The Root of All Evil (Hope Street Church Mysteries Book 4) (24 page)

Ms. Donna took the silverware and Cooper the dishes, and they went out to the table. They did their work in silence at first until Ms. Donna suddenly stopped and stared at Cooper.

Cooper gazed back uncomfortably. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem. A lot of people have invited me for meals over the past few years. They thought I was just a lonely woman in need of company. Nobody knew what I actually am, and if they did, they’d never have let me into their homes. I wouldn’t blame them for it, either. But you . . . Even knowing what I do, that I may not be the most honest person in the world, you still invited me here. You still brought me into your home.” She took a deep breath, and Cooper thought she saw tears in the woman’s eyes. “I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you, Cooper. I appreciate it.”

In that moment Cooper realized what was different about Ms. Donna’s smile. This time, it was real.

As soon as the two of them had set the table, Maggie and Grammy began to deliver food, and before they were finished the rest of the guests arrived. When the initial chatter died down, they took their seats around a massive homemade meal. The oversized pot roast was just the beginning. Buttery rolls, salad, scalloped potatoes and green bean casserole were somehow squeezed onto the table among the dishes, and for dessert, Maggie served apple streusel with homemade ice cream.

The group carried on polite conversation, the Bible study members exchanging furtive glances with one another and Ms. Donna, while Cooper’s family appeared oblivious to it. At one point Grammy mentioned the church robberies, but Cooper expertly changed the subject from church robberies to Ashley’s church being robbed to Ashley’s pregnancy. Grammy took the bait and for the rest of the meal talked about how much better pregnant women had it today than when she was, as she put it, with child.

When they’d all eaten their fill, Maggie and Earl cleared the dishes while Grammy went to her room to take a nap, leaving the group to talk on their own. As soon as her family was out of earshot Cooper shot a look at Ms. Donna, who nodded in response to the unspoken question. Yes. It was time to get down to business.

Cooper leaned back in her chair, stretched her arms over her head and then leaned in. “The answer to the question you’re all asking is, ‘Yes.’”

All eyes turned to Ms. Donna, who smiled sweetly. “I never actually said that, sweetie.”

“Oh, right. The answer is, ‘Hypothetically speaking, if Ms. Donna had broken into the church with the intention of robbing it, she’d want to help us find the killer so she wouldn’t be accused of murder.’” Cooper turned to Ms. Donna. “Did I get that right?”

“Sounded perfect, sweetie.”

Savannah contorted her face in confusion. “You’re being awfully cryptic. Couldn’t we just . . . get to the truth?”

Edward sighed. “You’d think so, but no. Ms. Donna isn’t going to admit to committing a crime.”

“So where does that leave us?” Trish asked. “No admission of guilt for the robbery, and no leads for the murder. We have nothing.”

Nathan smiled. “Don’t give up hope just yet. It seems Ms. Donna here has produced something very useful. Cooper?”

Cooper jumped up. “I left it with my purse. Hold on a sec.” She hurried to her things by the door and returned with the police file. She set it in the center of the table. “This is a gift from Ms. Donna . . . a copy of Sylvia’s file from the police station. Ms. Donna would honestly like to help us find Sylvia’s murderer.”

“Wait a minute,” Bryant said, waving his hands back and forth in front of him. “Ms. Donna, you stole that from the station?”

Cooper shook her head. “Don’t bother. It seems our Ms. Donna has convenient memory problems.”

Ms. Donna shrugged. “I’m not sure I’d call the problem convenient, but I’m afraid I just can’t remember where I happened across that file.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “She stole it from the station.”

“So . . .” Bryant hesitated. “Is there a reason she’s here instead of the police station?”

Cooper set down the file. “Yes. First of all, the only evidence we have against her is a video of a masked person with a limp. The police have that same video. It isn’t proof she did anything. Second, she’s had plenty of time to fence all the stolen goods, so I doubt we’d find any of them.” Ms. Donna’s lips curled up in a thin little smile. Cooper went on. “Third, she could’ve left town after I confronted her. Instead, she came back. I’m convinced that she actually wants to help us find the killer, and I think she could be a real asset.”

“I vote we turn her in,” Edward said. “But you know that already.”

Nathan picked up his water glass, as if to toast. “If Cooper thinks she’s trustworthy, then I agree.”

