The Graves of the Guilty (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 3) (10 page)

But Cooper felt that the nicknames meant something. “A squirrel is known for gathering up goods, for hoarding them. It’s a harmless animal. A bee is hardworking and has the ability to sting—to cause pain. I think
that’s
the significance, Ashley.” She put down her chopsticks. “The question is: Did Miguel want a weapon—the stinger—to inflict hurt, or as a defense against enemies? I don’t know for certain, but what this nickname business says to me is that he wanted to erase a past identity. The
ardilla
was left behind. With his false documents, a new job, and a new apartment, Miguel had a clean slate.”

“And became an
abeja.
The bee.” Ashley waved away Cooper’s offering of cash and placed her credit card on top of the check. “I’m impressed, Cooper. I think you’re onto something.”

Cooper took a sip of green tea and then stared into her cup as if she were an augurer. “What if someone didn’t want him to change? What if someone from his old life killed him because of what he once was? Maybe he couldn’t really get away.”

Ashley’s eyes were tinged with fear. “Do you think the murderer’s still in Richmond? Do you think he’s watching us—Lincoln and me?”

“I don’t know.” Cooper pulled on her parka and examined her watch. “I have to go, but I think Lincoln needs to tell the police about those nicknames. They might have some kind of underworld significance. Names are really important to gang members, I know that from reading the paper.”

Cinching her trench coat tight around her narrow waist, Ashley nodded. “Okay. And don’t forget to look around for signs of a roommate in Miguel’s apartment. If you can get in, that is. I know Trish is shrewd, but she’s going to have to be mighty creative to gain access to a rented apartment.”

“I’ve already cooked up a plan that you’d definitely call creative. Believe me, we’re getting in,” Cooper promised.

• • •

As soon as Cooper clocked out for the day, she drove the short distance to the leasing office of Short Pump Commons. She recognized Trish’s black Mercedes SUV by the magnetic Tyler Fine Properties sign on the side panel and pulled into the next parking spot.  

Trish was on the phone but gestured for Cooper to sit in the passenger seat and enjoy the heat pumping out of the car’s air vents while she concluded her business. After thanking the person on the other end of the line, she closed her phone and sighed. “I’m trying to cut back on my workload, but it’s tough.” She smiled. “I’m such a control freak. Cancer’s going to teach me a thing or two about that.” Placing her headset on the dash, she said, “However, I’m determined to do my bit to get us into Miguel’s apartment today. I trust you have a plan?”

“A crazy one,” Cooper said. “And it requires you to, ah, behave sicker than you look.”

Eyeing herself in the rearview mirror, Trish made a small adjustment to her turban. “If we can use this disease for good, then I’m all for it. Let’s hear what you have in mind.”

As soon as they were ready, the two women walked up the cement path into the leasing office. Cooper had no difficulty acting nervous. She’d never been a skillful thespian and hoped she could pull off a personality so opposite from her own.

Trish, on the other hand, embraced the plan with her usual confidence and strode into the office as if she already owned the place. She shook hands with the manager, handed him a business card, and then drew him aside for a quick word while Cooper pretended to be absorbed in the company brochure.

Short Pump Commons,
she read.
A World of Luxury, Fashion, and Convenience.
Examining the arrangement of the four buildings, she realized the “common” area in the name referred to a small, treeless rectangle dividing Building A from Building B. Rent for a one-bedroom apartment was a thousand a month, but if Miguel had also rented a garage, he’d have to spend over eleven hundred a month. “Pretty steep,” she said to herself.

“Delilah?” The manager, a portly man wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and a yellow tie speckled with ketchup stains, was addressing her. Cooper had almost forgotten her pseudonym. “Phil Burgess!” the man said. “I see you’ve already got one of our brochures. Terrific! Your Realtor tells me that your company, ah, the Inner Eye, may be relocating to the Richmond area and that you and your employees might be interested in leasing several
apartments?” His eyes gleamed.

“Our futures will be determined by destiny.” Cooper placed both palms over her heart. “My employees and I are very sensitive about our
spaces.
In order to serve our clients, we have to obtain a state of complete
peace in our home environment, so it may take me some time to determine if the
chi
in these apartments is well balanced. I hope you’re open to this approach.”

