Farmer’s head. It was unlikely Angela had fled too far. Cooper knew her friend was fastidious about keeping the roots of her platinum hair touched up and always visited her stylist on the second Monday of the month. She’d be due for an appointment that very afternoon, in fact.

“Why not write Angela a note explaining everything and allow someone else to give it to her?” Cooper suggested. “This way, she’s bound to read it—especially if she’s trapped under a dryer hood. As soon as she realizes that you’re still a bachelor, and a bachelor who’s sorry to have caused her pain, she’ll call you.”

Mr. Farmer grabbed a piece of paper and a green Sharpie and pushed it across the desk. “Write down where and when, please.” He waved for Cooper to take a seat. “But before I rush off to get this situation under control, there’s something I’d like to talk about with you.”

Cooper penned the name and address of Angela’s salon. “Anything serious, sir?”

Without glancing up from the letter he’d immediately starting writing, Mr. Farmer grinned. “Only if you consider a new title and a significant pay raise serious. I need to separate our company into two divisions: Document Security and Leasing and Maintenance. I’ve approached Ben about running the shredding operation and now I’m asking you if you’ll be my department head in charge of repairs and service. Ben gets Emilio and the new hire of his choice and you’ll need to bring two people on board to complete your team.” He patted a stack of paperwork with his left hand without pausing in his scribbling. “The contracts are flooding in, Cooper.”

“Why now, sir?” Cooper was as perplexed by this as she was by the increase of sales at Lincoln’s dealership.

“Because Reliable Office Solutions hasn’t been so reliable lately.” Mr. Farmer’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Our main competitor might be going out of business any day now.”

Cooper pondered the impact of expansion. Their company would be the frontrunner in repairs and service, they’d own a small fleet of repair vans, new coworkers would populate the break room, and there’d be an influx of funds. Mr. Farmer had mentioned a significant raise. Perhaps she’d knock off her credit card debt once and for all. “My salary, sir? What would that be?”

Mr. Farmer recited a number fifty percent higher than Cooper’s current salary. Gripping the arms of the chair to keep from jumping for joy, Cooper said, “I accept, sir.”

“Excellent.” He stopped writing long enough to stand and shake her hand. He then placed a manila folder bursting with disheveled papers in her arms. “See to the needs of our latest clients and sort through these employee applications. Your role as department head starts now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Farmer!” Cooper clutched the paperwork to her chest. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never have,” he replied with a smile. “Now go celebrate.”

Taking her boss’s advice, Cooper drove straight to the nail salon and plucked a shade of dark burgundy polish called Royal Rajah Ruby from the shelf. It was from OPI’s India Collection and was cited as being the hue for “the prince’s princess.”

I’m feeling quite regal at this moment,
Cooper thought as she slipped her feet into the warm scented water.

“How have you been?” asked Minnie, her regular technician.

Cooper thought,
I feel like my life is a big Tilt-A-Whirl ride. Things are spinning out of control and I’m just trying to hold on. I’m cooking dinner for my sister and her husband this evening, and my boyfriend and an ex-con I’ve got the hots for ate pizza together in my apartment last night. On the other hand, my good friend Angela’s love life is back on safe ground and I just got a promotion and a killer raise.

Cooper smiled and said, “It’s been a crazy few weeks.”

An hour later, refreshed and reinvigorated thanks to Minnie’s strong and skillful hands, Cooper drove to Ashley’s house to begin her dinner preparations. As she washed plum tomatoes for the field greens salad, she couldn’t help replaying the scene in which Edward and Nathan had introduced themselves, shook hands, and discussed Miguel’s case like they were old friends.

It was only when Cooper recounted everything Hector had said during the creation of her forged documents that they realized an important detail had been overlooked.

“He muttered something that sounded like
China blanca
but I couldn’t be sure,” Cooper had said. “That was the end of our conversation.”

Edward had been steering a wedge of pizza toward his mouth, but he dropped it back on his plate with a wet thud.
“China Blanca
? That’s China White.”

“What’s that?” Ashley had demanded.

“Black tar, diesel, smack, brown sugar, chiva, junk.” Edward picked up his pizza and began to eat, his gray eyes distant. “Heroin. The good stuff. China White is pure as Arctic snow.”

Nathan had gaped at Edward in astonishment, but Cooper’s only reaction had been to say, “So we can assume that Miguel’s extra money came from the illegal drug trade. Great. Time to tell McNamara and Wiser what we know.”

