6 Killer Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  “Just asking a few questions,” she said lightly.

  “I’ll send a uniform to cruise Moody’s, and I’ll modify the hair color on the APB. Anything else to report, Nancy Drew?”

  The other revelations of the day ran through her mind—the fact that Shawna Whitt had a charm bracelet with a bird charm, Coop’s connection to the bookstore where she worked, the sighting of a white van in front of the woman’s house, and the fact that she and Rainie were hatching a plot to lure Michael Lane out of hiding.

  “No. Nothing else to report, Jack. Bye.”

  13

  When Wes locked up his bike in the parking lot around the corner from the Alpha Tau Omega house, the red phone in his pocket vibrated. That would be Mouse, calling to see if he’d connected with Logan. Again. He ignored the call and followed a stream of students along the sidewalk. Meg was pacing in front of the ATO house under a streetlight, arms crossed. She did not look happy.

  “Hey,” Wes said, jogging up. When she turned her green eyes on him, his heart went boing.

  “You’re late,” she accused.

  “Sorry,” he said, trying to look contrite. “I was looking for a nice shirt to wear.”

  Her frown evaporated. “Oh.” She uncrossed her arms and nodded at his blue retro-style button-up shirt. “It does look nice on you.”

  He smiled and pushed up his glasses. “Thanks. You look…wow.”

  Her blond hair was pulled into a side ponytail, revealing dangling earrings. She wore a black denim miniskirt and a pink Ed Hardy T-shirt that read “Love Kills Slowly.”

  “Thanks.” She seemed pleased with his assessment, which pleased him.

  “How did the Habitat for Humanity project go?”

  “We made a lot of progress.” She held up her thumb, wrapped with a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid. “I missed with the hammer once and nailed myself instead.”

  He suddenly found it hard to breathe. Meg was the perfect package of smarts and looks and sass. If he wasn’t careful, he might fall for her. The kind of fall where a guy might break every bone in his body.

  “Oh, wait.” Meg reached into her purse to pull out two plastic leis. She lifted one over her head, and held up the other one. “Lean forward.”

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a Hawaiian-themed party. If you wear a lei, you’re less likely to be tossed out by an ATO. Frat guys aren’t keen on having outside bucks around, you know.”

  He leaned forward. “I guess this is the only lay I’m gonna get tonight.”

  “Funny,” she said, lifting the necklace of plastic flowers over his head. “And true.” Then she stopped and sniffed. “Is that perfume?” She pulled back. “Were you with someone else before you came here?”

  The girl had the nose of a bloodhound. “No,” he said, although his voice came out sounding thin and false. “Uh…it’s not what you think.”

  But of course, it was exactly what she thought and the damage was done. Meg stepped back and lifted her hands. “Hey, it’s fine, really. I only asked you to come tonight because you mentioned Jett Logan. It’s not like this is a date or anything.”

  His pride kicked in, straightening his back. “Yeah, right. I feel the same.”

  He caught the pinched look around her eyes just before she turned away. “Let’s go in. My friends are waiting for me.”

  Wes followed her miserably. The harder he tried with Meg, the more he seemed to screw things up. Too late he realized he should’ve said the perfume was Carlotta’s, but Meg would never believe that lie now.

  He was an idiot for stopping by Liz’s first, and probably a bigger idiot for not staying. But he had to find this Logan guy and collect, or face the wrath of The Carver. Although at the moment that seemed preferable to facing the wrath of Meg.

  The ATO house practically pulsated with reggae music. Bodies spilling out the doors and milling inside wore wildly flowered shirts, bathing suits, leis, and even the occasional grass skirt in keeping with the island theme. The guy at the door collecting a cover charge, donations to a charity the fraternity supported, looked Wesley over with a frown. “Who are you?”

  “He’s with me, Charlie,” Meg said, stepping up. “Wes is my cousin from out of town.”

  Charlie gave Meg a leering glance that made Wesley want to punch him. “Hey, Meg, go on in.” The guy stared at her ass as she went through the door.

  Wesley glared and handed over cash to cover his and Meg’s entry, then hurried into the house, trying to keep Meg within sight.

