The Path of the Crooked (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 1) (23 page)

“Newcombe, one of the coaches at last night’s game, was discovered by two high school students who snuck out for a late-night kayaking session. It was fortunate for Newcombe that the young men broke their parents’ strict rules against kayaking after dark, for both high school seniors are certified lifeguards. They witnessed Newcombe’s fall from the bridge and immediately pulled him from the river. The young men took turns performing CPR on Newcombe until paramedics arrived.”

The screen switched to an image of a high school boy with a pinched face and lively eyes. He was dressed in an orange life vest, a damp white T-shirt, and a University of Virginia baseball cap. “We were paddling downstream of the Willey when we saw two shapes near the cement wall above us. We both thought that was weird because you can’t stop your car on that bridge just to hang out. The moon was pretty bright and it looked like one guy was kind of supporting a second guy. All of a sudden, the first guy shoved the second guy against the edge of the wall and then—bam!—the second guy is falling through the air!” He shook his head in disbelief. “He didn’t make a sound—just hit the water like a cannonball. He didn’t even scream. It was like he was already dead.”

The boy removed his cap, raked his hands through his hair, and then glanced at his friend. “Connor and I busted our butts to reach him. We figured no way he survived that fall, but we had to see if we could do anything.”

The reporter, who looked as though he had been up for hours and had already consumed several pots of coffee, jammed the microphone beneath the nose of the second boy. “I understand you’re both trained in lifesaving techniques. How would you describe Mr. Newcombe’s condition when you pulled him from the water?”

In a gesture identical to his friend’s, Connor ran his hand through a tousled nest of dark hair. He seemed reluctant to look at the camera. “First, we had to get him to shore. He was floating facedown when we got to him so I flipped him over, ditched my kayak, and swam with him to the bank. He didn’t look good. He was cold and his lips were blue. But Neil and I had him breathing by the time the ambulance came.”

“How were you able to alert the authorities?” the reporter asked with wide-eyed intensity.

Connor grinned. “Neil had his cell in a Ziploc. He’s totally whipped by his girlfriend and never goes anywhere without it in case she calls.”

Neil jostled his friend’s shoulder with his fist and the screen switched back to the studio and the impassive anchorwoman.

“Newcombe was taken to CJW Medical Center, where he remains in critical condition. Authorities received an anonymous tip that a dark-colored SUV was seen crossing the bridge seconds after Newcombe was pushed into the river. If you have any information regarding the vehicle or any other details relating to this incident, please call Crime Stoppers at the number below.”

“Someone tried to kill Reed Newcombe,” Nathan said numbly.

Cooper had almost forgotten that she had the phone pressed to her ear. She turned off the television and tried to process the information. “This keeps getting more complicated! And more tragic!”

“I know,” Nathan replied softly. “Reed must have known something that threatened Brooke’s killer. We’ve been following the right trail. Just too slowly.” He sighed. “We couldn’t make enough sense of this mess to keep someone from being pushed off a bridge.”

Cooper’s stomach turned. She fought back the wave of nausea that rose in her throat and moved back into the kitchen, where she put the phone down on the counter and drank quickly from the sink tap.

“. . . to talk to the police this morning,” Nathan was saying when she picked up the phone again. “Cooper? Are you there?”

Cooper wiped her mouth with a dish towel. “Yes, sorry. Just give me a sec.” She turned the tap on cold, put the cloth under the stream, and pressed it to her forehead. “We saw three people who were unhappy with Reed at last night’s game. Lynda, Cindi, and Vance Maynard.” Cooper struggled to think straight. “Did you just say something about the police?”

“Yeah. I’m going in today to tell them everything we know, even though I bet they’re going to be pretty ticked at us for conducting our own investigation.”

Cooper’s throat constricted again. “Ugh,” she groaned, reaching for the coffee carafe. Coffee always settled her stomach. “I am so ready to pass the buck. In the beginning, I thought we were doing Wesley a service, but now I feel like we haven’t helped anyone. And we still don’t know what’s happened to Hazel.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Cooper,” Nathan said, as though he had forced her to investigate Brooke’s murder in the first place. “I’ll call you after the police are done reading me the riot act.”

