The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (26 page)

“Everything all right?” Maggie asked. “Is your friend okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Cooper replied. “Ms. Donna’s falling asleep as we speak. I just wanted to thank you for taking Ms. Donna in so readily.”

Maggie grinned. “Glad we could help.”

“And I also wanted to make sure you’re really okay with the arrangements.”

“With Ms. Donna staying, you mean?”

Cooper answered with a nod.

Maggie closed her book and set it on her nightstand. She patted the edge of the bed, bidding Cooper to sit. As Cooper joined her parents, she was reminded of those days in her youth when she’d get scared and jump into her parents’ bed.

Maggie took Cooper’s hand and patted it reassuringly. “Your friend may have made some . . .
questionable
life choices, but she needs a place to stay. I realize we can’t trust her completely, but we trust your judgment.”

Cooper gave her mama a hug. “I appreciate that,” she said, doubts about her own judgment swirling in her mind. If she had good judgment, she wouldn’t be housing a criminal. If she had good judgment, she wouldn’t be so torn between Will and Nathan. If she had good judgment, she probably wouldn’t be playing amateur detective. “I wish I had your confidence in my judgment,” she finally said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m slipping.”

Earl closed his Bible and chimed in. “We all slip at one time or another, Coop. That’s because we’re human. You just got to get back up and straighten things out.”

Cooper leaned across her mama and gave him a peck on the cheek. To Earl, everything was black and white, straightforward and simple. He probably never had the kinds of doubts she did, and Cooper envied him for that.

“Well, I suppose I ought to let you get to sleep,” Cooper said with a sigh. “Sweet dreams.”

Cooper headed up to her room, got ready for bed and lay down. But as soon as her head hit the pillow, her brain kicked into high gear. Her body felt so tired, but her mind was wide awake. For half an hour, she stared at the clock, trying to figure out exactly what was keeping her awake. There were so many things to choose from.

She was concerned about her relationship with Nathan. That was exacerbated by Officer Brayden. Of course, Sylvia’s murder was high on the list, as was the con artist/thief guest staying downstairs. The cherry on top was the situation at work—accusations, assumptions and robbery.

When it became apparent to Cooper that she wasn’t going to turn off her brain by staring at the clock, she trudged downstairs and went to the kitchen. A nice hot cup of tea might just do the trick.

But when she reached the kitchen, she found the light already on and Ms. Donna standing by the stove, a steaming mug in hand. She jumped when Cooper came into the light.

“Sorry to startle you,” Cooper apologized. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else.”

“That makes two of us.” Ms. Donna put her hand over her heart, took a few breaths and then appeared to relax. She held up her mug. “I hope you don’t mind . . .”

“Not at all. What are you having?”

“Chamomile.”

“I think I’ll join you.” Cooper retrieved a mug from the cabinet by the sink and a tea bag from the little wooden tea box in the pantry. “So what’s keeping you up?”

Ms. Donna took a sip of her tea and leaned against the counter. “Thinking. And you?”

“Thinking.” Cooper added more water to the kettle and set it on the stove to heat. “Every time I close my eyes, my mind’s eye opens up. If I could just turn my brain off, I’d be all right.”

“Every time I close my yes, I see that person in my window, staring back. If I could replace that with visions of sugar plums, I’d be all right. Too bad you can’t turn off your brain as easily as you can the TV. Anything you want to talk about?”

Cooper smiled. While she appreciated the thought, she wasn’t ready to trust Ms. Donna. Part of her wanted to, but she wondered if that part was simply under the con artist’s professional spell; engendering trust was, after all, how Ms. Donna succeeded.

“No, thanks,” Cooper replied after thinking about the offer. “Did you want to talk about anything?”

Ms. Donna took another drink, a nostalgic look in her eye, and for just a moment Cooper thought she might want a confidante. But then Ms. Donna shook her head.

“I think I’ll take my tea and go back to bed. Thank you, though.”

With that, Ms. Donna shuffled away and disappeared down the hall. Cooper watched, her heart sinking. Here was a woman terrified and lonely, but unable to reach out and connect with anyone.

Maybe she needs me to reach out first,
Cooper thought.
Then she might feel comfortable opening up to me.
She took her tea upstairs, and after drinking it, finally fell asleep.

