Path Of The Wicked Part 20

"I'll be right back," he promised the old woman and jogged out to his car. He popped the trunk, grabbed a large Ziploc bag filled with kibble and two cans of moist dog food and returned to Mrs. Tilden's kitchen. Her canine, a mixed breed named Buddy Boy, began to thump his tail on the floor as Warren replenished his empty bowls.

"You go on and eat now, Buddy," his owner directed and the dog sprang toward his dinner. Warren seemed pleased to watch Mrs. Tilden's pet devour his meal. He then brushed a few of Buddy's hairs from his pants and said good-bye to Mrs. Tilden.

"I don't know what we'd do without you, dear man!" she called after Warren, a grateful smile on her face.

"Do you have a dog?" Cooper asked him on the way to their next stop.

"No. I'd like one, but Grandma Helen's afraid of them now. She didn't used to be. We had all kinds of dogs on the farm when I was a kid." He glanced in Cooper's direction as they paused at a four-way stop sign and she noticed that his eyes seemed sad.

"You take really good care of her. Even if she can't tell you that all the time, she's grateful." She smiled at him. "Do you have any help? Your parents? Siblings?"

"Whoa! You sound like that police investigator who interviewed me." He laughed. "Are you wearing a wire inside that leather jacket or something?"

Cooper was embarra.s.sed. "I'm sorry. I've always been lousy at small talk. It couldn't have been too much fun to have been interrogated by the cops and here I am, doing the same thing."

"But hopefully for different reasons. Like you just want to get to know me," Warren answered flirtatiously. "And that Rector guy wasn't nasty or anything. He was really polite, actually, and he didn't ask me anything unreasonable, considering what's going on. Background stuff, mostly. And where I was last Friday night."

"I hope your alibi's tighter than Penny's. She's worried because no one saw her. She was just at home, watching TV."

Warren nodded. "That's what half of America does most nights. I was lucky, because Friday night is bingo night and I took Grandma Helen to the Columbine Center to play. She doesn't always know what's going on during the games, but she smiles like a kid at the circus when she hears those tiles being spun around. We go at least once a month, so people recognize us." He wiped his hand across his forehead in a dramatized gesture of relief. "I was never so grateful for bingo in my life!"

"Maybe the police are overlooking something. I keep thinking that there's no way it's a Door-2-Door person." Cooper sighed in frustration. "When I consider the people I've met, well, you're all too nice!" She looked at him as he pulled in front of their final delivery stop. "You've been there almost a year, so you've stood beside the same people week after week. Doesn't it blow your mind that someone could be a murderer?"

Warren parked and then dropped his eyes to his lap. "I just hope they're wrong. That's all I can do." He looked at her, his face pinched and drawn. "Because the other possibility is too hard to accept. This could be the end of Door-2-Door. People will stop donating and others will be too afraid to volunteer. Without gifts of money and time, this organization can't make it."

"And hundreds of clients will suffer."

"Hundreds," Warren repeated softly.

They delivered meals to their last stop quickly and then drove back to headquarters in gloomy silence. As the square building came into view, the gray walls facing the parking lot were highlighted by flashes of blue. Three Henrico County police cars and a pair of City of Richmond cruisers had parked in a fanlike pattern within steps of the front door.

Warren, whose face had gone pale, seemed to freeze behind the wheel at the intersection across from Door-2-Door.

"They're bringing someone out," Cooper breathed. "I can't tell who, though. We're too far away."

Blinking, Warren pressed the accelerator and they pulled into the parking lot. Cooper jumped out of the Corolla just as one of the police car's rear doors was slammed shut. The vehicle was obscured by the bodies of a dozen uniformed officers. Rector was there, too. He gesticulated briefly to several of his men and then walked briskly toward a black mustang.

Cooper looked at the scene Rector had left in his wake. Most of the Door-2-Door volunteers had completed their delivery routes and were posed in positions of open-mouthed shock on the building's front steps. Trish was standing on the loading ramp, her hand clamped over her mouth.

