3 Men and a Body

by Stephanie Bond

  “Do you need for me to drive you?”

  “No, I’ll get a taxi.”

  “I’ll take my phone with me. Call me when you get back so we can find each other.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have fun.” He gave her bed one last look of longing, then left the room and closed the door behind him. Carlotta laughed to herself, then unzipped her suitcase. With the cast, it took a while to change into an Anika Brazil beaded halter bikini and cover-up, but after much contortion and cursing, she finally managed. She slid her feet into jeweled flat sandals, donned a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, then picked up a beach bag of supplies and headed down to the lobby.

  Outside, several taxis were standing by. She slid into the backseat of the first one and said, “The Holiday Inn, please.”

  Daytona Beach was a tourist town, crammed with half-naked students and tackily dressed middle-aged sunseekers. Palm trees and wild birds abounded, as did plastic palms and pink flamingos. It was both quaint and vulgar, like Las Vegas, but it was a happy, vibrant place. Daytona, she decided, was an ideal setting for her parents to blend in and still maintain a carefree lifestyle. But it pained her to think that they’d been living only a few short hours from her and Wesley, that they had been frolicking in the sand while she and her brother had been scrounging for lunch money.

  As always, when she thought of her parents, the pendulum of her emotions swung from frustration to fury to resentment and everywhere in between.

  “This is the Holiday Inn, ma’am,” the cabbie said, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you want me to wait?”

  “No, thank you,” she said, handing over cash for the fare. When she alighted, her heart was racing double-time at the possibility of coming face-to-face with her father. She glanced around the parking area for Jack’s car, wondering about her timing. Had he already been here and left, or would she beat him to the punch? She didn’t see his sedan, but then they could be in Liz Fischer’s car, and she couldn’t remember what the woman drove.

  Something slinky and low, for sure.

  Carlotta walked into the hotel and breezed through the lobby as if she were a guest, scanning for any sign of someone who could be her father. She didn’t see anyone, so made her way to the hotel bar. After another unfruitful scan of the help, she climbed onto an empty bar stool and removed her hat and glasses. The male bartender noticed her immediately and approached her with a smooth smile.

  “What can I get for you?” he asked her cleavage.

  “Martini,” she said.

  “Coming right up.” He began mixing it in front of her.

  “I’m looking for someone,” she said casually.

  He grinned. “I’d be happy to fill in.”

  She smiled. “Two people, in fact. They’re former bosses of mine who cheated me out of wages.” She slipped a photo of her parents out of her purse. “This is an old picture, but it’s all I’ve got. Can you tell me if you’ve seen them?”

  He glanced at the photo. “Nope.”

  “The man might be salt-and-pepper or gray headed by now. Someone told me he might work here. Are you sure you don’t recognize him?”

  He picked up the photo and studied it. “Maybe.” But then he shook his head. “I couldn’t say. There are so many people in and out of here, employees and guests.”

  “Thanks, anyway,” she said, fighting acute disappointment as she put away the picture.

  He set the drink in front of her. “Want to start a tab?”

  “No, I’ll settle up with you.” As she handed over cash, she leaned in. “I heard this place was robbed a few days ago.”

  “Yeah. Last week.”

  “What happened?”

  He frowned. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

  She pretended to pout. “I just want to know that I’m safe. Was a guest robbed?”

  He glanced around as if to make sure no one would overhear them, then whispered, “No, it was the front desk. Two people came in around four in the morning and robbed the clerk at gunpoint.”

  She made her eyes as big as possible. “Where was security?”

  “At the time, there was only one guy on the property, and he was on break. Anyway, no guests were involved, so don’t worry. Besides, they’ve beefed up security since then.”

  “That’s a relief. You said it was two people—two men?”

  He shrugged. “I saw the security tape and they were both wearing face masks. The one who talked was a man. But I guess it’s possible that the other person might be a tall woman.”

  Carlotta’s mother was a tall woman. “Do the police have any leads?”

  “I haven’t heard. The cops were here for a few hours the next morning, questioning everyone. Karen was scared to death.”

  “Karen?”

  “The desk clerk. She…” He frowned. “Hey, let me see that picture again.”

  Carlotta handed it to him.

  He tapped his finger on the photo. “I can’t be sure, but it could be.”

  Her throat constricted. “Could be what?”

  “This woman. She could be Karen, the desk clerk who was robbed. Karen Wells.”

  Carlotta’s heart threatened to gallop out of her chest. “Where could I find Karen?”

  He handed the picture back. “She quit. Can’t blame her.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Nope. She kept to herself.”

  Someone at the other end of the bar whistled.

  “I gotta go,” the bartender said. “Hope you find your bosses.”

  “If you ever see Karen or this man,” Carlotta said, scribbling on a napkin, “here’s my number.”

  He grinned. “Sure thing.”

  He walked away and she dialed Information. No Karen Wells was listed in Daytona. Carlotta hung up and gulped the martini for courage. She had to get her hands on Karen Wells’s employee file.

