And worse, he was going to miss his date tonight with Meg.
21
Peter’s rueful sigh sounded over the phone. “I’m afraid Brody was right. During the questioning, I got the feeling the GBI wasn’t nearly as interested in your father’s connection to Alicia Sills as the APD was interested in discovering whether your father had maintained contact with her or someone else over the years.”
Carlotta, who had ducked behind a clothing rack to take the call, put a hand to her head. “Was Jack there?”
“Oh, yeah. Jack was the lead interrogator. So much for his offer to help.”
Anger barbed through her. Since Jack had been relegated to the periphery of The Charmed Killer case, his presence there proved the police were more interested in finding a way to apprehend Randolph, than proving him a serial killer. “Did you tell them that Dad called you?”
“No. But Jack did say the D.A.’s office would be asking for a subpoena of the company’s phone records, so they’re suspicious. Of course, all of this is under the guise of investigating your father’s involvement with Alicia Sills.”
“What did Brody say?”
“He told Jack the firm’s offer of a one hundred thousand dollar reward for Randolph’s return negated the possibility that anyone there was working with your dad. Brody insisted they wanted him found as much as anyone…which played right into Jack’s hands because he asked for open access to company records.”
“How did it end?”
“Brody walked the public relations line, but told them they would need that subpoena.”
She sighed. “I’m just so sorry you got dragged into this. And it took your entire afternoon.”
“I did it to myself when I dug through those old employment records.”
“Still…I know you did it for me, to get to the truth.”
“I’m just afraid this renewed interest might impede our plans to look into your father’s case from inside the firm like we’d planned.”
Carlotta closed her eyes briefly, forcing herself to compartmentalize her problems. If she thought about everything pressing on her, she might unravel.
Peter must have sensed her anguish because he made a comforting sound. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”
“You’re right,” she agreed with a sigh. “I should go. I’m not supposed to use my phone on the sales floor.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later tonight.”
She ended the call and stowed her phone in her jacket pocket, then checked her watch for the hundredth time. All day long she’d been antsy, thinking about Peter’s interview and knowing that Coop was out on bail.
She longed to see Coop, to reassure herself he was okay, but Jack’s warning to stay away remained vivid in her mind. She didn’t want to give the GBI more ammunition against Coop. Just knowing he was out of the detention center—out of that jumpsuit, out of the shackles—had made her feel better…at first.
When she’d taken her lunch break, she’d joined others in the employee locker room who gathered around the TV set to watch CNN. The prime suspect in The Charmed Killer case being granted bail was big news. District Attorney Kelvin Lucas was catching hell from reporters for what was perceived as a failure in the prosecutor’s office. Lucas announced that no stone would go unturned by the legion of police officers assigned to check and double-check leads in the case, but surprisingly, the odious man hadn’t appeared ruffled by Coop’s release.
In fact, Lucas seemed to go out of his way to repeat several times that Dr. Cooper Craft would be under house arrest in his single-family home in Castleberry Hill. It was as if he were inviting every vigilante in the area to Google-Maps Coop and take the law into their own hands. She’d wondered if Lucas hadn’t opposed bail as vigorously as expected, hoping that Coop might be slain before a trail was even convened. If the evidence wasn’t overwhelming enough to convict, a dead defendant would let the D.A. off the hook.
Carlotta conceded that maybe everyone else was right—maybe Coop did belong in jail, if only for his own safety.
She chewed on her thumbnail as the minutes ticked toward the end of her shift, then retrieved her purse and chatted with her personal bodyguard, Herb, as he walked her to her car. She’d grown accustomed to parking in a far corner of the garage and using her keyless remote to unlock the rental car from a distance when no one else was around. But so far, whoever had left the explosive under the Monte Carlo hadn’t revisited their crime.
Although her heart still raced every time she turned over the ignition.
She pulled out of the parking garage, pushing away Jack’s suggestion that Coop could’ve planted the bomb. He hadn’t—period.
She steered toward Peter’s house, glad the workday was over and looking forward to the evening. Peter had a business dinner, so she’d invited Hannah to come over to hang out in the hot tub. She knew her friend would help to take her mind off things for a few hours, and she was eager to smooth the tensions between them. The Charmed Killer case had affected them all.
She was sitting in traffic on Peachtree when her phone rang, displaying the name Rainie Stephens. Carlotta smiled and connected the call. She felt a kinship with Rainie, especially where Coop was concerned. “Hi, Rainie.”
“Hi, Carlotta. You got a minute?”
“Yeah, I’m stuck behind a fender bender. What’s up?”
“I thought you’d like to know I checked the births for the night of the country club auction and there were no babies born with the last name of Lindelhoff that entire week at Piedmont, nor at any other metro hospital. Does that answer your question?”
Carlotta’s heartbeat sped up. “Yes.”
“Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
She told Rainie her suspicions about Tracey’s husband, Dr. Lowenstein, his coincidental absences and proximity to two crime scenes. “Jack agreed to do a background check. I don’t know if it’ll turn into anything concrete, but I thought it was worth mentioning.”
“If the man was lying, he could just be having an affair.”