  Even though it was relatively early, the air was already thick with the scent of beer and perspiration. Bodies were shoulder to shoulder, with a limbo pole going in the main room and lots of cheering from the sidelines for the girl shimmying underneath. Wes looked around for Meg. The strobe lights in the next room triggered flashes of pain behind his eyes, a sure sign the Oxy was starting to wear off. He cursed under his breath because he knew a blinding headache and various unpleasant side effects weren’t far behind.

  He had a couple of hits in his pocket, but he was trying like hell to wean himself off, like he’d promised Carlotta.

  He grabbed a Pepsi Max from a tub of ice, hoping the heaping dose of caffeine would postpone the worst of the symptoms, and kept weaving his way through the crowded rooms. He felt conspicuous, as if everyone could tell by looking at him that he didn’t belong. The guys all looked thick-armed and tanned, wearing sports sandals, their hair full of product. When he spotted Meg, she had her back to him, talking to a knot of people. He walked up to stand next to her.

  “Hey, I lost you.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “You sure did.”

  Aware that the group was staring at him, he lifted the can to his mouth and took a drink, wishing he was anywhere else. They were probably all Mensa-eligible, destined for think tanks after graduating summa cum lah-de-dah.

  “Everyone,” Meg said, “meet Wes—my cousin. Wes, this is Paul, Esi, Wendy, and Seung.”

  “Hey,” they chorused with varying levels of enthusiasm.

  “Hey,” he returned with a nod.

  “Are you a Tech student?” Esi asked.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Wes is working for the county morgue until he decides what he’s going to do with his life,” Meg offered.

  Wes ground his jaw. Jesus Christ, two women in one night pressuring him about his life plans. At the disclosure of his morbid job, he expected to see disgust on the faces of the geniuses around him. Instead, they looked…impressed.

  “Cool,” Esi said, and the others nodded.

  “That’ll look good on a med school application,” Paul remarked.

  “Won’t it?” Meg agreed.

  “Hey, do you know that sicko who was arrested for killing all those women?” Wendy asked.

  “Yeah. Do you know The Charmed Killer?” Paul asked, his eyes wide.

  Wes hesitated. His urge to defend Coop warred with his urge to fit in with Meg’s friends. “Yeah, I know him. We were both body movers.”

  They gaped. “Is he creepy?”

  “Did you suspect it was him?”

  “Is he into doing corpses?”

  Wes winced. “What? No. Coop’s not a ghoul. In fact, I think the police have the wrong guy.”

  Esi made a choking noise. “You mean The Charmed Killer is still out there?”

  “Yep. It could be anybody.” He swept a suspicious glance over the two guys. “Maybe someone you least suspect.”

  The two girls cast distrustful glances at the guys and shrank back.

  “He’s teasing,” Meg said.

  Wes looked at Meg. “Could I talk to you alone, cuz?”

  “What could we possibly have to talk about?” she asked sweetly. “Uncle Randolph’s database records?”

  Wes grabbed her elbow and smiled at her friends. “Excuse us. Meg promised to introduce me to someone I need to talk to.”

  She rolled her eyes, but allowed him to lead her away. “Did you have to scare my friends to death
?”

  “They were begging for it,” he muttered.

  “You need to work on your social skills.”

  “Jett Logan,” he reminded her. He hated to rush things, but his left eye was starting to twitch. The Oxy high was sliding away quickly, and he was hoping to be back at Chance’s place, trying to sleep through the worst of the withdrawal. If he could get through the rest of the night without hitting the Oxy tablets in his pocket, it would be a small victory.

  “You never really said what you wanted with Jett.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She frowned. “Am I getting in the middle of something?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “You’re going to point out the guy, then pretend as if you don’t know me.”

  “Gee, I’m so glad this turned out not to be a date,” she said dryly.

  Wes swallowed hard. Once he’d told Coop if he liked Carlotta, he needed to do something bold. Considering the hole he’d dug for himself, now seemed like a good time to follow his own advice.