“Of course, of course.” The manager nodded rapidly and Cooper was superbly relieved that he hadn’t asked her to define
chi.
“I’ve never visited a psychic before, but my wife has. ’Course that was back before she met
me.
She doesn’t need to peer into a crystal ball anymore.”

“The Inner Eye doesn’t use crystal balls. Those are props for carnival acts,” Cooper replied stonily and Phil nearly tripped over his tongue apologizing.

“Please, Mr. Burgess,” Trish interceded in a clipped, professional tone. “Could we see the apartment now?”

“Yes, yes.” Phil grabbed a set of keys and pasted on a slick smile. “After you, ladies.”

The threesome walked around the clubhouse, passed a sheeted, rectangular pool, a row of empty bike racks, and a putting green. These public areas were landscaped with neatly pruned evergreen shrubs and clusters of purple and yellow pansies.

As they headed toward Building B, Phil chatted about the complex’s amenities, the quality of its residents, the awards it had garnered over the past year, and how unique Short Pump Commons was for being the first complex in the area to own a state-of-the-art tanning bed.

“Costs a pretty penny, too,” he added proudly. “The sign-up list is full every evening.”

Murmuring their approval, Cooper and Trish followed Phil up a few flights of stairs to the third floor. He unlocked the first door on the left and stepped inside. Before he finished switching on the lights, Cooper pushed her way past Phil, walked resolutely to the center of the living room, raised her hands to her forehead, and closed her eyes.

“She’s gauging the aura of this unit. We should be quiet,” Trish whispered to the leasing manager in a conspiratorial fashion and then made a big show of dabbing her forehead with a tissue.

“Oh?” Phil seemed flustered by the idea.

Acting completely relaxed, as if she were accustomed to such bizarre behavior from her clients, Trish strolled around the living room assessing the peach-colored walls, a grouping of oil paintings featuring sickly-looking sunflowers, an overabundance of brass torchiere lamps, and the kind of sofa that uncomfortably encases one’s body in overly deep polyfill cushions.

“Do all the units have security systems?” Trish pointed at the device next to the front door.

“They sure do!” Phil said in a theatrical whisper.

Trish approached her client and touched her on the arm. “How does this place feel?”

“I need to be a level lower,” Cooper pronounced after opening her eyes. “The vibes are almost balanced here and I’m sure most of my employees would be perfectly happy with this apartment, but
I
must be one floor lower.”

“We have some lovely units on the second floor in Building C,” Phil suggested.

Cooper shook her head. “That won’t do. You see, I have to be facing north and I must have my rear windows positioned over a natural area. Also, I need an even number in my address. Odd numbers conduct negative energy.”

Phil’s mouth hung open in befuddlement.

“Is the apartment on the second floor available?” Trish asked innocently.

Phil fidgeted with his tie, obviously stalling for time as he tried to think of a way to dissuade the women from focusing on the apartment below. “It will be soon, but at the moment it’s not in showing condition. The, ah, current resident’s possessions haven’t been removed yet.”

Cooper brightened. “Excellent! I could get a sense of the presence of the person who inhabited the space before I move! People leave their signature on their homes, you know.
Please
let me spend a few moments in that apartment. I only need to stand in the heart of the unit—the living room—just like I’m doing now.”

Both women gave Phil their most winsome smiles until the poor manager had no choice but to agree. He resumed his sales pitch as they walked down the stairs and then insisted on poking his head into the apartment before letting them inside. Cooper noted that the police had not sealed off the unit or, if it had, Phil had received permission to enter the apartment again. The front door bore no posted warnings and there was no sign that they’d dusted for fingerprints inside, either. They must have searched the premises and, having found nothing useful, moved on to the next step of the investigation.

“This resident was quite neat,” Phil said and Cooper thought he looked a bit on edge.

Forgive us for deceiving this man,
Cooper silently prayed and then quickly examined Miguel’s living room.

Unlike the model apartment, Miguel’s stark white walls held no artwork. The monotone brightness was interrupted only by the presence of an enormous flat-screen television. A leather sectional was positioned so that no matter where a person was seated, one could view the screen with ease.

