“At least my loan sharks don’t sell my address to junk mailers.”
“Well at least my credit card companies don’t make threatening house calls.”
“Hey, no one’s been around here in a while.”
“Yeah, for at least two weeks.” Carlotta tapped the table. “I mean it, Wesley, we’re going to get our finances in order. And that means no more surprise purchases, like massive electronic devices.”
“You seemed to enjoy the TV last night,” he said sourly.
“Sure I enjoyed it, but next time you get your hands on ten thousand dollars, we need to do other things around here. Got it? That means no gambling.”
He frowned. “So are you going to cut up your credit cards?”
She inhaled sharply and choked on a piece of toast.
“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”
“Okay, okay.” She left and returned with her wallet, from which she withdrew all of her credits cards—all thirty-seven of them.
“Jesus Christ,” Wesley said. “No wonder your credit is in the shitter.” He got up and rummaged around in a junk drawer and produced a pair of scissors. “Here you go.”
She worked her mouth from side to side. “Okay, so I need to keep a couple for emergencies.”
He picked up the Sunglass Hut credit card. “Yeah, those solar eclipses can really sneak up on you.”
She snatched up the card and cut it in two. “Happy?”
“One down.”
Carlotta stared at the pile and sulked. They were all so bright and shiny.
“Do you need for me to hold your hand?” Wesley asked dryly.
“No. I can do this.” She fished out two generic cards that she could use anywhere, then took a deep breath and began cutting like a madwoman. A few minutes later, they looked down at the colorful pile of scrap plastic.
“Wow, we could use it for mulch,” Wesley said. “If we had plants.”
She frowned. “That’s another thing. We’re going to fix this place up.”
“You just put us on a budget. Fixing the house up is going to cost money.”
“I’ll…think of something.”
She walked over to the refrigerator to get out the juice. “What’s in the casserole dish?”
“Mrs. Winningham gave it to me. It’s chicken something, I think.”
Carlotta closed the refrigerator door. “That old bat didn’t even come to my funeral.”
“Would you go to hers?”
“Probably.”
Wesley rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. “I’m outta here.”
“Isn’t Coop picking you up?”
“No…I’m riding my bike and meeting him.”
She picked up her purse. “I think I’ll go, too. I hope the trains aren’t single-tracking today.”
“When will you get your car back?”
“Who knows?”
She followed him into the living room and waited for him to pick up his backpack and jacket. Then he frowned and leaned over to pick up one of the Christmas gifts that had fallen to the floor. “Hey.” When he stood, his face was red with anger. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
“You opened the gifts.” He looked stricken. “You promised you wouldn’t.”
She shook her head. “But I didn’t. I swear.”
Wesley extended it to her. “Well, somebody did. It’s been unwrapped and rewrapped with new tape.” He picked up another one. “This one, too…all of them.” She could tell he was holding back tears. It was the one sacred link to their parents and she’d promised never to violate it. And she hadn’t.
A ball of molten fury erupted in Carlotta’s chest as she gripped the small package.
She knew who had.
32
Carlotta marched inside the police station, through the metal detectors and stopped at the Plexiglas window. The same woman was there as when she’d come down to find out about Wesley’s arrest—the first time she’d met Jack.
That seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Hey, I remember you,” the woman said, eyeing Carlotta’s short skirt and designer T-shirt. “Miss Too Good for the Waiting Room.”
Carlotta gave her a tight smile. “And I remember you, um…”
“Brooklyn.”
“Right. Brooklyn. I’m looking for Detective Jack Terry. Is he in?”
“What’s your name again?”
“Carlotta Wren.”
Brooklyn blinked. “The woman who was supposed to be dead?”
“That’s me—alive and kicking.” And looking for a target.
“I’ll check to see if he’s available.”
Brooklyn picked up the phone and hit a couple of buttons, then turned away from Carlotta. After a few seconds, she set down the phone. “Detective Terry is in a meeting.”
“Tell him this is important.”
“He said he’ll call you.”
Carlotta poked her tongue into her cheek. “I see.” She glanced at the woman’s hands and smiled. “Beautiful rings.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you like jewelry?”
“Girl, who doesn’t?”
“Good point.” Carlotta fished in her purse. “Brooklyn, I have in my hand a coupon good for seventy percent off one item in the Neiman Marcus jewelry department, and it’s yours if you just open that little door over there and turn your back so I can slip through.”
One of Brooklyn’s eyebrows arched. “Hmm. Is it valid on clearance items?”
Carlotta slid the coupon under the half-moon opening. “Oh, yes.”
Brook considered the coupon, then pursed her mouth. “You’re not planning to shoot him or anything, are you?”
“No. But when I’m finished with him, he might shoot himself.”
“If you get in trouble, I don’t know you.”
“Fair enough.”
Brooklyn picked up the coupon and slid it into her pocket. “The door will be open when you get over there. Do you remember where his office is?”
“I’ll just follow the smell of a rat.”
“Good luck.”
