“Good night, Jack.”
“Good night.”
29
Carlotta got up early, but Peter had already left for work. There was no note on the kitchen counter this time and the house seemed huge and empty and alien. The Persian strutted around, meowing stridently, as if to tell Carlotta that it was time for her to go home.
“Ungrateful puss,” she muttered, but checked the cat’s food and water before she left the house.
In the garage, she stopped. Now when she looked at the pink scooter, she was sad…and uncomfortable. Maybe she and Peter could talk things through tonight. She understood how embarrassed he might be, but they had to find a way to deal with their sexual impasse.
Or not.
With a start, she wondered if perhaps his condition wasn’t a recent development. Could it have been an issue when he was married to Angela? Had it attributed to the couple growing apart, and Angela finding sexual fulfillment elsewhere?
As Carlotta drove out of the garage, she pushed aside thoughts of her and Peter’s aborted lovemaking and turned her mind to her more immediate problem: facing Coop. Their last encounter hadn’t gone so well. She wondered idly if he was seeing the blonde who’d been wrapped around him that night at Moody’s, or if the woman had been a one-night stand. Coop had seemed belligerent toward her, flaunting the other woman and the fact that he was drinking again.
She pulled in to the parking lot of the county morgue and took a deep breath. She didn’t like the idea of admitting to Coop that Wesley might be using drugs, but she needed help. And besides, the news just might be jarring enough to make Coop face his own lapse…or open up to her.
After removing her purse from the storage compartment and stowing the helmet, she entered the morgue through the front door and asked for Coop at the front desk. She was given a visitor’s pass and directions to the lab. On the way down the hall, she passed Dr. Bruce Abrams, the chief M.E. He had his head down, deep in thought, and seemed startled when she said hello.
“Hi, Carlotta. Did you come to see Cooper?”
“Yes,” she said. “To say hello and to ask him about…what you mentioned at the Collins crime scene last week.” When Abrams had expressed concern that Coop was turning to destructive behavior.
“Good. I’d talk to him myself, but frankly, I haven’t had the time. And something tells me that it would go down easier coming from you.”
“You must be incredibly busy assisting with The Charmed Killer case.”
The man removed his glasses to rub eyes that were ringed with dark circles. “It’s like nothing this city has ever seen.”
“I know. Let’s hope the GBI makes an arrest soon. Did the murderer leave any DNA at the recent crime scenes?”
The man opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. “I realize that Michael Lane was a coworker of yours, but you know I can’t discuss the details of the crime with you.”
She played the sympathy card. “My fugitive father’s name popped up on a profiler’s list, too, so I’m eager for the killer to be found for more than one reason.”
His mouth tightened, then he glanced all around before looking back to her. “I can tell you the GBI is expecting results from the state crime lab any day now. I don’t know if an arrest will be made, but it’s something to go on. We could all use a break. Take care.”
She nodded and proceeded down the hall, feeling a little lighter in her soul. Maybe the case would be solved soon. With Michael apprehended, everyone could exhale and life could get back to being just plain crazy.
Carlotta found the laboratory door and knocked before sticking her head inside. “Hello?”
Across the room, Coop was standing in front of a light box studying an X-ray. He turned his head and did a double take. “Uh…hi.”
She couldn’t help smiling, it was such a relief to see him. “Hi. Is this a bad time?”
He straightened and pushed up his glasses. “No, come on in. Want some coffee? I have to warn you, it’s terrible.”
“I’ll try it.”
He walked over to a coffeemaker in the corner sitting between two coolers marked Human Remains and filled a paper cup. He wore a lab coat over gray jeans and running shoes. His brown hair had gotten long enough to pull back into a ponytail. His sideburns were shaggy, his skin pale. It was hard to believe that just a few short weeks ago, they’d been walking hand in hand on Daytona Beach. Coop had been the picture of male vitality—tanned and lean, with a mischievous smile that made her heart catch. Now his hand shook slightly and when he turned toward her, his eyes were bloodshot. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip and winced.
“Told you.” He laughed awkwardly, then scratched his temple. “I have a fuzzy memory of seeing you at Moody’s Saturday night.”
“Yes, I was there.”
He grimaced. “Was I behaving badly?”
“You were smoking a cigar…and drinking.”
“And I seem to recall a woman?”
She gave him a wry smile. “From what I could tell, she was definitely a woman.”
“I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you. I haven’t exactly been myself lately.”
“So I’ve heard. Anything you want to talk about?”
He hesitated, then his expression darkened and he shook his head. “No. I’d rather not involve…anyone. I hope you understand.”
Her tongue watered to ask him if he was terminally ill, but after giving him every chance to open up to her, she was forced to respect his wishes to remain silent on the matter.
“So what’s up with you?” he asked. “Wesley mentioned you were staying with Peter.”
She nodded. “That’s right. We thought it would be safer after learning we’d had Michael Lane as a boarder.”
“He told me about that, too. Scary stuff.”
“Wesley’s installing a security system.”
“Good.”