• • •

Monday first thing, Cooper sought out Angela, who was busy typing on her computer, fresh flowers in a vase at the corner of her desk.

“Morning, Coop,” Angela said with a smile. “I had the most wonderful weekend! Mr. Farmer’s sister is still giving me a hard time, but Mr. Farmer is still standing up to her! The more she pushes, the more stubborn he gets! He’s just so . . .
virile.”

Cooper tried to think of Mr. Farmer as virile, but she couldn’t. If Angela had said Mr. Farmer was a Danny DeVito look-alike, Cooper would have agreed. But virile? No. She shook her head and changed the subject.

“Angela, I need advice.”

Angela drummed her fingertips together, her eyes agleam. “Something to do with Nathan? Or that police officer? Hmm?”

“Nothing quite so exciting, I’m afraid. It’s about the whole situation here at work.”

“Oh,” Angela sighed. “That.”

“Yeah, that. You see, Ben’s having trouble talking to Brandi. He’s afraid he’s coming across as creepy, trying to talk to her alone and all, so he asked me to give him a hand.”

“And of course you said yes.”

“I did.”

“But you don’t know how to approach her.”

“Pretty much. I don’t know her at all, and now I’ve got to try and figure out if she’s a thief! Will you help me?”

Angela patted her hand. “You can count on me, Coop.” She leaned back in her seat, her brow furrowed as she schemed. “Let’s see. What if we planned a girls’ lunch? Just the three of us. We’ll say we need some time away from all the testosterone, and she’s invited. We won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Between the two of us, we ought to make a pretty good human lie detector.”

“I like it,” Cooper replied, the wheels in her mind turning. “But maybe we can go one step further. What if we have an employee lunch? It’s been a while since we all got to sit and eat as a group—not since the summer picnic. You, Ben, Mr. Farmer and I can work together to try and get a read on all the other employees. Ben might notice something in Josh that I missed, or you might notice something in Brandi. What do you think?”

“Should we order in?”

“No, we definitely ought to go out somewhere . . . Get everyone out of the office and see them in a different environment.”

“I love it!” Angela exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Let’s pitch it to Mr. Farmer.”

Together, they marched to Mr. Farmer’s office and explained their plan. When they were done, he nodded slowly.

“That might just work,” he said. “And it’s a good intermediate step before we get the police involved.”

“Oh, Mr. Farmer, you wouldn’t!” Angela exclaimed. “Bring the police here? Officially? You can’t! Once word gets out, it’ll ruin our reputation!”

“If we can’t unearth the thief and word gets out that I’ve let it slide,
that
will ruin our reputation, too.” Mr. Farmer wiped his kerchief over his sweating, mostly bald scalp. “I’m not saying I want to bring the cops in on it, but we may have to. But I like the idea of putting all our minds together on this. Spread the word. Lunch tomorrow. There, ladies, we’ll make our stand.”

With a dramatic flair, Mr. Farmer stood and opened the door for Angela and Cooper, who took the not-so-subtle cue and left him in peace.

Over the course of the day, they informed the other employees about the luncheon the next day. Cooper pulled Ben aside before he left and explained the plan, and by the time Cooper left the office for Lewis’s house, she was feeling much more at ease. The burden of catching the office thief wasn’t completely off her shoulders, but the burden was being shared, and she and her friends were determined to solve the problem.

The drive was peaceful and gave her a little time to clear her head. So many terrible things were happening, and she just needed a few minutes to think about nothing . . . nothing but the Beatles. She listened to her music all the way to Lewis’s house, and when she arrived, she was sorry she had to focus again on one of those terrible things: Sylvia’s murder.

She slung her purse over her shoulder, and, playing with her key ring, rapped on the front door of Lewis’s house. There was no answer. She slipped the key into her pocket and peered in through the front window. It was dark inside, with no sign of Lewis.

“I don’t particularly want to come back tomorrow,” she muttered to herself. As if in answer to her concern, a blue sedan pulled into the driveway, and Lewis Wilburson emerged.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked through a snarl. Then he squinted and grunted in recognition. “Oh, you again? I’m busy.”

Cooper waited for him on the porch. “Mr. Wilburson, I just need a few minutes.”

