The Path of the Crooked (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 1) (28 page)

Nathan touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I forgot that you lost an eye in a place like this. I’m so used to your two different colors that I don’t really notice anymore. I guess I just see you.”

Cooper gave him a grateful smile. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. Nathan raised her hand to his lips and brushed her palm with the faintest of kisses, sending a flutter of heat through Cooper’s arm. When the elevator doors opened, he continued to hold her hand.

They checked in at the nurses’ station and were given directions to Reed’s room.

“Did you ever wear colored contacts?” Nathan asked while stepping around a cart stacked high with folded linens. “To match one of the eye colors?”

“I wore a green contact for a long time because Dre—” She cut herself short. “Because my ex-boyfriend bought it for me,” she admitted. “But it never felt quite right. I didn’t really want to cover up the green eye because it was a gift and I didn’t want to cover my blue eye because, well, that’s mine. It’s part of me. So I stopped wearing the contact.”

Nathan squeezed her shoulder in understanding and then abruptly stopped. They had reached Reed’s room.

Cooper couldn’t believe that Reed Newcombe was the immobile figure in the hospital bed. Tubes came out of his mouth, an IV line from his arm, and black wires attached to monitoring equipment formed a spiderweb around his upper body. Electric green waves and repetitive bleeps from two of the machines added to the gentle, repetitive noise of the respirator. Cooper reflected that the room seemed oddly peaceful. Lynda Newcombe sat in an upholstered chair by the room’s only window, her head slumped forward and her mouth agape in sleep.

As Nathan knocked quietly on the open door, Cooper took a step closer to Reed under the pretense of placing a fruit basket on the table next to his bed. Reed was a small man in stature, but he seemed even more shrunken now. White sheets were tucked tightly around his frame like a shroud, and his closed eyes and expressionless face made him look closer to death than to the world of the living. Cooper was surprised to feel a tear slide down her cheek.

“Mrs. Newcombe?” Nathan whispered and Lynda slowly opened her eyes. “We’re from Hope Street Church. I believe you’ve met some of our friends.” He hesitated. “We brought dinner for you and your family.”

Lynda said nothing. Her fixed gaze was not unfriendly, just tired. Nathan shifted on his feet and pointed at Cooper. “I’m Nathan Dexter and this is my friend Cooper. We were also at your husband’s last Little League game, though we were rooting for the other team, I’m afraid.”

Giving Nathan a weak smile, Lynda accepted the brown grocery bag with quiet thanks.

“We can only take credit for the delivery,” Cooper said. “My mama insisted on making every dish.”

The moment Maggie heard that Lynda had four boys, she’d wasted no time fixing the Newcombe family a hearty supper. As a result of Maggie’s efforts, Lynda now had a home-cooked meal of chicken dumplings, onion rolls, salad, green beans, and a pie made with fresh peaches from a local farm.

“This is very nice of you,” Lynda said and swallowed hard. “Dozens of people I don’t even know have been so kind to us since this happened. I’m very grateful, but it feels strange too.”

“How is your husband, ma’am?” Cooper whispered.

“You don’t have to keep your voice down,” Lynda answered instead. “He can’t hear you and I’m tired of acting like we’re already at the funeral. Truth be told”—she glanced sideways at Reed—“there are moments when I’m not sure I want him to wake up.”

Neither Nathan nor Cooper spoke.

“I know how that must sound, but Reed hasn’t exactly been good to me or to my boys for quite a while.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. “There have been other women, lies, and recently, a whole bunch of expensive purchases we can’t afford.” She took a sip of water from the glass by her side. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. My parents took my boys to Kings Dominion today to get their minds off their father, and this is the first real sleep I’ve had in days. I’m just babbling. Don’t pay me any mind.”

“We’re sorry to have disturbed you,” Cooper said, and started for the door.

“No, please stay. I could use some adult company,” Lynda beseeched them. “It’s been just me and the boys for a long time now. Reed’s paid the bills and done his public bit, like the Little League stuff, but he hasn’t really been with us for years.”

“But you’re here now, at his bedside,” Nathan pointed out. “That’s what really matters, Mrs. Newcombe. What is Reed’s prognosis?”

