The Graves of the Guilty (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 3) (14 page)

Inside, a man with a weathered face and a scraggly beard barely looked up from his laptop as they entered. Edward strolled through the action section until the only other customer in the store paid a few dollars for a previously viewed DVD and then disappeared into the night.

Edward leaned on the counter and pretended to watch the
Law & Order
rerun for a few moments. When a commercial appeared, the proprietor took a drink from an insulated mug and licked his lips like a sleepy cat. “What you want?” he asked in accented English.

Taking out his driver’s license from his wallet, Edward stated, “
Mica,
” and then pointed at Cooper. “For her.” The man shook his head. “We got videos,” he said, turning his attention back to the television.

Unfolding the Love Motors newsletter, Edward shoved the photo in front of the clerk. “Miguel Ramos
recommended
you, bro. You trying to tell me he sent us to the wrong place?” Edward inserted an element of hostility into his tone.

Without taking more than a brief glance at the photo, the man said, “You got a hundred big ones, then you can go to the back. If not, go find ATM.”

“I’ve got it,” Cooper said and strode through a set of pink bead curtains as if she’d shopped for a fake ID dozens of times before.

The back room of the video store was filled with scanners, printers, computers, and a camera on a tripod facing a blank screen.

“I’m Hector. You pay me first.” A young man looked them over. “A license costs a hundred bucks. Social Security card will be another seventy-five.”

Cooper handed Hector the money and followed his instructions as he tinkered with the camera. Reaching behind him, the fingers of his right hand flew over a computer keyboard while he adjusted the camera lens with his left. Edward took an interest in a state-of-the-art laser scanner.

“Don’t touch anything!” Hector ordered sternly.

Cooper tried to relax, to act like she belonged in the back room of a decrepit video store purchasing false documents. “Miguel told me about this place,” she said.

“I know fifty Miguels,” was Hector’s response.

“This one worked at a car dealership,” Cooper elaborated.

A shadow crossed Hector’s face. “Haven’t seen that little
cabron
for a while. His
cojones
too big to hang out with his old posse. Miguel and his . . .” He muttered something under his breath and Cooper thought he mentioned China and the word
bianco,
but she couldn’t be sure.

“Well, I’m looking for him, too,” Cooper said indignantly. “The bastard owes me money.”

Snapping a few photos, Hector laughed. “Man, you look pissed! They wouldn’t let you look like such a she-devil down at the DMV. I should know
—mi tía
works there. Give Hector a smile,
mamacita.
”

Cooper did as she was told and within twenty minutes she was handed a new driver’s license and Social Security card for a woman named Erica Rollins.

“You’re good,” she blurted and Hector grinned.

“Top-of-the-line equipment,” he said with pride. “Except for the Social. I didn’t have to make that one and Erica won’t even know someone else is using it.” He smirked.

So he has stolen IDs, too,
Cooper thought.

As she and Edward made to leave, Hector grabbed her by the coat sleeve. “You tell Miguel I’m ready to whip his ass on the court again.” His dark eyes met Cooper’s and then he glanced over his shoulder at the beaded curtain. “You’ll never see a single buck of what Miguel owes. I’m telling you this because I like you. You try to get paid and you’ll get snuffed. You hear me?”

Suddenly, there was a distinctive throat-clearing sound behind Hector. The store clerk was giving him a ferocious stare.

“You come back if you need more of Hector’s special art,
si
?” the young man said by way of dismissal.

Climbing into Edward’s cab, Cooper suddenly felt exhausted. The press of bodies in the Flood Zone, the conversation with Rich Johnson, the harshness of the winter air as they’d walked to Edward’s car, followed by an illegal transaction in the rear of a grimy store had left her drained.

“You did okay in there,” Edward spoke to her for the first time since they’d entered Doc Buster’s.

Cooper released a pent-up breath. “What’s
mica
?”

“Spanish slang for IDs. I greased that guy’s palm in the club bathroom and he told me about the video store. I’ve seen him around. He’s kind of the go-to guy for this part of the city. You want something—he knows where you can get it. He gets paid by the customer and the seller.”

“Did he know Miguel?” Cooper asked hopefully. She hated to think that the evening’s efforts were fruitless.

