Path Of The Wicked Part 12

Everyone nodded in unison.

"Well, the cupbearer gets out, but he forgets about Joseph. Man, readin' that burned me up! And right away, I started thinkin' about the old folks Door-2-Door helps who have been left alone for whatever reason. My prayer is that the Lord won't let us forget about them. I want to allow Him to just go on and work through our brains and our bodies to protect these folks and find the devil among them." He glanced at his friends, his eyes fiery. "I know we're talkin' all this out after church, but I think we need to arm ourselves with prayer, kinda like we learned durin' our Ephesians study."

"Sharpen your weapons, maties." Bryant swiped his Bible through the air as though wielding a sword. "People of faith can be tough guys, too."

Nathan stood and pretended to parry with his own Bible. "Arrrgh! The Good Book is mightier than the sword."

"Okay, Pirates of Pentecost!" Cooper laughed. "Watch out for the coffee cups."

As no one else had prayer requests, the Sunrise members linked hands and bowed their heads while Savannah led them in prayer. They then spent the rest of the hour drinking coffee and sharing their views on Joseph and his prediction of Egypt's seven years of plenty and seven years of famine. Afterward, the group adjourned to the auditorium for worship service and promised to reunite at Quinton's townhouse by quarter of one.

Quinton's Tudor-style town home on South Harrison Street was located beneath the shadow of Richmond's venerable burial ground, Hollywood Cemetery. The cemetery rose in a steep hill to overlook the James and several of Richmond's downtown neighborhoods. Quinton had told his friends many times that he loved living near the historic landmark and often took evening walks through the cemetery.

"When I think I've had a bad day because the stock market's down or a client has left our brokerage firm for a competing firm, it only takes a stroll around that place to put things in perspective," Quinton had once told them. "And it's strangely peaceful to read the loving epitaphs people have written for their family members."

Cooper had never been inside his home before, but she was impressed by the cleanliness of the walnut wood floors, gla.s.s-topped tables, and plush, leather furniture. Quinton had decorated his apartment using a mult.i.tude of brown and cream tones, punctuated by splashes of red and green, which appeared in the rugs, throw pillows, and in the lithographs grouped on his off-white walls.

"Quinton, I wish you'd come over and make my place look half as cool as this." Jake pivoted around and around, impressed by what he saw. "I've still got my mama's old flowered sofas and a coffee table that's piled so high with magazines and tools and junk that its legs are startin' to give."

"I can't take any credit for the decor in here. My sister's an interior designer and I just gave her my Visa card and she took over." He led his friends into his kitchen, which was illuminated by a series of pendant chandeliers with jewel-toned shades made of gla.s.s. "I bought sandwich fixings for our meal." Quinton began pulling lunchmeat out of his gigantic Sub-Zero fridge. "And fresh bread from Montana Gold." He looked to Trish for help. "Would you arrange the food on this platter?" He handed her an oversized bra.s.s platter. "I had to save all my exertions for a special dessert."

"Hard salami!" Jake grinned as he hovered behind Trish. "I liked you before, my man, but I love ya now. This is my favorite."

"I'll stick to turkey and muenster," Bryant said, a.s.sembling his sandwich. "You have any pickles, Quinton?"

"Oh, sure. And three kinds of potato chips." He ripped open a bag of barbeque chips and dumped them into a wooden bowl. "I've also got brownies." He whipped the tin foil off a tray of brownie squares. "But these aren't your run-of-the mill Duncan Hines boxed stuff. For you, my dearest friends, I've made fudge brownies with peanut b.u.t.ter frosting."

"Quinton, thank you so much for providing for us today," Savannah said as Jake helped her settle on one of the stools tucked beneath the kitchen island. Trish and Cooper also sat while the rest of the group leaned against the cabinets to eat.

They chewed in thoughtful silence for a few moments and Cooper wondered if they all felt as reluctant as she did to share their observances on their fellow Door-2-Door volunteers.

