Path Of The Wicked Part 21

"Are you okay, honey?"

Cooper managed to drag her body to a standing position. "Yes, ma'am. Let me just wash up and I'll be right out."

She scrubbed her hands vigorously with a bar of Dove soap and then leaned over and rinsed her mouth directly from the tap, gurgling to remove the foul taste from the surface of her tongue.

Upon her return to the sun porch, Violet handed her a cup of hot tea. "This'll settle you down."

After taking a tentative sip, Cooper blew a mist of steam from the surface of the milky tea and drank some more, marveling at the restorative powers of the tea. "Thank you. I feel much better already." Allowing her body to relax a fraction, she looked at the stricken faces patiently awaiting an explanation. "When I saw that picture," she quickly pointed at the photograph so as not to hold the sisters in suspense another second, "I knew which of the volunteers was the murderer. One of them-a man-introduced us to a woman he claimed was his grandmother. When I looked at Vera's face and saw her purple gla.s.ses, I knew that this man had introduced us to your sister."

"Are you sure?" Violet seemed dubious.

"It wasn't just the purple rhinestone gla.s.ses, though those are pretty unique," Cooper told her with confidence. "It's Vera's eyes. They look out on the world like this man's Grandma Helen's did. The gaze, it's, it was . . ." Cooper didn't know how to describe the feeling of vacancy implied by Vera's stare without offending her sisters.

"Like she wasn't all there?" Velma suggested.

Cooper nodded. "Kind of absent, yet content. I met her at this potluck dinner my Bible study group hosted for the volunteers. Erik was there, too, but since he hadn't met her before or seen a current photograph of her, he also thought she was this . . . man's grandmother." She gave the sisters a weak smile. "Vera seemed perfectly happy. I want you to know that she wasn't abused in any way. In fact, she enjoyed the food and tapped on the table with her fork and knife when the band played."

Violet grinned, reminiscing. "Vera always loved music. Any loud sounds, actually. Even after she started forget-tin' things, she'd still love to hear a strong rain or a bowling ball strikin' pins."

"Or bingo tiles?" Cooper asked, trying to keep the revulsion she felt about Warren's duplicity out of her voice.

"One of her favorite noises," Velma said with grin. Then her humor vanished. "So what you're sayin' is that this person, this man who . . . killed my sister, actually led her around like she was some kind of pet before he took her life?"

Cradling her tea cup in search of warmth, Cooper was reluctant to answer. "I don't know what his motives were, ma'am. And I'm sorry if I've caused you more grief by revealing all this. To tell you the truth, and I know this sounds crazy, but he acted like he really cared for your sister. It was like he really saw her as his grandmother. I can't explain what caused him to turn from the conscientious guy who cut up Vera's food for her into the monster who ended more than one life."

"Of course you can't, dear." Violet touched Cooper's shoulder. "None of us can wrap our minds around how such a twisted soul operates and it's likely we never will. The Lord will judge this man and he will be found wanting, I'm sure of that!" She returned her hands to her lap and tried to steady their trembling. "Are the police goin' to get him now?"

"Yes," Cooper whispered soberly. "He lives in his family's farmhouse out in Goochland. They're on their way now."

The three women fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Cooper finished her tea and a heavy drowsiness seemed to fall over her. She longed to go home and collapse in the cozy shelter of her apartment. Perhaps she'd call Nathan and ask him to drive out to see her. She'd like nothing more than to lie in his arms for a few hours, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.

"I'm going to wash this tea cup," she said and stood. "Can I bring you anything?"

Velma shook her head. "We're gonna sit here for a spell. I imagine we won't have much quiet later on, so we should rest while we can." She reached out with both of her arms and Cooper put down the tea cup and accepted the old woman's tender embrace. "They'll release Erik 'cause of you. Bless you, child."

Cooper then turned and hugged Violet. All three women had tears running from their eyes. Shock, grief, anger, and the desperate desire to cling to hope was too much to hold inside.

"I wish I had known sooner," Cooper whispered into Violet's hair. "Your sister could have been spared. Forgive me." She sniffed and then, drawing away from Violet, pressed a napkin against her red, blotchy face.

"There is nothing to forgive." Violet managed a tremulous smile. "You brought daisies, and kindness, and justice into our home today. What more can we give you in return but our love and friendship and a lifetime's worth of prayers?"

