The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (13 page)

“I thought you didn’t know Sylvia?”

“I didn’t. But I do know Pastor Matthews, and I know that he needs support. Plus, the church and school work together. My whole Bible study came tonight.”

Officer Brayden nodded, as if he accepted the answer as true.

It was Cooper’s turn. “I thought you didn’t know Sylvia.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I thought the inspector might appreciate having another cop to talk to.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m also investigating a murder.”

“I see. This is a great place to get a feel for the people who were close to Sylvia.”

Officer Brayden nodded.

“Well, regardless of the reason you came, I’m sure your presence will mean a lot to the teachers . . . knowing the police are taking a personal interest in Sylvia’s death.”

Brayden met Cooper’s gaze, an odd warmth in his expression. He still stood close, his voice soft. “As long as it means something to somebody.”

For a moment, they stood, eyes locked, and Cooper wasn’t sure what to do. Something about that look in his eye drew her in. Something about Will drew her in. It was sudden. Strange. Unexpected.

A second ago, he was just Inspector McNamara’s lackey. Now he was a man—a handsome man, at that—and the change made Cooper incredibly uncomfortable. The heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

“Your eyes are so interesting,” he said, staring into Cooper’s face. “One blue and one green. Are those contacts?”

Cooper nervously glanced away, but found herself staring right back a moment later. “I had a field hockey accident in junior high. The green one was a transplant.”

“Well, they’re very interesting . . . beautiful.”

Suddenly, she felt an arm around her waist and smelled a familiar aftershave. She knew it was Nathan even before she looked. The peculiar moment with Officer Brayden passed as he took a step away from Cooper. With the space came clarity. The heat receded, disappearing from Cooper’s cheeks and under her collar once again.

Officer Brayden held out a hand to Nathan. “I’m Officer Will Brayden. You are?”

“Nathan. Nathan Dexter.” The two shook hands. “You’re the one who took Cooper’s statement, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“I thought the name sounded familiar.”

Brayden glanced again at Cooper, a satisfied half smile on his face. “She was talking about me?”

“Sure,” Nathan replied, oblivious to the tone in Officer Brayden’s voice. “She called me that night, told me all about—”

“We should get back to mingling and spreading joy,” Cooper interjected. “That’s what Savannah called it, at least. Good to see you again, Officer Brayden.”

“Like I said,” the officer replied. “Tonight, I’m Will.”

Cooper didn’t respond, but instead pulled Nathan away, toward the far corner of the room. She held tightly to his arm.

Nathan waited until they were out of earshot of Officer Brayden. “What was that about? Why’d we run off so fast?” He pried Cooper’s fingers loose from his arm and placed them in his hand instead. “Are you feeling okay?”

Cooper hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t even sure how she was feeling. Why had Will Brayden made her feel so strange? “I’m fine,” she finally said. “He just makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“Well, he’s a cop. He’s after a killer. You can’t blame him for his bedside manner.”

“It’s not that. He was a little . . . That is, he seemed a bit too . . . friendly.”

Nathan chuckled. “You mean he was flirting with you?”

“I got that impression, yeah.”

Nathan stopped her and put his hands on her shoulders, demanding her full attention. “Cooper Lee, someday you’ll have to get used to the fact that you’re a beautiful woman, and men are going to be interested in you. It’s what you get for being gorgeous, talented . . . having a terrific personality and sense of humor. It’s your curse. Men are going to be attracted to you.”

“Does it bother you at all? That other men are—as you put it—
attracted to
me?”

Nathan shrugged and took her hand. “You’re holding on to me, not them.”

Cooper tried to shake off the last of the odd feeling, and she fought the urge to glance over at Officer Brayden. She leaned over and gave Nathan a kiss. “You’re right. No worries. Let’s socialize.”

As the two of them looked around the room, Cooper searched for the rest of the Bible study group, careful to avoid any lingering gaze at Officer Brayden. Quinton had joined a small group of men—fathers and teachers—at the back of the room. He had a hand on one of their shoulders and their heads were bowed in prayer. Jake stood beside Savannah, who spoke with a clique of teenage girls. Savannah was so kind and sincere that she could even win over the trust of teens. Near the table by the door, Trish listened as another woman talked, tissue in hand and eyes red from tears. Bryant was lost somewhere in the mass of people in the center of the room; he was good at maneuvering his way through crowds.