Nathan, who was standing near Quinton's double sink, suddenly put down his ham and provolone sandwich and aggressively dusted crumbs from his large hands. "I've got to admit that I'm not looking forward to the work set out for us this afternoon. The two people I talked to last night were delightful-just as they've been at the Door-2-Door headquarters the past few Sat.u.r.days. It's how I imagine they are all the time. Totally great."

"Somebody's only pretendin' to be good," Jake reminded Nathan. "This ain't gonna be a smooth road we're treadin', but we've got to walk it to find out the truth."

"Should we get started, then?" Savannah asked the group.

At that moment, Trish's cell phone rang and strains of Pachelbel's Canon echoed throughout the kitchen as she removed the cacophonous instrument from her purse and glanced at the Caller ID. "It's Lali," she said with surprise and answered the phone.

The Sunrise members watched with a tense curiosity that quickly turned to alarm as Trish's violet-tinted eyes grew round with shock. Her hand flew over her mouth, but not before she murmured, "No!" She listened for another moment; her expression growing more and more dismayed, and then slowly closed her phone.

Trish placed her right palm on the countertop to steady herself. "Lali called . . . she wanted us to know . . ." She took a deep breath and began again. "She wanted to tell us that Mr. Crosby is dead. The paramedics believe it was heart failure at this point." She looked up, her eyes meeting Cooper's briefly before traveling around the room. "And I'm afraid they found him sitting up in his chair."

10.

Make plans by seeking advice; if you wage war, obtain guidance.

Proverbs 20:18 (NIV) Quinton's brownie tray clattered to the counter. "Not another one."

"That makes three Door-2-Door clients that have been found . . ." Nathan forced the word out. "Dead. Sitting in their chairs."

Cooper stared at his stricken face, but her mind was miles away inside Frank Crosby's small, disheveled house. She visualized his quivering hands-the loose and wrinkled skin, the blue-purple of the swollen veins on the backs of his palms, the irregular speckles of brown from wrist to knuckle. She saw Frank clutching his borrowed newspaper, the wobbling letters scratched inside each crossword square with the nub of a pencil. The scent of urine and stale sweat invaded her memory, forcing her to wince involuntarily, but the remembered odor was quickly supplanted by the picture of the old man alone, releasing his last breaths into the musty air of his decaying room.

Cooper couldn't stop her tears from falling.

She was not alone. Savannah had her head bowed and though her hands covered her mouth and nose, the liquid pooling in her dark blue eyes trickled over onto her fingers. Trish and Jake had their arms around one another-their expressions a mixture of sorrow and fresh, bright anger. Bryant and Quinton gazed dully at the floor while Nathan twisted a paper napkin around and around his thumb as though it were a manacle.

After a moment, he placed a hand on Cooper's arm. "You just met Mr. Crosby the other day. This must be especially tough for you."

Bryant's head snapped up. "And I found Mrs. Davenport!" He turned to Trish, his eyes uncommonly hostile. "I suppose Lali's told the police? They've got to conduct an autopsy and find out what this fiend is using to send these old folks off to sleep. And don't tell me that we're not involved, because from where I'm standing, we are definitely involved!"

Startled by Bryant's vehemence, Trish shrugged helplessly. "She called the police. I have no idea what's going on beyond what she told me."

"No sense leavin' this mess all in their hands," Jake stated firmly. "I say we go ahead with our suspect lists. We've helped the cops before and you know these Door-2-Door folks are gonna be more themselves with us than with a bunch of tough-lookin' uniforms carryin' guns and wooden sticks."

The group members all looked to Savannah to gauge what she thought of Jake's suggestion. Their leader closed her eyes and murmured an inaudible prayer. At first, everyone watched her lips move, nearly hypnotized by the serenity that immediately flooded her features, but soon each of them followed suit by bowing their heads and shutting their eyes.

Several minutes pa.s.sed before Savannah let out a restorative sigh. "One of the names for G.o.d is the Ancient of Days. I think that t.i.tle came to my mind because I was asking G.o.d to help me understand why someone would be preying on these helpless, ancient souls. I asked Him to help quell my emotions, to give me the clarity of insight and to release my anger, as it does us no good."

