Coop Knows the Scoop Page 19

  “Coop,” Tick interrupted. “Coop, listen. I’m driving and I can’t look at any pictures right now.”

  “But Tick—”

  “Hold on. That doesn’t mean I won’t look. I promise as soon as I get back to Windy Bottom, I’ll examine them. I want to help Harley. I really do. But I gotta go—like I said, I’m driving, and I need to focus. I’ll look at the photos as soon as I can.”

  The line went dead. Glaring, I threw my phone on Justice’s bed.

  Chapter 36

  “Sorry, dude,” said Justice, staring at my phone. “Guess he didn’t like your theory?”

  I flopped on to the bed. “He just can’t look at the pictures right now.”

  “What else can you do?” Liberty leaned over to spit in Justice’s trash can, then rested her head against the doorway. “By the way, you were right. There was no school the week Tabby was murdered.”

  I pounded the mattress. “Gramps is in jail for a murder he didn’t commit. Miss Ruth is living with a killer and has been asking questions about the ledger. What if Miss Meriwether thinks her sister might figure things out? She’s killed once—she could do it again. Miss Ruth might be in danger.”

  “You think we should warn her?” asked Beau, looking out the window. “Because it looks like Ol’ Grouchy is away from her house.”

  I hustled off the bed and rushed to the window, along with Liberty and Justice. Miss Meriwether gripped her purse and marched down the sidewalk toward the center of town.

  “It’s now or never.” I dashed to Justice’s desk. Earlier I’d added the ledger reprints to the other stuff from the case closet. I sifted through the stack, grabbing the photos, the poison registry list, and Gran’s diary. I stuffed them in my backpack. What else? I didn’t know.

  “What are you doing?” asked Justice.

  “I might need these to convince Miss Ruth her sister is a thief and murderer.”

  “I’m coming with you,” said Beau.

  Liberty and Justice exchanged glances.

  “We can’t,” said Liberty, her shoulders dropping. “That’s what I came up to tell you. Dad just called and told Jus and me to come up to the bookstore.”

  “But,” said Justice, “if that’s where Miss Meriwether is headed, we’ll distract her and keep her there as long as we can. You’d better hurry!”

  * * *

  I rang the doorbell then stepped back.

  “Nervous?” asked Beau.

  My insides jittered like they were on a wooden roller coaster. The kind that rattled so much you wondered if you might’ve swallowed some teeth during the ride. But I don’t think I was nervous. It felt more like I was…ready.

  Miss Ruth swung the door open wide. “Coop and Beau—two of my most favorite visitors.” She stepped aside. “Come on in. Head to the kitchen and I’ll pour you some sweet tea. And I made a new mustard today—you must try it.”

  Beau followed me down the hallway. We both sat, and I rested my backpack next to me on the floor. A small bouquet of flowers poked out from one of Miss Ruth’s old mustard jars in the center of the table. Miss Ruth bustled in behind us and poured three glasses of tea.

  “Now,” she said, joining us, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” She set the drinks on the table.

  I swallowed. How was I supposed to warn her? “Miss Ruth, I think you’re in danger,” I blurted.

  “Danger?” She stopped bringing her tea to her mouth midway. “From what, dear?”

  “Your sister.”

  She gave a bark of laughter and set her glass down. “I’ll grant you, Meriwether can be mean enough that a snake couldn’t bite her without dying, but I assure you she’s no threat to me.”

  “No, really, Miss Ruth,” I pleaded. “She’s not who you think she is.”

  She reached out and patted my hand. “She’s an overbearing sibling. That’s who she is.”

  I sighed and looked at Beau. He glanced down to the backpack, then to me. I nodded and pulled it up to my lap. “There’s something I want to show you, Miss Ruth.”

  I unzipped my bag. The diary was on top. I pulled it out and opened to Gran’s last diary entry. “This is Gran’s diary. The date on her last entry matches the same date as the last entry in the false ledger—in those photos I showed you. Listen to what she wrote.” I read it to her and looked up. “I know Meriwether told you it was Gran’s handwriting, but it wasn’t.” I faced the diary toward her. “Look. The writing doesn’t match. Plus, Gran was left-handed.”