Lynda looked at the inert figure of her husband. “He’s suffered oxygen deprivation and had bleeding in his brain, probably due to the force of the impact when he hit the water.” She swallowed. “They have him in a medically induced coma to help bring down the swelling in his brain. They say it’s a miracle he survived at all, but that he may never be the same after what he’s been through.” She shook her head, fighting back emotion, though Cooper couldn’t tell if it was anger or grief.

“It sounds scary,” Cooper said.

Lynda nodded. “It is. And who would do this to him?” She continued to stare at Reed. “It was no accident, that’s certain. Someone pumped him full of morphine so that they could shove him off the bridge without him being able to put up a fight.”

“Morphine?” Nathan’s face creased in thought.

“Yes.” Lynda chuckled without humor. “And I had nothing to tell the cops except that I suspected that Reed was screwing around on me, and maybe his girlfriend got mad at him. I couldn’t even tell them who the latest bimbo was. Some woman named Hazel? His new secretary? The waitress at our favorite Italian restaurant? Who knows?” She began to pace. “I almost laughed out loud when the cops asked me where
I
was Saturday night. Supermom Lynda was hosting a sleepover with half the Little League team. I would have
loved
to have been outside gazing at the moonlight instead of telling my son and his friends to be quiet every ten minutes.”

At this opportune moment, there was a tap on the door and a doctor wearing a white lab coat over blue scrubs entered the room. “Hello.” He smiled at Cooper and Nathan and then made his way over to Lynda’s side. “How are you, Mrs. Newcombe?”

“Hanging in there,” she said, smirking. “Actually, I’m a bit better today, Dr. Palmantiers. These nice folks brought me dinner, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “Doctor? Mrs. Newcombe mentioned that Reed had morphine in his system. You need a prescription for that drug, correct?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered and then began examining Reed’s chart.

“Why would someone be given a prescription for morphine?” Nathan persisted.

The doctor turned a pair of bright blue eyes in Nathan’s direction. “Primarily for pain control,” he said, and then, seeing that Nathan was on the verge of asking another question, elaborated further. “For example, I’ve written prescriptions for patients with severe pain stemming from a variety of medical conditions from kidney stones to chronic back pain. However, I most commonly prescribe morphine to patients who have cancer and are suffering from constant pain.”

Cooper stared at Nathan. Why was he suddenly so curious about morphine? Dr. Palmantiers told them that he’d like to have a word with Lynda about Reed’s condition, so Nathan and Cooper wished Lynda well and exited the room.

“Vance’s wife had cancer!” Nathan exclaimed quietly as soon as they were out of earshot. “What if
he
gave the morphine to Reed? It obviously wasn’t Lynda since she was with a bunch of kids all night long, so that leaves Cindi and Vance as the primary suspects. Cindi was clearly upset over being dumped, but what was Vance angry about that night?” He rubbed his chin. “How are we ever going to find out?”

Cooper thought about Vance’s recent trip to Switzerland and about the report Jed Weeks had mailed to the executive right after Brooke’s death. “We should call McNamara and tell him that Vance’s late wife died of cancer and might have had a prescription for morphine,” she suggested. “Maybe then he’ll poke around into Mr. Executive Vice President’s life a little deeper. As for us”—she held out her hands helplessly—“short of driving to Vance’s house, knocking on the door, and asking him why he had words with Reed at a Little League game, we’re not going to be able to find out.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we should do.” Nathan entered the elevator and stood inside the car, so lost in thought that he forgot to press the lobby button.

“I doubt he’d tell us anything,” Cooper said. “We have no excuse to interrogate Vance. He’d probably toss us out on our ears.”

“Or arses,” Nathan mumbled.

“The only reason I can think of for approaching him at home is to pretend to ask for a donation to a charity,” Cooper said. “We’d need to come up with a genuine charity, though, in case he actually gives us a check.”

“That’s a great idea! Hope Street has been collecting funds for the women’s shelter. Maybe he’ll let us in if I tell him about the project.” Nathan beamed at Cooper. “Let’s drive out to his place right now. I’ll call McNamara and tell him the morphine theory en route.”

“Wait a second.” Cooper followed him down the long hall, which smelled unpleasantly of lemon disinfectant and fried chicken. “Do you even know where Vance lives?”