Velma wagged a finger at Cooper. "You stay in touch now, young lady. We've got a weddin' to invite you to once we're done grievin' for our Vera. There will be laughter yet in these rooms if I've got any say in the matter."

"Yes, ma'am." Cooper dried her eyes, cleaned up the tea things, and showed herself out.

Standing on the cement walkway, she was temporarily blinded by the brilliance of the afternoon sun.

"It's over." She raised her arms upward toward the fiery yellow and crimson-tinged treetops. A wind rushed through the leaves like a murmur of fast water over rocks and Cooper lifted her chin until her face was awash in cleansing light.

"It's over," she repeated and then turned her thoughts toward home.

17.

The cords of the grave coiled around me;

the snares of death confronted me.

2 Samuel 22:6 (NIV) Cooper climbed the steps to her apartment as though her legs were made of cement. She looked back over her shoulder and noticed the warm and welcoming light spilling from the kitchen window of her parents' house below. It was a comfort to imagine her mother moving around inside, humming as she added ingredients to bubbling saucepans on the stovetop and then knocking the oven door closed with one of her round hips. Every now and again, she'd wipe a smear of dough or brown gravy onto the front of her favorite ap.r.o.n, which was decorated with bright cherries on a field of navy.

Columbus squawked from within his aviary, and Cooper yelled down to him that she'd walk him later. Her promise seemed to excite the raptor further and it was with a twinge of guilt that she ignored his complaints and ducked inside her apartment to retreat into the pleasant quiet of her bedroom instead. However, Columbus's screeches did not subside as they usually did, so Cooper relocated to her sofa and switched on the television, hoping some background noise would block out the hawk's clamor.

HGTV provided the perfect pictorial balm. As the cameras panned over banks of perennial beds blooming alongside a quaint stone cottage nestled somewhere in the English countryside, Cooper felt her body sink deeper into the couch cushions. Her lids grew heavy and by the time the show's narrator turned his attention to the charming home's herb garden, Cooper was on the cusp of sleep.

When The Beatles burst into song from the speaker of her cell phone, which was buried at the bottom of her purse, she decided to ignore it. Repositioning herself on the sofa, she slipped her arm under a throw pillow, pulled a crocheted afghan over her legs, and prepared to take a restorative nap.

Her cell phone sang again.

"d.a.m.n it," Cooper muttered crossly. She opened her eyes, but didn't stir her body in any other way.

This time, the caller left a message and Cooper's phone, which had an annoying habit of repeatedly chirping whenever it received a new voicemail, issued its first alert signal. Cooper counted to ten, slowly, and could just hear the sound of the message beep again.

"So much for a rest." She swung her legs onto the floor and sat upright for a moment, reluctant to stand up. When the alert sounded for the third time, she threw off her blanket in irritation and grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter.

Bringing the phone to life with the touch of a b.u.t.ton, Cooper noticed that the calls had both come from Rector. Regretting that she hadn't answered him the first time, she was just about to prompt her phone to dial his number when a voice commanded, "I'd like you to put that down. Right now."

Cooper swung around. Warren was leaning against the doorframe that led into her bathroom. He held a snack-sized plastic bag filled with what looked like crushed brown leaves in his hand and his eyes glinted with a strange and ominous light.

Without breaking eye contact, Cooper's thumb edged toward the send b.u.t.ton. Warren shook the bag and gave her a crooked grin. "Don't do it or your family will suffer. You see, we had a little tea party while you were out."

The phone clattered onto the floor as the implications of Warren's words. .h.i.t home. The phone's battery, dislodged by the impact, skated into the shadows beneath the kitchen table. Cooper's voice was taut with anger and fear. "What have you done to them?"

Warren shrugged. "I just introduced myself as one of your volunteer friends and invited them to share in my unique blend of Lipton's Cranberry Pomegranate and Jimson weed." He held up three syringes. "But don't worry, a shot of this lorazepam and they should make it to the hospital without having a seizure. Jimson weed can make some people really agitated. Not good for the heart, you know."

"Jimson weed?" Cooper was confused, and that made her feel even more frightened. "Is that some kind of poison?"

Again, the crooked smile. "It can be. But I'm disappointed in you, Cooper. You're a country girl. And a gardener. I thought I could count on you to recognize the beauty and versatility of my favorite herb."

"Sorry, but I'm not familiar with it."