“Yes, it’s…good.” She sipped the acidic coffee, and the silence stretched between them. Grasping for conversation, she looked around the lab. “I understand you’re doing more work for the morgue.”
“Yeah. I’m working cold cases and generally trying to take the load off Bruce.”
“I ran into him. He seems really stressed over The Charmed Killer case.”
“Yeah, well, everybody has their own cross to bear.”
She blinked at the uncharacteristically cold remark, but chalked it up to ever-present tension between the men.
A knock sounded at the door, then a guy who looked vaguely familiar walked in holding a long file. “Coop, I—” He noticed Carlotta and stopped. “Sorry. I’ll come back.”
“That’s all right, Pennyman,” Coop said. “What’s up?”
The man held up the file. “I was wondering if you’d take a look at the results of the Nickson autopsy, just to double-check a couple of things.”
“That’s not necessary,” Coop said. “I’m sure everything’s in order.”
“Still, I’d feel better if you’d look it over,” the man said, setting the file on a table. “As a favor.”
Coop hesitated, then gave the man a curt nod. Afterward, though, Coop seemed even more preoccupied.
“Unfortunately, I have a favor to ask, too,” Carlotta said.
His eyebrows went up. “Shoot.”
She set down the coffee and reached for her purse. “I’m worried about Wesley. I think he might be taking prescription painkillers…without a prescription.”
Coop averted his gaze.
Her shoulders fell. “You knew?”
“I…suspected he was stoned a couple of times. Do you know what he’s taking?”
“I found a generic Oxy Contin tablet on his bathroom floor. A friend confirmed that’s what he might be taking.”
Coop shifted foot to foot. “I’m not sure what I can do.”
“You can give me proof so I can confront him.” She pulled out the envelope that held Wesley’s hair clippings. “Can you
analyze this hair sample for me?”
He stared at the envelope, but made no movement to take it. “This is a family matter. You and Wes need to work it out.”
“I’ve tried, but he won’t be honest with me. I need something he can’t refute. Please, Coop.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then sighed. “Okay.”
Her chest suffused with affection when he took the envelope. “Thank you.”
He simply nodded. “I should have something for you in a couple of days.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime,” he said, and she thought she detected a wistful light in his tired eyes before he glanced away.
Carlotta left and drove to the mall thinking what might have been. After seeing Coop, she was even more concerned about him. It was apparent he was struggling against some kind of internal demon. But she was so grateful that he’d agreed to help her. If Coop delivered the results in person, maybe she’d have another opportunity to find out what was plaguing him.
Once she arrived at Neiman’s, however, she had to shelf her troubling thoughts. The store was having a one-day “private” shopping event, which was anything but private, and meant the biggest savings of the summer. The store was packed. Poor Herb got shuffled around the department like a mannequin. At one point, Carlotta feared for his safety.
The hours flew by and the commissions accumulated. She was tired, but pleasantly numb and hungry when she waved goodbye to Herb at the store exit. She knew the man was as tired as she was. And since lots of employees were leaving at once, Carlotta thought she’d give the guy a break. She walked out with Patricia, who chattered about her date with Leo later that evening.
“You and Peter probably have something wonderful planned this evening, don’t you?” Patricia asked.
“We’ll see,” Carlotta said evasively, then waved and veered off to walk to the pink scooter. In truth, she dreaded going home. Things were likely to be even more strained between her and Peter. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react. If she forced more intimacy and things ended abruptly again, he might retreat altogether. But if she didn’t, they would never know.
As she buzzed away from the mall, she could feel her body tensing, and her concentration wandering. She was traveling along a side road heading toward Peachtree Street when she heard a loud thump. Something dark had fallen out of the moving vehicle in front of her. She caught a glimpse of something like a long duffel bag landing in her path before she applied the hand brake with as much strength as she had and swerved to miss it.
She didn’t miss it.
And it wasn’t a duffel bag, she realized at the last possible second. Exposed bone, charred skin. Horror washed over her, but she was powerless to stop her momentum.
The burned body stopped the scooter cold. Carlotta flew over the handlebars and landed hard on her back, then rolled until she hit something that stopped her. When she opened her eyes, she was staring at the yellow striping of a curb. All around her were the sounds of brakes screeching and horns honking.
She wanted to close her eyes to block out the image in her head, but she knew the longer she lay there, the greater the chances of being mauled by a car. So she pushed herself up gingerly and crawled onto the sidewalk to a fence, as far back from the road as she could go, before turning to look at the scene.
It was chaos. Her beautiful pink scooter was scattered across both sides of the road. Cars were parked at all angles, many with their hazard lights flashing. She couldn’t see the body she’d struck, but it didn’t matter. She could still see it in her head, the partially burned corpse, with a piece of silver duct tape over its mouth.
To keep the charm in the mouth intact for investigators to find?
30
“Thanks for the ride,” Wes said to Chance.
“No problem, dude. Dressed like that, you’d better get laid.”
Wes climbed out of the BMW and closed the door, then watched the taillights as the car pulled away, fighting the urge to run after it.