"It's hard to think at all considering what we're up against, but here's a thought: Lali told us that Mr. Manningham and Mrs. Davenport were both in their nineties." Nathan frowned. "Do you think this person believes he's releasing them from pain or the indignities of becoming old so they can find peace?"

"Like some kind of mercy killer?" Jake shook his head. "Except for bein' old, they didn't have diseases or painful cancer or anything. Maybe he thinks they're poor and lonely and are better off bein' with their loved ones who have already gone on to heaven."

"If he believes in heaven," Trish snorted. "No one can decide on behalf of another person that it's their time to die. That is the Lord's prerogative!"

"He's a merciful killer, because he kills gently, but I doubt he's doing this out of pity. More like greed. Or fear." Cooper drummed her fingers on the countertop. "I don't think Mrs. Davenport was too troubled by loneliness. Lali told us that her daughter visited regularly. They used to polish her jewelry and try it on, right?" She turned to Nathan. "And Mr. Crosby was in his late seventies. I know that's no spring filly, but it's not the kind of old where people start feeling that their bodies are rotting while their minds are still sharp. He could have lived for two more decades for all we know."

"But maybe the murderer thought that Mr. Crosby wasn't living at all," Nathan argued. "That he was miserable and longed to let go of life."

"I agree with Cooper. These are not acts of kindness and we are not going to figure out the why until we figure out the who," Quinton a.s.serted as he cut a large brownie square for himself. "I know this looks callous, but I need to eat when I'm anxious." He bit off half the brownie. "And I'm really anxious right now," he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate and peanut b.u.t.ter.

Savannah held out her hand. "Come stand by me, Quinton."

He hastily complied and she leaned her pet.i.te body against Quinton's large, thick torso, and he was clearly comforted by her nearness.

"The Ancient of Days is eternal," Savannah intoned. "He has the power of judgment. We do not." Her voice was infused with the strength of conviction. "But I believe we can work our hardest to do His will and I am quite certain that we have a role to play in making sure justice is done. We can begin by sharing what we discovered at the party, putting together a list of who might have the strongest motive to steal from these elderly people, and continue to get to know them. If the police solve the case-wonderful. If they reach a dead end, then perhaps we can raze some of the obstacles in their path." She turned her warm blind gaze upon her friends. "We are a community. We must help one another, trust one another, and shield our neighbors from harm."

Bryant laid a briefcase on the counter, removing a legal pad and a ballpoint pen from inside. "Anything relevant from last night's party can be immediately shared with the police."

"If there is anything relevant," Quinton said gloomily.

"I wonder if anything's missin' from Mr. Crosby's house," Jake mused as each member retrieved the notes they had recorded on their fellow Door-2-Door volunteers. "Did Brenda say anythin' about him havin' family?" Jake asked Cooper.

"He's got a son-" Cooper began.

"Then he's sure to look into his father's death!" Trish declared, smoothing a creaseless sheet of creamy card-stock covered by florid handwriting. "Personally, I think a relative is better suited to help the police search for clues than we are." Trish touched a lock of carefully placed copper hair and continued quickly, as if to forestall all possible argument. "Being Mr. Crosby's son means that he can ensure an autopsy is performed and he's certain to know if his father owned anything valuable. We can hardly rummage through his house."

Cooper opened her mouth to disagree with Trish, but before she could speak, Quinton said, "You're a.s.suming quite a lot about the son." His hand inched toward the brownie pan. "Father and son may not even be close. Does the kid even live locally? If he's in the picture, why did Mr. Crosby need the services of Door-2-Door every single day? Why didn't he visit-?"

"It's not possible for him to visit his daddy!" Cooper stated forcefully before the conjecture could continue. "The son's in jail."

Nathan's eyes widened. "Why?"

