7 Brides for 7 Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  “That’s not true,” she said as calmly as she could. “It’s going to affect my life, and Meg’s...and Dad’s. Does he know—has Liz told him?”

  “No!” He pulled his hand down his face. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Then he made a chopping motion in the air. “Look, this is my problem and I’ll handle it.”

  Carlotta wanted to throttle him. “Like you handled your gambling problem? Or your drug problem?”

  When angry tears filled his eyes, she wanted the words back. Wes had developed all his bad habits under her watch—didn’t she share some of the blame?

  “I shouldn’t have said that—”

  “Shut up!” Wesley yelled. “And stay out of my life!”

  He turned and strode through the living room and out the front door with a bang. Carlotta fought back tears. When would her world right itself? She leaned her head back and let out the pent up frustration in a therapeutic scream.

  Which made her feel marginally better...good enough to drag herself to her feet and think about getting dressed to head to the Wedding Expo.

  The sound of the doorbell startled her. She padded through the living room and checked the side window.

  The man from next door—Johnson—stood on the stoop holding the glass vase she’d forced on him yesterday. He saw her and waved.

  Carlotta jerked back. She didn’t trust the guy, and she was alone. Had he seen Wesley leave? Did he mean her harm?

  She ran to the bedroom, grabbed her cell phone, and called Jack with one button. He answered on the second ring. “What’s up, Carlotta?” From the background noise, she could tell he was in his car.

  “Jack...the guy next door with the camera I told you about? He’s ringing my bell.”

  “Trying to make me jealous?”

  She frowned. “I’m serious, he’s ringing my doorbell. And Wes isn’t here.”

  “If you’re afraid, don’t answer the door.”

  “But he knows I’m here.”

  “So?”

  “So...that’s rude.”

  He sighed. “So what exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Stay on the phone...I’ll put you on speaker so you can hear our conversation. That way, if anything happens, you can—”

  “Come running? I get the picture.”

  She walked back to the door, set the phone on a nearby table, then hit the speaker button. She glanced down at her robe and realized the yoga pants and tee shirt underneath were more presentable, so she peeled it off, wadded it into a ball and tossed it toward the hallway. Then she finger-combed her hair and pinched her cheeks.

  “Are you primping?” Jack asked dryly.

  “Shhh!” she hissed, then opened the door.

  Her neighbor gave her a smile. “I thought you weren’t going to answer.”

  “Why would I not answer the door?” Carlotta asked loudly to make sure Jack heard her.

  The man shrugged. He was wearing jeans, a fitted tee shirt, and black athletic shoes. “It’s Carlotta, right?”

  “Yes.” He was even more attractive than she’d first noticed, but she wasn’t going to let his Abercrombie good looks distract her. The man could be an assassin. “And you’re Johnson?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is that your first name or your last name?” Jack would need some details to be able to check him out.

  “It’s just a nickname,” he said with a laugh. “My dad’s name was John, and everyone called me John’s son, so...” He shrugged again, displacing lots of muscle.

  “So what is your name?” she pressed, then realized she sounded like an interrogator. She gave a little laugh. “I mean, I like to know who’s living next door.”

  “That’s funny,” he said with an amused expression. “The guy I rented the place from said he’d never met the people who live here.”

  She felt herself blanch. “I...that is, we...are kind of private, I suppose. But we’re...trying to...be better. Better neighbors, I mean.”

  He squinted, then extended the vase. “I just came to return this. Er, thanks for the flowers.”

  Her face flamed as she took the glass vase. “You’re welcome.” But she steeled herself because now both his hands were free.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you around,” he said, backing down the steps.

  “Wait!” Carlotta practically shouted. “What do you do for a living?” Then she tried to appear casual. “I’m interested in why you’re only renting the house for a few weeks.”

  He stopped. “I’m a freelance photographer, and I’m in town on assignment.”

  She deflated a little. “What kind of assignment?”

  “Nothing too exciting—I’m here to shoot pictures for Google Maps.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I thought Google Maps used cameras on robots.” Wes had told her that once.

  “They do. I’m shooting pictures of things the robots can’t get to, just to fill in the blanks.” He lifted his hands. “Like I said—nothing exciting.”

  “Oh,” she said, mildly disappointed.

  “Say, since I’m going to be in town for a while, would you like to get a drink sometime, maybe have dinner?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Oh...thank you, but...I’m seeing someone.”

  “Ah.” He inclined his head. “Okay, then, I’ll be going. Bye.”

  “Goodbye,” she murmured, then watched him walk his really nice body from her unkempt mortgaged yard back to his neatly groomed rented one. She stepped back and closed the door.

  “Gee,” Jack said from the speaker, “you’ve never given me flowers.”

  “Shut up, Jack.” She turned the phone off speaker mode, then put it to her ear. “It was an excuse to see who lived there. Wes got it in his head that since Randolph was apparently monitoring us...”

  “That he and your mother might be living next door?”

  She sighed. “It sounded plausible at the time.”

  He made a thoughtful noise. “I guess you haven’t heard from Randolph?”

  “No...and it’s wearing on us.”

  “I know, but hang in there a little longer. Are you still meeting with Lucas tomorrow?”

