Coop Knows the Scoop Read online

  “I saw the line on my way to Burma’s.” I pointed behind him. “You forgot your screwdriver.”

  He grabbed it and tossed it into the box. “Your mama and Mr. Gordon haven’t had two minutes to catch their breath.” He snapped the latch shut. “This cursed dishwasher’s taken up my whole morning. I replaced the hose and just ran a test rack through. Let’s see how she fared.”

  He slid the dishwasher door open and a thunderhead of steam billowed toward us. Vapory fingers clung to the hot mugs in the rack as he pulled it across the stainless steel counter.

  Gramps squeezed my shoulder. “Looks like she’ll live to work another day—just like you.” He tossed me an apron.

  “Should I take this clean rack out to Mama?”

  He shook his head. “I’m headed to the front lines. I’ll take it with me. Your hair looks nice, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gramps hoisted the rack and carried it toward the front. He whistled a tune as he disappeared through the swinging door. I hadn’t heard Gramps whistle in a while. He was probably doing it more for my sake than his. I knew he was worried about how I was dealing with everything, and my fight with Beau hadn’t exactly eased his mind.

  I tugged the apron over my head. For the next two hours, I pushed and pulled racks loaded with dirty plates and mugs in and out of the steamy box. No sooner would I set a stack of clean dishes on the counter, than Mama, or Gramps, or Mr. Gordon would swap it out for a tub of dirty ones. The kitchen turned into a steam bath, and as much as I hated to wear the heavy rubber dishwashing gloves, I finally pulled them on to protect what was left of my fingerprints.

  Each time the swinging door swung open and shut with a thwop, voices from the front whooshed into the kitchen. But only bits and pieces reached my ears.

  “…I’m holding up just fine, thanks…”

  “…Yes…a homicide. No, we don’t know anything new. I’m sure…”

  “Thank you…we’re still working on funeral arrangements…”

  “No, I did not spend the night locked in the pokey…Honestly, what—”

  “Anyone laid eyes on Earl yet?”

  And on it continued.

  Mama pushed through the door just after the clock flipped to 2:30 and sighed. Wisps of hair had fallen from her ponytail, and her apron had at least seven fresh coffee stains. Usually Thursdays were a two-stain kind of day.

  “Thank goodness it’s slowed to a trickle,” she said. “I like the business, but if I hear from one more ‘concerned citizen,’ I’ll scream.”

  My stomach rumbled. I pulled the rubber gloves off and draped them over the sink faucet.

  “Can I grab a sandwich and a cookie? I’m starving.”

  “Sure.” Mama sank into the chair in the office. “Grab one for me too. But I want a brownie, not a cookie. I deserve it after this morning.”

  I pushed through the door into the bookstore. Gramps disappeared down the hall to the storeroom. Mr. Gordon rested on a stool behind the counter, fanning himself with a takeout menu. He gave me a weak wave and smile.

  “I’m grabbing lunch for Mama.” I walked to the refrigerated case that held pastries and sandwiches for sale and slid it open. “Do you want anything?”

  He puffed out his cheeks and thought. “I’ll take a cookie—but don’t tell Mrs. Gordon when she gets back from her sister’s—she’s trying to put me on a diet.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  I handed him his cookie and then delivered Mama her food. I came back out front to eat with Mr. Gordon. A sense of peace settled across the room. The chaos of earlier was gone.

  Only Mrs. Sumner, Windy Bottom’s oldest citizen, and her daughter, Andrea Grace, remained. They sat in their chairs near the front bay window.

  Moments later, the bell rang as the door was pushed open. Angus Knapp, Beau’s daddy, staggered drunkenly through the doorway and stumbled into the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  “Goodman!” Angus shouted. “Where are you? Wanna talk to you!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mr. Gordon muttered. “Stay here, Coop.” He rounded the counter. “We’re about to close, Angus.” He braced Mr. Knapp under his elbow and turned him around toward the door.

  Mrs. Sumner and Andrea Grace gawked at Angus, mouths open.