Cooper ran up to Trish and blocked her vision of the police cars. "What's happened?"

"I just don't believe it," Trish murmured and then pointed at the cruiser in the center of the pack. "They've arrested Erik."

"The police think he's the killer?" Cooper was astounded.

Trish nodded numbly. "There's been another murder. A woman named Vera. She's not a Door-2-Door client, but she was given food from here."

Vera? The name sounded familiar to Cooper. She turned her attention to the parking lot. The policemen had disappeared inside their cars and were slowly beginning to drive off, blue lights still ablaze.

"Violet!" Cooper exclaimed. "Vera is Violet's sister! There are three Vs. Violet, Vera, and Velma."

Trish swallowed hard and stared at Cooper in horror. "He murdered his own fiancee's sister?"

"No." Cooper rejected the idea immediately. "No way was it him."

Trish put her hand on Cooper's shoulder as Warren joined them on the ramp. "I heard two of the policemen explaining things to Lali. They found Vera dead in her chair. Just like the others." Trish spoke softly, reluctant to press the point. "Her watch was taken right off her wrist. It was the only valuable thing she owned."

"And she was poisoned?" It didn't make sense to Cooper. She struggled to understand how Erik could have gained access to a woman living in a center with round-the-clock care.

"They think it was in her milk carton," Bryant said. "It looked like it had been opened a bit and then resealed. Lali's been asked to review all the victim's dietary records to see if they were milk drinkers."

Cooper ran her hand through her hair. "How could the Door-2-Door killer have gotten milk into a senior center? You can't just waltz into those kind of facilities, can you?"

"No. There's usually a check-in at the front door." Trish stared into the distance, equally puzzled.

Cooper grabbed her friend's hand. "Oh, Trish. This is so awful!" She looked around for Nathan, longing to be taken into his arms, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The volunteers began to slowly drift back inside, but Cooper didn't want to be in the midst of the speculative talk about Erik's guilt. Suddenly, she recalled an image of him and Violet giggling together, heads drawn close, shoulders touching. She remembered his contented smile earlier in the day. It was not the expression of a murderer recalling his sordid deeds, but of a man dreaming of his future with the woman he loved.

Without really thinking about her actions, Cooper raced toward Cherry-O and headed for Violet's house. She knew that she'd be of little comfort to Violet, but perhaps having another person present who believed in her fiance's innocence would be a balm to the older woman. Cooper didn't pause long enough to consider that the poor woman who had lost her sister and her future husband within hours might not be interested in receiving visitors.

Cooper was in need of comfort, too, and an inner voice told her that she was driving in the right direction to find it.

16.

For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appet.i.tes. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people.

Romans 16:18 (NIV) Halfway to Violet and Velma's, Cooper noticed that her truck was almost out of gas. Even in her numb state of mind, she deliberately risked driving past the higher-priced stations like Sh.e.l.l and Exxon and headed for one of the lesser-known names in order to save two cents per gallon. Out of habit, she pulled into the closest Wawa and, after affixing the nozzle to its automatic pumping setting, wandered over to the temporary tent erected next to the vacuum station. A young man wearing a green ap.r.o.n and a boyishly charming smile was selling cut flowers and plush animals.

While he was busy a.s.sisting another customer, Cooper ran her fingertips over the rose bouquets, deciding that they were too formal and stiff to bring the grieving sisters. Instead, she chose an arrangement of red, yellow, and orange Gerbera daises that had been artistically mixed with a cl.u.s.ter of Bittersweet. The boy wrapped the flowers in green tissue and tied them with a white ribbon, his long fingers deft and graceful. He small-talked and smiled gratefully throughout the transaction and though Copper wanted to be friendly, she felt too detached from the scene to respond, as though her body were floating miles above the gas station and the cheerful flower vendor's tent.