Carlotta walked over to the door and heard a click. She opened it and stepped inside, knowing the secret of being somewhere she shouldn’t be was acting like she had every right to be there. She flashed confident smiles at everyone she passed as she wound her way back to Jack’s cubicle. He was standing in the hall talking to a uniformed officer, who was distracted by her appearance. Jack’s companion looked her up and down, his mouth forming an O. Jack turned to see what had the man’s attention and nearly dropped his coffee cup.
“Detective,” she said, walking up to him. “I need to talk to you.”
“How did you get back here?”
She crossed her arms. “I was hoping we could talk in private, but the hallway is fine with me.”
Jack looked at his companion. “Excuse us.” Then he shepherded Carlotta into his piled-up office and dropped into his chair. “What’s this all about?”
She leaned down until they were nose to nose. “You opened the gifts under our tree?”
He had the decency to blanch. “I…didn’t look in them.”
“You unwrapped them, but you didn’t look in them?”
“Right.”
“You’re lying.”
He didn’t respond, only looked at her with that unreadable expression that she hated.
Her hand itched to slap him. “How dare you? I told you what those stupid gifts mean to my brother.”
“Look, by rights, those gifts should’ve been opened and searched when your parents first went missing. They could’ve contained important information. Or maybe money for you and your brother to live on.”
“That was our choice to make,” she said evenly. “Mine and Wesley’s.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“It doesn’t have to.” She put her palm to her forehead. “I can’t believe I…”
“What?”
&n
bsp; “Slept with you!” Carlotta hissed. “What was I thinking?”
He rubbed at his eyes. “Look, I tried to talk you out of it.”
“Yeah, while you were sticking your tongue down my throat.”
“Look, what’s done is done. Forget about it.”
I have. His unspoken words hung in the air.
She gripped the shoulder strap on her purse and lifted her chin. “Well, are you going to tell me what you found inside the packages, Detective?”
Jack gave a harsh little laugh. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
She bit down on the inside of her cheek to ward off sudden tears. “You’re right. I don’t.” She removed the credit report from her purse and cleared her throat to steady her voice. “I’ve identified the accounts that I didn’t authorize. If you could point me in the right direction to get that affidavit, I’d appreciate it.”
“I can take care of it,” he said quietly.
“I’d prefer to work with someone else. I’m not a charity case.”
He sighed. “Carlotta, please sit down. I wasn’t trying to give you the brush-off, I really was going to call you. I have some updates, some pictures for you to look at.”
“Regarding the woman who died?”
“Yes.”
She glanced around and he quickly emptied the stack of papers from the seat of his extra chair. Carlotta lowered herself to sit on the edge. “Do you know who she is?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.” Jack pulled a grainy black and white photo from a file and handed it to her. “Do you recognize her?”
It was a woman standing in front of an ATM, wearing sunglasses, her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail like she often wore hers.
“She looks a little like me.”
“But do you recognize anything about her? What she’s wearing maybe?”
“The sunglasses are Bulgari, the watch is a Rolex, the shirt is Ralph Lauren, and…” She looked up. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”
He opened a drawer and rummaged for a few seconds, finally producing one.
She held it over the photo. “And the earrings are Slane and Slane.” She handed back the magnifying glass.
Jack’s dark eyebrows shot up. “O—kay.” He frowned. “How’d you do that?”
“Retail is my life, Detective.”
He took a few notes. “I need for you to check your credit card receipts to see if anything she’s wearing was charged to your accounts. We got lucky—when she tried to make a second cash withdrawal after the first one, the ATM kept the card. We’re running it now for prints. And the local stations are going to air the photo and ask for phone-in tips.” He handed her a photocopied form. “This is the request that the DMV processed to issue a duplicate of your driver’s license. Do you recognize the signature?”
“It looks like mine.”
“But you didn’t fill out this form?”
“No. Where was the duplicate mailed?”
“A post office box at the mall, in your name.”
She frowned. “I don’t have a box at the mall.”
He held up another form. “Yes, you do. And who knows how many bills you have waiting for you there. Now, why the thief would rent a box so close to where you work, I can’t explain—it makes no sense.” He shrugged. “Then again, she did jump off a bridge.”
Carlotta puffed out her cheeks in a shaky exhale. “This could go on and on.”
“So let me help you.”
She lifted her gaze to his and was confounded by the sincerity she saw there. Her impressions of Jack revolved through her head like slot machine wheels and kept coming up with the confusing—and losing—combination of good, bad and sexy.
“Carlotta, please. I want to.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay. I’m not in a position to say no. I’m drowning here.”
He set aside the papers, leaned forward and sandwiched her hand in both of his. “I’m sorry if you’re angry with me. But let me tell you the view from where I’m standing. I see a beautiful, sexy, intelligent young woman who’s had to fight like a tigress for everything she has because her good-for-nothing father didn’t have the balls to face his failures. I see her shrinking from men who care about her. I see what his rejection has done to her. And I want to bring this son of a bitch to justice so that maybe she can get on with her life.”
Carlotta sat mesmerized by his intensity, her heart thumping in her chest. Well, if he put it that way….
“Am I interrupting something?”