Cooper tried to recall what Brenda had told her. "He's a drug dealer. I believe he tried to sell heroin to an undercover cop. I got the impression that this wasn't the first time he'd been caught, either."

The friends exchanged dejected looks. Quinton polished off a second brownie and then began to pour coffee beans into an electric grinder. "I predict we're going to need a caffeine boost to get our minds churning. Cover your ears, everyone." He pressed on the plastic lid of the grinder and the noise of the beans being pulverized into grounds prevented further conversation.

Cooper inhaled the pleasant, homey odor of the fresh coffee as Quinton shook the contents of the grinder into a paper filter. It was comforting to watch the big man move about his kitchen. His nimble fingers were both delicate and precise as he poured filtered water into what appeared to be an expensive and complicated coffee machine. Afterward, he laid out several stainless steel ramekins and carefully poured both white and raw brown sugar into two of the small bowls. The third contained several brands of sugar subst.i.tutes. Next, Quinton produced a pair of porcelain creamers and filled one with half-and-half and the other with low-fat milk.

As the coffee percolated, all eyes remained fastened on Quinton as he set out diminutive silver spoons next to the ramekins and displayed porcelain cups and saucers in a neat rectangle to the right of the creamers. Steam erupted from the top of the coffee carafe and surrounded Quinton's head in a halo of thin mist.

"Quinton, I could watch you move around this kitchen all day," Nathan commented. "And you're just brewing coffee. I can't fathom how magical it must be to watch you bake."

"Less quiet," Quinton replied, his round face pink with pleasure over Nathan's compliment. "I always bake to the strains of cla.s.sical music. The big symphonies in particular. Dvorak's New World is my favorite."

While the last hiccups emanated from the Cuisinart coffeemaker, Quinton retrieved a set of gla.s.s shakers from his cupboard. "I've got cinnamon, nutmeg, or dark chocolate curls should you like a little extra something in your coffee."

"Would you marry me?" Bryant asked and then offered to prepare a cup for Savannah. Once they were all armed with caffeine, Quinton led them into his living room where they exchanged details on the Door-2-Door volunteers. Nathan volunteered to act as secretary by inputting any relevant information into his laptop.

An hour later, the coffee cups were drained, the brownies were gone, and Nathan had created a master list summarizing their findings.

"I can hook this up to your printer and make copies for all of us," Nathan suggested and, by the time Trish and Bryant had loaded Quinton's dishwasher with the lunch items, Cooper held the summary in her hands. She read it over carefully.

Warren- Courier for LabTech. Likes to go to garage sales on weekends. Bachelor. Lives with his grandma Helen on family farm in Louisa. She has Alzheimer's. Warren volunteers at D2D Fridays and Sat.u.r.days. Has been there for over a year. Dresses in casual, inexpensive clothes, and is careful with his appearance. Drives a Toyota Corolla (not new, but very clean). A bit reserved but seems content. Good dancer.

Erik- Retired princ.i.p.al. Divorcee in his early seventies. Attractive. Good sense of humor. Lives on pension. Seems determined not to move from current D2D route. Flirts with female volunteers and D2D staff. Freely admits to wanting a wife who will cook and clean. Loves to do lake fishing by himself and play Internet poker late at night. Drives an aged SUV rigged with fishing pole holders.

Brenda- Works as a cashier at Kroger. Finds her job tiresome. Young son Darik is a bookworm. She really wants him to go to a private school outside the city as his district is full of young gangsters. She worries son is not getting the education he'll need to get a college scholarship. She barely makes enough to feed and house them. Volunteers at D2D because she feels blessed and wants to pa.s.s that on by delivering food and friendship. When Brenda was out of earshot, Darik said that his daddy was shot in the chest and killed. Was likely a criminal. Brenda drives a rusty, dented Caddy.