It didn't help that she felt repulsed by the toothy grins of the purple, pink, and bright blue rabbits, spotted dogs, and teddy bears. To her, their frozen smiles bordered on leers, so she accepted the flowers with a murmur of thanks and retreated to the silent safety of her truck.

There were no cars parked in front of Violet's house when Cooper arrived, but the porch light was on. She didn't know if it had been burning throughout the night and, even though it was weak compet.i.tion for the autumn sun, she took it as a sign that she should pursue her decision to visit the women inside.

Velma answered Cooper's gentle knock, but only after peering hesitantly through a crack between the wooden door and the locked screen door.

"Do you remember me, ma'am?" Cooper said, holding the flowers in front of her like a peace offering. "I was here with Erik last week."

"Of course, child." Velma unlocked the outer door and shuffled backward. "Come in, come in."

There were no lights on inside the house and the air felt heavy and still. Velma led her out to the sun porch and sank into the same chair she had occupied during Cooper's last visit. The old woman seemed to have been reduced in size since that time. Her body looked shrunken, her face especially pale, and her sharp eyes dull and somnolent. Cooper laid the flowers carefully on the table and took the seat facing Velma.

"I am so sorry for your loss," she said, wishing she could think of a more original expression of condolence. "For everything that's happened. Can I do anything for you? Get you some groceries or run errands? I've got the whole day free and I'd love to help."

Velma turned toward the window as if she hadn't heard a word. "I gave her the milk, you know. Brought it with me durin' our visit like I always do. Vera wanted it. Had to have it. You see, the center doesn't serve Richfood milk, so Vera won't touch it. We've been drinkin' Rich-food milk since we were little girls and it's the only brand Vera recognizes. She'd get real put-out with me if I didn't bring her that milk. Why, she even threatened to snitch to our mama if I didn't hand it over fast enough!" Her profile was etched with pain. "So I brought it to her every visit. How she smiled when she took that first sip," she added ruefully. "You'd have thought it was a bottle of Coca-Cola. We weren't allowed to drink soda pop until we lived on our own, you know."

Cooper reached over and touched the old woman's dry, bony hand. "You didn't do this to her, Velma. Someone else did. It's not your fault."

Velma's eyes flashed and Cooper caught a glimpse of the woman she had met a week ago. "I'll tell you one thing-Erik didn't do this! I know that man and it wasn't him. Those police-they wouldn't listen to me!" She gripped Cooper's arm. "You gotta talk to them!"

"I will," Cooper promised. "I believe he's innocent, too. But why do they think he's guilty?"

"Because he came with us to visit Vera. Violet wanted the two of them to meet since she and Erik were plannin' on gettin' married in a couple of weeks." Velma sighed. "Vera wouldn't have understood who Erik was, but it was important to Violet that he shake hands with her other sister. But you know-Erik never did get to meet her. The nurses were helpin' her take a shower and we decided to bring him back later."

"And that was on Friday?" Cooper wanted clarification.

Velma nodded. "Right after lunch. They found Vera the next morning. She left this earth sometime in the night, but she was sittin' up in bed with her magazine on her lap, like she was just takin' a rest from readin' a long story."

"And you told the police Erik never actually saw your sister?"

"I certainly did, but he was in her room and that's all they seemed to care about!"

Cooper fell silent, feeling that the only service she could provide at the moment was to listen to anything Velma wanted to talk about. She rubbed the older woman's hand gently, to rea.s.sure her that she had all the time in the world to sit with her.

"Vera was an old woman," Velma said matter-of-factly. "Her mind hadn't been right for a long time and now she's with our Lord. If someone hadn't sent her to heaven before her time, I could be at peace with her pa.s.sin', but my heart is heavy. I've got Violet laid out in the bedroom, refusin' to eat or speak to me, and the wrong man's bein' held accountable." A single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. "What can an old lady do about such mighty troubles besides pray?"