Nathan’s cheeks turned pink. “Actually, yes. I like to Google people when I’m bored. I’ve Googled all of the major players of this drama and I remember where Maynard’s place is. He’s on a pretty parcel out in Goochland, right near Hermitage Country Club. The house looks so big from the aerial view that I don’t think we can miss it.”

There goes our matinee again,
Cooper thought.

“Do you mind driving?” Nathan asked once they had reached the parking deck. “Sweet Pea has been acting up today and I don’t want to break down in the country.”

Cooper knew that this adventure could lead to something messy, but she wanted to spend more time with Nathan and, truth be told, she enjoyed the excitement of playing detective.

“We can take my Jeep, on one condition.” She patted her stomach. “We can go to the Sunset Grill Cafe for lunch first. Believe it or not, the smell of that fried chicken made me hungry, even if it was mixed with Pine-Sol.”

“Deal,” Nathan said and followed her outside to her parking spot. “It’s too bad we don’t know more high-society people. We need someone from the blue-blood, country club set to give us the inside scoop on Vance.”

Cooper immediately thought of Ashley. “I’m related to someone who travels in that circle. She’s no blue blood, but she’d sure like to be.”

“Can you call her?” Nathan’s eyes gleamed.

Knowing full well that they weren’t supposed to investigate any longer, Cooper recalled how recklessly she’d entered the woods in search of Eliza’s stalker, and how favorable that outcome had been. “Okay, wait until we get off the highway and I’ll call her. In the meantime, get in touch with McNamara.”

Nathan complied and began speaking rapidly into his cell phone. A few seconds later, he slipped his phone back into his front pocket. “I left a message on his voice mail. Your turn.”

Cooper dialed at a notoriously long red light, but Ashley didn’t answer her phone. Cooper had an image of her sister whizzing zealously around a putting green in her golf cart as champagne sloshed onto the trimmed turf. She left Ashley a message and pulled into Sunset Grill’s parking lot. As usual, the eatery was crowded and they had to settle for a table near the bar. Though tempted to choose the daily fish special, Cooper ordered the more humble cheese and asparagus quiche and a tossed salad while Nathan opted for chicken wings.

After the waitress had served them both tall glasses of sweet tea, the pair exchanged anecdotes about their workweeks. Cooper shared how Make It Work! had landed two new accounts: the new Bon Secours medical office center as well as all of the State Farm Insurance branches. The increase in business meant that Mr. Farmer would be forced to hurriedly hire another full-time employee.

“The poor person Mr. Farmer brings on will have to take full responsibility for the shredding business,” Cooper said as she drizzled blue cheese dressing on her salad. “The rest of us are thrilled. No one really likes driving around all day and emptying those bins. I already feel sorry for the new guy . . . or girl.”

Nathan told of a frustrating day in which one of his clients made him change the design of their website three times before finally agreeing to the initial design. As he mimicked the client’s whiny voice, their waitress came by to deliver the check. Cooper reached for it, but Nathan covered her hand with his own.

“I’m an old-fashioned guy. We’re on a date so I’ll take care of this.” He placed a twenty on the table and held on to Cooper’s chair as she stood.

“Okay, but if we ever
do
make it to a movie,” Cooper said as they headed out to her Jeep, “I’m going to buy the tickets.”

Nathan told her that Vance Maynard’s house was quite close to the Sunset Grill. In fact, it took less than five minutes for Cooper to reach the iron gates marking the entrance into the exclusive property. Just as she was going to ask Nathan what to do next, her cell phone chirped. She pulled onto the shoulder just past one of the open gates flanking Vance’s driveway and answered her phone.

“It’s so funny you asked about Vance Maynard,” Ashley trilled. “He’s here at the golf benefit today!”

“Is he standing close by?” Cooper felt paranoid. She didn’t want harm to come to her sister.

“No, he’s throwing back some g and t’s with the other boys inside the clubhouse,” Ashley said. “Why are you asking about Vance? I could tell you that he looks mighty sharp in a tuxedo.”

“When did you see him wearing one?”

“Last week. Saturday night was the Red Ribbon Gala. It was a dinner dance to raise money for cancer research. Vance’s wife died of cancer, so he’s very involved with the cause.”

Cooper was glad she was no longer driving, as she might have swerved off the road after hearing that remark.