Cooper spotted a gentleman at the front of the room, standing alone and staring at the photograph of Sylvia. He dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. Cooper nudged Nathan and nodded toward the man. “He looks like a good place to start.”

As they came nearer the man, Cooper studied his appearance. He was in his mid-forties, tall and gangly, with prominent cheekbones and a wide forehead. He wore a blue suit and gray tie with red diamonds that matched the bloodshot color of his eyes. The gray-tinged pallor in his cheeks indicated the depth of his grief. He must have been close to Sylvia.

Cooper and Nathan joined the man, and Cooper put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned his tired, sad eyes toward her.

“We’re sorry to bother you,” Cooper said. “But . . . you look like you knew Sylvia well.”

The man nodded and sniffed. “I knew her well. Very well. It’s silly, I guess, but I’d like to think I knew her better than almost anyone, that I was . . .
that
close to her.” He wiped his eyes. “She was a great teacher and a wonderful woman. Did you know her?”

“I only knew her a little. I met her and talked with her once. I’m Cooper. This is Nathan.”

“Harold Wintersteen, but you can call me Harry. I wish we could have met under better circumstances. How did you know my Sylvia?”

Cooper made a mental note of
“my
Sylvia.” “I met her at Parent Night last week.”

“Are you a parent?”

“No, no. Not yet, at least. I attend Hope Street Church, and my Bible study was in charge of snacks. Sylvia came over to get some food, and we got to talking. How did you know her?”

“We worked together.”

“Here at Hope Street?”

“For four years . . . four great years.” Harry sighed, his eyes glazed in a haze of nostalgia. “I met her the first day she came to work here. It was the week before fall classes started, planning time for the teachers. Sylvia’s hair was up in a tie, but red strands were sticking out all over. Her arms were full of art supplies. She was the quintessential artist—creative, a little unkempt, beautiful. I saw her five days a week after that, even at summer school sometimes. I always teach a science class during summer, and she always taught an art class.”

“So you were close.”

Harry nodded.

“Were you . . . together?”

“No. That isn’t to say I didn’t want to be closer to Sylvia, but I . . . I guess I missed my chance.”

“You never told her how you felt?”

“Oh, I dropped hints here and there.” Harry’s eyes sought out the photograph of Sylvia as he spoke. “I wasn’t certain how she felt about me, so I never came right out and asked her on a date or anything. And I know her
friend
didn’t like me.” His voice was suddenly filled with bitterness. “You’d think such a
good
friend would at least be here tonight, of all nights, but not Abbi. No, sir. She’s got work to do.”

“So Abbi doesn’t work at the school.”

“Not this one. Abbi Merken teaches creative writing at the community college—late-night classes for working adults. She and Sylvia met a few years back—
after
I met Sylvia—when Sylvia started teaching an art course at the community college on Saturday evenings.”

The conversation had gone from sad to awkward. Cooper smiled kindly through the unease, masking her discomfort. “Wow, Harry . . . You seem to know a lot about Sylvia’s other relationships. You really do care.”

“Of course I care! When you find someone as wonderful as Sylvia, you want to know about everything, including relationships.” His shoulders bent forward in a dejected slump. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Harry excused himself and wandered out of the room.

“Where do you suppose he’s going?” Nathan asked.

“My guess is the bathroom to cry some more. Was he creepy, or was it just me?”

“He was definitely . . . intense in his affection.”

A loud voice at the front of the room drew Cooper’s gaze from the door. “Could I get everyone’s attention?” It was Pastor Matthews. “I’d like to thank you all for coming here tonight to celebrate a beloved teacher, colleague and friend: Sylvia Cassel.”

One by one, the conversations ceased, and Pastor Matthews waited patiently for the room to quiet down. When all eyes were on him, he repeated, “Thank you for coming. Some of the parents here may not have known Sylvia very well. To you, she might have been the art teacher who inspired your child’s creativity. Or maybe she was a friendly face at Parent Night.