"I wish I had more comfort to give you, but I can tell you that this is not an open-and-shut case for the police," Cooper a.s.sured Velma. "All of the other victims have been robbed. They're going to search Erik's home and they're not going to find any of the stolen items. They're not going to find extra money in his bank account, either. Most importantly, Erik has no motive. He'd gotten his dream-come-true when Violet agreed to become his wife."

Velma dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve and looked at Cooper hopefully. "But he could've messed with our milk or given it to Vera himself durin' our visit. Isn't that enough?"

"To hold him for questioning, but that's it," Cooper answered, unsure of the accuracy of her statement. "Of course, it would be better if they had someone else to question. I hate to picture Erik in a cell." She paused to once again consider the desires and behaviors of the other volunteers.

"I'm gonna get these flowers a drink," Velma whispered and walked away, and though Cooper observed the woman's slow gait, she didn't offer to a.s.sist her. Thoughts whirled around in her mind and she tried desperately to sort through sundry ideas in search of something that could be of tangible use.

"Is there a visitor's log at Vera's living center?" she asked when Velma returned bearing a white pottery pitcher and a pair of scissors.

"There sure is. Durin' the day, you sign your name and put down the name and room number of the person you're gonna visit. There's a gal workin' up front and she waves folks through unless she doesn't recognize them. We never have to sign in, of course, and neither do delivery-men and folks like that. Things shut down more in the evenin'. I believe they lock the outside door after eight at night, but we never visit that late, anyhow."

Cooper frowned. "I'm not so sure if reviewing those sign-up sheets will help much, but I'm confident the police will look them over closely." She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, thinking hard. "What about the nurses? Wouldn't they have noticed a stranger going into Vera's room?"

Velma shrugged. "I'd imagine so, but there's so many shifts, and then they rotate the halls they work every day. I guess so they're sure to know all the residents. And there aren't enough of them to see what goes on in every room. Someone could drop off a milk and be gone awful quick."

"I certainly hope the police show photos of all the Door-2-Door volunteers to the nurses. Maybe they'll recognize the real killer, if he or she is really a volunteer." Cooper angrily ripped the tissue paper apart in order to release the cut flowers. "Why would someone go after Vera? It doesn't make sense. The other victims have lived alone and owned something valuable that this crazy person wanted to possess."

Velma reached for one of the flower stems. "We don't have anythin' worth takin', but Vera's watch was special. Her husband gave it to her on their wedding day in the forties. It was from Tiffany's and was real gold. I suppose it's worth a pretty penny by now."

Cooper whistled. "I imagine you're right." She scowled. "But how would the killer know you'd share your milk with her?"

"Someone knew I'd done it lots of times before, I reckon."

"Did Violet drink her milk?"

"Nope. She left hers with Vera, too. I suppose the police have got it now."

As Velma eased the daises into the pitcher, Cooper stared at a hairline crack running beneath the handle to the base of the pottery container. The true killer was not unlike the damaged pitcher. He or she looked and acted completely normal, but in some way they were damaged. There was a crack in their psyche that compelled them to steal and to commit the most grievous crime against another human being: murder.

"I need to review that suspect list we made at Quinton's house," she muttered to herself. "There's got to be something we've overlooked."

At that moment, Violet appeared at the end of the hallway leading into the sun room. For a second, Cooper thought she was seeing a ghost. Dressed in a white bathrobe with a white shawl wrapped around her narrow shoulders, Violet's slippered feet made no noise. Her white hair was loose and tumbled over the ridge of her collarbone like a wave of snow. She clutched something against her chest and her amethyst engagement ring winked as she pa.s.sed through a slim sunbeam.

"Violet. Our new friend has brought us daises." Velma held her hand out for her sister. "And hope."

Cooper jumped up from her chair and offered the seat to Violet, who dropped into it without saying a word.

"She believes in Erik, too, Vi. She doesn't think the police will be able to keep him too long." Velma touched her sister's knee. "We should get ourselves together. They're gonna want to talk to us more. If you want to help him, we gotta trust in the Lord and shake off our despair."

