Sugar, realizing that Cooper was also paid by the county, softened. "I'm sorry, Coop. I didn't mean to, well, you know. I'm sick and tired of it and it's just like Fred to do something like this and not warn me. He's not sitting here when Crickenberger comes on in here, his face as red as a turkey wattle. I read in the paper about people losing it and just blowing people away. At the post office and stuff, going postal."
"Fred should have told you."
"Creep." Sugar lowered her voice although no one was with them.
"You can go to court and ask for a restraining order against Matthew if you're afraid he'll come back."
"Hey, I'm out of here. Anyway, he wants Fred not me. I'm not going to court. I've seen enough around here to know I'm never going to court if I can help it."
"Amen."
"And you know what really fried me? He's standing there right in front of my desk screaming at me. Screaming that I know what's going on, that I'm gambling, that I'm playing with fire. I don't know what the hell he's talking about. I play bingo. I go with Mom Friday nights to the firehouse and play bingo. He's crazy."
What Cooper knew and no one else did except for Rick Shaw was that Mychelle Burns had withdrawn most of her savings account, $5,000. For someone in Mychelle's position, that was a lot of money. For Cooper that was a lot of money.
"Did he accuse you of gambling?"
"Sort of." She glanced at her computer then back at Coop.
"M-m-m, office pools?"
"Oh yeah, but I don't play. I don't care about football and basketball. Bores me to tears. I don't know what's going on and I don't understand how they do it."
"What do you mean?"
"If you just pick a winner, I understand that, but for the office pool you have to pick the scores. For the World Series you have to select the winning game, you know, like the sixth game. I'm not doing that. It's too complicated."
"Is there ever an office pool for UVA sports?"
She thought about this. "Five bucks a head."
"Point spread?"
"I don't understand point spreads."
Cooper smiled. "Doesn't matter." She sat on the edge of Sugar's desk as her feet hurt. "What about basketball?"
She shook her head. "Fred would kill anyone who bet against the girls' basketball team. He loves those girls. No bets against UVA girls."
"Did he and Mychelle ever talk about the games?"
"Yeah, sometimes. I tuned them out. I don't like basketball."
"Well, do you ever remember them talking about point spread?"
"No. Neither one talked much, really. They usually stuck to business, but if they didn't it was basketball."
"Did you ever hear them make a bet with each other, you know, something like, oh, Jenny Ingersoll will make fourteen points tonight?"
Sugar's brow wrinkled. "Oh, I don't know. It would have gone in one ear and out the other."
"Ever see or hear either of them pick up the phone and place a bet?"
"No." She waited a beat, though. "Could have done it on their cell phones."
"We've investigated the calls from all their phones. Nothing out of line. Fred doesn't even call home."
Sugar leaned forward. "Are you suspicious about Fred? Like he killed Mychelle?"
"No."
She exhaled audibly. "Good. I really don't want to be here if that's what you're working on."
"Do you think he could have killed Mychelle?"
"Nah."
"Why?"
"Just don't. He really liked Mychelle. Her death has hit him hard."
"Most murders are committed by someone who knows the victim, often quite well."
"I know. I read the papers. I watch TV, but Fred, nah."
"Sugar, how long have you worked here?"
"Two years. I graduated and got a job."
"Charlottesville High?"
"Murray." Sugar mentioned a high school specializing in gifted young people who often had trouble flourishing in the big high schools-Charlottesville, Albemarle, Western Albemarle.
"Ah. Didn't want to go on?"
"No. School bores me. I'm lucky I graduated." She twirled a pencil. "I was kind of rebellious, you know."
"That comes as a big surprise to me."
Sugar laughed. "Yeah, well, what can I say?"
"A couple more questions. Did you ever notice Mychelle making large expensive purchases, like a leather coat or just something that caught your eye?"
"No."
"Fred?"
"Um, no. Fred always goes someplace good on his vacation. That's about it."
"Well, thanks. Now you can say anything you want to Fred, but if you tell him how upset Matthew really was when he charged in here I expect I'll be getting a call." Cooper pointed to the mess on the floor. "You going to leave that there?"
"Do you want me to?"
Cooper considered this. "Up to you but it will fan the flames."
"Fred would take a picture. He's just the type." Sugar sniggered. "For future use."
"We're thinking along the same lines."
As Cooper reached the door Sugar asked quietly, "Am I in danger?"
"I don't think so. But if anyone frightens you or you think something is weird, you call me, I don't care if it's three in the morning, you call me." She gave her her card with her personal number and her cell number.
"I will." Sugar paused, then slipped the card in her skirt pocket. "Is Matthew right? Is some kind of gambling going on?"
"I don't know," Cooper honestly replied. "I wish I did, but that's my job. I'll find out. You can bet on that."
31
The St. Luke's Parish Guild gathered as usual in the welcoming meeting room. Cherry logs crackled in the fireplace. The old rugs, worn through to the backing in some places, remained on the floor. The carpet men absolutely, positively, without fail would be there Friday morning to start work. By this point no one was holding their breath.
Matthew Crickenberger, composed, chaired the meeting. Herb added information as needed. Herb believed the chair should rotate and so it did. He thought this fostered leadership. If one didn't wish to be a leader, then it taught appreciation for those who were.
Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, Brinkley, Cazenovia, and Elocution considered raiding the communion wafers again. Given that their initial depredations had not been discovered, they all voted to leave well enough alone. And since this upcoming Sunday was a communion Sunday their misdeed would most likely be discovered. Instead they settled into Herb's office, all sitting on the large chesterfield sofa. Herb, like Susan Tucker, liked chesterfield sofas. The one in his living quarters was dark green, this one was a rich maroon.
They could hear Tazio and BoomBoom in the next room discussing fund-raising ideas.
"How come St. Luke's has so many poor parishioners?" Brinkley wondered.
"Doesn't. All the churches cooperate to help with the food drive," Cazenovia, the senior kitty, replied.
"Humans eat strange stuff. Asparagus," Tucker said.
"I like asparagus," Elocution demurred.
"You do?" Tucker was aghast.
"I like greens every now and then," Elocution replied, "especially with my communion wafers."
"What does Tazio feed you?" Tucker loved hearing about food.
"Puppy chow mixed with canned food. Sometimes she gives me the fat off meat, too."
"Oh, that sounds delicious." Tucker licked her chops.
"Tuna." Pewter closed her eyes, purring.
"Chicken." Mrs. Murphy smiled.
"Mouse tartare," Cazenovia declared.
"A giant knucklebone, jammed with marrow." Tucker wagged her nonexistent tail.
"Gee"-Brinkley's soft eyes were puzzled-"how do you get your human to give you such treats?"
"Since you can't go into the market with them, it's hard," Tucker advised. "Seize the day. If you walk by a restaurant with big picture windows, wag your tail if someone is eating steak or a hamburger. Point with your right paw. Gets them every time and they really figure it out. You can train them with food."
"Don't expect miracles," Cazenovia added.
"Well, you need to practice being cute." Mrs. Murphy rolled over showing her beige tummy with the stripes lighter than on her back. "Like this."