“I already talked to you and your friends about Sylvia. Don’t think I’m unappreciative of the food you brought, but I don’t have anything else to say.”

“I didn’t come about Sylvia this time,” Cooper said, stepping closer. “I came about a man named John Borreo.”

Cooper tried to say the name when it would have the greatest impact, and she wasn’t disappointed. As she watched, the color faded from Lewis’s face, replaced by a sickly pallor. He frowned, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth together. His opened hands curled into fists.

“Never heard of him,” he said, obviously lying. “Get off of my property.” He opened the door and hurried inside, but before he could close it again, Cooper had slipped past him into the entryway.

“I think you do know him,” she insisted.

Lewis slammed and locked the door behind her, his rage more than a little frightening. Cooper glanced desperately around the room, nervous to be alone with him. He blocked the nearest exit with his body. If she wanted to reach the back door, she’d have to make a run for it.

“I don’t want to cause you problems,” Cooper said gently. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble. I just want to help find out what happened to Sylvia.”

“If you want to help, leave.”

“Not until you tell me about John Borreo.”

“All I know about John Borreo I read in the paper. You can do the same.” He made no attempt to mask his threatening tone. “Why do you want to know about Borreo, anyway?”

“I was researching the school in Detroit where Sylvia used to work. When I looked up Coughlin Prep on the Internet, his name came up. His son attended the school where Sylvia taught. Was he one of her students?”

“Probably. In her position, Sylvia taught all the kids, sooner or later.”

“What struck me most, Mr. Wilburson, was the timing. It wasn’t long after Borreo disappeared that you and Sylvia moved away from Detroit. Awfully coincidental, don’t you think?”

“So you think it’s
awfully coincidental
that our marriage was falling apart? I didn’t much care what was going on in the rest of the world by then. It was time for us to leave and try to salvage our marriage.”

Cooper took a step closer to him. “Mr. Wilburson, why haven’t you thrown me out? You could do it. Just open the door and give me a shove.”

Ignoring her question, Lewis began to pace. “Sylvia had nothing to do with John Borreo. Don’t go dragging her name through the mud because you think you found something interesting.”

He was struggling; Cooper could see it in his face. Lewis was torn between a need for secrecy and the desire to protect Sylvia’s reputation, which was now his only way to make up for the way he’d treated her. He finally shrugged in resignation, walked into the living room and slumped in his recliner. Cooper followed. The room smelled stale, everything exactly the same as it had been on her first visit with Bryant and Savannah. Cooper sat on the edge of the couch, waiting for Lewis to continue.

Slowly, he did. “John Borreo is a very bad man with a hand in every cookie jar—mayors, governors, senators, cops, unions. I’d say that that’s all you need to know, but I have a feeling you’d just wind up on my front porch again, asking more questions. I’d rather not see you anymore after this, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll do my best. How did you know John Borreo?”

Lewis took a deep breath. “I worked for him for a spell. He owned a racetrack, and I was a security man back then. All aboveboard. Nothing illegal about what I did. Then I discovered the joy of picking—or trying to pick—a winning horse.” His eyes looked through Cooper and into the past as he spoke. “I’d been a gambler my whole life, but at that track, I found my real passion . . . And it was that passion that destroyed my marriage. I was in deep, way too deep. The track manager tossed me out on my . . .” He paused to reconsider his words. “Sylvia and I decided it was time to go.”

“Did Sylvia know about all this? About who you worked for?”

“She knew I worked at the track, and she eventually learned how deeply in debt I was. She never knew it was John Borreo who owned the track.”

Cooper watched his face, his evasive gaze. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“Ms. Lee, is it? Ms. Lee, you may not realize this, but you’re not
entitled
to know everything. I’ve told you what you need to know so you can understand Sylvia was never involved with John Borreo.”

Cooper leaned back on the couch, trying to think of a tactic that would give her more information. She set her purse on the floor at her feet, crossed her arms stubbornly and looked around the room for anything that might spark an idea. What she spotted was a framed picture on the mantel over the fireplace—a picture of Sylvia standing in front of a red-brick home with a lake behind it. It was the same as the picture on the head table at Sylvia’s memorial, the same house that was in her parents’ obituary.