“Some of you here tonight would call her a friend. You knew her. You worked with her. You talked with her. She was a vibrant, loving and caring person. Me . . . I’d call her family. She was not only a part of the Hope Street Christian Academy family, but she was also like a sister to me in our shared faith. Sylvia will be dearly missed by every person here at Hope Street—teacher, administrator, student and parent alike.”

The comment was met by nods and a few “Amens” from the crowd. He went on. “But as much as we miss Sylvia and will continue to miss her, tonight is not a time to wallow in sorrow and self-pity or to lament our loss. Tonight we remember Sylvia. We recall what the apostle Paul said in his letter to the Thessalonians, that we do not grieve as those who have no hope. We have hope for Sylvia, for ourselves and for the future. That is a hope from God that not even death can overcome. So tonight, let’s celebrate Sylvia’s life and celebrate that hope. Please, pray with me.”

Cooper bowed her head and edged closer to Nathan. She was distinctly aware that Harry had reentered the room, and she didn’t want to be caught alone if he decided to come nearer. As Pastor Matthews prayed, however, and Cooper stole a glance at Harry, she saw that his gaze had settled intently on the photograph of Sylvia on the head table.

8

Cooper and the rest of the Sunrise Bible Study remained at Hope Street until every parent and student was gone, until every battery-operated candle was turned off and every muffin crumb was cleaned off the floor. By the time Cooper got home it was well after midnight. So the next morning when Cooper came to Bible study, she was ecstatic to see that Quinton had brought his espresso machine to pick up the caffeine production where the coffeemaker left off.

She skipped right past the regular coffeemaker. “Espresso. Lovely.”

Quinton came to stand beside her. “Thought that might come in handy after our late night.”

Cooper smiled. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius, Quinton?”

“I’m glad to know you’ve realized that,” he teased.

“So how do I work this machine, Mr. Genius?”

Quinton set the machine to brew. “While that’s working its magic, you’re welcome to an éclair. I picked them up on the way.”

She feigned shock and disgust as she stared at the treats. “You mean you didn’t make something from scratch after our late night?”

Jake, seated beside Savannah, laughed. “He’s abiding by the Jake Lombardi rules of baking. Tell the bakery what you want and put it in a box!”

“I confess: I was too tired last night to bake and running too late this morning to do it.” Quinton refilled the espresso grounds. The smell was intoxicating. “But I have learned Jake’s rules.”

Cooper picked out a chocolate éclair and took a bite. “Mmm. You’ve learned his rules very well, I’d say. Give the bakery my compliments.”

The espresso cup in Quinton’s hand looked even smaller than it was, wrapped in his sausage fingers. “I’ll have time to do that, considering I’ll be up for the next day and a half. This is my second espresso.”

There was a cheerful cackle from the seating area. “That’d burn a hole in my stomach!”

Cooper turned to see Ms. Donna in the chair on the other side of Savannah from Jake. “Oh, Ms. Donna, I didn’t see you there.”

“Got here right after you did, sweetie,” Ms. Donna replied, adjusting her straw Breton back farther on her head. Adorning the hat was a sage green flower that matched Ms. Donna’s dress and flats. “You were so entranced by that heartburn machine, you didn’t hear me come in.”

Savannah set her coffee cup on the floor by her chair. She’d opted for the less-caffeinated option. “I hope you’re not too troubled by our coffee. I had a friend who got sick at the smell of it.”

Jake snorted. “And that’s why they’re not friends anymore.”

“It is
not,”
Savannah insisted. “As a matter of fact, we still keep in touch. She moved away. I just wanted to make sure Ms. Donna wasn’t bothered by the smell.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, sweetie,” Ms. Donna replied. “But I actually like the smell. I used to like the taste of it, too, until the heartburn came. Besides, I wouldn’t dare make you folks give up your coffee. So long as you keep bringing these baked treats, I’m fine!”

Bryant sighed loudly with melodramatic relief. “I was worried there for a minute. I don’t know how I’d pay attention in church if I didn’t have my coffee during Bible study.”

Trish gave him a look. “So how do you pay attention during Bible study?”

“Uh . . .” Bryant looked guilty. He took a swig of coffee and did some fast thinking. “The company is so stimulating, it keeps me tuned in?”