“Okay, I’ll go.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You will?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
That mouth—Jesus God. “Okay.” He turned and walked toward the exit before he spontaneously combusted. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead and swallowed against a sudden bout of queasiness. He wasn’t sure if it was withdrawal from the Oxy, or panic over accepting the date with Meg.
Both conditions left him equally nauseous.
28
As soon as Carlotta walked into Neiman’s, Patricia Alexander tracked her down.
“I thought you’d like to know the Bedford Manor Country Club is offering self-defense classes this weekend.”
Carlotta gave her a tight smile. “Thanks, but I was told I wasn’t welcome at the club.”
Patricia frowned. “By Tracey?”
“How did you guess?”
The helmet-haired blonde gave a dismissive wave. “Tracey was just worked up over your friend stealing.”
Carlotta glared. “My friend Hannah would never steal.”
Patricia looked sympathetic. “There haven’t been any purses stolen since your friend was fired.”
“That doesn’t make her guilty.” Carlotta crossed her arms. “And I don’t intend to go back to Bedford Manor until Hannah is offered her job back by the caterer.”
“Carlotta, don’t be silly. Peter’s father is on the club’s board. If you’re going to date Peter, you’ll be spending a lot of time there. Pick your battles.” The woman turned and walked away.
Carlotta wanted to scream, but Patricia was right. The club was a big part of Peter’s social and professional life. If she and Peter were going to be a couple, she couldn’t very well boycott Bedford because they’d fired a member of the waitstaff.
She made her way over to Herb, who was wearing a hole in the carpet next to a rack of bathing suits. He was holding up a tiny bikini comprising of three tiny triangles and a handful of string as if he was trying to figure out the logistics.
“Hi, Herb.”
He jumped, then hung the bikini back on the rack, his face red. “Hi, Carlotta.”
“I was wondering if there are any new leads on the purse snatcher at the Bedford Manor Country Club.”
“Nope. I hate to say it, miss, but it looks as if your friend is the likely culprit. If Ms. Plank hadn’t declined to file charges, we would’ve had to make an arrest. And considering the value of all the purses stolen, plus their contents, your friend would’ve been looking at time.”
“I wish Bebe had pressed charges so Hannah could’ve proved her innocence.”
The man nodded politely, but she could tell he, too, believed that Hannah was a thief.
Frustrated, Carlotta returned to her station, tossed back an Excedrin for the headache she was nursing, and tried to concentrate on sales. Her department was busy, but she remained distracted all day. Between tending to customers, her mind jumped from one personal dilemma to another and the helplessness she felt at not being able to resolve any of them. First and foremost, though, her mind kept coming back to Wesley.
Carlotta went back and forth between wishing she’d trusted her instincts when she’d first learned of the stolen prescriptions of Percocet and found the Oxy tablet on his bathroom floor, and wanting to believe that Hannah and Chance had it all wrong. Wesley knew better than to get hooked on prescription drugs.
Didn’t he?
“Hey, sis.”
She screamed into her hand, then exhaled in relief when she turned to see Wesley standing there, whip slim and handsomely unkempt. She waved off Herb, who came charging toward her, his hand at his belt holster. “It’s okay, he’s my brother.”
“Wow,” Wes said, glancing around. “I guess this means they really think Michael is going to show up?”
“Just a precaution. It’s safer for everyone.” She put a hand over her still-racing heart. “What brings you here?”
She stared at his pupils as if she knew what to look for, but was diverted by the flush that started at his neck and climbed steadily until even his ears were scarlet.
“Uh…I need a suit.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Did someone die?”
He looked sheepish. “Uh, no. There’s this…reception thingy.”
“For your job?”
“Uh…not exactly.”
Realization dawned. “I take it this has something to do with Meg?”
“Uh…yeah.”
She schooled her response because she could tell he was already spooked. “Your brown suit isn’t so bad.”
“The last time I wore it, the pants were a little short. I was thinking of something that might make me look…older?”
She had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. “Right. Let’s go to the men’s department and see what we can find.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Actually, I’m just finishing my shift. I can get you my employee discount,” she said as they walked, “but I don’t have my store credit card anymore.”
“I got cash,” he said. “As long as it’s not crazy expensive.”
“We have some good sales going on. So the courier job must be going well, huh?”
“Yeah.”
She glanced down at his hands to see if they were shaking, but he had them stuffed in his pockets. “So…Hannah and Chance.”
His eyes went wide. “You know?”
“I saw Hannah this morning. How did that happen?”
“I try not to think about it. Have you talked to Coop?”
She shook her head. “I’m waiting for the right time. Is he still working at the morgue lab?”
“As far as I know, that’s where he spends his days.”
And his evenings at Moody’s? “Here we are,” she said, walking into the men’s department. Herb sauntered behind them a few yards, obviously happier to browse ties for a change instead of bathing suits.
“When is this reception?” she asked Wesley.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Finding something that doesn’t need to be tailored shouldn’t be a problem. What kind of event is it?”