Gesturing at her kitchen chair, Warren moved forward a step. "Well, take a seat and I'll tell you all about it. It's understandable that you don't recognize my plant because while you live in the sticks, you don't live near any farms. When I was a kid, Jimson weed grew all over the edges of our cow pastures. It produces pretty purple or white bell-shaped flowers, but my grandparents warned me never to touch them, because the seeds hold power."

"The power to make people sleep?" Cooper guessed. "All they need to do is ingest them somehow."

Pleased, Warren dipped his chin in recognition of her reasoning skills. "The Indians-oh, excuse me-the Native Americans used Jimson weed in their sacred ceremonies. I think it was the Navajo who had a little chant about it." His voice changed to a childlike singsong. " 'Eat a little, and go to sleep. Eat some more, and have a dream. Eat some more, and don't wake up.' That's pretty accurate."

"That's why Frank Crosby lost a day. You didn't give him enough to kill him, but he slept for almost twenty-four hours." Cooper looked away in disgust.

"It wasn't my intention to have him sleep any longer. Not that time. I was trying to get him to tell me where he'd hidden the rest of his Civil War treasures. I knew he was holding out on me and folks will spill their secrets once they've swallowed a bit of my brew." Warren fondled the bag of tea leaves. "I got bored of trying to understand his gibberish about yellow this and coward that, so I decided that he needed to move on. He was tired of life."

"Is that why you killed all those people? Because you thought they were done living?" Despite her fears, Cooper wanted to hear Warren's motives. If she could pretend to be sympathetic and learn about how the poison worked, she might be able to save her family.

"Of course they were done!" Warren spat. "They were poor, lonely, pathetic. No one should end up in such an undignified state. That's what happened to my grandparents. They were the ones who raised me. Then age started getting the better of them. They got stupid and weak and gullible and sold our land for nothing." His hands gripped the tea bag until the leaves were crushed beneath his fingers. "I've had to work two jobs since I turned sixteen. All through my twenties, when I should have been having fun and seeing the world, I worked to keep the three of us going! And when they got so that I couldn't take care of them, I figured out how much it would cost to put them in a nursing home and I knew I just couldn't take any more!" He relaxed his hands and made a clear effort to calm himself. "I gave them a gentle way out."

"But Mrs. Davenport wasn't lonely," Cooper argued tentatively. "She had her daughter."

"That b.i.t.c.h!" Warren spluttered. "All she wanted was her mama's jewelry. I was over there once when she was cleaning it. She asked to try on that necklace every time, saying that it looked better on her and that her mama was too old to wear it, but Mrs. Davenport liked to remember her husband by looking at it. She wanted to be with him. She'd told me that a dozen times, so I granted her wish." He smirked. "And there was no way in h.e.l.l I was going to let that greedy, miserable leech of a daughter get the jewelry, so I took it."

"Please," Cooper spoke plaintively. "I care about my family more than anything in the world. They're not ready to let go. We're happy the way we are. Please let me help them. I'm begging you for mercy."

"Tell me the story behind your b.u.t.terfly pin," Warren said instead, sitting down at the table next to Cooper. "I've never seen you without it."

Cooper stroked the filigree wings as if she could draw strength from the thin silver. "It was my grammy's. She gave it to me when I was going through a rough time. My grandpa gave it to her for the same reason."

"Would you say that it's your most prized possession?" Warren leaned closer to her and Cooper tried not to flinch.

Instead, she cupped her hand over the pin, obscuring it from Warren's covetous gaze. "That's how you decided what you were going to steal. You took the one thing each person valued most. Mr. Manningham's coin, Mrs. Davenport's necklace, Frank Crosby's sword, and Vera's watch."

"I had to collect a fee for my services," Warren stated blithely. "And I needed to have portable wealth in case I had to relocate in a hurry."

"But no one here needs your services. My parents and my grammy make the most of every day." Seeing that her words had no effect on Warren at all, Cooper took surrept.i.tious glances around her kitchen in search of a handy weapon. To distract him while she tried to concoct a plan, she asked, "Why Vera, Warren? Why did you treat her like your own grandmother and then murder her? I saw you with her at the volunteer dinner. You were so gentle, so attentive to her. I admired how you cared for her."

