The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (19 page)

“I’m sorry, too, but at the same time I’m not. Bryant here’ll tell you the same, I’m sure. I hated the bad times, but I wouldn’t give up the good times. Me and Sylvia . . . we really did love each other in the beginning, and things were great.”

Bryant’s expression was one of pained empathy. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Lewis drew in a deep breath. “I don’t mind. Haven’t had anyone to talk to. And if you knew Sylvia, then, well, you must be good folks. She always knew good folks. I was the exception.”

“You seem like a nice man,” Cooper argued.

“Afraid not. No. You see, in the beginning, when me and Sylvia had it good, she thought I was a good man, too. She was teaching art at Coughlin Prep School in Detroit—real fancy place for the well-to-do. She’d grown up around there and loved it. I was doing some contract work. We had money; we had jobs we loved; we thought we had it all.” He sighed.

Bryant leaned forward, empathy in his face. “Then life got in the way.”

“You know the old story. Boy meets girl. They’re happy. Then boy meets horse track.” Lewis cleared his throat. “I lost a lot of money there, and Sylvia wasn’t happy about it. We moved here to try and start a new life, but the damage was already done. Two years after we bought this house, Sylvia filed for divorce.”

“That must have been a shock, after you’d gone through so much to try and rebuild your relationship,” Savannah said gently.

“Not really,” Lewis replied. “Sylvia came from money. When her folks died, she was their only heir. By the time we split, most of her inheritance was gone.” As he paused, hesitating, an uncomfortable expression came over his face.

He’s hiding something,
Cooper thought.

The look vanished as suddenly as it appeared, and Lewis continued. “She used to work because she loved it, but then she worked because she had to just to pay the bills, and sometimes she didn’t have enough for that . . .”

There was a catch in Lewis’s voice. He became silent, focusing on his coffee, as Cooper and Bryant exchanged glances. He was guilty of something, although Cooper wasn’t sure what it was or why she was so certain of his guilt. Was it that uncomfortable expression? His tone of voice? His tendency to avoid eye contact? And what exactly was he guilty of? He’d obviously used Sylvia for her money, but if what Abbi said was true—about Sylvia supporting him even after the divorce—Sylvia was an enabler.

“Did Sylvia have any enemies?” Bryant asked after giving Lewis sufficient time to stare into his mug. “Did she have a beef with anybody?”

Lewis laughed. “Besides me? No, no. Sylvia was a lover, not a fighter. She thought that all the world’s ills could be solved with the right piece of art.”

“You said she sometimes didn’t have enough money to pay the bills. Could she have borrowed money from the wrong person?” Cooper asked. “And when she couldn’t pay them back, they . . .”

“The only person I know of that she borrowed from was a friend of hers. Sweet gal. A teacher at the community college, I think.”

“Abbi Merken?”

Lewis nodded. “That’s her. I only met her once. She didn’t seem to like me very much, but that only made me trust her more!” Another pause. Another guilty look. “Now don’t go thinking what you’re probably thinking. That Abbi gal was like a sister to Sylvia, near as I could tell, and I don’t believe there was nearly enough money involved to lead to murder.”

“Unfortunately,
enough money
is a relative term,” Savannah said. “To some people, twenty dollars is enough motive to kill. To others, a million wouldn’t come close.”

“I suppose that’s true. Still, I can’t believe Sylvia’s friend would do that sort of thing. Sylvia trusted Abbi a lot more than she trusted me, but then again, I’d have trusted Abbi more than I trust me. In fact, she made Abbi executor of her will.”

“That’s a hefty responsibility,” Cooper said. “Although it sounds like Sylvia didn’t have much to leave anyone.”

“Only her insurance. In case you’re wondering, I’m the primary beneficiary on that.”

Bryant looked shocked. “Really? My ex-wives took my name off the paperwork as soon as the divorces went through.”

“I suppose Sylvia knew I’d always be needing money. She was always trying to fix things, even after we split. Always willing to lend a hand when I asked for it. Besides, she didn’t have any other family to give it to.”

“She could’ve signed it over to Abbi,” Cooper suggested.

“Abbi’s secondary beneficiary.”