  Mr. Gordon, being taller and heavier than Angus, wasn’t someone to be trifled with, but Angus had just enough liquor in him to be dangerous.

  “Get your hands off me.” He wrestled his arm away from Mr. Gordon and poked him in the chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Andrea Grace set her coffee down, stood, and shifted her mother’s chair and then her own, to better watch the scene unfolding before them.

  Gramps walked in from the storeroom. “What’s going on?”

  “I got every right to be here.” Angus’s words slurred together. He smoothed down his shirt.

  Mr. Gordon made eye contact with me. “Call Vidler.”

  Angus’s legs wobbled as he teetered toward the counter. How he was able to make it through the maze of chairs and side tables without falling over anything else—or himself—was astonishing.

  Angus glared at me through bloodshot eyes.

  Gramps moved between us. “Leave him alone, Angus.”

  My fingers fumbled to punch the numbers on the phone.

  Tick’s voice sounded at the other end of the phone. “This is Vidler.”

  I placed my hand near the mouthpiece. “Tick—Angus is really drunk. Angry. He’s here. I mean, at the bookstore. Hurry.”

  “I’m on my way.” He hung up.

  Gramps took a deep breath. “Why are you here, Angus?”

  “Should’ve known my Cordelia wasn’t the first.” He leaned into Gramps’s face.

  Gramps waved away his breath and stepped back. “Okay, Angus, sit down.”

  Mr. Gordon shook his head. “I’ll get him a black coffee.” He walked behind Gramps and joined me.

  Angus pushed off the counter. “My wife. Your wife. Suppose that makes you a serial killer, don’t it?” He waved his arm around. “Got any more bodies out there, Goodman?”

  The vein in Gramps’s neck twitched.

  Mama pushed through the kitchen door.

  Concern pressed into her brow. “What’s going on out here?”

  “Ain’t been the same since my Cordelia… Gonna get you for that…” Angus fell against the counter and broke into ugly sobs.

  Mama’s eyes darted from Gramps to Angus, then back to Gramps.

  “Come on, Angus. I’ll drive you home.” Gramps pulled Angus off the counter.

  “No!” Angus’s face, already the shade of plums, deepened further in color. “You’re a wife killer!” Spittle flew from his mouth.

  Gramps’s jaw tightened. “You’re desperate, Angus. I didn’t kill anybody.” His voice was low and tight.

  “Liar!”

  His hand curled into a fist as he drew his arm back.

  Mama yelled.

  Mr. Gordon ran around the counter.

  Angus swung.

  Gramps ducked.

  Angus tripped on the edge of the rug and collided with a floor lamp. He fell, striking his head on the solid wood table on his way down. He twitched a couple times on the floor, then…nothing. A pool of red crept across the carpet.

  “Angus!” Mama gripped the counter’s edge and looked over.

  Gramps rushed to where Angus lay. “Call 911!” He put his fingers on Angus’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “He’s not breathing. Coop, get me something to stop the bleeding.”

  Gramps tilted Angus’s head back and started CPR.

  The sight of the blood made the food in my stomach turn sour.

  “Cooper! Now!” barked Gramps over his shoulder.

  I grabbed the dish towel
off the top of the counter and ran to Gramps, who was pushing down on Angus’s chest.

  “Hold it against his head, Coop.”

  Tick ran through the front door. “What’s happened?”

  “He fell and he’s not breathing.” Gramps blew into his mouth again. Angus’s chest rose and fell with each of Gramps’s breaths.

  Gramps interlocked his fingers a third time and pressed down, counting quietly.

  Tick thumbed toward his car. “Do you need a defibrillator?”

  Angus groaned but didn’t open his eyes.

  “No.” Gramps felt Angus’s wrist and looked up at Tick. “He has a pulse. But it’s weak.”

  Mrs. Sumner and Andrea Grace clung to each other’s arms and watched from a distance.

  Mama knelt next to me. She put her hands over the towel I pressed on Angus’s head. “I’ve got this. Go wash your hands.”

