The Deeds of the Deceitful Page 6

  A soft smile touched Mindy’s lips. “She’s right. I seem to have forgotten that as well.”

  They continued to talk until the clock chimed nine.

  From the great room, Trish called out, “Night, Cooper. We’re headed upstairs.”

  “Good night, Trish. Who won the game?”

  “I did,” Bryant said with a chuckle. “Triple points for the word derecho.”

  “Is that a real word?” Cooper asked.

  “Sure is,” he called back. “It’s a type of windstorm.”

  Cooper shook her head. “This is why I don’t play Scrabble with them.”

  “Wise move,” Mindy said. She glanced at the big clock on the wall. “I better get to bed as well. Tomorrow is check-out day for my special guests.”

  “Your special guests who have had a wonderful time.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Cooper said. “This has been a wonderful vacation.”

  Mindy stood and reached for her mug. “I’m glad.”

  “Do you live here at the inn, Mindy?”

  “Yes. I can’t afford to maintain a separate place, and then again, I’m always here.” She smiled. “There’s a manager’s apartment that’s accessible from the kitchen. It’s where my grandparents lived when they ran the inn.”

  Mindy stepped to the sidebar and switched off the urns. She turned to Cooper. “The water is still hot if you want a cup of tea.”

  “I’m going to do that. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for letting me ramble, Cooper,” Mindy said. “You know, you’re just as nice as your sister.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Mindy left, Cooper got up and took an Atwood Inn mug from a stack on the sidebar and filled it with hot water. She would definitely miss the simple luxury of picking a tea from a huge selection in the polished silver footed serving bowl. Once the teabag was in her mug, Cooper couldn’t help but admire the tray of Magnolia’s Marvels.

  The little bags were artfully arranged on a silver tray, their golden ribbons and shiny gold labels a thing of beauty. Beautiful inside and out. Even Chef Eason had nothing but praises for her mother’s treats.

  So what was Loretta Atwood’s problem? Grammy said some people were just born complainers. They’d complain about the casket you buried them in if they could.

  That sounded like Mindy’s stepmother.

  Maybe she could talk to the woman herself. It couldn’t hurt.

  Cooper started toward the great room for her book and stopped. Maybe one of her mother’s treats for the road. After all, she had to find out whodunit before she went to sleep, and that would require sustenance.

  With a Magnolia’s Marvel in one hand and a mug in the other, she stepped into the great room. The overhead lights were dim, creating a soft and almost eerie ambiance in the room. There were far more dark shadows than Cooper preferred. As she moved toward the end table, a draft of air danced around her. An inexplicable shiver danced through Cooper and had her turning in the direction of the breeze.

  Why were the French doors open?

  Cooper stepped outside to the balcony and looked over the decorative cast stone balustrade to the grounds below. Bathed in moonlight, she could only make out the dark shapes of hedges, an iron bench, and the edge of the lawn. In the distance, tall trees that bordered the Atwood Inn property were silhouetted against the sky. At an indistinct sound below, a rustle of the bushes perhaps, Cooper jumped, sloshing the tea in her cup and nearly spilling it. She looked all around, but it was too dark to see anything, and she was not sticking around to investigate noises in the night. “I’m just imagining things,” Cooper murmured.

  She pulled the French doors together, locking them securely. With the fractured light of the recent sunset filtering into the great room, creating more shadows, Cooper found herself quickening her pace as she headed upstairs.

  Her cell phone sat in the middle of her bed where she’d left it, and Cooper picked it up, checking for calls and texts. Sure enough, she had missed a call from home. She depressed the green button on the familiar number.

  “Mama, you called?”

  “Honey, I left a message and said you didn’t have to call back. You’re on vacation.”

  Cooper smiled. It was good to hear her mother’s voice.

  “What are you doing up so late?” Cooper asked.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday. I don’t have to be in the kitchen at four a.m. Your father and I are watching The Pink Panther.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I’m not there to watch it with you two.” Cooper imagined her father and mother cuddling on their old nubby sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, watching the movie like they were kids.

  Maggie chuckled. “You know you hate that movie.”

  “But I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you too. Are you having fun?”

  “It’s been interesting. I miss Miriam and Moses.”

  “They’ve been here in the house with us. Popeye loves their company. They’re happy as can be, although we have to keep the door to Grammy’s room closed. Little Boy keeps stealing their food.”

  Cooper laughed at the thought of Grammy’s orange tomcat with a stump of a tail sneaking around to swipe food from the amiable brother and sister felines.

  “I better let you get back to that movie. I just wanted to tell you I love you, Mama. Daddy, too, of course.”

  “Aw, Cooper. Honey, we love you too.”

  “I know you do, but I don’t think I tell you how much I appreciate all you and Daddy have done for me. Someday I’m going to be able to show you too. I promise.”

  “You show us every single day by being a wonderful daughter. Now get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. Dropping the phone on the bed, Cooper plopped down on the soft comforter. Atwood Inn was wonderful. All the comforts a guest could want and more. But it wasn’t home. She was a simple girl who liked nothing more than Sunday dinners with family and puttering in her greenhouse. Atwood Inn might be a little more luxury than she could handle.