Ms. Donna laughed. “Don’t go putting words in her mouth, young man. She
never
claimed I was trustworthy.”

Savannah studied Ms. Donna for a few moments, her eyes taking in the shapes and shading, seeing so much more than what was visible to most healthy eyes. “Before we make any kind of group decision, I think I’d like to hear from Ms. Donna why exactly she wants to help us. I realize it would be better to find the murderer than to be blamed for murder, but . . . It seems there ought to be more than that. I’d like to know what happened that night Sylvia died—Ms. Donna’s version of the story.”

Ms. Donna settled back into her seat. “I can give you my
hypothetical
version of the story.”

Jake grunted. Savannah replied, “We’ll settle for that.”

“All right then.” Ms. Donna closed her eyes, remembering. Then she began. “On the understanding that this is all theoretical . . . It was dark and quiet at the church that night, no sign that anyone else was around. No cars in the parking lot, no lights on that were visible from the outside. The back door came to be opened, so a thief looking for valuables was able to just go right in.”

Quinton stopped her. “When you say that the door ‘came to be opened,’ do you mean it was already opened? Or do you mean you opened it? In theory, of course.”

“If it were already opened, it would have been a sign that someone else was there,” Ms. Donna explained. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Once inside, the thief would start with the storage area where the choir keeps its sound system and computers. Then the thief would go to the office. That night, however, the office door was open, and a person was already inside.”

Cooper whispered, “Sylvia?”

But Ms. Donna shook her head. “Not her. Someone else. Tall. Dressed a lot like . . . like a thief: in black with a mask. It looked to be a man, by the figure and build. He stood over that poor woman, a knife in his hand.”

She paused, her voice unsteady, and Cooper realized that the events of that night had probably affected Ms. Donna more than she wanted to admit. With a deep, calming breath, Ms. Donna continued. “Instead of attacking, he took a couple of papers from the copy machine and ran out the second office door, the one that leads to the chapel.”

Cooper put a gentle hand on Ms. Donna’s arm. “What might the thief do then?”

“The thief checked the woman’s pulse and listened for breathing, because a thief isn’t necessarily a monster, not like the person who murdered that woman. On finding that the woman was dead already, the thief ran.”

“Hypothetically,” Savannah added.

Ms. Donna nodded quietly. The group sat in silence, each of them mulling over Ms. Donna’s story. As Cooper thought about the night Sylvia was killed, two things stood out in her mind. One: Ms. Donna’s offer to assist was about more than just clearing her own name. She may not have been willing to say it, but Ms. Donna wanted to catch the man she’d seen standing over Sylvia’s lifeless body. And two: Cooper had been correct in her assumption that the copy machine—and the last image copied on it—was the key.

She quickly went to her purse once more, retrieved the sketch image and brought it back to the table. She handed it over to Ms. Donna. “Recognize this?”

Ms. Donna took the paper and studied it. “I only saw it for a moment, but . . . I’d say this is the picture the man took off of your pastor’s copy machine. The same sketch, same face. How’d you find it?”

“I found it on the copy machine.”

“But I swear he took everything . . .”

“I didn’t find the paper on the copy machine,” Cooper explained. “I found the image on the machine’s hard drive. That’s why I was at the police station on Friday. I had a hunch that maybe Sylvia was in Pastor Matthews’s office to use his copier; it was the only reason I could think of for her to be in there. This was the last image copied.” Ms. Donna passed the sketch around the table.

Trish held it close, examining all the little lines. “Do we know this person?”

“I don’t,” Cooper answered. “I was hoping one of you might.”

But as each person saw the sketch in turn, they responded with a headshake or a simple “No.” No one recognized the girl in the picture.

Ms. Donna took the police file in hand and began to open it. “Well, if nobody can ID her, let’s have a look-see in here. I haven’t had a chance to go over it, and I’m awful curious.”

In an instant, Edward was out of his seat and at Ms. Donna’s side, his hand clamped on the folder, holding it closed. “Hold on. I don’t trust you with that.”

Ms. Donna motioned toward the chair beside her, in which Cooper sat. “Then ask our host nicely to switch seats with you, and have a look with me.”

Cooper stood. “I don’t mind moving.”