  “Yes. And I took your advice—Liz will be there, too. I’m hoping she’ll have some news.” She thought about the other news Liz was sitting on, then added, “From Dad.”

  The chime of the doorbell filled the room.

  “Is your neighbor back?” Jack asked.

  Carlotta peeked out the side window and swallowed a groan. “No...it’s Peter.”

  “Put me on speaker again, would you? This might be more interesting.”

  “Goodbye, Jack.” She stabbed a button to end the call, then opened the door.

  Peter, dressed in business casual clothes, had a ready smile for her. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said, and met his lips in a quick kiss. “But I’m so sorry I don’t have time to talk—I need to get ready for work.”

  He nodded. “But I have some news and I thought I’d tell you in person. I don’t know if it’s related at all to Randolph, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  She frowned. “What happened?”

  “Walt Tully was rushed to the hospital this morning.”

  Randolph’s former partner wasn’t her favorite person, but she didn’t wish him ill. “Is he okay?”

  “I’m afraid not. He’s in a medically induced coma after an accidental drug overdose.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “DON’T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS,” Jack said.

  Carlotta glanced over his shoulder to make sure Patricia was out of earshot in the booth. “You don’t think it’s a pretty big coincidence that Walt Tully takes an overdose of prescription pills a few days after my father returns?”

  “Accidental overdose,” he corrected. “I had a friend pull the medical report.”

  “So you are interested.”

  “It’s an interesting development. But even if there’s a connection, it doesn’t have
to be menacing. You said yourself that Walt Tully and your dad were more than coworkers.”

  “Yes, they were best friends. Walt is our godfather.”

  “He didn’t exactly fulfill his duties after your parents left you.”

  “No,” she admitted. “But it speaks to how much my father trusted him.”

  “So...maybe now that Randolph is back, Walt Tully feels bad about not doing right by you and Wesley. A couple of sleeping pills...a couple more...an alcohol chaser, and suddenly he’s in the hospital.”

  “There’s another possibility,” she said.

  He sighed. “There are about a hundred possibilities, but because I need to go powder Jarold Jett’s ass, I’m going to let you tell me the one you have in mind.”

  She smirked. “Thank you. What if Walt is so guilt-ridden about the firm railroading my dad, he couldn’t take it anymore?”

  Jack nodded. “That is definitely one possibility.”

  “Are you going to look into it?”

  “You forget I’m technically on vacation for a few more days. Besides, there’s no criminal investigation here. The man had a legitimate prescription for the pills. He took too many, and now he’s suffering for it.”

  Carlotta bit into her lip. “Did the medical report mention the prognosis?”

  His mouth twitched downward. “Fair to good.”

  “Peter is going by the hospital. He’s going to call me later with an update.”

  “I thought you and Peter had split.”

  She squirmed. “That’s right.”

  “You told your neighbor you were seeing someone.”

  “Maybe I just didn’t want to go out with my neighbor.”

  “Ugly, huh?”

  She laughed. “Sure, Jack, whatever you want to think.” Then she sobered. “So Jack...why would Randolph be in solitary confinement?”

  He frowned. “There could be lots of reasons. But how do you know that?”

  “I...heard.”

  “From Liz?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who, exactly?”

  “From a friend of a friend of Wesley’s who’s on the inside.”

  His eyebrows flew up like two angry birds. “You two are trying to communicate with your father through another criminal?”

  “It didn’t work—Randolph wouldn’t talk.”

  If she thought the pronouncement that the scheme had failed would take the wind out of Jack’s sails, it didn’t. He leaned in, his face almost purple. “Godammit, Carlotta, stop playing detective before someone gets hurt.”

  She frowned. “I think you’re angry because I found out information about Randolph that you can’t.”

  Her words found their mark. He drew back, as if to reaffirm their pact to maintain a safe distance from each other. “I’m late.” Then he spun on his heel and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd that had swelled since church services had ended.

  Carlotta sighed. She and Jack seemed to be designed to rub each other the wrong way.

  And the right way.

  But Jack was right about the development with Walt Tully—it might have nothing to do with Randolph’s return.

  But what if it did?

  Carlotta thought about calling Tracey to say she was thinking of the family, but wasn’t sure her call would be welcome, and she didn’t want to add stress to an already upsetting situation. After all, Tracey didn’t know that if Randolph and Valerie hadn’t left, she and Carlotta would’ve been best friends.

  Patricia walked across the booth, her expression bright and shiny. “Leo and Casey are coming by in an hour or so to take me to a late lunch—will you cover for me?”

  “Sure.” Carlotta smiled. “It’ll be better this time, you’ll see.”

  Patricia nodded, then turned back to a customer. The Your Perfect Man booth was hopping, and Carlotta was swept into sales mode as she explained the warrior, the king, the lover, and the magician archetypes over and over, and helped women decide which best matched the man they were shopping for. The sales spiel, she realized, was helping her to understand more about the men in her life. The confusion over her feelings for the men came from the fact that at different times in her life, she needed a warrior...and other times she needed a king, or a lover, or a magician.

