2 Bodies for the Price of 1 (29 page)

Not that she wanted to know.

The time to open the gifts, Wesley had said again and again, was when they were all reunited. And considering the fact that her father had at least called, it was the first time in years that Carlotta allowed herself to think that was a possibility.

Would they ever be a family again?

When the discarded chicken casserole began to smell up the house, Carlotta tied the trash and schlepped it outside to the garage where their Herbie Curbie resided. She lifted the lid and dumped the garbage inside, then wheeled the trash can to the curb where Wesley had carried the carcass of the once-glorious television.

A delivery van driving along the road slowed—another shipment for the couple next door, she surmised.

But the van stopped suddenly and two beefy men jumped out, heading for her. She tried to scream but no sound came out. She scrambled backward and fell on the concrete driveway, but one of the men yanked her up by her arm and her ponytail.

“What do you want?” she cried.

The other guy leaned into her face. “Tell that idiot brother of yours that The Carver wasn’t amused by his little stunt the other night.”

“Wh-what stunt?”

“Ask
him.
The little shit is in big trouble, bigger than he knows. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

“I thought he was making his payments,” she said, wincing against the pain of having her hair yanked out of her scalp.

“Not enough,” the man said. “And now that he’s pissed off The Carver, he can expect those payments—and the interest—to double.”

The sound of a siren split the air and Carlotta’s captor dropped her like a bag of potatoes. The men sprinted for the van, but Jack swerved to block their escape. He was out of the car, his weapon drawn over the top of his open door, almost before the car came to a halt. “Stay down, Carlotta!” He aimed the gun at the men who were standing next to the van, hands up. “Gentlemen, down on the ground.”

“We don’t want any trouble, officer.”

He shot one of the van tires and the men jumped. “I said get your fat asses on the ground.”

They did. More sirens screamed into earshot, then two squad cars pulled up, lights flashing. Jack motioned for the cops to cuff the men, then he holstered his weapon and went to Carlotta, who was pushing to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face anxious.

“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her arms. “Just a little shaken up. They work for one of Wesley’s loan sharks.”

“I figured as much. I didn’t want to say anything the other night, but from Wesley’s reaction to the shooting, I suspect that was his first thought too.”

“So the shooting wasn’t connected to the murders?”

“That’s not necessarily true. The loan sharks around here like the ones Wesley is tangled up with are into everything these days—including selling credit card numbers. It’s not out of the question that they’re behind the identity theft ring that we’ve been trying to crack.”

Carlotta frowned. “Jack, I’m afraid for Wesley. Those guys said something about The Carver being pissed about some stunt he pulled the other night.”

“Probably in retaliation for the shooting. Did they say what happened?”

“No.”

“And I’m sure he won’t be telling me,” Jack said. “I’ll help him if I can, but Wesley got himself into this mess with these guys. He’s going to have to figure a way to get himself out.”

She bit into her lip and nodded, turning back to the house, then stopped. “Wait a minute. How did you know I was in trouble?”

“A neighbor called 911. As soon as I heard the address, I beat it over here.”

She looked up to see the curtains at Mrs. Winningham’s fall back into place and she mentally retracted every bad thing she’d thought about the woman.

A sardonic smile lifted Jack’s mouth. “Your name is all over my reports lately. I’m afraid my chief is going to think something’s going on between us.”

“Well, you can tell him that that’s not true,” she said lightly. “Besides, I’m going back to work Monday, so I’m going to be way too busy to get into any more trouble.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Carlotta stopped at the base of the steps and turned. “Since I probably won’t see you before then, I hope your awards dinner is nice. I’ll be thinking about you receiving your distinguished duty award and looking so nice in your tux.”

Regret flashed through his eyes, but was quickly replaced by resolve. “I’ll be thinking about you, too.”

42

“S
o,” Carlotta said to Michael as they retrieved items from their lockers and prepared to go home,

“Detective Terry thinks that one of the loan sharks could be responsible for the identity-theft ring. And maybe killed the women because they thought they were going to turn state’s evidence.”

Michael shook his head. “You’re always in the middle of something, Carlotta. You seriously need therapy. By the way, Dr. Delray said you stood him up.”

