6 1/2 Body Parts

by Stephanie Bond

  She frowned. “I won’t.”

  At that moment, Hannah appeared with a broom. Carlotta was relieved to see her, but she pinged with embarrassment as her friend knelt to deal with the broken glass.

  A movement next to their table caught Carlotta’s eye, then her heart vaulted to her throat. A man, dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, stood there with a pillow case in one hand, a gun in the other, marching the hostess, a security guard, and the valet captain in front of him, their hands in the air. “Ewywon, phut the phale ut!”

  When hardly anyone in the noisy room noticed, he lifted the mask off his mouth. “I said, shut the hell up!”

  That did it. Everyone in the room stopped, forks and glasses in mid-air, to gape. Someone screamed daintily.

  The robber turned in a half-circle to address the diners in a thick drawl. “Nobody move. I’m going to need your wallets and your jewelry, just drop ’em in the bag. If anyone reaches for their cell phone to call the police, I’ll put a hole in ya, got it?”

  He started with their table. A wide-eyed Tracey dutifully dropped in her wallet and jewelry. Hannah scowled, but added numerous skull rings and snake bracelets. Carlotta reluctantly relinquished the rings Peter had given her only this morning, then reached into her purse for her wallet.

  He was pointing the gun directly at her with a shaking hand. At first she couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong, then she realized she saw daylight through the round cylinders—the revolver was empty. Jack would be so proud of her for noticing.

  She relaxed a bit… she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could overcome the man, but at least no one was going to get shot.

  “Hurvy ut!” he yelled, pulling at his mask. She glared and dropped in the wallet. He moved on to the next table, waving the gun wildly to get the women to comply.

  He was either high or nervous—or both. She realized he was having trouble seeing through his ill-fitting ski mask, and a plan started forming in her head as he jerkily made his rounds. The security guard was aged and unarmed—probably to appease the sensibilities of the mostly-female diners. Any doubts she had about intervening were put to rest when the robber used the revolver to backhand an elderly woman who didn’t want to give up her wedding ring.

  The brute simply couldn’t get away.

  She looked up and caught Hannah’s eye, then tapped her temple. Hannah nodded that she understood the man’s field of vision was compromised. Carlotta made a gun symbol with forefinger and thumb, then mouthed “no bullets.” Hannah pursed her mouth, then nodded again.

  The robber’s bag was filling up—they only had a few seconds to stop him. Hannah held up the broom and gestured to the doorway. Carlotta nodded. Tucking behind tables, they positioned themselves on either side of the entrance with the broom between them.

  The robber turned with an overflowing bag and lumbered toward the entrance, still pulling at his mask. He ran toward the door and didn’t see the broom they raised to shin level as he went past them. When his foot caught on the wooden handle, it snapped out of their hands, but the damage was done. The bag of stolen items went flying into the air and scattered spectacularly over the lobby of the restaurant. The robber hit the floor hard face-down… and his gun went off. His body jerked once, then he lay still.

  Hannah looked up, her eyes wide. “I thought you said the gun was empty!”

  Carlotta swallowed hard. “I thought it was!” She turned back to the dining room. “Someone call 911!”

  They rushed to the still man’s side and Hannah sank her fingers into the side of his neck. “No pulse. He’s dead.”

  Before Carlotta could react, cheers went up behind them. She turned to see all the diners on their feet, yelling and applauding.

  She and Hannah exchanged startled glances. They were heroes.

  “Should we turn him over or something?” Hannah whispered. A red stain bled into the carpet beneath the man.

  The wail of sirens approaching reached their ears.

  “Maybe we should let the police handle it,” Carlotta murmured.

  “Do you think we’re in trouble?”

  Carlotta blinked. She and Hannah had been in countless scrapes together—including being arrested—and she’d never seen the woman flinch. She opened her mouth to say of course not when she saw Jack Terry barreling through the entrance, weapon drawn. She swallowed her words past a constricted throat.

  They were, indeed, in heap big trouble.

  He came up short next to the body and stared at her. “You!”

  “Me,” she confirmed with a shaky smile.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Hannah raised her hand. “So am I, thanks for asking.”

  Jack grunted. “Where did the blood come from?”

  “He fell on his gun,” Carlotta said, “after we, um, tripped him.”

  “We think he’s dead,” Hannah offered.

  Jack frowned. “Stand back.”

  She and Hannah retreated a few steps while Jack knelt and shook the robber. When he received no response, he gestured for a couple of uniformed officers who’d arrived to turn over the body while he kept his gun trained on the man. They flopped him over, but the robber remained lifeless. His black shirt was stained blacker with blood. The gun he’d wielded fell out of his hand onto the floor. One of the cops checked for a pulse, but shook his head.

  Jack reholstered his weapon. “Call it in.”

  “And we need an ambulance for a woman he struck in the face,” Carlotta said.

  “On its way,” Jack said. His scowl encompassed Carlotta and Hannah. “Would one of you like to tell me what the hell happened here?”

  They told the story in halting tag-team fashion. After a minute, Jack massaged the bridge of his nose.