  She left the bar and headed to the ladies’ room to rifle through the various kinds of undercover garb she crammed into her beach bag. A woman had to be prepared for anything, after all. She painstakingly removed her cover-up, then changed into the blue scrubs that so many housekeeping staffs wore these days, and white tennis shoes, even though she had to stuff the laces into the sides because she couldn’t tie them.

  She shoved her cover-up and sandals into the beach bag and smoothed her long hair back into a ponytail. Then she carefully pulled aside the white lining of the trash can to find what she’d hoped—a stack of more trash bags at the bottom to make changing them easier. She removed one of the white liners and put her beach bag inside. Then she left the bathroom carrying the bag of “trash” and the extra liners.

  From a marquee, she learned that the manager’s office was on the second floor. She took the stairs and found the office, then glanced around. On a table by the elevator was a house phone. She picked it up and the operator answered.

  “Yes, I’m a guest of the hotel and my purse was just snatched. I want to see the manager in the lobby immediately.” She slammed down the phone, then jogged back to the manager’s office and knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  She stuck her head inside to find a young man in a suit standing at a file cabinet. “I’m here to take out the trash,” she announced.

  “Go ahead,” he said with barely a glance.

  His phone rang and he answered. After a few words, he hung up the receiver. “Please close the door when you’re finished,” he said, then left, pulling it shut behind him.

  Carlotta went to the file cabinet and with her one good hand, clumsily searched for employee records, her palms sweating profusely. She found what she was looking for in the bottom drawer, and as quickly as she could, flipped through to the Ws. When she found a folder marked Karen Wells, she pulled it out, her blood pounding in her ears. A three-page application listed home address and phone number, plus references.

  Plus ten points.

  With her good hand shaking, Carlotta placed the docum
ents on the copier, constantly looking over her shoulder to the door. The manager was probably on his way back by now. Cursing her cast, she awkwardly stuffed the originals back into the file and the folder back into the drawer.

  She heard voices outside the door. With her heart hammering against her breastbone, she slammed the drawer and shoved the duplicate records into the trash bag holding her clothes just as the doorknob turned. The manager walked in, talking to someone behind him.

  Detective Jack Terry.

  12

  W hen Carlotta’s gaze met Jack’s behind the back of the hotel manager, she swallowed a yelp. His expression went from disbelief to outrage to fury in the space of two seconds.

  Carlotta tried to look contrite. “I was just leaving,” she murmured, and scurried out into the hall.

  “Give me a minute,” she heard Jack sputter to the unwitting manager.

  She broke into a sprint toward the stairs, and heard him pounding behind her. “Goddamn it, Carlotta, stop or I’ll shoot!”

  She veered off toward the women’s bathroom and ran inside, barricading herself in the handicapped stall. He came crashing in behind her and rattled the stall door. “Carlotta, open this door!”

  “I’m changing,” she shouted, pulling off the scrubs.

  The door shuddered, then the flimsy lock bar failed under the pressure. The door flew open and Jack stood there, breathing like a bull who’d been poked with a sharp stick.

  Carlotta gasped, not because she was afraid of him, but because she didn’t want to explain her presence. Instead, she feigned modesty, using her good arm to cover her bikini. “I’m changing!”

  “Cut the crap,” he said. “I’ve seen everything you have, anyway.”

  She shook her finger in his face. “If you don’t leave, I’ll scream.”

  He wrapped his hand around her finger and pulled her against him. “Go ahead,” he urged. “Scream.”

  She opened her mouth and inhaled in preparation, but he covered her lips with his, kissing her hard. For a split second her body betrayed her, responded to the familiarity of him. The scream died to a moan, then she wrenched away and covered her mouth with her hand. “What was that?”

  “A way to get your attention.”

  She set her jaw. “You have it.”

  “Good. Then what in hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m on vacation.”

  His look was lethal. “I’m not kidding, Carlotta. You’ve got three seconds to start talking, or I’m going to arrest you for trespassing and obstruction of justice.” He pulled out his handcuffs and looked at his watch. “Three—”

  “You don’t scare me, Jack. I’ve been in those handcuffs and I wasn’t under arrest at the time.”

  “Two—”

  “Where’s your expandable baton? We had fun with that big boy, too.”

  “One!”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, relenting. “But you already know why I’m here.”

  “You’re trying to sabotage my case.”

  “No! I…just wanted to look around.” She sighed and leaned against the back wall. “I don’t know. I thought Randolph might be here. I just wanted to see for myself.”

  She watched the anger drain out of him, replaced by frustration and sympathy. He returned the handcuffs to his belt. “Okay, what did you find?”

  “What makes you think I found anything?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to make me say it? Because you’re good at being devious.”

  She angled her head and grinned. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

  “No. And quit yanking my chain.”

  She glanced at his crotch for effect, then relayed her conversation with the bartender. “And here are copies of Karen Wells’s employee records.” She withdrew papers from the trash bag and extended them to him.

  But Jack held up his hands. “I can’t take those. They were stolen.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep them.”

