The Path of the Crooked (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

“How’d you know I was planning to go to church tomorrow?” Cooper asked in surprise. “I only made up my mind a little while ago while I was working in the garden.”

“How did I know?” Grammy guffawed, spraying the table in front of her with bits of refried beans. “Because my room is right next to the washin’ machine. You left the iron out to cool down and you haven’t ironed anythin’ since you graduated from high school.” She took a sip of iced tea and choked down the rest of the beans. “I figured you were either goin’ to church or on a date.” She gave Cooper an assessing glance and made it clear that she didn’t approve of what she saw. “I’m bettin’ on church.”

• • •

Cooper opened the yellow Hope Street brochure and read it over for the tenth time.

“I wonder if Brooke’s here today,” Cooper said to her image in the rearview mirror and then retrieved her pack of Camel Lights from her faux-leather purse. She lit a cigarette and hung her arm out the window of her red Jeep Cherokee.

Her reflection blew a veil of smoke from between her thin lips. “I know,” Cooper said to the mirror. “You don’t look very sexy doing that.” She scowled at the burning cigarette. “I’m going to give these things up. Time for a fresh start, right?” After staring at the weathered brick building for a minute, she straightened the collar of her freshly ironed blouse and said, “Let’s go.”

Cooper got out of the truck, put out her cigarette using the bottom of her shoe, and walked to one of the church’s side entrances. She paused at the trash can positioned several feet from the double doors.

“Okay, I can do this.” She threw the nearly full pack of Camels and a plastic Bic lighter inside. The two items hit the bottom with a satisfying
thunk.
“I never smoked until I met Drew, so if I’m going to start over”—she dug around in her purse until she found a package of gum—“then I’m going to do it with a little help from Wrigley’s.”

Hope Street Church was unlike any church Cooper had ever experienced. She was accustomed to the small, white clapboard structures of country churches, the pealing of bells at every hour, and rows of lovely stained-glass windows to stare at should the sermon become a tad dull. Hope Street was an impressive brick building whose cornerstone had been placed over one hundred years ago. The original chapel had been expanded after World War I and a roomy wing had been built in the early eighties for the Hope Street Christian Academy.

Daydreaming students on the north side of the building were treated to a view of the church’s lush garden, while those on the south side were stuck gazing out at the vast parking lot. When the bells called people to worship, the sound was like that of a symphony. The powerful melody carried far across the rooftops and made its way into area subdivisions.

“This is some church,” Cooper muttered to herself and looked around the deserted hallway. She noticed a bulletin board for Students Against Drunk Driving and a sign-up sheet for prom queen nominations. “I am
so
glad to be out of high school. I don’t think I could survive it a second time around.” Cooper tapped the bulletin board and listened to the sound echo around her. Where was everyone? She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Didn’t the service start at nine? Which hallway would take her to the chapel?

Aware of the noisy
clip-clop
of her only pair of heels, which had lain dormant in the far reaches of her closet since the office Christmas party, Cooper made an attempt to walk on the balls of her feet. Tiptoeing, she glanced down every hall she passed but didn’t see another human being until she ran smack into a long torso clad in a blue-and-yellow-checked button-down.

“Sorry!” said a baritone voice coming from over her head. After collecting herself, Cooper glanced up into the face of the very tall man she’d collided with. She saw a pair of warm brown eyes and a slightly bashful smile. It was a pleasant face all around, though rather high in the forehead and sharp in the chin.

“Are you new to Hope Street?” the man asked softly.

Cooper nodded. “Yes, and I’m totally lost.” She laughed nervously. “This wing is like a rabbit warren, only I think their burrows smell less like Lysol.”

The man’s grin widened. “Come on, I’ll show you where to go. I’m Nathan Dexter, by the way.”

Pleased that she had an escort to the service, Cooper smiled in relief. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cooper.”

“That’s an unusual name for a woman.” Nathan shook Cooper’s hand. “Must have been a barrel maker somewhere in your family history,” he said as though the idea was fascinating. “I really like familial names. I think it’s a great way to honor an ancestor, you know? A way of uniting people from different generations.” He cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed. “That’s my backward way of saying I think your name is cool.”

“Thanks.” No one had ever complimented Cooper on her name before. “It was my great-grandfather’s. And you’re right, he was named after his aunt—her last name was Cooper—and her father
was
a barrel maker. She didn’t make barrels, but she filled her fair share with whiskey and dill pickles.”

