Coop Knows the Scoop Read online

  “Coming through! We got an important delivery!”

  Most of the customers from A Latté Books, along with several other town folks, craned their necks and stood on their toes to see what was happening. I set my jug of coffee on the ground and placed my feet on either side to make sure no one kicked it over.

  Large, odd-shaped pieces of the old slide, the merry-go-round, and the jungle gym stuck out the top of the beat-up dumpster in the weed-infested lot. They looked like giant metal ants trying to crawl over the edge of the container.

  The only piece of equipment still standing was the swing set. But to say it was standing would be a lie bigger than Suds O’Leary’s waistline. Its rusted frame leaned at a precarious angle, threatening to collapse any second like a bad game of Jenga.

  Liberty let out a long, low whistle. “This place is a wreck.”

  “Darn tootin’!” said Suds, his T-shirt stretched over his belly, emphasizing the word “gas.” As much as I wanted to focus on the scene in front of me, bizarrely all I could think was that a man wearing a shirt with the word “gas” on it probably shouldn’t be using phrases with “tootin’” in them.

  Large pits puckered the ground from where the old equipment once stood. But the hole that grabbed everyone’s attention and held it hostage was the one where the slide used to sit.

  Liberty jostled against me as someone wiggled his way between her and Justice.

  “Hey, watch the coffee!” I said.

  A tall sweaty kid turned around and grinned. “My bad, Coop. Didn’t see it.” He elbowed Lib. “What’d I miss?”

  “Hey, Ambrose. By the smell of you, I’d say you missed a shower.” She wrinkled her nose. “Where’ve you been?”

  He swiped a trail of sweat from his forehead and looked at his hand before wiping it on his shorts. “I heard about the skeleton while I was cutting the lawn. Dumb mower ran out of gas halfway through, so it took longer than I wanted. Didn’t bother showering, because I was afraid I’d miss something.” He sniffed his armpit. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Says you,” muttered Lib.

  In a stroke of genius that was out of character for him, he had brought binoculars. A jolt of jealousy poked me as he lifted them to his eyes.

  I nudged him. “Can I see, Ambrose? Please?”

  “Won’t do you any good.” He brought the binoculars down and swiped his hair out of his eyes. “That stupid pile of dirt is in the way—can’t see diddly-squat.”

  Justice huffed. “The police should be more solicitous and move the dirt to the other side.” He leaned over and grinned. “I learned that word last week.”

  “Ambrose,” I stepped toward him. “Let me climb on your shoulders.”

  “What?”

  “Come on—it’s the only way we’ll see anything. You’re the tallest one here.”

  He was the tallest kid in class last year too—mainly because Ambrose liked sixth grade so much he decided to enjoy it twice.

  Ambrose scowled. “How about Liberty? She weighs less.”

  I could tell a part of Liberty was sorely tempted to have a go at those binoculars, but then she sniffed the air near him and grimaced. “Not happening.”

  “Shucks.” Ambrose sighed and handed the binoculars to Justice. “Hold these for a minute.” He bent down.

  I held Justice’s shoulders as I climbed onto Ambrose. “Okay—I’m on. Don’t drop me.”

  Ambrose clasped his hands around my calves and slowly straightened.

  I wobbled but stayed upright. “Hand me the binoculars, Jus.”

  Justice held them up. I draped the strap over my neck and peered through the lenses.

  “Well?” Ambrose said. “What do you see?”

  I fiddled with the focus nob. “There’s a guy in the hole. The back of his coverall says MEDICAL EXAMINER.”

  “It’s a grave, not a hole,” Justice said.

  Ambrose shifted suddenly to the left. I dropped the binoculars and grabbed his head. “Quit moving!”

  “Sorry. Something was crawling on my leg.”

  “Don’t be a sissy, Ambrose,” Liberty said, with a hint of disgust. “It was just sweat.”

  I pulled the binoculars up and peered through them again. “Okay… The guy is waving Tick over… Tick’s coming…he’s…he’s handing Tick…wait a minute…” I focused in more.