“It’s for professionals in the medical industry. Meg’s dad is a bigwig geneticist.”
She ached for how much he obviously wanted to impress this girl, and her family. She hoped he didn’t get his heart broken.
Walking from rack to rack, she offered her opinion on styles she thought would look best on his lean frame. He took a suit and shirt to the fitting room and Carlotta waited outside. Her mind traveled back to the times after her parents left that she’d taken Wesley shopping for back-to-school clothes and waited for him to come out of the dressing room, just like now.
When the curtain opened and he emerged in the dark suit, he was wearing the same expression he’d worn at the age of ten, when he’d come out wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt. “What do you think, sis?”
She bit her lip over how handsome and grown-up he looked in the black pin-striped suit and cream-colored dress shirt. Her brother looked so much like their father, with fine bone structure and great skin. Unlike Randolph, though, Wesley had no idea how good-looking he was.
“I think,” she said, walking up to smooth a hand over his lapel, “that Meg is going to fall head over heels for you in this suit.”
“Oh, God, you’re not going to cry, are you?” But underneath his macho veneer, she could tell he was pleased. When he turned to the mirror, his chest puffed up a little.
“No, I’m not going to cry,” she said, peering around his shoulder to his adult reflection. She was worried sick about Hannah’s warning that he might be taking drugs, but she didn’t want to spoil this moment, not when he’d sought her out to help him on such an important occasion.
Then she noticed that his light brown hair overlapped his collar and she had an idea. “Why don’t I give you a quick trim. It’ll only take a couple of minutes, and I can do it here.”
He craned his ne
ck for a look in the mirror. “You got scissors?”
“I’ll get a pair from the tailor. Take off the suit and I’ll be back in a sec.” She left to gather up what she needed, and came back with tools in hand. Back in his street clothes, Wesley looked like his young, shaggy self again.
“Do you have a comb?”
He removed a comb from his back pocket and handed it to her, then sat on a bench in the dressing room.
When she settled a towel from a janitorial closet around his shoulders and combed his baby-fine hair, she was once again transported back to when he was ten years old, sitting on a chair, grumbling about the fact that she didn’t cut his hair right. But a kitchen salon cut saved money, and at the time, they’d barely been scraping by.
Poor thing. As if he hadn’t had enough going against him being a skinny kid with big glasses in a new school. The butchered haircut had been a bonus.
Thankfully, over the years she’d gotten better with the shears.
“Be still,” she said, her normal reproach.
“Don’t take off too much,” he returned, his normal comeback.
She held the scissors at an angle and clipped a half inch all around his neckline and ears. “You like this girl, huh?”
He grunted. “Hey, I forgot to tell you that I knocked on the window of that black SUV that was hanging around the town house. The guy had the wrong place. He was looking for an old girlfriend.”
She frowned at the change in subject, but nodded. “That’s a relief. All done,” she said, pulling away the towel. “Go pick out a tie and I’ll meet you at the register.”
He stood and ran his hand over his trimmed hair, then grinned. “Thanks, sis.” He dropped a rare kiss on her cheek, then strode out of the dressing room.
She watched him go and closed her eyes briefly. She loved him so much sometimes it hurt.
Like right now.
Carlotta pulled a clump of his hair off the towel and dropped it into an envelope. If she took it to Coop tomorrow, maybe he could analyze the hair for her in the lab. She could kill two birds with one stone.
Check up on Wesley…check up on Coop.
By the time his purchases were bagged and Wes walked her out to the Vespa, it was after eight o’clock. He gave his stamp of approval to the scooter, then waved goodbye and headed to MARTA. She removed her cell phone from her purse to call Peter, but the battery was dead. Sighing, she donned her helmet and climbed on the scooter. Dread ballooned in her stomach the closer she got to Martinique Estates.
What if the housekeeper had noticed that the urn had been upended and called Peter? Or what if the scene of destruction was revealed when the sun went down and the lighting changed?
Why, oh, why had she let Hannah talk her into adding kitty litter to the urn, for goodness’ sake? In hindsight, it could be perceived as being a little…disrespectful.
When the garage door went up, she swallowed hard. Peter was home already.
She parked the scooter, then went inside, feeling like a little girl who was sure her parents were going to find out just how bad she’d been. She hit the button to lower the garage door, then entered the house through the mudroom.
Just as she feared, Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the urn, his hands steepled.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Sorry I’m late. Wesley stopped by the store, and I helped him pick out a suit.”
“I tried to call,” Peter said, his tone lifeless.
“My phone battery is dead.”
He nodded, then sighed. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Carlotta’s heart jumped to her throat. “Peter…I can explain. It was an accident.”
He reached under the table and pulled out the notebook in which she’d been recording all the details about The Charmed Killer cases. “Involving yourself in this dangerous case is no accident, Carly.”
Her mind raced in confusion before she realized he wasn’t talking about the urn—he was talking about the notebook. She almost laughed in relief, but understood that wouldn’t be the best response. Walking over to pick up her notebook, she said, “These are just notes, Peter, for my own benefit. I just want to try to keep everything straight in my head in case I’m questioned again.”