“Just that he remembered sending him to the same video store about six months back. Says he never forgets a face.”

Edward pulled into the parking lot behind the Flood Zone. He kept the engine running but released his seat belt. Cooper had been wondering how the night would end and what demands Edward might make on her for assisting with the investigation. Part of her wanted to bolt from the car, but her body betrayed her and she turned to him.

At that moment, there was a knock on Edward’s window and Cooper let out an involuntary cry of alarm. A face appeared on the other side of the glass. It was Rich Johnson.

The undercover officer slipped into the backseat and popped a stick of gum into his mouth. “So what movie did you kids rent?” he asked as if it weren’t after midnight and they weren’t sitting in an idling car in the middle of a dark parking lot.

“Nothing looked good,” Edward said flatly, but Cooper’s heart was in her throat.
“Nobody’s made a decent movie since
Forrest Gump.
”

The policeman leaned forward and handed Cooper a business card. “In case you ever need to reach me.”

He clapped Edward on the shoulder. “Colonel. I’ll spread the word about your cab service. I know some women who’d feel safer calling a stand-up taxi service late at night. I’m sure they’d be in good hands with you. Have a nice evening.”

Cooper exhaled and dug her truck keys out of her purse. “That’s it? He’s just going to let us go?”

“It’s how he works.” Edward gazed out into the starless sky. “And he hasn’t let us go. He’s going to show up again without us even knowing. I told you, he’s freaking Batman.” He sighed. “And now the Dark Knight has his eye on you.”

9

During church service the next morning, Cooper could barely keep her eyes open. Because she’d been late, she waited in the hall and then tried to sneak in when the music leader paused to introduce a new band member.

While Cooper peered around in search of a vacant seat, Jake stood up and waved her over to his row. She took the empty seat between Jake and Quinton, but Quinton didn’t even glance in her direction. His eyes were fixed on the lovely, plus-sized woman onstage who was smiling at the congregation as she accepted the microphone from the lead singer.

“Thank you so much for welcoming me to Hope Street. My goal is to integrate a few Spanish hymns into our eleven o’clock service so that our Spanish-speaking friends feel at home.” She indicated a cluster of worshippers seated in the first ten rows. “So let’s start with one that you all know. ‘How Great Is Our God,’ which translates to ‘Cuan Grande es Mi Dios.’ Please stand and sing with me!”

Jake had to elbow Quinton in the side in order to bring the big man back to reality.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!” Quinton breathed in awe.

Cooper studied the woman. She had a voluptuous figure, radiant skin, and glossy corkscrew curls framing her pretty face. What was so remarkable about her was the joy that poured out of her as she sang. Her voice rolled over the congregation like a river of milk and honey.

“She is beautiful,” Cooper told Quinton.

When the song finished and the congregation took their seats again, Quinton followed the woman’s every move as she walked off the stage. “She teaches Spanish in Church Hill,” he said. “She bought a house on one of the most run-down streets so she could be active in the community.”

“What’s her name?” Cooper asked.

“Gloria May.” Quinton spoke the name with relish, as if each letter melted on his tongue like a piece of fine chocolate. “Sounds like poetry, doesn’t it?”

Cooper waited until Pastor Matthews began the morning’s announcements before whispering, “How do you know she’s a teacher?”

Quinton pointed at the back of the program. “Her bio’s here. No mention of a husband, either,” he added brightly and then looked at Cooper for the first time. “Did you have a rough night?”

“Yes. You’re sitting next to a zombie.” She yawned widely.

“Did you and Nathan have another movie marathon?” Quinton whispered.

Cooper dropped her eyes. She’d barely thought about Nathan until she heard his voice on her answering machine earlier that morning. “No, I was doing something much
more interesting. I’ll tell you about it later. And Nathan won’t be joining us for Bible study. He decided to spend the whole weekend with his friend.” She glanced down the row. “Where’s Bryant?”

“On the far side by the door,” Quinton said. “He brought his coworker—that single mom he’s mentioned a few times. I think they’re officially dating now.”