Cooper and Bryant exchanged a look, and Cooper finally set her half-finished mug down. “Are you saying that Abbi was Sylvia’s beneficiary for a life insurance policy?”

“
Secondary
beneficiary,” Lewis corrected. “I only know because when Sylvia got the insurance a few years ago, she wanted to tell me I was the primary.”

He stared at the wall behind Cooper, tears welling in his eyes. They may have been divorced, but clearly Lewis still had feelings for Sylvia. Or maybe it was her money he’d loved the most.

Cooper took his change of expression as their cue. “Well, Mr. Wilburson, thank you for having us in and for the coffee.”

He stood and walked them to the door. “Thank you for the casserole.”

On the way out, Savannah took Lewis’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad we got to have this time.”

Lewis coughed uncomfortably. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

They piled back into Cooper’s truck, and as she pulled out of the driveway, she watched Lewis slowly close the door. “Did anyone else get the impression he’s hiding something?”

Bryant poked his head up between the seats. “He seemed pretty open about his gambling and the fact that his ex didn’t trust him at all.”

“Yes, which led him to telling us about how Abbi Merken is the executor of Sylvia’s will and secondary beneficiary to the life insurance, making Abbi a prime suspect. Awfully convenient that even as Lewis was opening up about his bad qualities, he was subtly incriminating someone else.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s hiding something. Maybe Abbi should be a prime suspect.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Why not?” Bryant adjusted his seat belt, which was digging into his stomach, as he pulled forward on it. “She told you about Lewis. She gave you his address. She told you about Sylvia’s stalker, the science teacher. And she neglected to mention that she was executor and beneficiary. If you ask me,
that’s
awfully convenient.”

Savannah rested her head against the side window. “I don’t deny that we need to learn more about Abbi, but I agree with Cooper. Lewis is grieving, and he’s lost, and that breaks my heart. But something in his manner said there’s more to the story than he was telling. Although I’m not sure what we can do to dig deeper. We don’t have the authority to look into Sylvia’s documents—her will, her insurance.”

Cooper turned onto the highway. “Maybe we don’t have authority, but we do have something nearly as good.”

“What?”

“An ally. If Abbi isn’t trying to hide anything, she may be willing to share information about the will and insurance. I’ll see if Trish wants to go with me to talk to Abbi again. She may be willing to help us more than we realize.”

Bryant sat back in his seat. “Or she may be guilty.”

Savannah’s cell began to ring, and Cooper and Bryant stopped talking so she could answer it. Cooper tried not to eavesdrop, concentrating instead on the road and their visit with Lewis.

A few minutes later, Savannah rejoined the conversation. “That was Pastor Matthews,” she announced.

Cooper paid attention once more. “How is he?”

“As well as can be expected. I know our little group has been doing a lot since Sylvia’s death, but Pastor Matthews has asked us for one more favor.”

“We’re glad to help,” Bryant replied. “What does he need?”

“The police gave him the okay to pack up Sylvia’s things in her classroom. He’s wondering if our group could give him a hand tomorrow evening.”

“I’ll be there,” Cooper said. “Are they close to having a replacement for Sylvia.”

“They don’t have anyone yet, but he needs to start accepting applications and interviewing candidates soon. He doesn’t want prospective teachers to be faced with all the memories of a dead teacher when they walk into the art room.”

“What are they doing in the meantime? Canceling the art classes?”

“Actually, that was the other reason Pastor Matthews called. He’s lining up substitute teachers for the next few weeks, and he asked if I’d be willing to teach for a day.”

“That’ll be great!” Bryant exclaimed. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d think about it.”

Cooper smiled encouragingly. “What’s there to think about? Those kids will love you! You remember how quickly they took to you at Sylvia’s memorial.”

Savannah shook her head. “I don’t know. I’d need to have a ride there and home, and I don’t know how that would work out with all of my dear friends having jobs they have to get to and stay at all day.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Cooper declared. “If you want to sub, we’ll find you a ride. Where there’s a will, there’s a carpool.”

Savannah considered, a little grin on her face. “It
would
be a fun experience. There’s a lot of talent among those students, as far as I could tell. A lot of colors and shapes in their pictures and unique pottery. I’d like to get to know the students better and maybe encourage them a bit.”