  Dead silence fell over the crowd as they listened to me.

  Gold briefly glinted in the sunlight.

  “It looks like a piece of jewelry,” I said.

  The crowd murmured.

  “A dress and jewelry,” Liberty muttered. “Trust a Yank to get gussied up for battle.”

  Tick held the item up for closer examination, and then he took a photo with his phone. After that, he slid the item into an evidence bag and marked it.

  Ambrose tilted his head toward me. “What else do you see?”

  I lifted the binoculars back up. “Hold on… There’s something.”

  The crowd fell silent again.

  “Bones! He’s handing up bones, and they’re being put in a body bag!” I dropped the binoculars.

  * * *

  Mama and I lived with Gramps in the same house Daddy had grown up in. After Daddy died a few years back, Mama wanted to raise me near family. Gramps invited us to Windy Bottom. Mama’s own folks were missionaries in Papua New Guinea, and I guess she figured moving us to Georgia would be an easier transition than the jungle.

  The three of us formed a new family, trying to fill the craters in our hearts left by the space Daddy used to fill. Gramps stepped in where Daddy should’ve been, and, more and more, he was becoming a dad to me. I knew that I could depend on him and that he loved me.

  He was as trustworthy as the sunrise. It was Gramps who’d taught me how to catch trout down at Plotter’s Creek and Liberty’s fastballs at the baseball field. It was Gramps who stayed home with me when I was sick and Mama was working. It was Gramps who cooked dinner half the time. And it was Gramps who explained girls to me—as much as he understood, anyway.

  He had only two rules: don’t drink and don’t gamble. The rules weren’t a problem, as long as Gramps wasn’t suggesting root beer was a bad thing.

  Mama held out a glass of iced tea. “Coop, sugar, will you take Gramps his tea while I finish heating up dinner?” She swiped a strand of long hair out of her face.

  I took the sweating glass from Mama’s hand and wandered down the hall to the living room. Aside from the sun coming up and going down, fewer things were more certain than finding Gramps in his favorite recliner each night reading the local paper, the Windy Bottom Breeze, and sipping iced tea so sweet it’d make your teeth hurt. I set the glass on the side table next to him.

  He folded the Windy Bottom Breeze and dropped it to the floor. The special evening edition headline read “Mysterious Skeleton Uncovered in Windy Bottom!”

  I picked the paper up and tucked it under my arm, with plans to scour the pages for information later. “At least Earl will have something to do other than trying to bury poor Chester before he’s actually dead,” I said.

  Earl’s family had owned and operated Comforted Souls Funeral Parlor since the first Windy Bottom citizen bit the dust back in 1848. For years, Earl Winston kept alive the tradition of consoling people recently deprived of a loved one. It was the only thing kept alive under his care. And oddly enough, for a man who was extremely claustrophobic, he spent all his time closing people up in tight spaces. He had accidently gotten himself trapped in one of the coffins in the showroom when he was kid. Suffice it to say he didn’t rest in peace.

  Gramps looked up from his tea. “Bury Chester? What are you talking about? That dog’s not dead.”

  I sat on the sofa across from him. “Thought you heard about it. Last Tuesday, that dumb Doberman gulped down a rotten veggie omelet he’d snif
fed out near the dumpster. He spent the afternoon regretting the experience. I don’t know if it was because the omelet was five days old, or ’cause it had vegetables, but Earl found him passed out in the alley. I guess he must’ve looked dead, ’cause Earl stuck him in his hearse and made for the cemetery for a doggie funeral.”

  Gramps laughed.

  “But Chester got him back—he came to and puked all over the navy blue upholstery.”

  “That old fool. You’d think he’d be able to tell the difference between living and dead.”

  “Man, you should have heard him screaming at Jus and Lib, ‘I’m going to be smelling dog puke from now until next year, blah, blah, blah. It’s not like I have another car to drive…blah, blah, blah.’ His face turned three different shades of purple. Spit was flying from his mouth. It’s not Jus and Lib’s fault Earl doesn’t have another car and that he uses that hearse to run all his errands. He should learn to take a pulse.”