For the first time, Warren seemed uncomfortable with their discussion. He picked at the red crust of a tomato sauce stain on the edge of Cooper's table. "I missed Grandma Helen. She and Vera were a lot alike. I could tell Vera anything and she was always happy to see me. Even when she couldn't remember my name, she'd smile like she knew me."

Cooper tried to recall the specifics of Warren's job. "And as the pick-up guy for LabTech, you visit nursing homes. That's how you met Vera in the first place."

"Nursing homes, hospitals, medical office parks. I see old people everywhere I go. Half of these people have no spirit left. They sap up the government's money, make it necessary for thousands of able-bodied adults to give volunteer time and money to keep them alive, and all they do is look to their past-to loved ones that are long gone."

"How did you get Vera off the grounds of her center?" Cooper wanted to interrupt his train of thought. "Didn't anyone challenge you? After all, if her sisters found out you were borrowing her, they'd surely have reported you."

Warren waved off the suggestion. "Oh, please. One of Vera's regular nurses has a thing for me. I told her how much I missed my grandmother and that I'd like to bestow my affection on someone like her, and this woman practically rolled out the red carpet and packed the wheelchair into my trunk. She's how I came to find out about Vera's milk quirks and which days her sisters would visit. Such an agreeable lady-the nurse-but a bit old for me." He laughed dryly.

Cooper could feel the seconds ticking by. What was happening to her family? Were they asleep? Hallucinating? Having heart issues as Warren had insinuated? "It's not our job to decide when people are ready to die," she told him firmly.

Warren resumed his arrogant, straight-backed posture. "Eventually, we'll all be turned off like a light when we reach a certain age. I've read about that notion in dozens of science fiction books. It's the humane thing to do and my teas are such an inexpensive and painless way to administer a dose of everlasting peace."

"You're crazy," Cooper whispered and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn't afford to upset the man sitting beside her. He was a calculating, unhinged murderer and the lives of her beloved family members depended on her remaining calm and rational. "What I mean," she hastily adjusted her tone, "is that you could have had your real Grandma Helen, but you . . . let her go. Why do that to Vera when you felt like you had a relationship with her?"

"She begged me to end it!" Warren exclaimed. "Vera had lucid moments like Helen did, and just like Helen, it made her sick to know how mixed up her mind was. She knew she was a burden on her two sisters. She talked to me about how they'd spent all of their savings paying her medical bills. The guilt was eating her up." He turned to Cooper and she was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. "Vera knew about the others. She knew about the Jimson weed. She told me I had done right. She asked me to put it in her milk, so I did."

"The poisoned milk wasn't from Velma or Violet's Sunday sandwich bag?"

Warren shook his head. "No. It was just a milk carton I took from Door-2-Door's cooler. Jimson weed doesn't taste too good, so I was forced to use smelly herbal tea on everyone else, but Vera knew what she was drinking and didn't care. She wanted her last drink to be milk because it made her feel like a girl, so that's what I gave her." He picked at the tomato sauce again. "I'm going to miss her. We understood each other." His eyes bored into Cooper. "I knew you'd find me out if you ever saw a picture of Vera, so I've been following you. I saw you go into the house where her sisters live, so I crept around back and watched all three of you through a window. I know the cops are probably at my place right now, because you told them all about me."

"So why are you here?" Cooper asked, and looked around her kitchen for something to use as a weapon.

Placing an unnaturally cold hand over hers, Warren answered, "For you. I'm hitting the road and I'd like some company. You're smart and funny and d.a.m.ned pretty. I'd be proud to have you with me as I start my next adventure." His look hardened. "Come with me and your family lives. It's as simple as that."

Cooper swallowed. Her time was running out. Warren had told her his motives and his methods. Eventually, he was going to grow bored with talking and then he'd have to act. She had little doubt that he'd let her family succ.u.mb to the effects of the Jimson weed, so she had to agree with his warped notion that he'd provided a service to the elderly he'd murdered in order to survive this ordeal.

"I see what you're saying about senior citizens. I fought against it at first, but now it makes more sense to me," she spoke softly after taking a deliberate pause. "My grammy misses everyone who's gone on ahead of her, too. Especially her husband. I guess when you spend most of a lifetime with someone and then they're not there, you feel like half a person." Cooper met Warren's curious stare. His hand slid away from hers. "She hasn't been eating well lately and she's getting pretty depressed. Maybe she'd want . . ." She trailed off, acting uncertain.

