5 Bodies to Die For

by Stephanie Bond

  No matter what happens to me, no matter what I might do or say, I don’t regret a minute I’ve spent with you.

  At the time, she’d pressed him to tell her what was wrong, but he’d sidestepped the question by saying it was nothing she’d done. Only days before that, he had stopped by the town house after midnight to talk to her. He had seemed desperate, but it was the same day the police had learned that Michael Lane had escaped, and Jack had been playing bodyguard in her living room. Coop had acquiesced to her request to spend the night in Wesley’s vacant bed, but whatever he’d been on the verge of telling her had gone undisclosed.

  On a whim, Carlotta called Moody’s Cigar Bar and asked for June, the owner. A few minutes later she came on the line. “Hello?”

  “June, hi—it’s Carlotta. Have you by chance seen Coop?”

  “It must be fate.”

  Carlotta frowned. “What?”

  A sigh sounded over the phone. “I’ve been wanting to call you for days, but Coop wouldn’t let me.”

  Alarm shot through her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Coop is drinking again. Not a lot, but I’m worried. He asked me not to say anything to you and I went along with it because I didn’t want him going somewhere else to drink. At least here, I can keep an eye on him.”

  “Is he there now?”

  “Yes, he’s upstairs in the lounge. I don’t suppose you could stop by and make it look unplanned?”

  “I could arrange to meet a friend there.”

  “Please do. My son Mitchell is here, too, and Eva.”

  “Eva McCoy?”

  June made a happy noise. “That’s right. I wish Mitch could extend his leave from the Army—I think something could develop between them.”

  “Good for them.”

  “So I’ll see you later?”

  “I’ll try to be there within the hour,” Carlotta promised. “If Coop leaves, will you call me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, June.”

  Carlotta disconnected the call, then pressed her lips together hard. Jack had warned her not to take ownership of Coop’s problems, but she felt like a failed friend for not being there at the time Coop might have confided in her.

  She called Peter and he answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, I was just thinking about you,” he said. “What do you want to do tonight?”

  Irritation niggled at her that he’d expected they would spend the evening together, but she tamped it down. She was living in his house, after all.

  “I’m just leaving work. Want to meet me at Moody’s for a drink? We can get dinner afterward if you like.”

  “Sounds good. Why don’t I pick you up. We can put your Vespa in the back of the SUV.”

  Except she was hoping to talk to Coop before Peter got there. “I have an errand to run near the bar,” she lied. “Why don’t I meet you there, and we’ll ride home together.” She winced when she realized she’d used the word home to refer to his house.

  “Okay,” he said happily. “See you in a few.”

  She closed her phone and waited for a break in foot traffic to step off the sidewalk. Two immaculately dressed women walked by her, deep in conversation.

  “The Charmed Killer could be anywhere. I’m scared all the time.”

  “You should buy a handgun,” her companion said. “David bought one for me and I keep it by my bed.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. I wonder if you can buy a gun at the mall?”

  Carlotta watched them walk away, acknowledging that fear had truly permeated the city if socialites were talking about packing heat. Valet service at the mall had increased exponentially because people didn’t want to walk to their cars alone or with their arms full of packages. And while her car explosion had been reported by police as “an isolated incident,” employees and customers who’d heard about it weren’t taking chances.

  As Carlotta stowed her cell phone in her purse, she touched the comforting heaviness of the stun baton that Jack had given her. Spooked, she hurried to where her scooter was parked, glancing around as she unlocked the storage compartment and removed her helmet. The latest murder, which had almost gone undetected because the victim had swallowed the charm, had been splashed on the front page of this morning’s AJC in a titillating headline: NUMBER SIX AND COUNTING.

  The victim, Wanda Alderman, had been relegated to a number. Worse, Rainie Stephens’s headline inferred that there were more deaths to come.

  The reporter was probably right.

  Carlotta drove the Vespa to Moody’s Cigar Bar and pulled in to the crowded parking lot just as the sun was setting. She was relieved to see Coop’s vintage white Corvette convertible parked nearby, which meant he was still at the bar.

  Moody’s Saturday crowd was light on the regular business patrons who came after work for a cigar and a drink, heavy on single guys and couples. She didn’t see Coop around the horseshoe-shaped cigar bar on the first floor, so she headed upstairs to the lounge just as June Moody was descending. The owner of the establishment looked striking in a brown pencil skirt and a pale yellow starched dress shirt. She touched Carlotta’s arm and pointed upstairs to indicate Coop’s whereabouts. Carlotta nodded and continued her ascent to the second floor.

  At the top of the stairs and to the right sat the bar, which was packed five people deep. Nathan, the bartender, gave her a wink hello without pausing from drawing a beer. She scanned the area for Coop, but he wasn’t seated on any of the bar stools. As her vision adjusted to the low lighting, she recognized Eva McCoy waving to her from the couch where she sat next to Sergeant Mitchell Moody, June’s son who was visiting on military leave. He was a big guy, good-looking, with a shaved head and the sharp edge of a career Army man. Eva was a pretty brunette with the slender build of an elite marathoner. She looked vastly different from the woman she’d been only a few days ago, racked with self-doubt and paranoia—rightfully so, as it turned out. But her stalker was now behind bars.