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Carlotta Wren—er, Ashford.”

  “Hannah Kizer, with a ‘Z.’”

  “And you two know each other?”

  “Yes,” Carlotta said, then checked herself. “I mean, we met today.”

  “Which one of you had the hare-brained idea to trip an armed man?”

  At his sarcastic tone, Carlotta drew herself up. “It was a mutually agreed-upon plan.”

  He glared. “Well, you could’ve gotten yourselves or someone else shot.”

  “I thought the gun was unloaded,” she declared hotly. “The cylinders were empty.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You know something about guns, do you?”

  A flush climbed her neck. “A little.”

  “Well, apparently not enough,” he said pointedly. “A man’s dead.”

  Carlotta bit into her lip. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Detective?” one of the uniforms said. “Will you take a look at this?”

  They glanced over to see the man’s mask had been removed to reveal a plump, grizzled face.

  “Is this who I think it is?” the cop asked.

  “Shit fire,” Jack muttered, walking closer. “Duke Thornhouse.”

  “Looks like he’s gone from robbing banks to robbing country clubs.” The cop grinned. “Guess these ladies did you a favor, Detective, bagging the man you’ve been chasing for years.”

  Carlotta’s mouth opened with incredulity. The robber was a federal fugitive? She and Hannah exchanged private, wide-eyed glances, then Carlotta looked back to Jack. “You’re welcome, Detective.”

  His jaw hardened, then he rebuked the grinning officer with a glare. “Take the statements of these two vigilantes. And send a couple of uniforms inside the restaurant to take down names and make sure everyone’s stories add up.”

  Tracey had managed to slip into the lobby. “Hi, Detective Terry—remember me?”

  He sighed, then nodded.

&
nbsp; She beamed, then gestured at the items strewn on the floor. “Everyone is asking when we’ll get our things back.”

  “At some future date. For now, everything has to be bagged as evidence.”

  She frowned. “We’re talking about a lot of irreplaceable jewels, Detective.” She lowered her voice and jerked her head toward the uniformed cops. “What if some of your men decide the temptation is just too much?”

  He leaned in conspiratorially. “Then we’ll be able to buy our own bulletproof vests, and you’re off the hook for the charity event.”

  Tracey’s eyebrows came together.

  Carlotta stepped up. “Detective Terry, the items weren’t removed from the property—isn’t there something you can do?” She wasn’t above batting her eyelashes. Flap, flap.

  And he wasn’t immune. “Okay, but no one takes anything until everything has been catalogued.” He pointed to Carlotta. “You, don’t leave.” He stalked away, his phone to his ear.

  Tracey turned to Carlotta and handed her the Bottega Veneta pink leather hobo bag she was holding. “That man seems fixated on you.”

  “It’s not me. Turns out the guy we took down is some kind of high-profile criminal.”

  Tracey crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you ask me to help you instead of that waitress person?”

  Hannah waved from a few feet away. “I’m right here, I can hear you.”

  “Everything happened so fast,” Carlotta improvised. “Why don’t you help the officers inside the restaurant keep everyone calm?”

  Tracey stomped off, and Hannah stepped closer. “Real treasure of a friend you got there.”

  “She’s not so bad, she’s just… sheltered.”

  “And you’re not?”

  Carlotta gave Hannah a little smile. “Not as much as you’d think.”

  But Hannah’s attention was snagged on something behind Carlotta. “Who is that?”

  She turned to see a tall, lean man walk into the lobby and make his way over to Jack for a brief handshake. Cooper Craft. And in this place he wasn’t a lowly body mover. The jacket he wore identified him as the Chief Medical Examiner.

  Chapter 9

  Cooper Craft was all business as he and Jack surveyed the scene. His gaze stopped on Carlotta and her skin tingled.

  “Do you know him?” Hannah asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, he obviously knows you.” Hannah tossed her black and white striped hair. “Here they come. Introduce us.”

  Apparently Hannah was crushing on Coop no matter which world they were in.

  “This is Dr. Craft, Medical Examiner,” Jack said. “He’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

  Coop stuck out his hand to Carlotta. “Your name?”

  “Carlotta Wren.” Hannah bumped her. “Er, Ashford.” She took his hand and warmth suffused her entire arm.

  When he released her hand, he flexed his as if he’d had a similar reaction. “I’m sorry—have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so,” she murmured.

  “I’m Hannah Kizer.” Hannah grabbed his hand for an enthusiastic pump. “I’m the unmarried one.”

  Coop gave her a little smile, but Carlotta noticed his eyes were bloodshot. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, that he was pulling a double shift and operating on little sleep, but she detected the scent of strong mouth wash. Was Coop drinking on the job? It was the reason he’d lost his position in the world she knew. Was he on the same path here?

  “Detective Terry said the dead man tripped?” Coop asked.

  “We tripped him,” Hannah said, beaming. “With a broom.”

  He turned to Carlotta. “He fell on his weapon?”

  “That’s right. And it went off.” She wet her lips. “I thought the revolver was empty, but obviously there was one round in the chamber.”