• • •

The workday dragged by. Cooper did her job mechanically, her mind skipping from one worry to another. She wasn’t surprised when Nathan called to inform her that she would need to make an official statement to the authorities as soon as possible and that she should prepare herself for a stern berating from the officer in charge.

Nathan was right. All seven members of the Sunrise Bible Study Group were directed to appear before Investigator McNamara at the police headquarters at six o’clock sharp. They did as they were told, even though Bryant grumbled about missing one of his live weather reports, and provided explicit statements on their confusing findings. When they were done, none of them were given permission to leave the small conference room where they’d been herded until Investigator McNamara, the officer in charge of the Hughes case, gave them a sharp rebuke.

When McNamara was finished dressing them down, he signaled for them to leave. Trish pushed back her chair, hesitated, and then raised her hand. “Officer? Sir?”

“What is it, Ms. Tyler?” The officer looked weary.

“Will you be checking on Hazel Wharton? We’re all deeply concerned about her. Her name has come up time and time again in our . . . We’re just afraid for her safety.”

“Please,” Savannah added gently, also standing. “We truly meant no harm. We were simply trying to help our friend Wesley. He’s been in our church family for a long time and has done so much good for the community. We believe in his innocence.” She reached out, her fingers fumbling against the backs of several chairs as she made her way to the police officer. McNamara stood and stretched his arm forward so that Savannah could grasp it. “If he was your friend,” Savannah continued, “I believe you would do the same.”

“Ma’am, we’re doing our best,” McNamara said, passing Savannah’s hand to Jake. “I know your hearts are in the right place, but your heads are all mixed up. If your friend
is
innocent, and I mean
if,
you’re chasing after a cold and calculating killer.” He tapped his gun holster, looking like a cowboy preparing for a quick draw. “Job said,
I get my knowledge from afar; I will ascribe justice to my Maker.
Trust your Maker, folks. And trust us. That’s all.”

“Investigator McNamara quotes Scripture.” Savannah smiled as the lawman strutted off. “I find that most comforting.”

“Personally, I’d find Dairy Queen comforting right now,” Quinton mumbled.

Nathan slung an arm around his portly friend. “Me too. A cherry dip cone would sure hit the spot.”

“What about dinner?” Trish sounded shocked.

“If you get a banana split, it’ll be big enough to count as both dinner
and
dessert,” Jake said.

“Well, I’m not in the mood for a treat,” Trish sulked. “I feel like a little girl who just got in big trouble. I always lost my appetite when I’d been naughty, and I’ve lost it again now!”

Bryant grabbed Trish’s hand and pulled her toward the exit. “Come on, lady. I’ll buy you a Diet Coke.” He waved his hand toward the police department building. “We’ve been chastised and we’ll do as we’ve been told and stay out of their way. All we can do now is offer up our prayers for Wesley and Hazel and now Reed.”

Murmuring in agreement, the group of friends headed for their cars. Nathan caught Cooper’s elbow as she opened the door to her Jeep.

“Are you still up for dinner and a movie on Saturday?” he asked. “If you’ve changed your mind because this whole thing has made you sorry you ever bumped into me, I’d understand.” He dropped his eyes and stared at his large feet.

Cooper moved a fraction closer, enjoying the feeling of his hand on her arm. Despite her plans to take things slow with Nathan, she knew that she wanted something more from him than a casual relationship. The proximity of his body, the scent of his aftershave, and the sincerity in his voice forced her to admit to herself that she found him very attractive. She wanted to spend time alone with him. She wanted to know all about him. Above all else, she wanted him to kiss her.

“No matter what, I’d never regret running into you,” she said, smiling up at him. “And yes, we’re still on for Saturday.”

The glum look evaporated from Nathan’s eyes and his hand slid down Cooper’s arm, sending jolts of warmth through the right side of her body. His fingertips closed around hers and then he suddenly leaned forward, his mouth parted, and grazed her lips with his. Drawing back, he winked at her. “Last one to the Dairy Queen buys the popcorn Saturday!” He then squeezed her hand and hopped into Sweet Pea.

Cooper got into her car, brushed her butterfly pin with her right hand, and tried to slow the thumping of her heart.