He turned to look up at the “castle on Peachtree,” Rhodes Hall, a restored white stone home from the early 1900s, with elaborate arches, a turret and a tower. It was lit up like a medieval torch against the summer night. He’d ridden by it a hundred times, but had never been inside. It was the kind of place rich people flocked to for weddings and private corporate events. Way out of his league. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. He’d swallowed an Oxy a little while ago, but with the safety coating intact, it was taking its sweet time getting into his bloodstream.
“Wesley?”
He shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and turned to see Meg walking toward him from the parking lot. Holy crap. Her long hair moved around her bare shoulders, and the red dress fit her like a sausage skin. His dick turned to limestone.
“Wow,” she said, smiling wide. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
He crossed his hands in front of his crotch. “You look nice, too.”
“Thanks.”
She tweaked his tie and he caught a whiff of her perfume—Jesus, she was killing him.
“This is going to be so boring,” she said. “Don’t hate me in the morning.”
He swallowed hard. Was that a secret code? Did that mean they were having sex tonight?
“Let’s go inside where it’s cool,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to my parents.”
He swallowed the bile that backed up in his throat, but followed her up the stone steps—not an easy feat while sporting wood—and inside the historic home. He inhaled and exhaled, trying to lose the erection before he met her father.
When he saw the crowd of suited guests, he was assailed with another bout of nerves. He was sweating again, and thought he might hyperventilate. It seemed as if everyone was looking at him—did he stick out that much?
Meg curled her fingers around his and whispered, “Relax.”
When he looked down at her, a strange feeling filtered through his chest, and it wasn’t the Oxy kicking in.
“Let’s get some punch,” she said, nodding to a banquet table.
The event was being held in the hall’s reception room, a fancy-schmancy space with wood floors, a large fireplace and an intricately trayed ceiling. Pretty nice considering no one actually lived in the house.
The punch was pink, and sweet enough to make his teeth hurt, but it was wet and that was all that mattered. He downed one cup, then reached for another.
“Wesley, is that you?”
He looked over to see his probation officer, Eldora Jones, walking toward him. Her boyfriend—make that fiancé—Leonard was a few steps behind her.
“Hi, E.,” Wesley said with a grin. She looked nice in a yellow swishy dress.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came with Meg,” he said. “Meg Vincent, this is Eldora Jones. E. is…a friend of mine.”
Meg extended a warm greeting, but he could tell she was sizing up E., wondering how they knew each other, if they’d ever been involved.
He liked it. “How about you?” he asked E.
“I came with Leonard,” E. said, then introduced Meg to her lughead fiancé. “Leonard is a pharmaceutical-sales rep.”
Wesley had to fight back a scoff. Wes extended his hand to Leonard and the gym rat ground the bones in Wes’s hand. He’d warned Wes more than once to keep his mouth shut to E. about his true vocation.
“And Leonard came at the invitation of his friend Freddy,” E. said, indicating another couple who had just walked up.
Wes almost choked on his punch. “Freddy” was Dr. Frederick Lowenstein, the guy who’d sat next to him during the lecture. His wife, Tracey recognized Wesley right away, looking him up and down, eyebrows raised.
“Wesley Wren, you clean up nice,” she said in a voice that indicated her surprise that he’d dragged himself up from the gutter to their level.
What a
witch.
Freddy Lowenstein stuck his hand out for a shake, then squinted at Wesley. “Have we met before?”
“Maybe at Screen on the Green,” Wesley said. “I think you were sharing a blanket with my sister, Carlotta.”
“Oh…right,” the man said, but he was still squinting, trying to place Wesley. When Freddy was introduced to Meg, he gave her red dress a lecherous look, but his eyes widened when he heard her last name.
“Are you related to Dr. Harold Vincent?”
“He’s my father,” Meg said drily, then pulled her hand away.
Good girl. She could see right through the old goat.
“Excuse us, please,” Meg said, then steered him away from the crowd to the other end of the room. Wesley recognized Dr. Vincent immediately. And since the attractive woman next to the man looked so much like Meg, he assumed she was Mrs. Vincent.
He broke out in a fresh sweat.
They hung back until the couple the Vincents were talking to moved away. Mrs. Vincent saw them and gasped in delight as she pulled Meg into a hug. Wesley was mesmerized. Even though the woman was blond, she reminded him of his mother in the way she carried herself, from the tilt of her head to the way she held her evening bag. Good breeding, his mother would say. There was something fragile about Mrs. Vincent, though, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Dr. Vincent also embraced his daughter. It was evident that Meg was the apple of his eye. Wes hung back to give them a moment, then Meg turned to him.
“Mom, Dad, this is Wesley Wren. Wesley and I work together in the city IT department.”
Wesley looked up to Dr. Vincent and saw the man’s hand freeze in midair when he heard Wesley’s name.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Vincent,” Wesley said, clasping his hand. He almost folded under the man’s hostile glare, but stayed strong. And then the man’s eyes narrowed. Wesley knew the precise moment Dr. Vincent remembered him from their elevator conversation. The indignant look on the man’s face as he drew back slightly gave Wesley the courage to smile. “Nice party, thanks for inviting me.”
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