She looked up to see Liz Fischer standing there, holding a dress bag over her shoulder. Carlotta withdrew her hand from Jack’s and pushed to her feet.
Jack stood a heartbeat later. “No. Carlotta and I were discussing business but we’re finished.”
Liz flicked her gaze over Carlotta and smiled. “You’re looking good, Carlotta, considering I attended your funeral yesterday. Lucas filled me in this morning.” She gave Jack a sardonic look. “Although you could’ve mentioned it.”
“You know I couldn’t,” he said evenly.
She gave Carlotta a “girlfriend” eye-roll. “The man is useless when it comes to pillow talk.”
Carlotta averted her gaze. “I should be going.”
“Oh, stay,” Liz said. “Tell me what you think of the dress I’m wearing to Jack’s big awards dinner.”
“Liz, I don’t think—” Jack began.
“Jack is receiving an important award,” Liz interrupted, unzipping the bag.
“So I’ve heard,” Carlotta murmured.
Liz opened the bag to reveal a dazzling platinum-colored gown with beaded trim.
“Badgley Mischka,” Carlotta said, nodding. “It’s…stunning.” She cut her gaze to Jack. “And it’ll look beautiful with a gray tux.”
“Won’t it?” Liz gushed. “I haven’t bought shoes yet though. Maybe I’ll drop by Neiman’s and let you help me decide on a pair.”
Jack stared at the floor.
Carlotta knew when she was being put in her place. And she had no desire to compete with Liz over Jack’s “meat.” The woman was welcome to him. “Sure Liz, I’d be happy to.” She looked at Jack. “Thanks for helping me to get this all straightened out.”
He nodded, but seemed unable to speak.
“I know the way out,” she said, turning toward the exit. “You two have fun.”
33
Carlotta couldn’t get out of the police station fast enough. No matter where she looked, the image of Jack and Liz as a couple loomed in front of her.
Since the mall was only a short distance away, she decided it was as good a time as any to drop by Neiman’s and start working her way back into everyone’s good graces. As luck would have it, the first person she ran into was Patricia Alexander, who pursed her mouth and drew herself up primly.
“Well, if it isn’t the woman whose funeral I attended yesterday.”
“I, um, am sorry about that,” Carlotta said. “I guess you heard.”
“You could say that.” Patricia glared at her. “That was some trick you pulled. People were upset and took off work on a busy Saturday to attend your service. Who knows how many sales I missed out on?”
Carlotta blinked at the woman’s intensity. “Like I said, I’m sorry. Is Michael working today?”
“Yes. I assume he had some commissions to make up, too.” Patricia turned her back and Carlotta gave her the finger, then made her way to the shoe department. Michael was helping a customer when she caught his attention. He motioned to the stock room and she followed him inside.
“You gave everyone quite a scare, missy.”
“I’m sorry…there was a mixup.”
“I know. I heard it on the news this morning. Are you feeling better?”
“Um, yes.”
“Sorry that I don’t have time to talk but I’m kind of swamped here.”
“I understand, and I heard from Patricia how everyone needs to recoup sales from being
out yesterday.”
He sighed. “She’s not so bad—just abrupt.”
A worm of jealousy worked its way through her chest. Michael and that woman were becoming friends? “I just have a question—do you happen to remember the name of the florist that delivered the roses the other day?”
“No, why?”
She gave a little shrug. “Like you said, I might have a secret admirer and I’m trying to find out who sent them.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember. When are you coming back to work?”
“Next Monday.”
“Okay, we’ll catch up then.”
Carlotta nodded and left. She couldn’t blame him for being irritated with her. He’d thought she was dead, after all. No wonder he was making a new friend.
She needed to give him some space, then try to repair the friendship that she’d neglected. Outside the mall she hailed a cab and gave the address for Moody’s Cigar Bar. She knew it would be slow with the lounge upstairs being closed on Sunday, and she wanted to thank June for lending her shoulder the last time she’d been in.
And okay, she was craving a big, thick torpedo.
Cigar, that is.
When she pushed open the door to the quaint establishment, the bell tinkled and she was greeted with the comforting tang of tobacco in the air. The gleaming ebony horseshoe-shaped counter grounded the art-deco style showroom. The deep, narrow room was lined with glass cabinets of cigar boxes, lighters, ashtrays and canisters of loose tobacco. A smoker’s paradise and the domain of June Moody, who had inherited the place from her father.
The owner herself was descending the stairs in the back of the room that led to the wine and martini bar. She was impeccably dressed as always, her blond hair and makeup perfect. But when June saw Carlotta, her step faltered and she gripped the hand railing.
“It’s me, June. Alive and well.”
The woman’s face was a mask of disbelief. “What on earth?”
Carlotta smiled. “If you got a cigar, I got a story.”
June walked toward her, smiling wide. “Grab a seat at the bar. What’s your pleasure?”
“Something long and strong.”
June laughed. “Coming right up.”
Over smoldering cigars and creamed coffee, Carlotta brought her friend up to speed. “I’m sorry for deceiving everyone. I appreciate you coming to the service yesterday.”
Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1 Page 19