  “She was?” Miss Ruth asked. “I had no idea.” She shook her head. “Strange, the things we don’t know about our friends until they’re gone. But sadly, we don’t have the photos anymore to verify the handwriting, love.”

  “That’s okay, Miss Ruth.” I reached into my bag. “We had the negatives. Justice made another set.” I moved the mustard jar of flowers out of my way toward Beau and slid the photos across the table to her.

  “The negatives?” She picked up the pictures. Her hand shook as she examined them. And… Did she turn pale?

  “It must have been your sister who was stealing, and she just told you it was Gran to cover her tracks,” I said.

  Miss Ruth kept staring at the photos. I didn’t know if she was listening to me or not.

  “Miss Ruth?”

  She slumped in her chair but didn’t look up at me.

  “I think your sister killed Gran before she could go to the police.” I tapped the diary. “It makes total sense when you put the diary and ledger entries together. And Miss Meriwether bought rat poison too.” I brought out the printed poison registry we’d found online and showed Miss Ruth. “I don’t know what Miss Meriwether’s handwriting looks like, but figured you do. You do recognize it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, child,” she whispered. “I recognize it. And you have no idea how much my heart is breaking.” She closed her eyes and breathed in deep.

  Guilt tugged at me for making her feel so terrible, but she was the grandma I never had, and I wasn’t going to let another loved one get hurt. Beau sat quietly next to me, fidgeting with the flowers in the mustard jar.

  Miss Ruth lightly slapped both hands on the table. “I’m going to make myself a sandwich, and I’m going to make you two detectives something too.” She sniffed. “After all, misery loves company, and I’m feeling pretty miserable right now.”

  She gave us a weak smile, pushed her chair back, and walked to the counter.

  Beau rubbed his hands together and looked at me. “I like her sandwiches,” he whispered.

  The sunlight poured through her kitchen windows, making the marble-filled mustard jars sparkle like stained glass windows. Their colors splashed across the open pages of Gran’s diary. I thought of the windows at church. The disciples and the scene from the Last Supper.

  Beau slid the mustard jar vase back and forth between his hands.

  “Gimme that,” I said, taking it away. “You’re gonna break it.”

  “Did you say something, dear?” Miss Ruth called over her shoulder.

  “Nothing, Miss Ruth,” I said, setting the vase back in the center. My eyes caught the name of the mustard on the label. Miss Ruth loved talking about mustard. Maybe I could lift her mood a little before we all headed to the police to turn in her sister. I read the scrawled label. “Wasabi Wowzer, huh? Is this a new recipe you’re trying, Miss Ruth?”

  Her back was to me, but she nodded. “Yes—I think I’ll enter that one in this year’s Pioneer Days festival. I’m still tweaking the recipe.” She paused but didn’t turn around. “I’m making a special version of it for you boys right now.”

  The w’s looked…funny. I squinted and brought the jar closer. W’s…with what looked like an extra swirl.

  An extra swirl…Where had I seen w’s like that?

  I reached across the table for the ledger pho
to. Wednesday, March 23.

  No. It was a fluke. A coincidence. Miss Meriwether must’ve written the label for her. Maybe if I had something else to check it against.

  But wait. I did.

  The map Miss Ruth gave Beau! The inscription on the back. The photo from the attic was still on my phone. I pulled it from my pocket.

  “What are you doing?” asked Beau.

  “Hold on.” I scrolled through the photos. To Cordelia—Welcome to Windy Bottom High. Have a great year. Ruth Feather. Two w’s, each with an extra swirl at the top.

  That couldn’t be. Miss Ruth was like my grandma. She was…nice. Thoughtful. Kind. After all, she gave Beau the map so he would have something of his mama’s. But…it must be. Right? My breath caught in my throat. Blood pounded through my ears. Miss Ruth was the thief? She’s the one who’d tried to blame it on Gran? But if it really was Miss Ruth’s handwriting in the church ledger, that meant she also—

  It was all coming together.