“True,” Carlotta said, conceding a pang of sympathy for Tracey if that was the case.
“On another note, I wasn’t able to directly connect Coop to any neurologist in the city.”
“But that’s good news.”
“There’s more. An obituary came over the wire a couple of hours ago, and the name tickled the back of my mind—Sarah Edlow.”
“I don’t recognize the name.”
“Sarah Edlow,” Rainie said, her voice poignant, “is the woman whom Coop pronounced dead on the scene of a car accident.”
A shiver traveled over Carlotta’s arms. “I heard she had serious complications because she didn’t receive immediate care.”
“That’s right, although she eventually recovered.”
“What did she die from?”
“A brain tumor. And she was being treated by a neurologist at Piedmont Hospital.”
“So Coop must have known and was somehow involved in her treatment?”
“That seems likely.”
“And it explains Coop’s sudden personality change, and why he started drinking again. Finding out about the Edlow woman’s terminal illness must have dredged up too much guilt for him to handle.” Carlotta heaved a sigh of relief that at least a few pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. “So when Coop told me that his being at the neurologist’s office had nothing to do with this case, he was telling the truth. When did she pass away?”
“This morning, at hospice,” Rainie said. “It’s so sad—she was only in her forties.”
Carlotta made a rueful noise. “I wonder if Coop knows.”
“I don’t know. It’s going to be a blow to him, I’m sure. I called his attorney and tried to arrange an interview for the paper, but she shut me down. Frankly, I just wanted to see for myself that he was okay.”
It was evident from Rainie’s tone that she still had feelings for Coop. Or maybe the case had resurrected t
hose feelings. There was something very powerful about the sensation of having let something good get away…
“Coop is strong,” Carlotta said, as much for herself as for Rainie. “He’ll survive this, too.”
“Keep those good thoughts coming.” Rainie emitted a slow, harried sigh. “So, are you still agreeable to the article running about you giving the tabloids an exclusive on Michael Lane?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s slated for Friday. Do you have something to protect yourself?”
Her gaze slid to her purse that held the stun baton. “Yes, Jack made sure of that.”
“I thought he might. Gotta run.”
“Okay, talk soon.”
Carlotta ended the call, her mind swirling with new developments. Within a few minutes the accident had been moved to the far lane and traffic began to move again. When she pulled into Peter’s driveway, she reached automatically to press the remote control on the visor to open the garage door. She knew exactly how to angle the car to give her plenty of room on either side, knew exactly how far to pull up before cutting off the engine. The garage door lowered behind her. She got out and entered the house, punching in the security system code to disable the motion detectors on the first floor. As she walked through the mud room and into the main part of the house, she realized how comfortable she’d become with the routine of living in Peter’s house.
She stood in the center of the great room and turned a full circle, taking in the opulence of the life that could be hers for the asking. Beautiful address, beautiful things, beautiful children. So why was she terrified at the thought of making what should be such an easy decision?
She turned on lights and walked through the shiny, luxurious kitchen, suddenly homesick for the gaudy red kitchen of the townhouse. On impulse, she rooted her phone from her purse and called Wesley. They hadn’t talked in two days, not since she’d given him the ultimatum about getting clean. He’d accused her of turning on him, of turning on Randolph. Just the memory of it brought moisture to her eyes—she couldn’t seem to do anything right where the men in her life were concerned.
Wes didn’t answer his phone, so she left him a quick, upbeat message to call her sometime. Everyone kept reminding her that at nineteen, Wesley was an adult. But she couldn’t help feeling responsible for him, not after everything they’d been through together.
The ringing of the house’s land line broke into her thoughts, startling her. She glanced at the main console and saw the call was coming from the callbox at the security gate. She turned the small flat-screen TV to the monitoring channel and smiled at Hannah’s mug staring into the camera, then picked up the ringing phone.
“Hi.”
“This is way too much trouble just for a goddamn soak in a hot tub. I passed a fucking rest area on the way here.”
Carlotta smiled to herself. “I’ll buzz you in.”
22
Carlotta punched in Peter’s security code for the gate, and a few minutes later, she heard the sound of Hannah’s van pulling into the circular driveway. She walked to the front door to greet her friend, who looked more cheerful than usual in tall black boots, a red short pleated skirt and white T-shirt that read “Go Away.”
“Hi,” Carlotta offered. “Did you bring a suit?”
Hannah frowned. “A suit? I thought it was just us.”
“Never mind. Peter told me there are extra suits in the pool house.”
“You wouldn’t be so modest if you’d grown up with sisters.” Hannah clomped past her, and Carlotta noticed that once again, her friend took pains not to acknowledge the lavishness of the house. Hannah ignored and/or mocked Peter’s wealth at every opportunity.
Carlotta closed the door. “You have more than one sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about them.”
“They hate me. Got any snacks?”
Classic Hannah, deflecting personal questions. “Sure. Raid the pantry while I grab my suit.”
She jogged up the stairs to her bedroom, pulled a one-piece swimsuit from a drawer and changed quickly, shoving her feet into flip-flops. By the time she got downstairs, Hannah had grilled them sandwiches and brewed a pitcher of pinkish tea.