  Which brought her thoughts back to Jon Eason. He was a nice guy, but she couldn’t see him fitting into her world. The thought made her sad, which was silly. She once again reminded herself that though the conversation flowed as if they were old friends, they had only just met.

  Cooper picked up the novel and eyed the remaining pages. Better to concentrate on whodunit than her own life. Solving a crime was much less complicated.

  Chapter Five

  Ever the early riser, Cooper was once again the first person to enter the dining room, as her nose followed the robust scent of coffee. With her Bible and Proverbs study guide in hand, she chose a table at the back of the room, near the tall windows, and deposited her books.

  Funny how last night the unobstructed floor-to-ceiling windows seemed almost menacing, and today they ushered in nothing but the joy of the Lord on a Sunday morning.

  She sighed with appreciation at the tantalizing aromas of bacon and rising biscuit dough, which signaled that Chef Eason was preparing breakfast. But there was no sign of her Bible study friends. Her stomach growled, and she headed to the sidebar. A cup of coffee and a tasty Magnolia’s Marvel scone would hold her over until breakfast was served.

  Cooper sat down with her coffee and scone. She glanced out the window, her gaze following the flight of a red hawk across the sky, and was reminded of home and Columbus. It had been well over an hour since sunrise, yet the sky seemed slow to wake up. A few streaks of orange still dusted the horizon and the deep night sky had nearly dissolved into a bright blue canopy.

  Again, reminded that it was the Lord’s Day, Cooper opened her study guide and perused the lesson for today. “The source of true wisdom, Proverbs 1:7,” the chapter header read.

  The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.

  Cooper had just turned another page of Proverbs in her
Bible when Helen burst into the dining room from the hall sobbing. She looked around the space as she wrung her hands together.

  “Helen, what’s wrong?” Cooper stood, her gaze following Helen’s.

  “Have you seen Ms. Atwood?” The receptionist’s eyes were frantic as she once again searched the room, where kitchen staff were now beginning to set up the breakfast buffet.

  “Did you try her apartment?”

  “Yes. She isn’t answering her phone, and I thought she’d be here.” Helen sniffed. “Ms. Atwood really needs to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “The police say it was a car accident.”

  Panic began to claw at Cooper at the ominous words. “Who? What?”

  “Mrs. Atwood,” Helen wailed as she turned and raced out of the room.

  “Mrs. Atwood?” Cooper was trying to make sense of the receptionist’s disjointed sentences when Quinton appeared in the dining room, his face grim.

  He nodded toward the lobby. “The police are here, and they want to talk to everyone. We won’t be leaving for church anytime soon.”

  “Helen said there was a car accident.”

  Quinton grimaced, wiping a hand across his brow. “Yes, that’s what she told me. Loretta Atwood. Though there seems to be more to the report than what they’re telling us. They’re rounding up everyone at the inn into the dining room.”

  “What’s going on?” Savannah asked as she hurried into the dining room, followed by Jake.

  “Loretta Atwood is dead,” Quinton said.

  “Dead?” Cooper’s stomach plummeted, and she gripped the chair back for support. “I thought it was a car accident. Who told you that?”

  “I’m so sorry, Coop. I thought you knew.”

  “Oh, my,” Savannah murmured.

  Jake put a comforting arm around Savannah and led her to a chair.

  Bryant and Trish were the last to join them, and they quickly slid into chairs next to the rest of the group.

  “What’s going on?” Trish whispered.

  Quinton quickly updated them, which caused Bryant’s face to pale beneath his perpetual tan.

  Cooper leaned closer to the meteorologist and frowned at the spot of pink goo on his face. “What’s that on your chin?”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at his face. “I was in the middle of a facial mask when Trish knocked on my door and asked me to hurry down to the dining room.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention.”

  Cooper twisted around in her seat. The man who stood in the entrance to the dining room was tall and affable with red hair and glasses and the build of a linebacker. He wore dark slacks, a dark suit jacket, and a white dress shirt and tie.

  “Good morning. I’m Detective Olson, and as many of you are aware, Loretta Atwood was killed when the vehicle she was driving landed in an embankment last evening between the hours of eight p.m. and eleven p.m., when it was discovered. The media have already broadcast a general account of the incident.”

  A gasp went up in the room, followed by murmuring. No one at Atwood Inn was aware.

  Cooper turned, her gaze moving past her friends to Dax Wilson, who leaned negligently against a wall, looking uninterested in the unfolding events.

  Then she noticed Jon Eason standing by the kitchen entrance. His face was as pale as Bryant’s, and his eyes as they met hers reflected the same shock she felt.

  She recognized most of the staff huddled near the coffee urn. Only Alice Mayberry and Mindy Atwood were absent from the meeting.

  “I’d like to get a statement from each of you. Please, go ahead and eat your breakfast, but I request you do not discuss this morning’s event. Do not share on social media, and absolutely do not contact any media outlets. Such an action could be construed as obstruction of justice.”

  “Obstruction of justice? You’re asking us not to speak to anyone. Isn’t that a violation of our freedom of speech?” Bryant murmured. He stood and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Detective, but I don’t understand. Why are you taking statements if it was a car accident?”