  It was much the same for men, she suspected, who consciously and unconsciously categorized women as the kind of woman to befriend or date or sleep with or take home to mother. With all the moving parts and bad timing, it was a miracle men and women got together in the first place...and as evidenced by the women featured in the “After the Dress” art exhibit, staying together seemed more like an endurance challenge rather than a labor of love.

  Carlotta glanced over the throngs of brides-to-be, some arm in arm with their betrothed who seemed to be along for the ride. She admired how fearless they were in the face of the odds against them. And was it so wrong if a beautiful white dress was part of a bride’s emotional arsenal, to equip her with a strong dose of dopamine and oxytocin to carry her through some of the lows in a marriage?

  Her phone vibrated and she glanced down to see Peter was calling. Eager for an update on Walt’s condition, she connected the call. “Hi.”

  “Hi, there,” Peter said, his voice low. “Can you talk?”

  “Briefly. How’s Walt?”

  “He’s improving, thank goodness. If things go well for the next twelve hours, the doctors are going to bring him out of the coma tomorrow.”

  Carlotta exhaled. “That’s good news.”

  “Yes, it is. But he’s still not out of the woods.”

  “Has anyone said why this might have happened?”

  “His wife said he’s been really stressed lately and hasn’t been sleeping. She thinks he just didn’t realize how big of a dose he’d taken.”

  Carlotta bit into her lip...just a few nights ago, an extra dose of the pain meds for her shoulder had triggered the fantastic trip across time. “I’ve heard that’s fairly common,” she murmured.

  “I know. But...” The background became muffled, as if he’d covered the microphone with his hand. “But I heard his son say something about a note.”

  “A suicide note?”

  “I don’t know that for sure, but I did see his sister pull him aside and it looked to me as if they had some harsh words.”

  “Tracey?”

  “Right. Anyway, I’m going to stick around the hospital for a while. The partners are here.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the update.”

  “I miss you,” he said, his voice earnest.

  “I miss you, too. Bye.” She ended the call and stowed her phone.

  It wasn’t a lie—she missed the way she and Peter used to be. Carlotta glanced down at her bare left ring finger. Would it be so bad to be married to Peter now? She wasn’t getting any younger. And while she’d had passing fantasies about Jack...and some missed opportunities with Coop, neither of them was offering her a ring.

  “You look deep in thought.”

  Carlotta lifted her gaze to see Rainie Stephens standing there. She dropped her left hand, then crossed her arms. “I could be thinking about the interesting story regarding my father in this morning’s paper.”

  Rainie nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to let you know it wasn’t my idea to run the piece.”

  “Your byline was on it.”

  “Yes. But I didn’t initiate the story. And I had your and Wesley’s names removed.”

  “Thanks for that anyway. And I guess this isn’t the first time the information has been printed.”

  “I know. But I like you, Carlotta, and I don’t want to see you hurt by this situation with your father any more than you probably already have been.”

  Carlotta pressed her lips together. “I appreciate that.”

  “That said, I’d really like to keep my job. So what I’m about to say is for your ears only.”

  Her interest was piqued. “I’m listening.�
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  “I got the impression that there was some pressure to run the piece on your father.”

  “Pressure from whom?”

  Rainie’s shoulders lifted in a slow shrug. “Who would benefit from making your father look bad?”

  “Mashburn & Tully, of course...or any of the clients who lost money. Did you know one of the partners of the firm, Walt Tully, is in the hospital for a prescription drug overdose?”

  Rainie blinked. “No. When did that happen?”

  “This morning.” A thought burst into Carlotta’s head and she could tell Rainie was thinking the same thing—had something in the article triggered a self-destructive reaction from Walt Tully?

  Carlotta hesitated, then said, “There might have been a note.”

  “A suicide note?”

  “I don’t know...and I’m not even sure there was a note. It’s...a rumor.”

  “Who told you?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Rainie angled her head. “Doesn’t your boyfriend work for Tully & Mashburn?”

  Carlotta’s cheeks warmed. “Peter Ashford works there, yes...but I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend.”

  Rainie smiled. “What would you call him?”

  “A good friend. Now that my father is back, I don’t want anyone at the firm questioning Peter’s loyalty.”

  “Ah,” Rainie said, although she looked...concerned? “Okay, well, I have some digging to do. I’ll let you know if I find out anything interesting.”

  Carlotta nodded. “Same here.”

  Before she dove back into sales, she checked her phone in case Wes had called. He hadn’t. She hated the way they’d left things this morning. She punched in his number and when it went straight to voicemail, she said, “Wes, it’s me. I’m really sorry about this morning. I know you have a lot on your mind right now with...everything. Just know I will support you any way I can. Just...don’t shut me out, okay?”

  She ended the call and sighed. Wesley usually came around when she gave him time, but she was afraid this time he’d reached some sort of breaking-away point...that she’d gone too far, maybe pushed him out of their family duo and toward Liz—ugh—and his new family.

  Brides shopping for their grooms kept her busy all afternoon—the women loved the certainty of matching a gift to their man’s archetype. The gift of choice for warriors appeared to be boots. For kings, golf bags ruled. For lovers, electronic gadgets held the most power. And for magicians, designer sunglasses were the perfect fit.