  Gran didn’t want to turn her best friend in for stealing. Such a struggle, but I’ve decided. Tomorrow the truth comes out…Why does the love of money turn good people bad?

  Thoughts tumbled through my head. Gran wrote in her journal how she and Miss Ruth often ate ham-and-mustard sandwiches together. Miss Ruth said the same thing.

  Tabby was such a good sport about trying new flavors.

  Ham-and-mustard sandwiches?

  I looked up at Miss Ruth.

  Mustard. She was mixing mustard.

  Everything I thought pointed to Miss Meriwether, actually pointed to…Miss Ruth.

  There were two plates on the counter for Beau and me. But where was her plate?

  I ran my thumb over the label. A sick stew of dread, anger, and fear mixed in my stomach. I slowly raised my eyes. They met Miss Ruth’s. She stood next to the table. I never even heard her walk over. She held two plates.

  Earl’s words rang through my head. When I got to her house I was too late! Nuthin’ but a coupla plates with crumbs.

  A couple of plates.

  “Eat up, boys.” She set them in front of us. “It will lift my spirits. Don’t disappoint me, now.”

  “Thanks Miss Ruth.” Beau picked his up with both hands. “I’m starving. Mr. Gordon isn’t a great cook. Anything tastes better than what he makes.”

  “Crumbs…a couple of plates.” I stared at the white bread. Then up at Miss Ruth.

  She wasn’t kind and grandmotherly. She was cold and calculating. A thieving murderer.

  “Go on, Coop,” she crooned. “I made those special…just for you.”

  Beau raised the sandwich to his mouth.

  “Coop?” Miss Ruth’s smile formed a thin line. “Don’t forget your manners. Eat.”

  I slapped the sandwich out of Beau’s hand.

  “What the—?”

  “Don’t eat it!” I stood, knocking over my chair. “Run!”

  Chapter 37

  I sprinted down the hall.

  Beau stumbled after me. “What the heck’s going on?”

  Everything in my head screamed to run from the House of Lies and never return.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Miss Ruth hollered after us. “Get back here!”

  I crashed into the front door and yanked on the knob, but the door didn’t budge. My fingers felt fat and clumsy as they fumbled to turn the tiny lock. “We got to get out of here!”

  “Move over.” Beau pushed me aside and twisted the lever, then jerked open the front door.

  Tick stood there, hat in one hand and the other raised as though he were about to knock.

  “Tick!” I cried.

  “Hello, Coop.” If he was surprised to see us there, it didn’t show on his face. “What are you doing here?”

  Miss Ruth hurried after us. “They came over for sandwiches. It’s not a good time, Vidler. Come back later.” She shoved the door shut.

  But Tick put his arm out. “This can’t wait, Miss Ruth.” He held up a folder. “I came to ask you about discrepancies within the church’s memorial fund,” he said without a hitch.

  Color drained from Miss Ruth’s face.

  My jaw dropped. I turned to Tick. “You looked at the photos?”

  Tick nodded. “The minute I got to the station. Like I promised. A lot of what you said made sense—when I finally knew about the diary and the photographs. I cross-referenced the church accounts with the uh, ‘personal’ deposits—all made to Ruth Feather’s account.”

  I jumped. “I knew it!”

  “Just for the record,” said Beau. “I knew it too.”

  Tick looked at Miss Ruth. “And besides needing to talk to you about the church embezzlement,” he paused and looked at me, “I also have a few questions about the murder of Tabitha Goodman.”

  Miss Ruth splayed her hand across her chest. “Have you run mad? I had nothing to do with her murder! It was Earl. He even admitted to it.”

  “No.” Tick shook his head. “He just thought he killed her. She died from acute arsenic poisoning, not from anything he’d done.”

  “Then it was Harley!” Miss Ruth cried. “How dare you accuse me in my own house!”

  “We could go down to the police station,” offered Tick.