What a day,
she thought and allowed thoughts of Reed Newcombe and the visit to the police department to be replaced by fantasies of a caramel sundae and the possibility of another, more lingering, kiss.

• • •

“I know we planned on a movie,” Nathan began as he opened his front door for Cooper. “Oh, you look nice!” he said, interrupting himself as he noticed her pale yellow sundress. “And your feet are lovely, too.”

Cooper flushed, embarrassed by her vanity over her polished toes. She’d bought two pairs of summer sandals, one in a straw brown and another in black. In her room, she had slipped on the straw-colored sandals, pivoting her feet this way and that in the wall-length mirror attached to the inside of her closet door as she admired her new shoes and still-pristine pedicure.

“Well, it
is
Saturday.” She grinned. “No work boots required. Now, what were you going to say about the movie?”

Nathan gestured to his porch swing. They both sat down and it lurched to the side, making them laugh.

Brandishing a slip of paper, Nathan immediately grew serious. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our investigation,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know we’ve entrusted our information to the authorities and that should be that, but I can’t shake the feeling that Hazel’s still in danger.”

Cooper shrugged. “I’m sure they’ve checked on her. Investigator McNamara seemed very capable of handling this muddle.”

Nathan twisted the paper in his hands. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but late last night, while I was playing a civilization-building game on the computer, it hit me. I could do a reverse lookup using Hazel’s home phone number in order to find her address.”

“Come again?”

“All the major search engines have them,” Nathan explained. “It’s the online version of the white and yellow pages, but you can do more creative searches too. I looked up Hazel’s phone number online and then typed it in the reverse search box along with the city and state. Only one address result popped up.” He offered Cooper the paper. “This is it.”

Cooper opened her hand but didn’t glance at the address. Instead, she stared into Nathan’s kind eyes. She longed to reach up and cup his cheek, inviting him to kiss her again, but she could see that he was deeply troubled and was unlikely to enjoy himself until they visited Hazel Wharton. She looked at the address.

“She’s close by—in Church Hill. So let’s skip the movie and pay her a visit,” she suggested.

Nathan beamed. “Hazel’s still the key to this whole puzzle,” he said. “I’d sleep better at night if I knew she was keeping an eye out for bad guys.” He took Cooper’s hand and pulled her gently out of the porch swing. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind finding out what was wrong with that famous Capital City statement of hers. Seems like this whole mess originated with that document.”

“Nathan,” Cooper warned. “It sounds like you’re going to stir the pot again. We’re not supposed to be investigating.”

Opening Sweet Pea’s passenger door, Nathan gave her a boyish grin. “I won’t get us into trouble. I promise. And afterward, we’ll have an early dinner at Strawberry Street Cafe.”

“That’s the place that has the soup and salad bar set up in a claw-foot bathtub, isn’t it?”

“One and the same,” he said, shutting her door. As he slipped into his seat and gunned Sweet Pea’s sleepy engine, he glanced at Hazel’s address again and said, “But I’m not wasting my appetite on salad. I’m having chicken potpie followed by a slice of chocolate truffle cake. Maybe we could ask Hazel to join us.”

Cooper sighed. Somehow she couldn’t see events leading to the three of them sharing a lighthearted meal together. As Nathan wound through the maze of downtown streets and headed east toward Church Hill, she absently rubbed the butterfly pin and prayed that they wouldn’t find anything horrible at Hazel Wharton’s house.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathan pulled up in front of a dilapidated row house standing at the end of a long line of homes in a similar state of disrepair. Sagging porches, peeling paint, and cracked cement had robbed the once-charming houses of their former dignity. Cars with no tires or rusted bodies had come to their decisive ends on either side of the street, and tiny lawns overrun by weeds formed the only greenery in the neighborhood. Despite the somewhat bleak environment, children of all skin tones played in the street.

Nathan knocked on Hazel’s front door. As they waited for her to answer, Cooper glanced at the two plastic chairs on the porch and at the dead fern on the ground between the chairs. Cooper spied a metal watering can below one of the dirt-streaked front windows. Clearly, the fern’s owner had stopped caring for it.

“I don’t think Hazel’s here,” Cooper whispered.