Madge- Sweet, rather fragile woman in her late sixties. Imagines herself in similar position to those D2D serves. Retired nurse. One daughter who lives in London as a stage actress-she is wild and has had issues with drug and alcohol abuse. Madge doesn't think she can count on her to take care of her when she gets old. Seems a bit afraid of everything. Works at D2D because she and Penny go to same church and Penny convinced her to come. She's glad that Penny asked her, as she doesn't have much going on other than church functions. Misses excitement of hospital work. Drives a Saturn sedan.

Penny- Works part-time selling ad s.p.a.ce for mailbox coupons. Married an older man who died and has two sons, both of whom are well off. One is a dentist and the other a hematologist. Both live outside of D.C. and are very busy with their own families and work. She says she's addicted to QVC and has gotten into hot water buying things from the show. Admits to getting lonely. She says D2D is a main part of her social life. She gets sick of the bossy ladies at her church. Too much like a high school clique, she says. Drives a station wagon.

Campbell- D2D kitchen manager. Always has Mondays off. Rides his Harley Davidson to VA beach as much as he can. He's got a serious crush on a female bartender there who has been rejecting his advances for over a year. He's determined to win her heart by Christmas by "doing something big." Wouldn't say more. Loves his job. Is very close to his parents who live in Petersburg. Says the D2D clients are all like the grandparents he never knew.

Leo- Forced to work at D2D as part of court sentence. Started in the middle of summer. Angry. Violent tattoos.

Doesn't have a car. Uses bus to get to D2D. Job? Hobbies? Family?

Cooper jotted several notes on her sheet of paper as she read. She then reviewed the doc.u.ment one more time, doing her best to pretend that the names listed there belonged to strangers instead of the likable group of volunteers.

"What are you circling?" Nathan asked her.

"I think we should consider the possibility that the killer is motivated by money." She held up her hand before anyone could protest. "I know that sounds strange in a way because the Door-2-Door victims were poor, but if these aren't mercy killings, than what else could the killer's motive be?" Cooper was clearly thinking out loud. "I'm circling any indications that the volunteers have money issues. Perhaps someone who's desperate would hope that each client had something of value tucked away somewhere."

"Good thinkin'!" Jake nodded. "We can circle Erik right off. If he's playin' poker on the Internet, he could be deep in the hole. My brother got sucked into one of those cyber-money pits a few years ago. He'd come home from work, type in his credit card number, and boom!" He slammed his hand on the coffee table for emphasis. "Six months later my sister-in-law finds out that he's taken a second mortgage on the house. Man, he slept on the couch for a long time after that!"

"I bet." Trish smirked. "I hate to be the one to point it out, but Brenda's got motivation then, too. She wants her son to go to private school, and take it from me, tuition is very expensive. Why, if my business weren't doing so well, my girls would be going to our local school for certain." She shook off the objectionable idea of her progeny attending public school. "But there isn't much a mother won't do to ensure a good future for her child, and Brenda's Kroger paycheck is not going to change Darik's future. Selling pricey jewelry or gold coins to a p.a.w.nbroker could add up over time, a.s.suming that's what they're doing."

"I hate to circle anyone on this list." Quinton sighed despondently. "But Penny might be in debt due to her QVC sprees. Campbell may also be trying to acc.u.mulate a big pile of money to buy some . . ." He turned to Bryant. "What do teenagers call glitzy jewelry these days?"

"Bling," Bryant answered authoritatively. "He might plan to dazzle his girlfriend with some bling."

"And Madge could be trying to stockpile a nest egg for her old age," Nathan added. "She seems fearful of being unable to care for herself and is truly terrified of the idea of a nursing home."

"Can't say that I blame her," Cooper murmured, grateful that Grammy was firmly established in the Lee house. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Grammy should get sick. None of the Lees had medical training and could never afford to hire a full-time nurse. Even Ashley's coffers might not be full enough to prevent Grammy from entering into some kind of a.s.sisted-living program. Feeling grim, Cooper returned her attention to their suspect list. "Warren may want extra money, too," she said, her face flushing with guilt as she recalled how pleasant it had been to dance with him. "His grandma has Alzheimer's and must need special care during the day. He's at work, so someone must be looking after her."