  “You look familiar,” Detective Olson said.

  “Bryant Shelton, meteorologist. Channel Six News.”

  The detective ran a hand over his face. “I’m going to ask you to refrain from calling this into your station, Mr. Shelton. As of this morning, the coroner has ruled Ms. Atwood’s death as suspicious. This is an active investigation.”

  Once again, a collective gasp went up in the room

  “Oh, my. Poor Alice,” Savannah murmured.

  “Poor Mindy,” Cooper said.

  “Yes, indeed. Poor Mindy.” Savannah nodded in agreement.

  Trish glanced over at the breakfast buffet. “Why don’t we all get something to eat?”

  “Yes. Yes,” Savannah said. “Something to eat and a moment of prayer. That will definitely help.”

  “I agree,” Jake said.

  Cooper stood, rotely moving toward the buffet, though she was anything but hungry now. Before she could do anything, Detective Olson approached her.

  “Ms. Cooper?”

  “Lee. My first name is Cooper. Cooper Lee.”

  “Ms. Lee. I’d like to take your statement first if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.” Of course, because he was a law enforcement officer and because she had nothing to hide. All in all, she really knew nothing that could be of help.

  He led her to the business center and pulled out a chair for her.

  “Inspector McNamara speaks highly of you and your group.”

  She blinked. That was a little hard to believe. Inspector McNamara often made it clear the Sunrise Bible Study was a thorn in his side and definitely not in the biblical sense. “He does?” Cooper said.

  “Yes. He hired me before he retired. The inspector mentioned that if I ever found myself in the middle of an investigation and your name popped up, I should be sure to remind you and your group to let the department do their job.”

  That was more like it. On more than one occasion, she had observed Inspector McNamara popping antacids whenever the group had stumbled upon one of his investigations over the last few years. Perhaps it was divine appointment, because each time they were able to support someone who desperately needed their help and didn’t have anyone else to advocate for them.

  That gave Cooper a good feeling, even if it had irritated Inspector McNamara at times.

  “I can assure you, Detective Olson, the Sunrise Bible Study is here to assist Mindy Atwood with the soft launch of the inn. That’s all.”

  “You’ve met the deceased?” He asked the question while pulling a small notebook and pen from his blazer jacket.

  “I have never officially met Loretta Atwood, though I’ve certainly heard her plenty of times.”

  “Heard her? Or heard of her?” Detective Olson frowned.

  “Heard her. Mrs. Atwood slammed doors several times since our group checked in on Friday, and a few times could be heard arguing with staff.” Cooper shrugged. “Merely an observation.”

  “I see. Melinda Atwood states that she was with you last evening.”

  “Mindy and I chatted for about an hour in the dining room.”

  “What time was that?”

  Cooper froze. Was she Mindy’s alibi? When Cooper searched Detective Olson’s face, she found it void of expression, except possibly a hint of fatigue. Had he been up all night?

  “From about eight until nine.”

  “You’re certain about the time?”

  “Absolutely certain. The clock in the great room chimed at nine.”

  He nodded and again scribbled in the small notebook. “Do you know where she went after that?”

  “I saw her go through the kitchen, presumably to her apartment.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I went into the great room to retrieve my novel, and then I went up to my room.”

  “Nothing unusual stood out to you about Ms. Atwo
od or the evening?”

  Unusual? The front door of the inn slammed shut shortly after eight, and someone left the French doors open. Was that unusual? Probably not. Slamming doors were the norm at Atwood Inn. And what did an open door to the balcony have to do with a car accident? Not a thing.

  Cooper shook her head. “No.”

  “When did you last see the victim?”

  Cooper paused. Was he trying to catch her in a lie? “I’ve only seen her on one occasion. That was Friday, shortly after check-in. She was departing.”

  “When did you last hear her?”

  “I heard her twice yesterday. In the morning, she was arguing with the maintenance man, and last evening the front doors slammed shut at eight.”

  “And this morning? Can you tell me what time you came down?”

  “At six forty-nine. I sat down here and opened my Bible lesson for Sunday. Our group planned to have a Bible study before we checked out.”

  “Six forty-nine.” He raised a brow. “That’s pretty specific.”

  “It is, because I recall that I had just checked my weather app.”

  “And what happened next?”

  “That’s all. Helen, the receptionist, came into the dining room sobbing, and said there was a car accident.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” He handed her a business card. “Please contact me if you think of anything else that might be helpful to our investigation.”

  “Detective Olson, what makes you think there is something suspicious going on?”

  “Ms. Atwood was suffering from anaphylactic shock at the time of her death.” He paused. “We believe it was the anaphylactic shock that caused her to lose control of the vehicle.”

  “Anaphylactic shock?” Cooper’s heart began to pound.

  “We found an open package of Magnolia’s Marvels in her purse. There were also roses in her backseat. Odd, for a woman with allergies. Don’t you think?”

  Cooper gasped and stared at the detective. Was he sharing the information to see her reaction?

  Well, he had it. She was stunned. Loretta Atwood was no one’s friend, but to die from respiratory distress that resulted in a car accident? No one deserved that.