  Wesley stopped and walked Meg back a step against the wall. Then he kissed her. She made a startled noise and stiffened for a second, then softened as he plied her mouth with his tongue, and began to kiss him back. Her lips tasted like Cherry Coke and her tongue was a silk ribbon. God, if he had this mouth to kiss any time he wanted, he could be king.

  When his lungs threatened to burst, he had to tear his lips from hers and lift his head.

  Meg was breathing as hard as he was. “Why…why did you kiss me?”

  He shrugged, trying to regain his composure. “To give you something to think about.”

  She straightened her clothing. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t do that again.”

  “You kissed me back,” he countered. The realization buoyed his hope.

  “I kiss all my cousins like that.”

  He laughed. “Right. Admit it, it was good.”

  “It was good,” she said, nodding. “But I’m not looking for a guy who’s always in trouble.”

  “Meg, is this clown bothering you?”

  Wes looked up to see the guy he’d once seen out with Meg standing there. Gay Boyfriend had traded his plaid shorts for white pants—nice. Wes set his jaw. Clown?

  “No,” Meg said quickly. “Mark, this is Wes. You two met at the Vortex once, I think.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Mark said. “You’re the one who rides a ten-speed.”

  Wes returned a little smile. “It’s not the horsepower you got between your legs, man. It’s what you do with the gearshift.”

  “Uh, Mark, Wes was just leaving,” Meg said, giving Wes a warning glance. “I need to introduce him to someone first, then I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll wait for you here,” Mark said.

  This time she grabbed Wes’s elbow and shepherded him down the hall. “That was uncalled for.”

  “Isn’t that dude a little old to be hanging out at frat parties?”

  “Mark is an ATO alumnus. He comes back to chaperone.”

  “A convenient cover for pervs.”

  “Mark is a successful architect,” Meg said. “He’s going places.”

  “I’m happy for him,” Wes said.

  She made a frustrated noise. “God, you can be such a jerk sometimes.”

  “So I’ve been told, by you. Just point out Logan and you can get back to Marky Mark.”

  Her chin came up, but she didn’t respond. Wes swung his head side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of his target, although all he’d seen of Logan was the guy’s back as he’d flung himself out the second floor window of his dorm.

  They walked all through the house, then doubled back. Finally, Meg nodded across the room. “That’s Jett Logan in the yellow-flowered shirt.”

  Wes zeroed in on the guy like a laser beam. He had the same general build as the guy who’d gone out the window—short and stocky, and sporting a wrapped ankle that might have been the result of a hard landing. “You’re sure that’s him?”

  “Yeah, that’s Jett. I heard he got kicked out of school and he’s leaving town. What’s going on?”

  “I just want to talk to him,” Wes said, then looked down at her. “You should go back to your friends.”

  Her mouth tightened. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “For the kiss.”

  Meg gave him a wary look, then turned and walked away.

  Wes watched her go, nursing a pang. If things went well with Logan, maybe he’d find Meg again, stay with her and walk her home later. Then he lifted his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose against the pain mushrooming there. His hand shook, and the eye twitch was getting worse. Who was he kidding? Meg had said she didn’t want a guy who was always in trouble. Somehow he doubted she’d be willing to overlook the drugs, the issue with his dad, his massive gambling debt, and his undercover work for a loan shark.

  He should just let things end here. If he kept pissing her off, she was bound to turn him in for prying into the city databases at work.

  Wes positioned himself across the room where he could watch Logan. Jett was a smug little bulldog who carried himself like someone who was entitled to the best. From the rosy glow on the guy’s snub face, he’d already had a lot to drink, and the beer in the clear cup he held was down to about an inch. Wes bided his time and shortly, he saw Logan break away from his group and go in search of, presumably, a bathroom.

  Wes followed him to the john, managing to get his foot in the door, then wedge himself inside. “Jett Logan?”

  “Yeah.” The guy stumbled against the opposite wall, hands up. “What the hell, man? I’m not gay.”

  “I’m not, either,” Wesley said. “But I’ll settle for happy. You owe The Carver ten grand. I’m here to collect.”

  Jett’s eyes widened. “I don’t have it.” He gave Wesley the once-over, as if trying to size up whether he could take him in a fight.