“That was the day my car was stolen. And my cell phone was broken.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can get you in now.”

“That’s okay,” she said absently.

“Your mind is a million miles away.”

“It’s just that I can’t help but think that there’s more going on here, maybe right here in this mall. And it makes me furious that these thugs targeted me. My credit is ruined.”

“Your credit was already ruined. Leave it alone, Carlotta.”

“You know that I can’t, Michael. Besides, I’m in a position to find out more than the cops can, you know, because I don’t have to follow protocol.”

He sighed. “You mean do something hare-brained.” He closed his locker door. “You need to be concentrating on your sales.”

“I know,” she agreed. “And I had a great day today.”

“It’s a good thing. I don’t believe Patricia was too happy about being booted back down to accessories.”

Carlotta made a face. “I kind of hate her.”

Michael laughed. “She’s not so bad. We’re going to the Elton John concert tonight.”

“I’ll be there too, with Peter.”

“We’ll be in the cheap seats in the rafters,” Michael said dryly.

She closed her locker door. “I can’t believe I’m gone for two weeks and you’ve cozied up to my arch rival.”

He grinned. “The competition will be good for you.”

Patricia walked into the break room, looking like a frazzled scarecrow. She gave Carlotta a glare of disdain.

“Speak of the devil,” Michael whispered mischievously.

“How was your day, Patricia?” Carlotta asked. “Are those little doggy swimsuits still selling like crazy?”

“Yes, except now they’re two for the price of one,” Patricia said, “which cuts into my sales, which cuts into my commission.”

Carlotta angled her head. “So that means you have to sell, what, twenty doggie swimsuits to equal one dress in my department? Wow, that sucks.”

Patricia’s stiff bangs blew up with her exhale. “Yes, doesn’t it?”

Carlotta swung her purse to her shoulder and something on the floor caught her eye. “There it is.” She crouched and scooped up the florist’s card that must have fallen out of her locker. “I’ll give this to Jack to see if he can find the man who sent the roses meant for the woman who was murdered. Maybe he’ll know something.”

“When did it go from Detective Terry to Jack?” Michael teased. “And why aren’t you going to the concert with him instead of Peter?”

“Jack has a big awards ceremony tonight,” Carlotta said, trying to keep the longing out of her voice. She would have fun tonight with Peter. She would.

Peter rang the doorbell promptly and whistled appreciatively at her skinny black skirt, silver metallic T-shirt and zebra-print jacket.

“You look dynamite,” he said, then pulled her close for a hot kiss. “Do you have your autograph book?”

She nodded, a little surprised by his passionate kiss and the subtle change in him. He looked rested and more at peace. “Manhattan must agree with you.”

“You know, Atlanta’s not the only place in the world to live,” he said as they descended the steps. “Have you ever considered living somewhere else?”

“I guess it didn’t seem possible.”

“Until now,” he said lightly, helping her into his car.

Carlotta’s head buzzed with the notion of how many experiences would be open if she would only let Peter back into her life.

After he climbed behind the wheel, he gestured to the front of the house. “What happened to the window?”

“Oh…neighborhood kids,” she lied, thinking she might scare off Peter completely if she revealed just how many ways her and Wesley’s lives intersected with what Mrs. Winningham had referred to as “a bad element.”

Dinner was elegant and lovely. The restaurant’s service was impeccable, the food and wine exquisite. It was a place she couldn’t afford except on very special occasions, but the maitre d’ knew Peter by name.

The atmosphere was as romantic as a Norah Jones song, and gave Carlotta a further glimpse into what her life would be like with Peter. The best of everything, hers for the asking.

So what was stopping her?

She glanced at her watch and wondered if Jack’s awards ceremony had started. She imagined him in his tux. He and Liz would be the most striking couple at the event, no doubt.

“You’re checking your watch,” Peter teased. “I guess that means you’re eager to get to the concert.”

She smiled and nodded guiltily, determined to push thoughts of Jack out of her mind and focus on the man in front of her. Peter signaled for the check and soon they were on their way to the Fox Theater, only three blocks away.