  Gramps shook his head. “It’s messed up. Him packing his milk and eggs in the back of the car one week, and then sliding a coffin in the next. It feels somehow disrespectful to the dearly departed.”

  “Well, luckily the dead don’t know the difference, so that’s one good thing.”

  He laughed. “And they can’t smell, either, so that’s the second good thing. There you go, Coop. You may take your leave.”

  Oh yeah, I forgot. Gramps had a third rule: You can’t leave a bad situation without finding two good things about it. Two things to be thankful for.

  “One more good thing, as bonus,” he said as I was about out the door. I turned. “It makes for a hilarious story. Chester puking in the hearse. Now that’s funny.”

  Chapter 6

  The sun rose Friday morning, bringing with it a bucketload of unanswered questions I had about the skeleton. As Lib, Jus, and I pedaled into the town square, the digital clock on the bank’s sign flipped to eight-zero-something. That was because the last digit had burned out sometime before I was born. But it didn’t matter. One could tell time by just knowing the routines of the citizens of Windy Bottom.

  Tick bounded up the steps of A Latté Books. Perfect timing! I raced into the alley, sending a spray of loose gravel in the direction of the dumpster. Liberty and Justice were on my tail, but I took great satisfaction in being the first through the back door of the kitchen.

  Gramps stood with his back to me, stacking a rack of mugs.

  “Morning, Gramps.” I tried to dash past.

  But he caught me and wrapped me in a hug. “Coop! Where’s the fire?”

  I struggled against him, but Gramps was as strong as black coffee. “I want to talk to Tick,” I garbled into his shirt. He smelled of lemon soap and coffee beans, a strange combination, but one I loved because it reminded me of him.

  He chuckled and held me out at arm’s length. “Not before a morning hug.”

  Liberty burst through the screen door with Justice at her heels. She wiped a bead of sweat from the side of her face.

  “I got to run, Gramps.”

  I broke free and pushed through the swinging kitchen door into the café.

  “Where’s Tick, Mama?” I asked.

  “And good morning to you too.” Mama looked over her shoulder as she poured coffee beans into a latté machine. “Cutting it kind of close to opening time, don’t you think?”

  Justice nodded. “My bike tire was flatter than a snake run over by a tractor. I had to fix it. Didn’t even get a chance to eat breakfast.”

  “The pastry order hasn’t been delivered yet, but you can grab one of Earl’s muffins from the kitchen.”

  Justice wrinkled his nose. “I’ll go hungry,” he mumbled.

  For as long as I can remember, Earl had brought muffins to the bookstore about once a week. He said it was because he’s always loved baking, but I think he was secretly hoping Mama would sell his stuff in the café. Problem was, the stench of formaldehyde hung around anything he came near, including his muffins. It was impossible to eat something that smelled like death. Plus, I’m pretty sure the health department would have a problem with food deliveries being made in the back of a hearse—especially one that now smelled like dog vomit.

  “Mama,” I said. “I saw you let Tick in early and I just…wondered if he knew anything.”

  “I’m sure he knows a lot of things, Coop. But let me tell you what I know.” She faced us. “Y’all aren’t the only ones who noticed Keith pull up out front. The morning crowd will pour in faster than I can say ‘maximum occupancy exceeded’ when I unlock those front doors. Which means the three of you need to get ready to help out.” She turned, grabbed three aprons, and tossed one to each of us. “Jus and Lib, your folks volunteered you to help out at the counter this morning. Oh! And Coop” —she pointed over my shoulder—“Keith dropped off that poster by the register. Said something about you hanging it up for him?”

  Oh yeah. The clothing drive. I’d forgotten.

  “And don’t forget it’s Friday.”

  Two years ago, Mama had volunteered my services as lawn boy to the Feather sisters after she overheard them fussing over their too-small teachers’ pensions and the price of yard care. Fridays were my day to wrestle with Ol’ Feisty—their angst-filled lawn mower—for a measly five dollars.