  Carlotta walked over with a smile and leaned in close to speak to them over the noise. “Hello. How are the two of you?”

  “Good,” Eva said, then she and Mitchell shared a smile. His arm was settled possessively around the woman’s shoulder.

  “Hi, Carlotta,” Mitchell offered.

  She returned the greeting, telling herself that it was none of her business that Mitchell was being a hypocrite, enjoying the bar while giving his mother a hard time. He deemed owning such an establishment as inappropriate for a proper Southern woman of a certain age. Carlotta itched to tell him he was lucky to have a mother so warm and caring, but she didn’t want to get in the middle of someone else’s family drama.

  Carlotta noticed that Eva’s wrist was bare. “You’re not wearing your charm bracelet.”

  Eva touched her arm where she’d worn the infamous bracelet that she’d credited with her Olympic win, and her smile faltered. “With all the publicity surrounding The Charmed Killer, I thought it was inappropriate.”

  “I told her I’d protect her,” Mitchell said, giving her a squeeze.

  “Still,” Eva said, looking uncomfortable.

  Carlotta nodded, then caught sight of Coop across the room. “Excuse me, there’s someone I need to talk to.”

  She made her way through the crush of bodies toward Coop, her heart in her throat. He was sprawled in an oversize chair, a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other. Dressed in holey jeans and a T-shirt, he looked relaxed with his long sideburns and his tousled hair. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, which might have accounted for the reason he squinted when she walked up to him.

  “Hi, Coop.”

  He straightened slightly. “Hi, Carlotta.”

  “I left you a few messages, but I haven’t heard back from you.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he said, then punctuated his sentence by taking a drink. She could tell from the burning scent of alcohol that there was more in his glass than tonic. And she could tell from the slight slu
r in his voice that it wasn’t his first drink.

  Her stomach clenched. “Are you sure you want to do this, Coop?”

  A blonde wearing a minidress brushed past Carlotta, then settled into the chair beside Coop, draping one long leg over one of his.

  He smiled at the heavy-lidded woman, lifted the cigar for a puff, then exhaled slowly as he looked up to Carlotta. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”

  The blonde twisted and kissed him hard on the mouth, and Coop didn’t object.

  Carlotta inhaled sharply against the pain that stabbed through her chest. Myriad emotions slammed into her, sending her stumbling backward. She caught herself, then turned on her heel and walked blindly across the room. A hand reached out to grab her and she cried out.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Peter murmured.

  She looked up and registered Peter staring down at her with concern.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she managed to say, then relaxed. “You startled me, that’s all.” She gently disengaged her arm from his grasp.

  He lowered a quick kiss next to her ear. “Sorry. Have you ordered a drink?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “What can I get for you?”

  She said the first thing that came to mind. “A Cosmo.”

  “Coming up.”

  Carlotta touched her forehead. “Peter, I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you here.”

  She turned and walked into a rear hallway that led to the restrooms. The ladies’ room consisted of two generous floor-to-ceiling stalls and a mirrored vanity befitting any movie star from the Hollywood glam era. The bathroom was empty, so she went into a stall and locked the sliding bolt. The toilets were dark pink, sitting atop one-inch black-and-white tiles. The wooden stalls were lacquered white with geometric moldings and louvered doors. Carlotta lowered the commode lid and sat, trying to gather her wits. She pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then took a deep drag and exhaled.

  It was none of her business what Coop did and who he did it with…She’d had her chance with Coop and had allowed it to slip away so she could be with Peter. It was just jarring to see Coop in a state that was natural for other men—drinking and womanizing. With a start, she realized maybe it had been a natural state for Coop before she’d known him. She pulled on the cigarette and analyzed her reaction, trying to sort through what bothered her the most—seeing Coop with a drink in his hand, or seeing his hands full of another woman.

  Carlotta couldn’t decide.

  The outer door opened, ushering in noises from the lounge. Footsteps sounded on the floor, then the woman went into the other stall and closed the door. Carlotta took another deep drag on the cigarette, thinking she should hurry, that Peter would be waiting for her.

  But the cigarette tasted so good, she couldn’t bear to waste any of it. She inhaled deeply and exhaled luxuriously until the cigarette was spent down to the filter. She stood and opened the toilet lid to drop in the butt, then suddenly realized that the woman in the stall next to her hadn’t made a sound.

  “Are you all right over there?” she called.

  There was no response. Carlotta frowned, then strained to hear if the person was talking on their cell phone. Silence buzzed. A finger of alarm tickled her spine. “Hello?” she tried again. “Are you all right?”

  Now that her cigarette had been extinguished, a magnificent scent reached her nose, a complicated blend of spices and fruits, plus sandalwood and other aromas she couldn’t identify. Even though she felt sure she’d smelled the combination somewhere before, she couldn’t place the scent. But it meant the woman was still there.

  “Ma’am? Are you ill? Do you need help?”

  The other stall door opened and footsteps sounded. But strangely, it seemed as if the woman had stopped just outside Carlotta’s stall. She could see the person’s shadow through the louvered door.