“How do you do that?” Carlotta asked.
“There are two things I’m good at,” Hannah said, lifting a laden tray. “Cooking and screwing.”
“And on that up note, let’s retire to the patio, shall we?” Carlotta grabbed her cell phone in case Wes called back.
A sliding glass door off the casual eating corner led to the pool area that was accented with beautiful stonework. The centerpiece was the aquamarine pool, its surface still and glistening in the early evening light. The pool was flanked by a waterfall and hot tub. Past the al fresco kitchen, which also featured a bar, was the shuttered pool house. Carlotta directed Hannah to set their food on the bar, then she produced a key ring she’d snagged from the kitchen and unlocked the door to the tiny building.
“Isn’t this where Peter’s wife turned tricks?” Hannah asked.
Carlotta frowned. “Allegedly.”
She pushed opened the door. Since the windows were shuttered, the little house was dark. She felt for a light switch and flipped it up to illuminate a small but elegant tiled sitting room furnished with a couch and two chairs upholstered with a tropical-print fabric, all of it custom, Carlotta was sure, down to the leaf-shaped green area rugs. Against one wall an entertainment center included a wet bar, small refrigerator and microwave.
The room to the left was a bedroom with a cozy bathroom and shower. Carlotta couldn’t help but stare at the queen-size bed, imagining Peter’s wife servicing well-to-do johns. Angela had been part of a high-end call-girl ring, the extent of which was still unknown, although Carlotta had a feeling that Angela’s friends at the Bedford Manor Country Club knew more about the goings-on than they’d revealed to police.
Hannah stuck her head inside the room. “Do you think she did it because Peter couldn’t deliver in the sack?”
Carlotta frowned. “Angela was responsible for her own behavior.” Resisting the urge to snoop in the closet for lingerie and props, she retraced her steps back through the living room to the room on the other side. The changing room had two individual booths against the far wall. There was also a mirrored vanity, and an armoire full of bathing suits, wraps, hats, and sandals.
“Take your pick,” Carlotta said.
Hannah pulled out a nautical-themed one-piece and frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”
Carlotta laughed and selected a mustard-colored halter bikini. “How about this?”
Hannah considered it for a minute, then shrugged. “That’s not so bad, I guess.”
“Hurry. Our sandwiches are getting cold.”
While Hannah changed, Carlotta looked around, hugging herself. The place gave her the creeps, no doubt because of what had gone on here. Had Angela entertained men while Peter was only steps away in the house? Her respect for Peter ballooned, knowing he’d forgiven his wife for the sordid things she’d done in their own home.
Especially since Carlotta couldn’t even forgive Peter for leaving her all those years ago…
With a start she realized it was true. She was still withholding part of herself from Peter to punish him. What did that say about her?
“Let’s eat,” Hannah said, emerging from the changing room.
Carlotta smiled at her statuesque friend. The suit flattered her athletic figure and revealed her body art. “That looks great on you.”
“Whatever.”
Carlotta followed her outside where they dived into the sandwiches and the pitcher of tea.
“How’s my brother?” Carlotta asked.
“Scarce.”
“Gawd, he’s probably staying with Liz Fischer.”
“Chance is holding strong on not letting him have anymore Oxy.”
“That’s good. I called Wes a few minutes ago, but he didn’t answer. I don’t think he wants t
o talk to me.”
“He’ll come around.”
“I hope so.”
They made small talk, but Carlotta still felt the underlying tension of their disagreement about Coop’s guilt because they both so scrupulously avoided talking about it. By the time they finished eating, dusk had settled enough for the outside lights to kick on.
They eased into the hot tub and Carlotta moaned with pleasure as the warm, bubbly water encased her body. She admired the addition to Hannah’s back tattoo. “Is that the one Chance bought so you’d go out with him?”
“We’re not going out,” Hannah said flatly. “We’re fuck buddies, that’s all.”
“Does he know that? I saw the way he looked at you when we met at the townhouse. I think he’s in love.”
Hannah scoffed. “In love with my pussy, maybe.”
“And you don’t have feelings for him?” Carlotta fished.
“No, but the fat man can give head for hours, so I’m in as long as his tongue holds out.”
Carlotta looked off in the distance.
“Whose tongue are you thinking about?” Hannah asked dryly.
A flush burned her neck. “Nobody’s.” Damn Jack.
“If Peter can’t keep it up long enough to have sex, the least he can do is go spelunking.”
“Enough, okay? We’re…waiting.”
“For what, a Beatles reunion?”
“We’re going to Vegas next week.”
Hannah’s eyebrows went up. “Really. For how long?”
“Five days.”
Hannah gave a dry laugh. “Maybe that’ll give Richie Rich time to get to third base.”
“This is serious, Hannah. I can’t keep stringing Peter along. He’s talking about us having kids, for heaven’s sake.”
“Is he planning to hire someone to impregnate you?”
From the table Carlotta’s phone rang. She gave Hannah a chastising look, then climbed out of the hot tub and padded over, wrapping a towel around her. The number was local, but she didn’t recognize it. Frowning, she connected the call. “Hello?”
6 Killer Bodies Page 18