The Graves of the Guilty (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 3) (5 page)

Feeling the need to sing for the remainder of the drive, Cooper switched her radio on. At the same moment, her truck tires crunched over an object in the road and her steering wheel pulled dramatically to the right. Though she didn’t share Felicia’s auto expertise, she knew that the sudden and dramatic tug to one side meant that a tire had gone flat. Really flat.

Cooper looked in her rearview mirror. “Crap. What the heck did I hit?”

Slowing down, she eased the truck onto the shoulder. Though reluctant to leave the warmth of her cab, Cooper grabbed a flashlight from her toolbox, jumped out of the truck, and saw that her right rear tire had deflated like a balloon.

“Great.” Cooper’s buoyant mood dissipated in the frigid air. Pulling her wool hat down over her ears, she retrieved her emergency road kit from the back of the cab and unzipped it. After igniting two flares, she unfastened the jack and spare tire from the inside of the truck bed. Just as she began the laborious process of jacking up the truck, the growl of a loud motor drawing nearer and nearer caused her to pause and glance at the dark highway behind her.

Her truck had foundered on a stretch of highway that only saw intermittent traffic at night. Truckers heading west were the most common sight, but the approaching engine did not belong to an eighteen-wheeler. It had the distinct thunderous rumble of a motorcycle.

As she watched, a dark red and chrome Indian Chief motorcycle edged onto the shoulder. At first, Cooper had the absurd hope that a policeman was coming to her aid, but one look at the rider’s attire dispelled that wish.

The male biker was dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket, and his features were completely obscured behind the black visor of his helmet. Even when he pushed back the visor to ask if she needed a hand, the moonless night cloaked him in shadow.

As he dismounted and began to walk toward her, Cooper’s cell phone rang to the tune of “A Hard Day’s Night.” The man in black chuckled. “I remember your mentioning the Beatles during one of your visits.”

He stepped forward into the red glow of the flare and Cooper’s jaw dropped as she recognized his face. “Get the phone, girl. I’ll jack the truck.”

Cooper picked up her phone. At first, she was too stunned to make sense of Ashley’s  hysterical cries, but then she finally heard coherent phrases like
“Please!
The car! There’s a man! He’s dead! He’s in my house!”

“Slow down, Ashley!” Cooper shouted in an effort to calm her sister. “Take a deep breath and try not to yell. I’m right here, okay?” She waited silently while Ashley struggled to control her rapid breathing. As Cooper listened, her eyes were fixed on Edward Crosby, aka the Colonel, who was busy removing the lug nuts from the flat tire.

Cooper had met him a few months ago when he was an inmate at Jail West, serving out the remainder of his sentence for the sale and distribution of narcotics. Her only communication with him had been through a telephone handset attached to a plate-glass divider, so she hadn’t been able to appreciate his formidable physical presence until now.

He wasn’t tall, but Edward Crosby’s body radiated strength. There was a sense of danger about him—something predatory. He stared up at her with his gunmetal gray eyes and she could see the shadow of the flag of Dixie tattoo that lay beneath the cropped hair of his scalp.

“There’s a dead man in the trunk of my car!” Ashley wailed.

After establishing that Ashley was unharmed and that a corpse had somehow materialized inside the locked garage of her sister’s house, Cooper promised she’d be right over and told Ashley to call the police.

“I can’t do that!” Ashley’s voice cracked as it rose an octave. “What if Lincoln gets in trouble? I got this car—it’s a rental—from his dealership because mine’s being serviced. What if there’s something going on at the dealership and his name ends up in the papers?”

“Make the call, Ashley. As soon as you’re done, turn on all the lights and fix a pot of coffee,” Cooper said in a gentle but firm tone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She slid her phone into her coat pocket and pulled the lapels closed over the skin of her neck. The night air felt needle-sharp.

Edward stood, offering her the wrench. “One of your lug nuts is stripped. It’ll take time you clearly don’t have to get off. Tell me where you need to go and I’ll take you there.”

Cooper didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the truck keys from her ignition and stuffed them into her purse. She then strapped on the extra helmet Edward had quickly produced and told him where Ashley lived.

“Hold on tight!” he shouted. “I don’t drive slow.”

