He shakes his head. “No. Their expressions. They were the same.” He shuts his eyes and swallows hard. “Mouths and eyes frozen open. Like their last moments were terrifying.” He pulls away, steps over the spree of black spots, and sits on one of the armchairs in the sitting room area. “They said my mom died of natural causes, too.” He drags his fingers through his golden-brown waves.
Goose bumps raise on my arms. The coincidences are frightening. And overwhelming. What is it they say about coincidences? That there are none? Missy and his mother’s deaths might be separated by almost eleven years, but there’s one common link. They were both married to Beau.
Blood pounds in my ears.
I’m almost afraid to ask, but I can’t stop myself. “What if it wasn’t?” My voice trembles.
Cooper looks up at me, tilting his head. “Wasn’t what?”
“Natural causes.” I bite my bottom lip. “What if it was something else?”
His brow furrows. “What else could it have been? I was little but I remember the coroner sat me down and explained that sometimes people die even though they aren’t injured or sick. I know it’s rare in younger people, but it does happen.”
“Except now it’s happened twice. Missy was acting crazier than normal but she didn’t have any diseases. And there’s no blood in here so it’s clear she wasn’t shot or stabbed. There’s only this black stuff.”
He stiffens. “What are you trying to say, Emmaline? Because I’m not following you.” He uses my real name but this time it doesn’t ring with his sweet, lilting southern accent. Instead, it’s as sharp as barbed wire.
I screwed up once before by not being honest with him. It almost broke us up, and even worse, threatened to destroy our friendship for good. So no matter how hard it might be, I’ve got to tell him the truth about what I’m thinking. Drawing a deep breath, I square my shoulders. “What if your father had something to do with both their deaths?”
His brow creases, his expression is a mixture of shock, disbelief, and serious concern for my mental welfare. “What are you talking about?”
“Think about it. When someone dies, they always suspect the spouse. Because nine times out of ten, the spouse did it.”
“But Sheriff Walker said it’s probably natural causes.”
“Yeah. Why is that, by the way? Could it have anything to do with the fact that Beau basically funded his campaign? Isn’t it possible the sheriff is covering for him? What’s to stop him from telling the lab to alter the results on this black slime?” I contemplate adding my suspicion that the sheriff may somehow have been unduly swayed by Beau’s new friend, Claude, but realize how crazy it sounds, and decide to keep it to myself until I’ve got a better idea of what’s going on.
Cooper stares at me. I’m not sure if he’s considering my reasoning or trying not to erupt. Finally he speaks. “You know, I usually disagree with Jack about you and the emo stuff, but this time I’m not so sure.”
My brow knits and my hands fly to my hips. “How can you say that?”
“Because this is my father we’re talking about. You’ve just accused him of killing my mother and stepmother. He’s not the most honest business guy in the world, and he’s probably a candidate for worst father of the decade, but he’s no murderer.”
“Have you forgotten the Beaumont Curse? He’s got no soul. If he can screw a Gullah family out of their land, and destroy acres of forest to build a useless golf course development, what’s to stop him from killing a couple of his wives?
Cooper’s jaw tenses. “Can you stop and listen to yourself for just a second? The two have nothing to do with each other. Besides, what possible motive would my father have for killing them? He divorced his second and third wives after they left him—he could have done the same with my mom and Missy.” He stands and paces the carpet.
“But Cooper, set aside for a second that he’s your dad. Think about it. Two young wives with similar deaths. Don’t you think it’s suspicious? Or at the very least coincidental? In any other situation, the cops would be all over him.”
“That’s the whole point, Emma. I can’t forget he’s my father. Even for a second. He’s disgusting and horrible but he’s the only parent I’ve got. Maybe it’s easy for you to write him off because you’ve got two parents who love you. And you’ve got Jack who’s got your back no matter what. What have I got? Just my dad. If I let myself believe he killed Missy, then I’ve got to allow for the possibility that he killed my mother, too. And if that’s true, and we can prove it…” His voice breaks as his downturned eyes drift toward the bed where his mother perished. “He’ll spend the rest of his life in jail or fry in the electric chair. Either way, I’ll be an orphan and even more alone than I am now.” His expression is so sad it twists my heart.
“You’ll never be alone. You’ll always have us.” My voice is soft.
He laughs but it’s hollow and flat. “Sure. But haven’t you heard that blood is thicker than water?”
As a matter of fact, yes I have. From Taneea of all people. Which does nothing to bolster his argument. I cross my arms. “So that means you’re willing to turn a blind eye to anything your dad may have done just to keep him out of jail, or worse?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what do you mean because you’ve totally confused me.”
He sighs. “I’m saying it’s not as cut and dry as that. It’s easy for you to come in here, collect a bottle of whatever that crap is, and jump to all these conclusions because you have no idea how painful it is to lose one parent, much less two. Unfortunately, I’m not that lucky.”
The truth of his words burns. Maybe I’ve been insensitive. This has been an especially difficult day for him and I probably should have picked my words or timing better. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I just have to be a little more delicate about the way I go about it. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have been more considerate. Maybe I’m wrong about your dad and what happened to Missy. But there’s only one way to know for sure.” I clutch the plastic bottle in my hand. “Are you okay with me taking this to Miss Delia?”
He peers at the bottle. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
I smile. “Thanks.” Then I hold out my hand. “How about we get out of here and go to the beach? The fresh air will do us both some good.”
Ignoring my outstretched fingers, he shakes his head. “I’m going to pass. I want to stay in here a little while longer. Think a bit.”
That’s the second time he’s turned me down today. Don’t push it, Emma. “Okay, sure. No problem. I’ll see you later.”
He sits in the armchair and stares at his parents’ bed. “Yeah. See you,” he says without so much as a glance my way.
Chapter Twelve
Cooper pulls up to Miss Delia’s house. He shifts the gear into park but doesn’t cut the engine. Instead he stares out the front windshield, his gaze fixed on the enormous canopy of the bottle tree. He’s been in a daze all day, nearly silent and unmotivated to do much of anything.
I can’t help but wonder if Cooper’s attitude has anything to do with what I said about his father yesterday. Under normal circumstances my suggestion that his dad might have killed Missy would be pretty unforgivable, but we are talking about Beau, which makes it almost understandable. Is it possible Cooper’s holding a grudge? My mind wonders, but my heart says no. That’s just not Cooper.