  He stared at her mouth. “Luckily the shot didn’t fly wild. Did he move after he hit the floor?”

  “No. He lay completely still.”

  “Did you notice anything else about him that might be important?”

  “No,” Hannah said.

  “There was one thing,” Carlotta offered. “I thought he seemed anxious or maybe high on something.”

  He nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

  “You know, death has always fascinated me,” Hannah said, leaning in and twirling her hair.

  Coop’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t say?”

  “Maybe I could get a tour of the morgue sometime?”

  “Um, we do occasionally have educational tours.”

  Hannah grinned. “Sign me up.”

  “If we’re done here,” Jack cut in, “Dr. Craft needs to get back to the body.”

  “Right,” Coop said. “Thank you, ladies.” He nodded at Hannah, but his gaze lingered on Carlotta until Jack cleared his throat. The men walked away, with Hannah staring dreamily.

  “I think I’m in lust.”

  Carlotta smiled. “I thought you were into married men.”

  “I am, but—” Hannah squinted. “Hey, how did you know that?”

  Uh-oh. “I… guessed?”

  Hannah frowned. “How about you don’t make judgments based on my appearance, and I won’t make judgments based on yours?”

  “Does that mean we can be friends?”

  Hannah’s frown deepened. “That remains to be seen.”

  Tracey re-emerged from the restaurant, clearly perturbed. “They’re closing for the day.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Carlotta said.

  “But I’m starving,” Tracey snapped.

  “The two martinis didn’t fill you up?” Hannah asked dryly.

  Tracey glared, then turned to Carlotta. “I thought we’d go to Spinnaker’s. They have a nice lettuce wedge. And we can discuss your list.”

  Carlotta went cold. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her alleged murder-plot list with Tracey. “You go ahead. The detective wants me to stick around.”

  Tracey looked slighted, then flounced away. Other diners departed. Carlotta and Hannah waited and watched while the body was bagged and removed by a couple of guys wearing morgue jackets who, from the way they were handling the rather large body, were either new on the job or just didn’t give a hoot.

  Carlotta stepped forward. “You might want to use the gurney straps to secure the body.”

  The men looked at her and scoffed. “We got this, sweetheart,” one of them said. But just as they reached the entrance, they hit a bump and the body rolled off, hitting the floor with a thud.

  Coop charged toward them, and although she couldn’t hear what he said, it was clear from his body language he was beyond upset with the men.

  Hannah looked at her askew. “What do you know about moving bodies?”

  “Nothing,” Carlotta said in her most innocent voice.

  Jack reappeared to confirm details about their earlier statements. “I’ll need your home addresses and phone numbers for the report.”

  Carlotta balked. Where did she live? Her address would be on her driver’s license, but she didn’t have her wallet. When Hannah finished reciting her info, Jack turned to her.

  “Phone number?”

  She pulled out her cell phone and read off the number.

  He wrote it down. “Address?”

  “Um… I need to get it from my wallet.”

  Jack frowned. “You don’t know your own address?”

  “Uh… we had a recent zip code change,” she ad-libbed.

  Jack waved over the officer who was emptying the pillow case and allowed Carlotta to retrieve her wallet. She flipped to her license that featured a photo of her sporting a shorter hairstyle, and read off the address—it was the same house Peter lived
in now… er, in the other place.

  “And were any other items taken from you during the robbery?”

  “Three sterling skull rings and two sterling snake bracelets,” Hannah said. “I’m lucky he didn’t take my nose ring.”

  Jack made a dubious note of it, then looked at Carlotta. “And you? I seem to recall you were wearing a wedding ring at the meeting this morning.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes. A three-diamond Cartier engagement ring, and a matching gold wedding band.”

  He whistled low. “I take it your husband doesn’t work for the city.”

  She didn’t respond, but their gazes locked and she saw the same confusion in his gold-colored eyes as before… he felt their connection, but didn’t understand why.

  He directed them to a table where the jewelry had been sorted. A uniformed cop checked off the items they claimed. Carlotta silently slipped on her rings and studied them—was it her imagination, or did they feel even heavier?

  “You act as if you’ve never seen those things before,” Jack remarked.

  She turned to find him scrutinizing her. “It’s… hard to explain.”

  “Life’s complicated, isn’t it?”

  There it was again, the tug between them that had erupted the second they’d first met in the police precinct when Wesley had been arrested… and still endured.

  “Are you through with me?” Hannah asked Jack, ending the moment.

  “Yes.”

  Hannah looked at Carlotta. “I’d offer you a ride home, but I have another work gig to get to.”

  “I’ll make sure Ms. Wren gets home,” Jack said.

  “Ashford,” Hannah corrected.

  “Right,” he and Carlotta said in unison.

  Hannah squinted back and forth between them, then lifted her hand in a wave to Carlotta. “Nice fighting crime with you. See you around the club.”

  She watched her friend give Coop an adoring glance as she passed him, then exit the club. Carlotta wondered if she and Hannah would ever be as good friends here as they were in the other place. It was, she supposed, a start.