"It's always been the three of us," Violet whispered, looking down at the framed photograph she grasped so tightly. "Maybe it was a sin to love another. Look what's happened since I gave in to my feelings."

"That's hogwash and you know it!" Velma spoke sharply. "If anyone's to blame, that'd be me. It was my milk, after all."

"The fault lies with the horrible person who poisoned the milk-not with either of you!" Cooper interjected before either sister could continue the blame game. "You are victims, just as Vera was a victim. Just like the other older folks and their families have been victims." Cooper lowered her voice. "I believe G.o.d delights in love, Violet. I saw the joy in Erik's eyes and anyone could tell that his heart was singing. How could that not please every ear in heaven?" She smiled. "I bet the angels were dancing a jig when you said 'yes' and agreed to join your life with Erik's."

"She's right, Vi, and you know it." Velma crossed her arms and sat up straighter in her chair.

Violet looked at Cooper and nodded in grat.i.tude. "Thank you for coming today. You must have been sent here by the Maker Himself." She held out the photograph so that the light fell onto it. "I'm just havin' a terrible time thinkin' about the years to come without Vera bein' with us. I feel like part of my self has been ripped away. Even though she didn't always know us, we were still together. We were family." She traced a thin finger along the wooden frame. "Now someone's taken her from us and I'm so d.a.m.ned mad! It's G.o.d's right and His alone to call His children home."

"I'm angry, too," Cooper said softly. "Someone has worn a mask of goodness and charity in order to do evil, and my friends and I haven't been able to see the true face of this person. I can't understand why I can't see more clearly!"

"That's what Vera used to say when we were girls," Violet said with a hesitant smile. "She had gla.s.ses all her life. Always picked out the wildest ones in the store, too, didn't she, Velma?" She held the photograph out for Cooper to see. "This was taken last year by one of Vera's nurses. Look at those beauties my sister's wearin'!"

Cooper cradled the picture carefully in her hands and examined the image of the three sisters. Unlike the ones on display in the living room, this photograph, which Violet had brought out from someplace in her bedroom, showed the women in their old age. Velma and Violet were seated in hard-backed chairs on either side of their sister, who was comfortably ensconced in a peach-colored upholstered chair. Cooper's eyes absorbed the gentle visage of the middle sister and the frame nearly slipped from her paralyzed fingers.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she gasped.

Thrusting the photograph into Violet's startled hands, Cooper shifted inside her purse until she came up with Rector's card. She jabbed his number into her cell phone and began to pace as it rang and rang. Finally, he picked up.

"Investigator? This is Cooper Lee," she panted. "I have an idea who it could be. I think I know who the killer is!"

Rector listened carefully to what she had to say and then admonished her to stay put. Without another word, he abruptly ended the phone call. Cooper held the phone in her hand and then glanced back at the photograph of the three sisters.

Could I be right? She stared at the similar smiles, the crinkles of skin at the corners of their eyes, the age-spotted hands holding onto one another. How could someone be that vile? Someone I thought was truly good.

Suddenly, she knew she was going to be sick. "Excuse me!" she called out to the bewildered sisters in a panicked voice and dashed down the hall, knowing from her previous visit that there was a bathroom at the end of the corridor.

She made it just in time, kneeling in front of the toilet as her stomach purged itself of the morning's coffee and pastries. When the nausea eventually pa.s.sed, she sat back against the wall, as though requiring its support to remain upright. Her skin was clammy and she pushed back strands of sweat-dampened hair from her forehead.

"Lord, how we've all been deceived!" she whispered weakly.

Closing her eyes, images of her Sat.u.r.days at Door-2-Door flooded her mind. She recalled the celebratory atmosphere of their potluck dinner, the playful dancing, the feeling of partnership in accompanying the volunteers on their routes. The pleasant memories were immediately darkened by the troubled countenances of Frank Crosby, The Colonel, and now, of Velma and Violet.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, there was a gentle tap and Violet's head appeared around the door.