“I’m impressed, Cooper.” Her voice was sincere. “I think you’re onto something. You must have eaten some real brain food during this lunch.”
Ignoring her sister’s remark, Cooper took a sip of green tea. “What if someone didn’t want him to change?” She stared unseeing at their waitress, who hustled over to collect the credit card. “What if someone from his old life killed him because of what he once was? Maybe he couldn’t really get away.”
Ashley’s eyes were tinged with fear. “Do you think the murderer’s still here? In Richmond? Do you think he’s watching us—Lincoln and me? We have nothing to do with all this!”
“I don’t know.” Cooper pulled on her parka and examined her watch. “Look, I’ve gotta go, but I think Lincoln needs to tell the police about those nicknames. They might have some kind of underworld significance. Names are real important to folks in gangs, I know that from reading the paper.”
Cinching her trench coat tight around her narrow waist, Ashley nodded. “Okay. And don’t forget to look around for signs of a roommate in Miguel’s apartment. If you can get in, that is. I know Trish is shrewd, but she’s going to have to be mighty creative to get you inside a rented apartment.”
“I’ve already cooked up a plan that you’d definitely call creative. Believe me, we’re going in,” Cooper promised and returned to work.
As soon as Cooper clocked out for the day, she drove the short distance to the leasing office of Short Pump Commons. She recognized Trish’s black Mercedes SUV, which was plastered on both sides with magnetic signs promoting Tyler Fine Properties.
Trish was on the phone, but gestured for Cooper to sit in the passenger seat and enjoy the heat pumping out of the car’s air vents while she concluded her call.
“I am perfectly capable of handling the closing!” she growled into her headset. “I’ve already assigned you plenty of lucrative listings. I’m not dead yet, you know!” Trish touched her paisley silk turban and then softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to look out for me. You’re wonderful and kind and I shouldn’t unleash my insecurities on you. Of course. Yes. Thank you so much.”
Trish closed her phone and sighed. “I’m trying to cut back on my workload, but it’s tough.” She smiled. “I’m such a control freak. Cancer’s going to teach me a thing or two about that issue.” Placing her headset on the dash, she turned to Cooper and said, “However, I am determined to do my bit to get us into Miguel’s apartment today. I trust you have a plan?”
“A crazy one,” Cooper responded while fidgeting with her purse strap. “But it kind of requires you to, ah, behave sicker than you look.”
Eyeing herself in the rearview mirror, Trish made a small adjustment to her turban and grinned. “If we can use this disease for a good cause, then I’m all for it. Let’s hear what tricks you’d like me to put up my sleeve.”
As soon as they were ready, the two women walked up the cement path into the leasing office. Cooper had no difficulty acting nervous. She’d never been a skillful thespian and hoped she could pull off a personality so opposite from her own.
Trish, on the other hand, embraced the plan with her usual confidence and strode into the office as though prepared to rent every vacant apartment in the complex. She shook hands with the manager, handed him a business card, and then drew him aside for a quick word while Cooper pretended to be absorbed in the company brochure.
Short Pump Commons, she read. A World of Luxury, Fashion, and Convenience. Examining the arrangement of the four buildings, she realized the “common” area in the name referred to a small, treeless rectangle dividing Building A from Building B. Rent for a one-bedroom apartment was a thousand a month, but if Miguel had also rented a garage, he’d have to spend over eleven hundred a month. “Pretty steep,” she said to herself and felt relieved that she had a free place to live while she paid off her credit card debt and added upon the small sum in her savings account.
“Delilah?” The manager, a portly man wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and a yellow tie speckled with ketchup stains, was addressing her. Cooper had almost forgotten her pseudonym. “Phil Burgess!” the man introduced himself. “I see you’ve already got one of our brochures. Terrific! Your realtor tells me that your company,