Edward had dismissed that idea immediately. “What do we know? Only that Miguel Ramos might have been a runner. He didn’t deal. He was a little fish. Doesn’t help the cops a bit. They don’t know who the kingpin is. I need to go to a shooting gallery to find out who’s importing the China White.”

“You’re going to fire a gun?” Ashley had been nonplussed. “Like for target practice?”

Wiping his hands on his napkin, Edward stood and indicated that it was time for him to leave. “No, darling. This kind of gallery uses needles. Folks pay to shoot up in a protected environment. Sometimes they buy the drugs there, too.” He clapped Nathan on the back. “Nice to meet you, man. Catch you later, ladies.”

Once he’d gone, Nathan had turned to Cooper and said, “Interesting fellow,” and then he’d also departed, claiming he needed rest after three straight days of physical labor.

“They’re fleeing like flies from the swatter,” Ashley had teased on her way out the door.

Now, twenty-four hours later, Cooper was in Ashley’s kitchen rubbing olive oil into a fortune’s worth of lamb chops while her sister trimmed a bouquet of winter-white roses. Cooper didn’t regret her offer to cook dinner for Ashley, but she desperately wished she could spend the evening in quiet reflection instead.

Several times that day, Cooper had removed Rich Johnson’s card from her wallet and traced the embossed black letters with her fingertips. He headed up the city’s special drug task force unit, so it made sense to tell him about Miguel’s connection to the heroin known as China White. True, she had nothing more to offer than a mumbled Spanish phrase, but perhaps it would be enough of a lead for someone as dogged as Officer Johnson to follow. However, she’d promised to give Edward until the end of the week to come up with a more definitive clue.

“Didn’t I buy lovely chops?” Ashley asked, breezing into the kitchen with all the glamour of a movie star. She wore a cashmere sweater in a rich indigo hue, a shimmering gray skirt, and a diamond and pearl necklace that would have made Liz Taylor jealous.

Cooper nodded. “You look gorgeous. What’s your predinner game plan?”

“Cosmos in the living room.” Ashley removed chilled martini glasses from the refrigerator. “The fireplace is lit, the roses will be in the Waterford vase Lincoln gave me for our second anniversary, and I practiced my best hostess smile in the mirror. See?” She bared her teeth.

Laughing, Cooper turned her attention to mashing potatoes. She then added sautéed garlic, melted butter, and a scoop of sour cream to the potatoes. At that point, the doorbell rang and the two sisters heard Lincoln’s voice in the hallway welcoming his coworker to his home.

“Showtime,” Ashley whispered and scooped up the cocktail shaker. “See you after you’ve got the chops in the oven.”

“Remember to put on the oven mitts when you carry the platter into the dining room!” Cooper called after her. “If you’re going to pretend to be the chef, you have to look the part.”

Setting the oven to broil, Cooper arranged asparagus spears into a symmetrical fan and drizzled Hollandaise sauce over the green stalks in a zigzag pattern. By the time the French baguette was sliced and placed in a lined basket and the chops had broiled until a fine bark of Dijon mustard had formed on the surface of the tender meat, Cooper assumed the threesome in the living room had had ample time to finish their cocktails. She washed her hands, put on her wool coat, and walked out through the garage and to the front door. Knocking, she entered the house and hung her coat on the hall tree. Pretending to follow the sound of voices, she meandered into the living room, where Ashley greeted her warmly and pressed a martini glass into her hand.

“Aleksandra Jones, this is my sister, Cooper Lee,” Ashley said to the statuesque beauty standing to the side of the fireplace.

The woman, who had pale skin, icy blue eyes, and dark auburn hair shorn in a sharp razor cut just below the ears, offered Cooper her slim hand. Every finger held a gold and gemstone ring, and one of the jewels took a nip of Cooper’s flesh as the two women shook hands.

Taking a calculating sip of her cocktail, Aleksandra reminded Ashley that she was accustomed to being called Alek. She used the clipped formal tone of a member of the aristocracy remonstrating a household servant.

“Of
course,
” Ashley responded to the reprimand with equal haughtiness, her tone pure Scarlett O’Hara. “
Do
forgive me. It’s just that Alek sounds
so
masculine and you are the very picture of all things feminine.”

The battle has begun,
Cooper thought and took a generous swallow of her cosmopolitan.

“I am in a business dominated by men,” Alek said, ignoring the barbed compliment. “It’s best to fit in so that your ideas are not dismissed. Don’t you find that to be true in your line of work?”