“Two of my favorites.” Nathan grinned. “And don’t be too impressed with my attempt at intelligence. I’m just a computer geek who likes crossword puzzles, so my nose is often stuck in a dictionary.” He gestured with one of his long arms. “We’re in here, to your left.”

Cooper hesitated for a moment, as the doorway appeared to lead into a classroom, not a chapel. She could hear the murmur of several voices, but not the rumble of dozens and dozens of parishioners getting settled for service. What was going on? With Nathan right on her heels and closing fast, she had no other choice but to enter.

All chatting ceased as soon as Cooper stepped through the threshold. Four people were seated in a circle, their hands folded on top of student desks. Each person had a copy of the Bible opened in front of them, along with a few sheets of paper covered with notes, and a pen. Their postures were relaxed and they all smiled at her in welcome.

“Who’s there?” asked a woman seated closest to the door. She had black hair, dark blue eyes, and unusually pale skin. She also seemed to be trying to figure out who had entered the room.

“It’s Nathan, Savannah,” Nathan called from the doorway. “And this is Cooper.” Nathan gave Cooper a gentle push, indicating she should move closer to the woman. “This is Savannah,” he said. “She’s the leader of our little group.” The woman held out a hand speckled with colorful stains, like a child who’d used permanent markers and was only able to wash away the surface layer of pigment. The woman’s fingers closed around Cooper’s and she used her free hand to probe the skin of Cooper’s palm. “Aha! Another woman who works with her hands! How wonderful.”

As Cooper glanced around, wondering how to make a polite escape in order to locate the actual worship service, she noticed a white cane beneath Savannah’s desk.

“In case you haven’t guessed, I’m legally blind,” Savannah said as if she knew exactly what Cooper had spotted. “But I can still see shapes and, thank the Lord, colors. I ‘see’ people by recognizing their body shape and smell.” She gave a series of sniffs like a bloodhound catching a fresh fox scent. “You’re Dove soap, aloe lotion, guava-scented shampoo, and . . . She inhaled deeply and Cooper took a step backward. “Well, I’ll be. I believe you might work on machines. Am I totally off the mark?”

“I repair office machines,” Cooper said in surprise, staring at the woman. “How did you know?” She pretended to check her armpits. “Am I giving off a whiff of toner? Maybe some grease? I use baby powder Secret every morning, I swear.”

Savannah laughed.

“Okay, okay,” a man who looked like he was in need of a haircut and shave quickly interjected. “Let the lovely lady get situated before we pry her open like a mussel and check out her innards.” He held out his hand for Cooper to shake. “I’m Jake. Master plumber and electrician, detective novel addict, and Little League baseball coach. I’m here because one of my buddies started reading Scripture during our lunch breaks and I felt called to learn more. Come sit by me and I’ll get you some coffee.”

Cooper gave him a grateful nod but didn’t settle into the empty desk he pulled over. “Actually, I think I’m in the wrong place,” she said and smiled politely.

“We’re the Sunrise Bible Study Group,” a woman wearing gobs of makeup beneath a helmet of copper hair explained. “I’m Trish Tyler. My husband is one of Hope’s elders,” she said importantly. “And I’m sure you know my name because you’re bound to have seen my billboards. My assistants joke that I’m trying to get as many as South of the Border!” She leapt up and placed a business card on Cooper’s desk. “No cacti or sombreros, though. Anyway, welcome to Hope Street.”

Cooper had heard of Trish Tyler. Her picture was plastered on billboards, moving vans, and on the hundreds of Tyler Realty
FOR SALE
signs across the city. Trish was seated next to another well-known Richmonder. Bryant Shelton was the meteorologist for Channel 6 news. He was notorious for being incredibly vague in his forecasts, for his string of marriages to women much younger than himself, and for raising funds for poverty-stricken senior citizens.

Bryant offered Cooper his best TV smile, nearly blinding her with the stark whiteness of his porcelain veneers, and said, “I’m new as well. Just joined a few weeks ago.” He pointed at Trish. “She gave
me
a business card within the first ten seconds of my arrival too. Personally,” he said, raising his voice as he winked playfully at Trish, “I think she puts them in the offering plate.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Bryant.” Trish pretended to count her business cards. “Do you think I have enough?”