  Blood had seeped through the towel. My red-stained hands shook.

  Tick stepped back from where Angus lay and spoke into the walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder straps. He listened to the reply and gave some code. “The ambulance is close.”

  Angus’s face was a pale gray color, a huge contrast from the angry purple-red it had been. A moan escaped from his lips and his eyes fluttered open. “Beau,” he rasped.

  “Lay still,” Gramps said, taking over for Mama. “Coop—get me another towel.”

  “It’s okay, Angus.” Mama held his hand and stroked it.

  Gramps kept his fingers on Angus’s other wrist and his eyes on his watch. His lips moved, counting the heartbeats.

  “Take care of Beau…” Angus closed his eyes again.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus.” Mama put her hand on her heart. “Is he…?”

  “No,” Gramps said. “Just unconscious.”

  I handed him a new towel. Everything inside me screamed turn away, but I couldn’t.

  The whine of the ambulance’s sirens drew closer. Mr. Gordon dashed outside. Through the window I saw him wave them down.

  Then I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  Chapter 22

  “What about Beau?” I asked as the ambulance, lights and sirens on, disappeared around the corner.

  Tick sighed. “There’s no family in the area. I’ll call Department of Children and Families.”

  “No.” Mama said. “Don’t send him to stay with total strangers. Not now.” She shook her head. “Beau can stay with us.”

  The blood drained from my entire body. “Mama—”

  “Hush.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “It is the right thing to do.”

  No way. No way. No possible way.

  Tick sighed. “Staying in town would be ideal, but I have to follow protocol...”

  I closed my eyes. Please Lord, yes, I promise to be good forever and ever.

  “Let me notify DCFS of the situation. I witnessed Angus asking you to look after Beau, and with the overload of cases DCFS has, that might be all we need…temporarily at least. But I have to call it in.”

  Mama nodded. “I understand.”

  I didn’t. It took everything I had not to punch my fist through a wall. Beau, my enemy, my nemesis whose happiness depended on my misery, could become a houseguest?

  Tick tugged on his hat and opened his car door. “Right now, I need to get Beau from school and take him to the hospital. I’ll let you know about DCFS as soon as I can.” He started to shut his door but stopped. “I’ll need to get statements about what happened. Do you think we can all meet at your house this evening?”

  “Of course,” said Mama.

  Gramps nodded, though the last thing he probably wanted was to give another statement to the police.

  * * *

  Twilight hid its tail between its legs and skedaddled as dark clouds bullied their way across the sky. There was a promise of a gully washer within the hour as Mama, Gramps and I cleaned up after dinner.

  Mama shut the refrigerator door with a sigh. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank you, Lord, for Mrs. Alcott and her infernal Compassion League. Having all those leftovers from yesterday was a blessing after today’s crisis.” She checked her watch. “I’d better make up Beau’s bed. Keith will be here with him soon.”

  She squeezed my shoulder as she passed by me. “Remember what we discussed.”

  It hadn’t been much of a discussion.

  When I had asked Mama where Beau would be sleeping, it was like she’d decided to punish me for all my screwups—past, present, and future.

  “Your room.”

  My jaw dropped. “My room?”

  “I don’t expect you to like it, but I do expect you to Make. It. Work. This feud stops here and now.” She’d punctuated the statement with her “I dare you to fight me on this” stare, complete with one arched eyebrow and a hand on her hip.

  “I won’t forget,” I mumbled, carrying my spaghetti-smeared dinner plate to the sink. It wasn’t like I could swallow anymore.

  Lightning spider-webbed across the sky, and thunder grumbled in the distance. Usually I liked Thursday nights—on account of Friday being the next day. Fridays were the best. But I was not looking forward to tonight. Not with Beau being my roommate.

  Gramps opened the dishwasher door and moved around to the other side. “How about you rinse and I’ll load?”

  I flipped the faucet on. Spaghetti sauce slid from the plates down the drain. The image reminded me of Angus’s head, and I shuddered.