  True to form, Mama was right—the caffeine flowed like the Chattahoochee River at flood stage. Even if I’d wanted to take the time to find Tick and pelt him with all my questions, Mama kept me running with coffee orders, wiping down tables, and cleaning dirty dishes. It wasn’t until maybe an hour had flown by that Tick snuck up on me as I straightened the books in the Biographies section.

  “Hey, Coop.”

  I spun around. “Tick! Where’ve you been?”

  He put his finger to his lips and peeked around the bookshelf to the front of the bookstore. The cushioned chairs and sofas were filled with people discussing what they’d witnessed at the playground the day before. And if they weren’t talking about what they saw or heard, they gabbed on about what their neighbor saw or heard.

  “Hiding in the back room. I needed to jot down some notes in peace and quiet. By the way, thanks for hanging the poster and a double thanks for bringing the coffee to us yesterday.”

  “Thanks for letting us come.” I looked over my shoulder and checked for Mama. She had a sixth sense when I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to do and could appear out of nowhere. “So listen, Tick. I’ve got a few questions I—”

  “Walk and talk.” He gestured toward the counter with an empty mug. “I need more coffee.”

  I shook my head. “Bad idea. You’ll get yourself buried under an avalanche of questions if anyone out there sees you.”

  “One of the many hazards of my job,” he said taking a step.

  I pushed him back into the aisle. “Wait. Gramps has a shirt in the office. Let me grab it for you so at least your uniform isn’t so dang obvious.”

  Tick grinned. “I like how you think, Coop.”

  I dashed down the hall, and moments later Tick slipped his big arms into the long flannel sleeves, but didn’t button it. It was a tad snug but not too bad.

  Liberty’s brows shot up as we approached the counter. She elbowed Justice and nodded her head our direction. She leaned toward me. “Did you ask him, Coop?”

  “Ask me what?” said Tick.

  Liberty directed her attention to him. “Do you know who’s in the grave yet?”

  Before he could answer, Mama materialized from Lord-knows-where and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me, Keith?” Then she looked over at us. “Y’all three go collect dirty mugs and straighten books, please. Wipe down tables if necessary. There’s no need for five of us to be crammed behind the counter.”

  Liberty yanked me into the Cookbooks and Crafting aisle. She put her finger to her lips and pointed to wher
e Justice was pretending to straighten an already perfect row of book spines.

  It was the best spot to eavesdrop on Mama and Tick. Those particular bookshelves were extra wide and had no back to them. Rows of books faced each other, and if you crouched down at the right angle, or stood on a step stool, you could peer over the tops of the books, straight through to the front counter.

  “There’s a photo I’d like you to take a look at.” Tick pulled something—I assumed the photo—from a folder.

  Liberty jabbed me. The only thing sharper than her elbows was the pain in my ribs.

  “I bet a sack of baseballs that is a picture of whatever the medical examiner guy handed him from out of the grave,” she whispered. “Remember how he took a photo?”

  “Yeah, but of what?” I said under my breath. “I can’t see. Tick is blocking my view.”

  “Do you recognize this?” Tick held the photo out to Mama. “I’ve been asking around, but so far, no one seems to know it.”

  Justice squinted. “What’s he showing her?”

  I shook my head and elbowed Liberty. “Scoot down. Maybe we can see from a different angle.”

  She inched over, and Justice and I followed.

  “It’s beautiful. It looks like a wedding ring.”

  A wedding ring?

  Mama lifted the photo for closer inspection. “Is—is that blood on the band?”

  Blood? Now that I wanted to see. I stretched high on my tiptoes and peered through the next level of books.

  Tick nodded. “I think so. We’re getting it tested.”

  Gramps backed out of the kitchen, carrying two full racks of clean coffee mugs in his strong arms. The door swung back and forth behind him. He set the racks down and started pulling out mugs.

  Mama grimaced. “Well, I can’t say I recognize it, but we’ve only lived in Windy Bottom for five years.” She turned to Gramps. “Harley, do you recognize this?”

  Gramps leaned over her shoulder for a look. He paused.

  I jumped at the sound of shattering mugs as shards went flying.