Bryant gave Cooper a flirtatious smile. “I like the young and hip feel of this church. It might look old school, but this church is hi-tech.” The light in his eyes dimmed slightly. “Ever since my wife left, Sunday mornings were getting kind of lonely, so I came here to meet some new friends. The band is really good too. I never knew that church could be so much like a party. We really rock out during the service.”

“That sounds cool,” Cooper replied, trying to visualize the combination of a church service and an Aerosmith concert.

“We haven’t started our morning’s lesson yet, so don’t worry about catching up,” Trish said to ease Cooper’s mind. “We’re waiting for another member to arrive.”

“That would be Quinton,” Jake added. “Big-time banker dude and the best cake baker you ever met. He’s probably late because he’s frosting the tenth layer of some awesome chocolate fudge cake.” He grinned smugly. “That’s why
our
study’s better than everybody else’s. We have the best food.”

“Well, that’s all of us.” Savannah nodded. “Let’s begin so we’re not late for worship. I hope Quinton will join us shortly.” She turned toward Cooper. “It’s a good day for you to jump in, since the theme we’re discussing is ‘beginnings.’ Next week we’re going to start a study on Paul’s letters called ‘Dear Church: Paul’s Letter in the Book of Ephesians.’”

Trish held out her workbook. “Cooper, you can just run over to the Christian bookstore and buy one of these there. Then you’ll be ready to join our little group.”

Cooper was slightly baffled by what Savannah and Trish had said. She knew that Ephesians was one of the books in the Bible, but she’d never read it before, and though she’d driven by the LifeWay store, she’d never gone inside. She was more of a Barnes and Noble shopper. “Sorry, but you’ve lost me. I don’t even have a Bible.” Feeling that was the wrong thing to say, Cooper quickly amended her statement. “I have one at home, but I’m pretty sure it’s a kid’s Bible. It’s full of colored illustrations and I think my name’s written on the first page in purple crayon.”

“My favorite color.” Savannah patted the empty desk beside her. “Have a seat, honey. You can share mine. Shoot, I can’t see it anyway!” She laughed and then waited patiently until Cooper sat down.

Savannah pushed a small Bible with a worn red leather cover toward Cooper’s side of her desk and said, “I’ve had this since I was a teenager, so it’s like an old friend. I take it everywhere and it’s never led me astray. It’s my own version of a Seeing Eye dog.”

“Hey, why don’t you have one of those dogs anyhow?” Jake puzzled in his gravelly voice.

“I told you before. I don’t want my blindness to define me.” Savannah held out her multihued hands. “And I don’t want people to buy my paintings because I have a disability. I want the paintings to speak to them.”

“Anyway,” Trish interjected gently, “we’re going to kick off the study by sharing a significant ‘beginning’ in our own lives.
I
was going to share the ups and downs of starting my own business.”

“I wish you’d tell me the secret,” Jake muttered as he handed Cooper a mug of black coffee and a small pitcher of cream. “I’m tired of working for The Man.”

Smoothing her copper-hued bangs, which looked like they’d been sprayed with polyurethane and wouldn’t move during a Category Five hurricane, Trish turned an intense pair of violet eyes (which Cooper assumed had to be contacts) on Jake. “Is that your new beginning? To launch your own plumbing company?”

Jake shook his head. “Nah. I’m not ready to make that move just yet. Besides, my boss has always played straight with me and I like the other guys in my crew. Actually, my most recent beginning is this.” He pushed up the sleeve of his long-sleeve crewneck with a flourish. Cooper noticed an enormous tattoo of a Celtic cross on his bulging bicep. An inch above the top of the cross was a square of flesh-colored material resembling a Band-Aid.

Savannah leaned closer to Cooper. “What is he showing us?”

“I’m wearing a patch,” Jake declared proudly. “I’m going to quit smoking. This patch is supposed to help me keep from wanting to drive over to the nearest Wawa and buy a pack.” His gaze remained fixed on Savannah’s face as he awaited her reply.

“Good for you, Jake!” She clapped her hands together. “How many years have you smoked?”

Jake unrolled his sleeve. “Started sneaking the ole cancer sticks in junior high. All my friends did. It made us feel like men.” He shrugged. “But now I know I don’t need them to feel like a man and I’m damned tired of how they’ve got such a powerful hold over me.”