  Gramps looked up from pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You all right?”

  “Just keep seeing Mr. Knapp lying there…and the blood.” I handed him the rinsed plates. “Will he be okay?”

  “I hope so.” Gramps set his coffee aside and stacked the plates in the dishwasher along with the silverware. “There’re a lot of unknowns with head injuries. And now that he’s slipped into a coma, it’s even more up in the air.”

  A stubborn piece of lettuce had dried to the side of the salad bowl, refusing to be washed away. I picked at it. “Why was he so drunk?”

  Gramps stepped on the trash can pedal and threw away two remaining pieces of garlic bread. We never had leftover garlic bread. Not before tonight anyway. But none of us seemed to have much of an appetite.

  “Despair can lead us to do some desperate things. Angus has been self-medicating with alcohol for ages. But I’ve never seen him toasted by two o’clock in the afternoon. Stay away from the bottle, Coop. Nothing good ever comes from it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He ran his hands back and forth through his hair. It stuck up in odd places. “I guess this mess with Tabby hit a nerve and brought back too many painful memories of his wife. It would be like throwing gasoline on a raging fire.”

  “Yeah, but when Gran ran away—or died—you didn’t go ballistic like he did.” Then again what did I really know? I looked at him. “Did you?”

  “Tragedy affects different people in different ways.” He picked up his coffee cup and gazed into it. “I was heartbroken, but I managed. However, I chalk that up more to the people around me. Our family’s lived in Windy Bottom since it was established. I had friends that helped me cope.”

  I held up a clean salad bowl. “Yeah, but the Knapps have lived here a long time and knew people too, right?”

  Gramps tossed me the towel from his shoulder. “Angus has always been bitter, and bitterness doesn’t produce friends. Cordelia was beginning to pull him out of it, but when she died, Angus had no one. He was mad with grief and funneled all his anger toward me.”

  “Why you?”

  Gramps shrugged. “Because I couldn’t save her. I understood all too well what he was going through, so I didn’t let it bother me, but,” he sighed, “I see now how it’s taken its toll on you…and Beau.”

  I nodded. “Beau’s just as mean as his daddy.”

>   Gramps looked up over the top of his mug before taking a sip. “Don’t be quick to judge him. Beau’s a victim twice over. Angus fell into a hole of anger when his wife passed, and he never climbed out. Maybe Beau figured the only way to be with his daddy was to join him down there.”

  “You can say that again,” I muttered.

  “Part of him died when Cordelia did.” Gramps shut the dishwasher door. “And now with this injury, if Angus decides not to fight for his life, he just may lose it. He could wake tomorrow…or not at all.”

  “You mean he could die?” My stomach clenched.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  I stared at Gramps. “What would happen to Beau?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He stared back. “Just pray Angus recovers.”

  Beau never knew his mom. And if his daddy died… Well, that would be like what had happened to me, but double. As much as I disliked Beau, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. Not even him.

  Chapter 23

  The only good that came from Angus’s accident was Mama agreed Justice and Liberty could come over that night with Mr. Gordon. There was so much going on she seemed to have forgotten I was grounded.

  Tick wanted anyone who saw what happened at the bookstore to meet at Gramps’s house so he could take statements. Mrs. Sumner and Andrea Grace were already in the kitchen with Mama and Gramps. They’d arrived a few minutes ago holding a plate of rain-sprinkled chocolate chip cookies, missing the downpour by just a hair. Hopefully, the bad-tempered weather would make the others late and buy me more time.

  At least now I could show Lib and Jus the case closet. Earlier I had gone on the hunt for photos of my new suspects—Burma and both Feather sisters.

  I sent up a quick thank-you to the good Lord that a couple years back the Windy Bottom Public Library had scanned all of the old issues of the Windy Bottom Breeze into a digital format. I’d found an article online of Burma standing with his arm draped across the shoulders of Miss Ruth at the opening of the library’s new gazebo. After printing it, I took scissors and separated Burma from Miss Ruth. Sadly, his arm stayed with her.