“No,” Edward argued, a brow raised. “No, I can be a gentleman. I’ll just look over her shoulder.” And so, refusing to sit, Edward stood right behind Ms. Donna’s chair and looked over the report. For a few minutes, everyone watched the two of them scouring the pages, waiting for an “Aha!” moment. Edward became so entranced by the report that he leaned in until he hovered over Ms. Donna’s shoulder. Finally, he pointed to something on one of the pages.

“Did you see that?” he asked.

Ms. Donna shot him an irritated look. “Of course I see that! I’m not senile, young man. Why do you think I hadn’t turned the page? I was
waiting
for you to notice it.”

“Humph,” Edward snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Well, do you know what it means?” The condescension in his tone matched hers perfectly. If Cooper didn’t know better, at this moment she’d swear the two were mother and son.

“I’ve been around longer than you have,” Ms. Donna quipped. “And I know better than you do what it means.”

“I doubt that,” he muttered.

Cooper listened patiently to the exchange, expecting them to share their findings. When they didn’t, she cleared her throat loudly enough to distract them and asked, “Are you going to share with the rest of us?”

Ms. Donna glanced back at Edward. “Go ahead. I’m sure you’re just aching to tell ’em.”

Edward gritted his teeth together. “I’ll tell them, but it’s because I don’t trust you to actually tell the truth.” He snatched the paper from the file and held it up. It was Sylvia’s autopsy report. “This tells us how Sylvia died.”

“Wasn’t she stabbed?” Bryant asked. “Ms. Donna said the man who killed Sylvia had a knife.”

Ms. Donna took a drink and smacked her lips. “He
did
have a knife, but that report tells us more than what I saw.”

Edward continued. “She was stabbed multiple times, but it wasn’t blood loss or puncturing an organ that killed her. The killer stabbed her in the back of the neck, between the bones. It causes instant death—very little blood, no pain, just . . . lights out.”

Cooper looked from Edward to Donna. “So?”

“It was a clean cut,” Edward said.

“Again . . . So?”

“The killer aimed for that spot, stabbed in and pulled the knife out again—no cutting side to side, no hesitation. He aimed for it.”

“But she was stabbed multiple times. How do you know he aimed for that spot?”

“She was stabbed before the death blow and after, but that was the stab that did the deed. The others were meant to mask it.”

“I don’t understand,” Savannah said, shaking her head. “What’s the significance of that?”

“Yeah, Edward,” Cooper agreed. “You need to explain a little more.”

Ms. Donna raised her hand, and Edward civilly stepped aside as she explained. “That’s not a particularly easy wound to inflict. It takes practice. Whoever killed this woman wanted it to look like a more amateur job; that’s why she was stabbed before and after the wound to the back of her neck. That one was really the only necessary injury. But if the killer had only stabbed her there, it would’ve been obvious he wasn’t an amateur.”

“What are you saying exactly?” Cooper asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

Edward picked up where Ms. Donna stopped. “We’re saying that this was a professional hit, meant to look like it was amateur . . . probably meant to blend in with the church robberies, although I’m sure the killer wasn’t planning on coming face-to-face with the
real
church robber that night.”

Cooper was slow to comprehend. A professional? Trying to look like an amateur? It made no sense. Looking around the table at the troubled expressions, she saw she wasn’t the only one confused and bewildered.

Savannah had her head bowed, probably in silent prayer, and Jake, beside her, had one hand on her shoulder and one on the table, playing with his water glass. Quinton sat back in his chair, wringing his hands. Trish just shook her head slowly, and Bryant—wide-eyed—stared at the empty table.

Nathan rubbed his forehead and then rested his chin on his fists. He was the first to speak. “Why would a professional killer be after Sylvia? She was an art teacher at a private school.”

“Professional killers are interested in one thing,” Edward replied. “Money. He was after Sylvia because someone paid him. That someone wanted to make sure Sylvia was dead, but they didn’t want the police to immediately suspect a hired gun.”

“But . . . but,” Nathan sputtered. “Why?”

Ms. Donna set the file down. “That’s the real question, isn’t it? Who would have sent a killer after the teacher? Furthermore, why mask the professional hit? Apparently your Sylvia had enemies. Now it’s up to you to figure out who they were.”