  “Dude, stop wasting time. I got a headache, and you gotta take a piss. Just pay me and I’m outta here.”

  “I’ll have it tomorrow,” Jett said, a pathetic attempt at a bluff.

  “Nice try, but The Carver knows you’re leaving town.” Wes sighed. “Look, man, you can either pay me and walk out of here with your porcelain veneers intact, or you can take your chances with my partner, Mouse, who has about a hundred pounds on me and will be waiting for you with a golf club when you leave.”

  From his pocket, the red phone vibrated. Wes pulled it out. “See, that’s him now. Should I answer and tell him you’re being an asshole?”

  Jett paled. “No. I’ll pay.”

  “Good decision,” Wes said, stowing the phone.

  Jett removed a thick wad of money from a back pocket and handed it over. “It’s all there.”

  Wes counted it, then nodded and shoved it into a deep pants pocket. “Dude, if you had the money, why didn’t you just pay up? Most of the guys who owe The Carver are flat fucking broke.”

  Jett sat down on the toilet lid, his head in his hands. “Because I just won it last night. I was going to another card game tonight to double it. Then I was going to pay back The Carver and keep ten for myself.”

  Wes pursed his mouth. “What kind of card game?”

  “Texas Hold ’Em. There’s a game going on at a house on the edge of campus, a sure thing.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s a dog track, man, with a bunch of trust fund kids.”

  Meaning the players were all novices who would bet without regard. Easy pickings.

  “You play?” Jett asked.

  “Some,” Wesley hedged.

  “Someone should go,” the guy said, gesturing to the door. “It’s all yours if you want it.” He rattled off the address.

  Wes hesitated a split second, then said, “No, thanks,” and left the bathroom, his head throbbing like a bass drum.

  On the way outside, he looked for Meg and spotted her talking to Mark. They seemed absorbed in each other. He was probably the kind of
guy Meg was looking for. Anger coursed through Wesley that things came easy for jerks like Mark. He probably came from family money and used it to catapult himself to success.

  One of these days, Wes told himself…

  His mind went back to the card game just a few blocks away. He imagined the newbies sitting around a table, with the rank of winning hands printed on an index card as a cheat sheet. A warm sensation swirled in his stomach and chest—a chance like this didn’t come around very often. He’d be crazy not to relieve all those rich college boys of their daddies’ money.

  But he’d promised Carlotta he’d stop gambling. Besides, he didn’t have any money.

  You have ten grand in your pocket, his mind whispered. He could take a portion of the money and double it. Then he’d give Mouse the ten grand Logan owed The Carver, and keep the rest for himself. A cake walk.

  He gave Meg one last glance, then left the house, his heart thumping in anticipation. The last time he’d played, he’d won big, had taken first place in a tournament and split the earnings with Chance. But this time, he could keep all of his winnings, and maybe replace the money that Michael Lane had stolen out of his sock drawer. Carlotta would be so happy to have some extra cash to fix up the townhouse.

  The address where the game was being played was a short bike ride away. Wes told himself that he’d simply cruise by and check it out. When he arrived, he told the guy who answered the door that Jett had sent him and he was welcomed into the group. Within a few minutes, he’d sized up the crowd to be just as inexperienced as Logan had suggested.

  Only one thing was missing.

  In his last card game, he’d been high on Oxy. It had given him a single-minded confidence he’d never known before. Even better, the cards had sailed his way, as if he were calling to them. And he had to get rid of this headache before the cards hit the table.

  Before he sat down, he furtively popped a whole Oxy tablet into his mouth, then chewed, nearly groaning with ecstasy as sensations flooded his pleasure centers. When the first hand was dealt, he picked up his pocket cards, and smiled inwardly at the aces winking back.

  It was an auspicious beginning to a tragic evening.

  Any good pocket cards he got were followed up with ugly community cards. His pair of aces was shot down with three deuces. The idiots at the table didn’t know how to bet, which screwed up the pot and messed with his momentum. His irritation led him to make stupid mistakes, like seeing hearts where there were diamonds, kings where there were jacks.