  She breathed in sharply. “I have never bought arsenic in my life.”

  “But your sister did,” I said.

  “So now you’re accusing me of murder?” Miss Ruth’s hands gripped each other in a fist. Mama always clenched her hands like that when she was hotter than a wood burner.

  “Where were you the day Tabby died?” Tick asked, ignoring the glare from Miss Ruth.

  “Don’t be absurd.” She huffed. “I was a teacher—I would’ve been in school, surrounded by my students all afternoon. Not off poisoning someone.”

  “Actually,” Beau stepped forward. “Liberty discovered spring break was the same week Tabby died. There was no school.”

  Miss Ruth gasped.

  Tick pulled out his handcuffs. “Ruth Feather, you’re under arrest on suspicion of murder and embezzlement.”

  Chapter 38

  Hours later, after dinner, Tick sat in the Gordons’ living room. A plate with a slice of burned apple pie balanced in his lap, and thanks to the open windows, the smoky haze from the kitchen had almost disappeared.

  “Wait. Go back to what you just said.” I settled down in the sofa next to him. On the coffee table in front of us was everything from my case closet. Ripped-up photos and everything. “I want to make sure I heard you right.”

  “I said Ruth finally admitted to killing your grandmother. She was a tough nut to crack, though.”

  “Miss Ruth. Funny, sweet Miss Ruth,” said Justice. “It’s hard to believe she’s a killer.”

  Mr. Gordon shook his head. “Just goes to show you. Did she say why she did it?”

  Tick nodded. “Said Tabby discovered she’d was embezzling from the church and was going to turn her in. Ruth told her she’d come over and talk about it. She knew Meriwether had the rat poison, so she poured some into the mustard and made sandwiches.”

  I clenched my fists. “And then took them to Gran’s.”

  “Yes, but didn’t eat any herself.” Tick squeezed my shoulders. “She went in through the back door so no one would see her enter and poisoned Tabby with the sandwiches to keep her from going to the police.”

  “What about the dress we found?” asked Liberty.

  Tick took a deep breath. “According to Ruth, after Tabby was dead, she tried to leave the same way she came—through the back door—but workman were in the alley. So she put on one of Tabby’s dresses, sunglasses, and a hat. She stuffed her own dress in her handbag and left by the front door. Figured if anyone saw her they’d just think it was Tabby. She changed back into her own dress at the gas station.”
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br />   “Makes sense.” I looked at Liberty and Justice. “Remember how we said they looked alike?”

  They nodded.

  Beau picked up the photo of Gran from the coffee table. “From a distance, she could definitely pass for your grandmother. But why did Miss Ruth keep the dress?”

  Tick set his untouched pie on the table and leaned back into the sofa. “I asked her that too. She stuffed it in a box of old clothes and asked Meriwether to take the box to the thrift store. Ruth didn’t know the box ended up in the attic. She thought that dress was long gone.” He chuckled. “I suppose once y’all started collecting for the clothing drive, Meriwether went up to the attic and found the box and handed it over. She had no idea it held incriminating evidence against her sister.”

  * * *

  The next morning Gramps and I sat on the top step of the front porch, each holding a cup of coffee and staring out at the field across from the house.

  “I’m sorry, Coop.” He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

  His voice sounded like weak coffee. Thin and tired. “I was afraid if I ever told you about the gambling and drinking and broken promises that—” he choked.

  I leaned into him. “That I wouldn’t love you as much?”

  I felt his nod. Reaching up, I squeezed his hand and didn’t let go. I loved the weight of his arm resting across the back of my neck and shoulders. The last several days I’d missed his warmth.

  “When your daddy died I felt so…alone. Tabby had left years ago—I thought. I had no one.” He ran his free hand over his face. Maybe he hoped to wipe the sadness of the memory away. “But then you and your sweet Mama came here to be with me. Here,” he repeated. “You could’ve gone anywhere in the world, but you chose me.” Gramps cleared his throat. “And I never wanted anything to happen that would risk losing the joy you brought back to me.”