Cooper clapped silently. “I remember him talking about her in the fall. Her name’s Jane, right? She’s in her thirties and has two children. Maybe Bryant’s growing up.”

At that moment, the band returned to the stage to lead the congregation in the offering hymn and Quinton’s focus was fixed entirely on Gloria once more. He sang without taking his eyes off her. At one point, Cooper was certain that Gloria gazed right at her friend, and at that moment the singer’s sunny smile became even brighter.

The four friends paid careful attention to the sermon, which was titled “Nothing Is Impossible for God.” Twenty-five minutes later, the service was over, but Cooper was reluctant to leave. Going outside meant rejoining a world filled with uncertainty. Cooper wanted to carry the sermon’s theme with her, to use it like a weapon against whoever hurt Miguel Ramos.

Trish insisted on providing lunch since they were meeting at her house for the second Sunday. Again, she sent her husband and children on an excursion, but when she described the outing they’d planned, her voice was stronger and more energized than it had been the week before.

Over a salad of field greens and sandwiches made with grilled chicken, red roasted peppers, and a cilantro mayonnaise, Trish explained the changes she’d experienced since the group had seen her last.

“The homework reading for this week couldn’t have been timelier,” she began. “The second book of Corinthians begins by describing the God of All Comfort. After I was done with Thursday’s chemo treatment, I went to a Breast Cancer Support Group meeting. A woman shared how she’d written letters to her husband and her three sons. She called them ‘just in case’ letters and read one aloud to us.”

Savannah knit her hands together. “There couldn’t have been a dry eye in the room.”

Trish shook her head. “No, there wasn’t, but the loudest sobs came from me. I never cry! And I didn’t even realize I was until the woman stopped reading, got up, and put her arms around me.” Trish picked up her Bible. “You see, I’ve been praying for healing when I should have been praying for the ability to enjoy life in the present
.
When I got home from that support group meeting, I saw my husband and my girls through fresh eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told them how precious they are, and I won’t waste another second that I have with them.”

Bryant nodded. “Our study reminds us to be aware of the gifts we’ve already received. Still, I wouldn’t mind taking Al Roker’s spot on the Weather Channel.”

Everyone laughed.

Quinton held out Hope Street’s worship program and pointed at Gloria’s name. “I’m going to be praying to meet her.”

Savannah turned toward Jake. “Let’s move on to the next homework question. Trish already touched on the first point, but what about the author’s discussion on scent?”

“I don’t think there’s a soul on this earth who’d describe a plumber as sweet-smellin’!” Jake grinned and then consulted his workbook. “Paul would tell me that if I could forgive my dad for leaving us when I was a kid, I’d smell sweet. I keep tryin’, but I’m not there yet.”

Smiling indulgently, Savannah said, “I’d like to think that we all smelled like that Clinique perfume Happy.”

Bryant scribbled a note in his workbook. “Happy? That would make a nice present for Jane, the woman I brought to church today.” His cheeks turned a bit pink. “First lady I’ve ever sung in front of. I think that’s a good sign. She didn’t flee the building, anyway.”

The friends shared a few more of their homework answers and then Cooper requested they spend their remaining time figuring out what action to take in the Miguel Ramos investigation. She told them about her adventurous evening and then said, “Pastor Matthews reminded us that nothing is impossible through Him. I’ve been feeling like we’ve reached a dead end when it comes to seeking justice for Miguel. We need to be shown a path to travel down, because I certainly don’t know the way.”

Trish moved closer to Cooper’s spot on the couch and touched her on the arm. “We all seem to be learning something about what happens to the plans we make for ourselves compared to those God has for us.” She removed her hand and fussed with her indigo turban. “He sure put me on a different road than the one I’d been traveling.”

“Well spoken, Trish,” Savannah stated enthusiastically. “Now, let’s pray together. And we won’t forget to include Nathan, who we’ve missed today.” The friends took one another by the hand and bowed their heads in unison.

By the time she was finished, Cooper felt a surge of hope. Her confusing feelings for Edward, the possible troubles in her sister’s marriage, Nathan’s odd behavior, Trish’s illness, and Miguel’s murder were nearly impossible for her to handle alone. To share her troubles with her friends made them seem less overwhelming.