"What Vera wanted? Maybe you're realizing that it's her time? Before you have to put her in a home where someone has to help her go to the bathroom, take showers, or even feed herself? Before her care uses every dime your parents have? Or even your savings?" Warren's expression was wolfish. "See? I'm not so crazy now, am I?"

Cooper hesitated and then mutely shook her head. "No. You've released people from suffering. I'm sorry that your good intentions weren't clear to me before." Reaching across the table, she touched his sleeve. "I could help you," she whispered. "I'll come with you. No protests, no games."

He eyed her distrustfully, but a spark of hope ignited his face at the same time. "Why should I believe you?"

Unpinning the silver b.u.t.terfly from her shirt, Cooper placed it in Warren's cold palm. She closed his fingers around the wings and held onto his hand. It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. Touching his flesh repulsed her to the core, but her desperation to aid her family forced her to return his suspicious stare with as much sincerity as she could muster. As they sat this way, Cooper was silently shouting a pa.s.sionate prayer for G.o.d to rescue her from the wicked man a.s.sessing her so closely.

"The cops will be here soon. Since you informed them about me, they're sure to call in and check on you when my house is empty," Warren finally remarked, his voice flat and almost disinterested. "But that's okay. My bags have been packed for a while." He glanced around the kitchen. "Since you're coming with me, I think I'll have to put you to the test before we go. I don't want any dramatics once we're on the road." He gestured at the cabinets behind them. "Get me a coffee cup and fill it with water."

Hastening to do as she was told, Cooper selected a white mug covered by Van Gogh's irises.

"Now, a spoon," Warren ordered pleasantly as he opened the Ziploc. "The seeds are very toxic. A small bit will cause hallucinations and short-term memory loss," he explained as he measured out his blend of Jimson weed and tea. "My little plant has so many names. So many faces. Did you know that when Virginia was an English colony we used this stuff against British soldiers at Jamestown? Grown men in their prime ran around like lunatics. Dancing naked. Spilling all their secrets. The next day, they couldn't remember a thing. Aren't Virginians crafty?" He stirred the mixture until the clear water mutated into a pale brown that resembled beef broth.

Cooper watched his movements with morbid fascination. "So you didn't give my family enough tea to kill them?"

Warren shook his head. "No. They're just taking naps, like you were going to do before your cell phone started ringing. But this cuppa tea will release your grammy for good." He tapped the b.u.t.terfly pin, which was within reach of his left hand. "And I will keep this to remember her by. The other things I'll sell when we get where we're going."

"And where's that?" Cooper's voice was much lighter now that she knew her parents and grandmother weren't in immediate danger. Of course, Warren could well be lying. He was a master of deceit, but she felt as though he had revealed himself to her and had no cause to tell her partial truths after confessing with such calm pride to his host of crimes.

"First, I need to believe that you and I understand each other." He eased the hot mug into Cooper's hand. "Careful. Don't spill any."

Leading Cooper to her front door, he jerked it open and then stepped back in surprise. A tall figure darkened the doorway and before Cooper knew it, Warren was falling backward onto her. She pressed herself against the wall and flung the cup of tea from her hand in order to prepare her body for the impact of Warren's weight. Unbalanced, she didn't watch as the tea formed an auburn arc of scalding liquid before it landed on Warren's scalp and face.

He didn't even cry out.

Before she could make any sense of what was happening, Cooper was knocked flat. Her head banged against the floor with a commanding thud and she moaned as pain splintered from the point of contact and instantly radiated through her skull and down the vertebrae of her neck. It was so sharp that she squeezed her eyes shut until she felt she could draw in a few shallow breaths. A wave of nausea rolled over her.

She felt a pair of large but gentle hands touch her face. A familiar voice whispered softly near her still-ringing ear. She couldn't make out the words, but when she opened her eyes, she saw Nathan bending over her. He smiled as their eyes met and then he brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her tenderly on the revealed skin above each eyebrow and then again on her lips.

Cooper was content to lie motionless as the sound of other voices filled her apartment. She hadn't been aware that Warren's torso was still covering her legs until he was lifted off her. She closed her eyes again, noticing that the pain had become duller; its jagged edges had softened and the nausea she had briefly experienced had receded.

"I'm going to carry you to your bed," Nathan murmured softly to her. "Do you think it's okay for you to be moved? I don't want to hurt you."