"Everyone on this list needs money! We're gettin' real far real fast," Jake muttered darkly.

"Fighting the devil is never easy, my friend," Savannah said softly. "And what's especially difficult here is that no one appears to be spending any money. From what you've all told me, the volunteers wear inexpensive clothes, sport little or no jewelry, and drive fairly old cars. They take care of what they've got and try hard to make ends meet." She rubbed her chin in thought. "Whoever is committing these crimes has a way to sell the stolen items and has been doing something that's not obvious to an outsider with the cash."

"Like hiding it in the hen coop." Cooper was reminded of where Grammy's parents hid their money instead of entrusting it to the bank. Absently rubbing her right hand over the names on the list, she said, "I wonder if this person wants to acquire a certain amount or if they're going to just keep going, even though the police are involved now." She shook her head. There were no easy answers. No obvious clues. "I think we're going to have to wait and see what drugs were in Mr. Crosby's body. Then we can narrow down our suspect list to a person who has access to drugs and needs cash."

Nathan abruptly left his seat and strolled over to the window that overlooked a hill of patchy gra.s.s belonging to the cemetery. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he paced back and forth, his reflection in the large panel of gla.s.s flickering as his body pa.s.sed through the curtain of sunlight.

"It could take days for Mr. Crosby's test results to come back and that's if an autopsy's even performed. I know Lali's talked to the police about her fears that her clients are being sent to their graves earlier than scheduled, but we need to know what Mr. Crosby's most valuable possession was. It would be the freshest clue."

"Well, there's only one person who we could ask. Frank Crosby's son." Bryant grimaced. "And I can't be seen hanging out with a guy in an orange jumpsuit. I've got a reputation to consider."

"Me, too!" Trish echoed, placing her hand over her heart as though the very idea of being seen with an inmate would instantaneously cause her business to go up in flames.

Nathan turned from the window and looked intently at Cooper. "I'll go see his son. My knees will knock the whole time, but I'll do it."

Cooper felt a rush of tenderness sweep through her. She knew that Nathan was offering to visit Frank's son because he wanted to solve the mystery of the older man's death, but also because he knew how saddened Cooper was over the news that Mr. Crosby's life had been stolen away by someone he trusted. "You won't be alone," she whispered to him as though they were the only two people in the room. "I'll be with you."

Jake and Quinton also volunteered to be present, but Savannah suggested that too many people might cause the son to clam up.

"We'll focus our attention elsewhere," she told the remaining group members. "Quinton, you see what you can find out about everyone's financial situation. Perhaps you can call them under the guise of proposing investment strategies."

Quinton nodded his head in agreement. "Actually, I might be able to help them save more judiciously. Every penny counts and I'm sure very few of them have spoken to financial consultants about how to make the most of their money." He held out his hands. "I just hope I don't aid the murderer too much."

"You'll just have to take a chance with your kindness," Savannah replied. "Trish, you keep in contact with Lali. If she hears anything from the police, let us know." Savannah fell silent, pulling the length of her long, black braid through her right hand over and over as she ruminated.

"What about me?" Jake asked, looking hurt.

"I need you with me," Savannah answered and Jake immediately smiled at her in adoration. "You and I are going to pay a visit to Leo," she continued firmly. "Since he didn't come to our little party, we're going to bring one to him."

Looking uncertain, Jake mumbled, "I'd better make sure I got plenty of metal pipes in the back of the Mr. Faucet van. You never know how these parties are gonna end."

The next day Cooper was struggling to replace the fuser a.s.sembly on a Canon copier so that it would no longer produce double images when her cell phone rang. Since her hands were dirty, she ignored the melodious burst of her phone's Love Me Do ring. When it began to ring again, the Beatles crooning rather loudly in boisterous harmony, the manager of the clothing store swiveled around in her chair and frowned.

"Can I get that for you?" she asked Cooper acerbically, tapping her pencil with impatience. "I'm trying to fill out my hours schedule and I just can't do the math when I'm distracted."