As the motorcycle lurched onto the pavement, Cooper gasped in surprise and threw her arms around Edward’s waist. She’d never been on a motorcycle before and was struck by the force of the icy air as it careened up her pant legs and slapped the exposed flesh of her neck. Edward shifted gears and the bike shot forward, and Cooper tightened her grip on his leather jacket.

Edward’s body felt taut beneath his coat. It was as though every cell in his body was focused on getting Cooper to her sister as quickly as possible. Despite his near reckless speed, Cooper trusted his driving abilities. For some reason, she felt confident that she’d come to no harm in his company.

She followed Edward’s lead as he leaned into turns and hunched over when he accelerated. He tore through intersections and soared under the pools cast by flashing yellow lights until they had reached the dark corridor that was River Road. Slowing now, he waited for Cooper to tap him on the shoulder, indicating he should make a left or right turn. They had no other way to communicate, but seemed to have a natural connection—their bodies engaged in a wordless conversation.

Cooper was confused by her own reluctance to release her hold on Edward after he came to a stop in front of Ashley’s Georgian mansion. However, she had little time to dwell on the unsettling feeling because her sister flew out the front door and immediately buried her head against Cooper’s shoulder.

“I’m here. I’m here,” Cooper said soothingly. “Let’s go inside.” She hugged her sister tightly and then gently pushed her away. “I’ll look in the garage while you pour us some coffee, okay? We had a cold ride.”

Ashley suddenly became aware of both the motorcycle and the silent man dressed in black. Her blue eyes widened and she shot a frightened, questioning glance at Cooper.

“He’s a friend,” Cooper said quietly and smiled at Edward. At this, he removed his helmet and fell in behind the sisters as they entered Ashley’s house.

The heat immediately wrapped itself around Cooper. Her fingers and toes tingled as sensation returned to them. She stripped off her mittens but kept her coat and hat on as she moved through the kitchen and out to the garage.

The trunk of a metallic gold Cadillac sedan was ajar and several shopping bags were lying in disarray on the floor behind the right rear tire. From her current vantage point, Cooper couldn’t see into the trunk, so she breathed deeply, hoping to draw some courage from the still air, and walked to the back of the car.

Her first impression was of a man’s body curled into a fetal position. He seemed small and slight to Cooper. Almost childlike in the spacious truck. She looked at his black hair and pecan-colored skin, at the pair of callused and grease-stained hands bound with duct tape. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep, though there was nothing serene about the silver tape covering his mouth and the lower half of his mustache.

The rest of the trunk was empty. There were no signs of a struggle. There was no blood or rents in the plush carpet lining the trunk. It was as if the man had been carefully placed inside, like a young boy being tucked into his bed.

“You know this guy?” Edward asked softly beside her.

Cooper rubbed her arms, which had broken out in goose bumps the moment she’d looked inside the trunk. She shook her head, still staring at the trussed-up figure. There was something shrunken and diminished about this man, as if he’d become hollow once the energy—the presence of his spirit—had left his body.

Staring at the dead man, Cooper muttered a quick prayer for those who’d mourn his loss and then stepped back into the kitchen, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from her agitated sister.

“Have you ever seen that man?” Cooper asked her.

“No.” Ashley grabbed a tea towel and began to twist it around her fingers. “He might work for Lincoln. Quite a few Hispanics work on the lot. Did you notice his hands? They were covered in grease and oil.”

Cooper nodded as she sank onto a stool. She sipped her coffee automatically, her mind fixated on the image of the duct tape covering the man’s mouth. Edward held his cup between his palms but did not drink. He simply stared at the sisters, his expression unreadable.

“We have to call the police, Ashley. Do you really think Lincoln tied that man up and put him in the trunk of a Cadillac?”

“Of course not!” Ashley snapped and Cooper was pleased to see that her sister was starting to sound like her usual self.

“We have no idea where this crime was committed or who committed it, but that man”—Cooper gestured toward the garage—“deserves justice. I’m calling the cops now. When they get here, I’m sure they’ll want to speak to Lincoln.” Very gently, she asked, “Do you know where he is?”

Anger flashed in Ashley’s eyes. “He’s at Morton’s, having one of his three-hour steak dinners with his daddy and a few of the other managers.”