  He yanked them from her. “You can’t keep them either, Nancy Drew.” He pulled out a lighter and held a flame under the corner of the pages. He let them burn up to his fingers, then dropped the charred mess into the commode. “I can get copies legitimately.”

  “Now that you know what direction to go in,” she taunted.

  He scowled. “I would’ve asked for employee records for the clerk who was robbed, anyway.”

  “If you let me watch the surveillance tape, I could tell you if the voice is his.”

  “That’s why Liz came with me.”

  “Oh, well.” Carlotta made a shooing motion with her hand. “Now that you’ve given me a spanking, you can get on with your investigation. By the way, where is Lizbo?”

  “She’s at our hotel, making phone calls.”

  “At the spa, huh?”

  He crossed his arms, legs spread wide. “You can’t drive with a broken arm. How did you get to Daytona?”

  “Coop invited me to ride to south Florida for a job, and I suggested that we stop here for the night.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Coop?”

  “That’s right. It’s a business trip.”

  “I take it he doesn’t know about your little detour?”

  “Um, no. I told him I was going shopping.”

  “Well, I guess it’s comforting that I’m not the only man in your life that you lie to.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You can go now.”

  “Uh, no. Get dressed. I’ll be escorting you out.”

  She held out the swimsuit cover-up. “Would you mind helping me? This cast is such a pain.”

  He tightened his mouth, then held the flimsy garment over her head. She lifted her good arm and shimmied as he pulled it down over her head and helped ease it over her shoulders, her breasts, her cast. She moved slowly, undulating into the garment. When it fell into place she looked up to find his golden eyes hooded and smoky.

  She smirked at him. “Is that chain still dangling?”

  He sighed. “You are so bad.”

  Carlotta pushed her feet into the jeweled sandals. “Oh, no. You said I was good. I heard you with my own ears.” She shouldered her beach bag, plopped her big hat on her head and marched past him.

  “I said you were good at being devious,” he said, following her out.

  She stopped to allow him to open the outside door for her, and walked through when he obliged. “You heard one thing, I heard something else.”

  They walked to the elevator together and Jack stabbed the down button. “So…this business trip of yours.”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you and Coop sharing a room?”

  She raised her eyebrows, then said, “Right back at you, cowboy.”

  “Liz and I are just friends.”

  “Uh-huh. I hope your shots are up-to-date.”

  “Meow.”

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. She walked in and he followed. When they closed, he asked, “What does Ashford think about your weekend fling with Coop?”

  “I didn’t ask. Peter doesn’t own me.”

  Jack shook his head. “One of these days, Carlotta, you’re going to have to decide what you want.”

  “Are you throwing your hat in the ring, Jack?”

  He looked at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You know I can’t.”

  “One of these days, Jack, you’re going to have to decide what you want.” She squared her shoulders, which sent a pain shooting down her arm. “Meanwhile, I’ve been alone for a long time, looking after Wesley, hanging on by a very thin thread. Forgive me if I want to explore my options and maybe even, God forbid, have a little fun before I dry up and blow away.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “You’re right. I guess I’m regretting not allowing you to come down here with me. You have a way of making me say things I don’t mean.”

  “It’s a gift,” she murmured.

  The elevator doors opened and they walked throug
h the lobby in silence, his hand at her waist.

  He signaled a taxi, and when it pulled up, he opened the door for her, then handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill. “Take the lady back to her hotel, please.” He looked at her. “See you in Atlanta.” Then he shut the door.

  Carlotta rolled down the window. “Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you find Randolph, will you at least call me before you call the D.A.?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Count on it.”

  He stepped away from the taxi and she lifted her hand in a wave, feeling oddly comforted that Jack was on the case despite their conflict. No matter how much he blustered and pounded his chest, she trusted him to do the right thing. Carlotta settled back.

  Then she withdrew the extra copy of Karen Wells’s employee record that she’d made.

  What was the old political saying? Trust…but verify.

  13

  “I t’s about time,” Coop called, waving from the big straw mat where he and Wesley sat playing cards amid hundreds of other beachgoers. Carlotta waved and smiled, but when Coop stood to brush the sand off his trunks, the breath caught in her throat.

  Plus ten.

  His torso was bare, his shoulders wide, his arms and chest surprisingly muscular. His skin was already brown, perhaps from those weekly hikes he referred to…which might also explain his long, lean legs.

  The man was gorgeous.

  As witnessed by all the women who had positioned their blankets and towels close to the men’s mat in the late afternoon sun. Despite his bandaged arm, Wesley didn’t look too shabby, either, in his long surfer trunks. With his sharp bone structure, he resembled a young Leonardo DiCaprio. But if he was aware of the women looking his way, he was too shy to act upon it.

  She was betting that both men were clueless as to the stir they were causing.

  “Hi,” she said after threading her way through female bodies to get to the edge of the mat. “Having fun?”

  “Coop is one of the best poker players I’ve ever seen,” Wesley said excitedly.

  “Is that so?” she asked, eyeing Coop.

  “We’re not betting,” he stated quickly. “Did you have fun shopping? We were getting worried about you.”