Known as the Fabulous Fox Theater, the building was a former Masonic Temple restored as an entertainment venue, with domes and turrets inspiring thoughts of romantic Arabian nights. Inside, the five-thousand-seat theater was arranged with floor seating and a sweeping balcony under a spectacular ceiling of navy blue shot with twinkling lights. When the house lights were down, it was easy to believe you were sitting beneath a velvety star-kissed sky. The dramatic structure and glamorous interior made it a favorite of performers and audiences alike and a jewel of midtown Atlanta.

They ran into Wesley in the ticket line and Carlotta couldn’t pass up the chance to tease him. “So, am I going to get to meet this girlfriend of yours?”

He scowled. “Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Coop walked up and said hello, his eyes lighting with appreciation when he looked at her. She reintroduced him to Peter, then grinned. “You’re Wesley’s date?”

“Yeah,” Coop said with a sigh, then draped his long arm around Wesley’s shoulder. “And I’m damn proud of it too.”

Wesley rolled his eyes and Carlotta laughed, but secretly wondered how much of Wesley’s sour mood had to do with problems with his lenders. He wouldn’t talk to her about it except to say that he had everything under control and didn’t need Jack or anyone else making things worse.

“Wesley, hi,” said a gorgeous redheaded who made Wesley straighten and knock Coop’s arm off his shoulder.

“E…. how’s it going?”

“Great,” she said. “I’m glad you used the tickets.”

“This is my boss, Coop,” Wesley said. “This is E. She’s my probation officer.”

“Eldora Jones,” the woman said, shaking Coop’s hand.

“And this is my sister, Carlotta.”

Eldora turned and smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Carlotta was struck by her dazzling beauty—no wonder Wesley hadn’t missed a probation meeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She introduced Peter just as a dark-haired beefy guy walked up to Eldora.

“Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Leonard.”

Everyone said hello—except for Wesley, Carlotta noted. He had a stricken look on his face that told her he was in love with this girl.

Her heart ached for him.

“We’d better get to our seats,” Peter murmured, and they said their goodbyes.

Once they were inside the theater, they were escorted to their seats—center stage, second row. Carlotta gasped. “I’ve never been this close to the stage.”

Peter winked at her. “Enjoy. And keep your autograph book handy. We might get invited backstage.”

She squealed in delight. Collecting autographs was a lifelong hobby of hers, born of her father’s proximity to celebrities since his investment firm had catered to VIPs. She’d gotten Elton’s autograph years ago, but it had been ruined when her autograph book had gone swimming in a pool one night at a party she’d crashed.

Since her new autograph book, compliments of Jolie, was virtually empty, having Elton’s autograph would be even more special. The fact that Peter had remembered and humored her somewhat frivolous pasttime meant a lot to her.

“I’ll get us some wine,” he offered.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room, I’ll meet you back here.”

As she moved through the milling crowd, Carlotta hugged her purse close, feeling the outline of her autograph book tucked inside beside the phone that Peter had given her. A few minutes later, when she exited the stall in the ladies’ room, she saw Patricia Alexander washing her hands at the sink next to hers.

Jesus, the woman was wearing a suit to a concert—what a tightass.

Her hope to go unnoticed was lost when Patricia caught her gaze in the mirror. Her mouth twitched downward. “Hi, Carlotta.”

“Hi, Patricia.”

“Where are you sitting?”

“Uh, up front.”

Patricia got out her lipstick and began to apply it. “Must be nice, but our seats are decent. We’re near the front of the balcony.”

“Yeah, there really aren’t any bad seats in this theater.”

“So, Michael tells me that you had great sales today.”

“I guess so,” Carlotta said, taking a paper towel from the attendant and dropping a tip on the vanity tray.

“You know, I started with Neiman’s in accessories. It’s a great training ground.”

“I suppose,” Patricia said. “But I’m not exactly new to Neiman’s.”

“No?”

“I worked there for a while last year.”

A memory slid into Carlotta’s mind and she froze—at the same time Jennifer Stevenson had worked there.

Her mind started chugging furiously. Patricia had access to the employee lockers. A determined thief could’ve broken in, gotten personal information from handbags and no one would be the wiser. Patricia could’ve sold her information and Jennifer’s to the likes of Barbara Rook and Beverly Tucker. Maybe she’d gotten to know the women through the store somehow. As customers?