The glass-topped coffee table was not used to display pictorial books or sports magazines, but held an Xbox unit and dozens of games. The only other piece of furniture in the room featured a karaoke machine and several sets of speakers.

“Could I take a quick peek down the hall?” Trish whispered as Cooper began her aura act for the second time. “I’m feeling a little unwell . . .”

Glancing at Trish’s turban, Phil nodded and gestured for her to follow him. As soon as he moved off, Cooper peered into Miguel’s refrigerator. The produce drawer contained the remains of several mangos, and the meat drawer held a pair of rib eyes that had turned a repulsive gray-brown shade. Moldy cheese, a gallon of milk, coffee grounds, the usual condiments, and a case of Corona rounded out the contents.

When Cooper heard a moan echo down the hall, she knew that Trish was initiating the part of the plan they hoped would rid them of Phil for a few minutes.

“If I could just get some fresh air!” she cried weakly. “The chemo makes me so nauseated.”

Trish was leaning on Phil so heavily that he could barely walk, but as the pair passed by Cooper, she closed her eyes and pretended to be completely absorbed in her psychic reading.

Once they were safely removed to the balcony, Cooper slipped down the hall into Miguel’s bathroom. A quick look in the medicine cabinet revealed a bottle of Advil, shaving cream, aftershave, and a surprising collection of costly skin-care products.

She hesitated until she heard Trish call out, “Thank you!” before entering Miguel’s bedroom.

Part of her felt indecent for entering the room without an invitation. After all, the bedroom was a haven for most people. This was the space where people talked to themselves in the mirror, hid away in times of sickness, and whispered prayers into the darkness. It was a reflection of one’s inner self and it made Cooper nervous to think that she might meet the real Miguel Ramos for the first time once she crossed the threshold.

Miguel’s sanctuary was presided over by half a dozen posters of bikini-clad women draped over the hoods of luxury cars. The furniture was a matched set—the kind found at all the giant furniture chains—consisting of a queen bed, two nightstands, and a chest of drawers.

The pieces were made of dark mahogany veneer and had ornately carved skirts and feet. Another flat-screen television rested on top of the bureau and a cigar box next to the bed contained a TAG Heuer watch with diamonds on the face. Normally, Cooper wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of the watch’s value, but Ashley had bought Lincoln a similar timepiece for Christmas, so she knew that it sold for over three thousand dollars.

“How could you afford this watch?” Cooper quietly accused the room. “The TVs? Steaks from Whole Foods? And the rent?”

“Have you found anything?” Trish asked as she walked into the room. “Phil’s gone to the office to get me orange juice, but I don’t think we’ll have more than ten minutes to search.”

“Miguel had to be living beyond his means.” Cooper opened the closet, examining the divide between Miguel’s Love Motors work shirts and a colorful array of silk button-downs, tailored slacks, and expensive leather footwear.

Trish whistled. “He must’ve maxed out a few credit cards on this wardrobe alone. Those loafers are Moreschis. Italian leather. Cost almost two hundred and fifty dollars a pair.”

Cooper fingered the shimmery material of a black-and-yellow collared shirt. The colors reminded her of Miguel’s nickname. “The bee,” she whispered and then looked over at Trish, who was producing a strange, strangled noise in the corner of the room.

Joining her in front of the nightstand pinned between the bed and the wall containing the room’s only window, Cooper bent down over an open drawer filled with lewd magazines.

“It’s not the porn that has me winded,” Trish breathed heavily. “It’s what’s underneath.”

Removing a pen from her purse, Cooper lifted the pile of magazines and saw three neat stacks of money held together with rubber bands. The bills on the top were hundreds. Trish reached inside the drawer and quickly flipped through the nearest brick of cash.

“They’re all hundreds,” she said in awe.

Cooper shut the drawer. “He could have gotten credit cards with his fake documents, but not cash. Miguel must have had another source of income besides his paycheck from Love Motors.”

“The cash is definitely odd. And have you noticed that there’s nothing personal in this apartment? No photographs, no letters—none of the paperwork we all have stuffed into drawers.” Trish walked out of the bedroom and Cooper followed her into the kitchen. “No catalogues, nothing’s taped to the fridge, there’s no calendar. Why is it our young man made no imprint on his own home?”