“And he’s not answering his phone?”

“It’s Morton’s. You couldn’t hear a foghorn in that place,” Ashley said, as if Cooper should know better. “Everyone talks louder than the next person at that place.”

Edward’s mouth twitched in amusement. Again, Cooper was struck by the force of his presence. He hadn’t uttered a single word and yet she felt clearheaded and confident just because he was in the room. Predicting her next move, Edward handed her the cordless phone from the cradle behind him. Cooper dialed 911 and provided what few details she could about the dead man in Ashley’s garage, and then hung up. She exhaled in relief. Help was on the way.

“Well, ladies, that’s my cue,” Edward said and turned for the door.

Cooper followed him. “Your timing was heaven-sent. Thanks for stopping to check on me by the highway and for bringing me here.”

Edward dipped his chin. “I’m going back to your truck. You can’t leave it there all night,” he said as he stepped out into the cold. “Have one of the cops”—he said the word with distaste—“drive you back when they’re done with you. It’ll be ready to roll.”

“Wait!” Cooper said loudly as he strode toward his bike. “I don’t even know what to call you! Edward or the Colonel?”

Smiling, he threw a leg over his bike and prepared to don his helmet. “Depends on what company I’m keeping. With you, I’m Edward.”

Before she could reiterate her thanks, Edward fired up the motor. With a wave of his black-gloved hand, he sped off down the drive.

By the time Cooper returned to the kitchen, rubbing her cold-reddened hands together, Ashley had changed into a rose-hued sweater set and gray slacks. She’d even added a string of pearls and pulled her hair back into a silk headband. Cooper watched her apply a layer of pink lipstick using the toaster’s reflection as if she were primping for a ladies’ luncheon instead of preparing to meet a team of police officers.

“Are you getting gussied up for the cops?” she asked, startling Ashley. The lipstick slid across her sister’s cheek like a smear from a melting popsicle.

“I feel more comfortable this way.” Ashley wiped her cheek and eyed Cooper intently. “Who was that Zorro on two wheels?”

“Edward Crosby,” Cooper said. When Ashley responded with a blank look, Cooper went on. “His father was murdered last year by the Door-2-Door Dinner killer. Remember?”

Her sister’s eyes grew round in horror. “He’s the
convict?
And he was in
my
kitchen?”

“He’s obviously not incarcerated anymore,” Cooper replied sharply. “I got a flat tire driving home and he pulled over to help me change it. Then you called and I needed to get here as fast as I could, so he gave me a ride. Pretty gentlemanly behavior for a
convict.”

“Edward.” Ashley tried out the name. “He has magnetism, that’s for sure.” When the telltale blush crept up her sister’s neck, she yelled, “Ha! Just how tight were you holding on to him?”

Fortunately, Cooper was saved from having to respond by the arrival of the police. Hurrying to open the front door, she was taken aback to see only a pair of uniformed men standing on the welcome mat.

“This way, please.” She stepped back to let them inside. As the younger officer closed the door, Cooper introduced herself and then led the pair through the kitchen into the garage. “This is my sister, Ashley Love. This is her house and she’s the one who found the body.”

Both sisters hung back as the officers walked to the rear of the Cadillac. The taciturn men exchanged subtle glances of surprise after looking inside the trunk, and suddenly their expressions of doubt turned into steely, determined frowns.

The trapped air inside the garage grew heavier in the silence. It was as if the presence of additional witnesses multiplied the horror of the dead man’s bound hands and taped mouth. The entire space was polluted by the taint of violence.

Cooper took Ashley by the elbow and pulled her out of the garage and into her living room. There, the sisters sank into the soft chenille cushions of the sofa. Ashley hugged a floral pillow to her chest while Cooper closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the policemen were saying to one another as they examined the corpse.

“When they come in, offer them coffee,” Cooper whispered to her sister. “Remember—no matter what they imply by their questions—that we’re on the same side. We all want to find out what happened to that poor man.”

Frightened, Ashley nodded. She spent the following minutes chewing on her fingernails. Finally, when the ticking of the mantel clock remained the only sound in the room, she suddenly jumped up and announced her plan to call the maître d’ at Morton’s.