  Fear swirled in her stomach. Something wasn’t right. Carlotta stood stock-still, eyeing the flimsy lock on the door. Her pulse thudded in her ears. She scrambled for her purse and dug for the stun baton.

  Then the footsteps sounded again and the outer door opened and closed.

  Carlotta went limp with relief, chiding herself for manufacturing danger where none existed. She emerged from her stall. The rich scent of the wonderful cologne lingered in the air. She slowly washed her hands at the art deco-style vanity, hesitant to go back out there, but she’d already kept Peter waiting long enough. Trying to ignore the knot in her stomach, she touched up her lipstick, then exited to the hallway and walked back to the lounge.

  Peter was waiting for her, holding their drinks. He gave her a brilliant smile that she returned. Affection rushed her chest. Since coming back into her life, Peter had been a constant, even though she hadn’t given him much encouragement.

  A quick peek across the room revealed that Coop—and the blonde—were gone. At least she didn’t have to watch them neck. But it left her wondering if Coop had taken the woman back to his place…if the other woman had gotten the full tour of his place—bedroom included—that Carlotta hadn’t received. She pushed the thought from her mind and turned her attention back to Peter. She asked about his day and once again she wondered if she should tell the GBI about the connection he’d uncovered between Alicia Sills and her father.

  She concluded that Monday morning was early enough to decide, and ordered another drink. Later, as she and Peter left the bar, she scanned the room for Eva McCoy and Mitchell Moody, but she didn’t see them. She hoped that June and her son made peace with each other before the man left town. And she hoped that Eva didn’t get her heart broken again.

  Dinner was a lush affair at a small restaurant. Peter seemed to sense that she had a lot on her mind and carried the load of the conversation, bless him. She found herself warming more and more toward him, imagining the life she would have with him, how it would be, should be, an easy decision to attach herself to Peter. A relationship with Jack was a misnomer. And as for Coop, he was wrestling with internal demons.

  Peter was the natural choice.

  He smiled and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m getting used to having you around.”

  She squeezed back. “Me, too.”

  When they got back to his house, the cat greeted them at the door, meowing insistently and climbing Peter’s leg until he picked her up.

  “Still no word from her owner?”

  “No,” she said. “We might have to start thinking about a backup plan.”

  The cat yowled at her. Carlotta drew back and narrowed her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the cat could understand what they were saying.

  Peter frowned, stroking the cat’s head. “Like a pet shelter?”

  She shrugged. “Unless you want to keep her.”

  “Let’s give the flyers a few more days,” he said, then set the cat back on her feet. The Persian complained, winding around his legs as he loosened his tie and sorted through the mail on the kitchen counter.

  Carlotta refilled the cat’s water dish, frowning at the uneaten cat food. The finicky feline turned up its nose at anything other than sardines or freshly cooked fish.

  “Do you have to work tomorrow?” Peter asked, setting aside the mail.

  “No.”

  “It’s supposed to be nice. How about if we relax by the pool?”

  She nodded. “I’d like that.”

  He stretched, yawning. “I’m going to turn in. How about you?”

  The cat bounded to the stairs again, as if she had understood him. Carlotta stared after her, then murmured, “I think I will, too. It’s been a long day.”

  They climbed the stairs amiably, Peter’s presence next to her warm and comforting. At the top of the stairs he gave her a lingering kiss, then thumbed her cheek, his eyes full of hunger. “Sleep tight.”

  Her heart was beating hard, her body aching to be touched. When he turned away from he
r, she sensed his hesitation. His hope that she would offer to sleep in his bed was palpable. Carlotta opened her mouth to call him back…but something made her stop. If she made love with Peter, the repercussions would be far-reaching, the implications difficult to unravel.

  In the wake of her silence, Peter continued to his room, practically tripping over the cat that was underfoot. When he opened the door to his bedroom, the feline darted inside. Peter gave Carlotta one last look before closing the door behind him.

  Racked with uncertainty, Carlotta retired to the room where she was sure Peter’s former wife had sought solace. After getting ready for bed, she reached for the diaries she’d brought with her. Her hand touched her father’s file, but she couldn’t bear to open it, not until The Charmed Killer was captured.

  She turned to the passages in the diaries describing how her romance with Peter had flowered. After months of petting in the backseat of his car that had left both of them dazed with yearning, she had given her virginity to Peter.

  Making love with Peter was better than my girlfriends said it would be, better than the magazines described. Having him inside me was incredible—it was as if we were one person. I thought I would die from loving him so much. He was gentle and kept asking me if it felt good. When I came, so did he, and we made all these wonderful noises together. Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms, and for the first time I felt like a woman, loving her man.

  Carlotta smiled a bittersweet smile at the naive but heartfelt entry. It had been a magical time of sensual exploration, a time that had cemented their love for each other.

  At least for her.

  After Peter had dumped her, years had passed before she’d slept with another man, partly because she was consumed with raising her young brother, and partly because she wouldn’t allow herself to trust anyone else. Eventually nature had won out, but sex had never been the same…

  Until Jack.

  She frowned. If Jack knew that little tidbit, his head would blow up as big as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon. Besides, sex with Jack was purely physical. Sex with Peter would be…meaningful.