“That’s the point, Carly. If you weren’t off moving bodies, you wouldn’t be involved in this case.”
“That’s not true. Michael Lane is the number-one suspect. And don’t forget dear old dad.”
Peter sighed and nodded. “Have you told the GBI about his connection to Alicia Sills?”
“Not yet. If I do, they’ll question you about their relationship.”
“I know. And I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” He stood, removed the notebook from her hand and set it aside, then pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I was angry.”
“It’s okay. I know you worry.”
“More than you can imagine,” he murmured, then he kissed her.
She kissed him back, spurred partly by guilt and partly because she wanted him to know that she didn’t hold their unconsummated incident against him.
The kiss grew more hungry and intense. Clothes loosened, then fell away as they stoked the fire that had been banked for so many years. Maybe having sex away from the bedroom was the answer, she thought distantly. Less pressure. When they were both naked, Peter stopped long enough to retrieve a condom, then lifted her onto the kitchen counter.
“Where’s the cat?” she murmured.
“Closed up in my bedroom.”
“Good.” She looped her arms around his neck and opened her knees to cradle his hips.
He rolled on the condom with feverish hands, then put his arms around her and latched on to one of her nipples….
And came with a jerking grunt that was half relief, half frustration.
She stilled, wincing inwardly that it had happened again. As his spasms slowed, she searched for something to say. “Peter—”
“Please, don’t say anything, Carly,” he cut in, his voice thick and his gaze downcast. He pulled away, then gathered his clothes from the floor and walked toward the stairs.
When the door to his bedroom opened and closed, she put her hands over her face and sighed. Why did things have to be so complicated?
She slid off the counter and put on enough clothes to cover herself, then grabbed her notebook and a carton of yogurt, and headed upstairs to her own room, extinguishing lights as she went. At the top of the stairs she glanced at Peter’s closed door and considered knocking. But she was afraid if she forced him to talk, it would only make things worse. At the moment, he must be feeling so humiliated.
Inside her room, she felt strange. For the first time since she arrived, she felt as if she and Peter both wished she wasn’t there. Once Wesley got the security system installed in the town house, she would rethink her living situation.
She put her phone on its charger, then turned on the television to CNN Headline News. Since the cable station was located in Atlanta, the city’s news was widely reported, and The Charmed Killer dominated every half-hour segment. There had been no more bodies, thank goodness, but everyone seemed to be waiting for the next installment in the horrific saga.
After changing into her pj’s, she curled up in one of the upholstered chairs to eat the yogurt. But her body still hummed from being revved up and left running. To get her mind off what she couldn’t have, she opened the notebook to review her notes on The Charmed Killer case.
She studied the list of charms—chicken/bird, cigar, car, gun, handcuffs, barrel—again and again, trying to find a common thread. She shuffled the sequence and tried to come up with alternate words where possible—bird, stogie, vehicle, weapon, shackles, keg—but nothing jumped out at her. They didn’t seem related to each other, related to Michael, or even relevant in general. If her father was doing these horrible things to communicate with her, she didn’t have a clue what he might be saying.
None of it made sense.
When h
er phone rang, she glanced at the caller ID. Jack.
She connected the call. “Hi, Jack.”
“What are you wearing?”
She rolled her eyes, then decided to turn the tables. “I’m completely naked.”
He grunted. “And you’re by yourself? Are you sure Ashford isn’t gay?”
“I’m sure,” she said with a sigh. “And how do you know I’m alone?”
“Because you wouldn’t have answered the phone if you were with Ashford. Speaking of which, you didn’t answer last night when I called.”
“That’s right, I didn’t,” she said, allowing him to think what he wanted.
“Come on, admit it. When you close your eyes, you think about me,” he murmured.
“Did you call for a reason, Jack, or were you just bored?”
“Both. We got a hit on the cologne.”
“With Michael?”
“Yeah. There’s a Clive Christian boutique in Roswell. An employee says he remembers a man of Lane’s description buying a bottle of cologne three days ago and paying for it with cash.”
“What about surveillance cameras?”
“Struck out.”
“But still, it sounds like Michael.”
“Yeah, but knowing where he’s been doesn’t help us much. I need to know where he is right now, where he’s going to be tomorrow.” His voice vibrated with frustration.
“Any developments in The Charmed Killer case?”
“I only know what I read in the papers,” he said.
“Since I failed the polygraph, I keep waiting to be pulled back in for questioning again.”
He made a noise in his throat. “They might have you under surveillance instead. Which is fine by me,” he added. “Especially since Lane could be following you.”
“The security guard has been keeping a close eye on me at the store.”
“Also good.”
“They’re not sharing any information with you about the case?”
“Nope. The state guys have been tight with Marquez, but I don’t know if that’s because of her profiling or because of…everything else.”
Carlotta frowned. “Thanks for the update.”
“Listen—” he lowered his voice “—I’m stuck at my desk, but since you’re naked, I can talk you through it, if you want.”
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