“You’d be a great encouragement. They’d learn so much from you. Tell Pastor Matthews you’ll do it.”

“You’ve inspired me!” Savannah finally said. “All right, I’ll do it!”

11

At a little after one p.m. the next day, Cooper took a well-deserved and desperately needed lunch break. As soon as she sat down in her truck, her phone rang.

“Cooper here,” she answered.

“Cooper? Hi, this is Harry Wintersteen.”

Cooper rolled her eyes. “Harry, I asked you not to call.”

“I know, but I hadn’t heard from you in a few days, so I thought I’d check in. Better to be safe than sorry, you know.”

“Harry, I don’t have anything useful to tell you. Try talking to the police. They probably know more than I do.”

“I’ve been calling them, too, but they’re not very helpful,” Harry replied. “And they’re not nearly as nice and polite as you are.”

Cooper gritted her teeth, trying to muster up the nerve to be mean and impolite, but she just couldn’t. Her folks had raised her better than that. “Harry,” she finally said. “You need to not call me anymore. If I learn something I think you need to hear, I’ll let you know.”

“All right,” he sighed. “I just can’t stand waiting around for bits of information about my Sylvia’s death.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s what you’re going to have to do.”

Harry sighed again, more loudly this time. “Thanks for your time.”

Cooper hung up her phone, took a few minutes to breathe and pushed Harry Wintersteen out of her mind. Hopefully this time he’d respect her wishes. Surely he wouldn’t call again.

Somewhat calmer, Cooper took a leisurely drive to Casa Grande and brought a chicken quesadilla back to the office. She planned to spend a relaxing half hour in the conference room, which often served as a lunch room when it wasn’t being used for a meeting.

“Ah,” she muttered. “No computer. No office. No office phone . . . for a whole thirty minutes.”

But when she entered the room, she saw that she wasn’t alone. Josh Whittaker was already there, eating a sub sandwich at the table. Her plans for a peaceful lunch disappeared in a puff of wishful thinking. She had put off talking to Josh because they hadn’t been in the same room, just the two of them, for any extended period of time. Now he was only halfway through his sandwich, and she hadn’t started her food. They’d have all the time they needed.

She took a deep breath, prayed for the right words to say, and took a seat, all smiles.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, after she’d already sat down.

He swallowed an oversized bite. “Please do. I’m not a big fan of eating lunch alone. Back when I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Peterman, we’d all eat together. Mrs. Peterman brought food for all three of us. It was like family time. I like to have somebody to eat with.”

Cooper recalled Josh’s former employers, the Petermans, an elderly couple that treated him like a son, or grandson. He often mentioned them, in the same way that other employees talked about their families. “Have you heard from the Petermans lately?”

Josh nodded, wiping a drop of sauce from his chin. “Got a letter from Mrs. P. last week. They’re loving Florida and spending a lot of time with the grandkids. You know what’s weird? I’m still getting used to the fact that they don’t like e-mail. I just don’t think of snail mail anymore. I have to keep an eye on my mailbox so I don’t miss those letters!”

Cooper unwrapped her quesadilla. “I’m glad they’re staying in touch. You don’t find that kind of genuine concern in employers very often.” Now was the time for transition. “You know, Mr. Farmer cares about his employees. I do, too. So, how is everything with you these days?”

“Great! I moved into a new apartment a couple weeks ago, so I’m kind of living around boxes right now.”

“Nice place?”

“Not a whole lot nicer than the last one, but it’s closer to work, and it’s got a little breakfast nook. And a fireplace. I guess that does make it nicer than my old apartment.”

“That sounds lovely. If you don’t mind my asking, is it expensive?”

Josh responded with a laugh. “Expensive? It has a lovely view of an alleyway, and if I open up the window in the breakfast nook, the whole place is filled with the aroma of rotting refuse. Does that answer your question?”

Cooper grimaced at the thought of smelling garbage while eating breakfast. “Yes, that answers it very vividly.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Josh continued. “I love the place. I’ve never been a big fan of having my windows open, anyway. I suppose the view and smell would’ve been more pleasant elsewhere in the building, but that would’ve cost a lot more. I’d rather live within my means and leave the windows closed than go broke in some fancy condo. Probably sounds horrible to you, doesn’t it?”