"Neither would I," Jolie said. "Besides, why on earth would I incriminate myself? So I can add a shoplifting charge to my rap sheet?" She frowned. "And don't act so innocent—I know you took that money from Sammy's purse."
Carlotta's eyes rounded. "I did not!"
Jolie sighed. "Carlotta, I've heard you make comments about what easy pickings a party would be for a thief, and I know you saw the money in Sammy's purse when she paid for her shoes Saturday morning. And," she said more quietly, putting her hand on Carlotta's arm, "I know about the money you owe."
Carlotta frowned. "What?"
"The day I was taking a nap in the dressing room upstairs, I heard voices through the vent—I heard that man threaten you."
Carlotta blanched, looked around, and pulled her aside. "You haven't told anyone about the man, have you?"
"No."
"The police?"
"No."
Her shoulders sagged in obvious relief.
"Who is he? And why do you owe him money?"
"I don't." Carlotta massaged her temples. "My brother owes him."
"Your brother?"
"He had a gambling problem. He's reformed, but he still has a lot of debt. We were able to consolidate some of it and set up payments, but this one guy that he owes ten grand to is breathing down my neck."
"Why your neck and not your brother's?"
"Because this guy knows that my brother doesn't care if they rough him up...but I do."
"Do you have the money?"
She shook her head. "I scraped together a few hundred dollars and bought another week, but by next Friday I have to have another two grand."
"What are you going to do?"
"As soon as I get my Miata out of the shop, I'm going to sell it. I'd hoped to put the money back into a new car, but right now I need the cash flow."
Her eyes glistened and Jolie's heart went out to her. "Your parents can't help?"
Carlotta's eyes turned dark. "My parents aren't around."
"They're deceased?"
"No...just...absent...traveling around the country. We haven't seen them in years. It's no wonder my brother and I are misfits."
"You're not a misfit."
She gave another laugh. "What do you call someone who borrows clothes to crash parties and assume alternate personalities?"
"Creative. It's a shame you can't find a way to make a living at it."
Carlotta looked away. "Look at all the trouble it landed you in."
"I don't believe it—is that a guilty conscience?"
Carlotta looked at Jolie and rolled her shoulders sheepishly. "Okay, I have a conscience—just don't tell anyone."
"Carlotta, unless you shot Gary, what happened Saturday night isn't your fault. And crashing the first two parties helped me to get a lot of information I otherwise wouldn't have." Plus I got to know Beck, her mind whispered.
"That lady detective told me that Hannah and I made things worse for you because we both have records."
Jolie pressed her lips together.
Carlotta sighed. "Hannah got busted for selling pot when she was in her twenties, and a bookie was trying to get my brother to go off the wagon, so I hit him."
"Oh."
"With a tire iron."
"Oh. Well...still." Jolie cleared her throat. "But if you did steal Sammy's money, I might be able to talk her into not filing charges."
"You mean blackmail her into not filing charges?"
"Well, let's just say I have some dirt on her."
Carlotta smiled, shaking her head. "That would be great, except...I didn't take that money. I would tell you if I did, but I didn't!"
"The money was found in the pool filter, and there were only four of us in the pool—you, me, Hannah, and Beck."
"I think we can strike Mr. Moneybags," Carlotta said dryly.
"That leaves Hannah—would she have done it?"
"Only one reason that I could think of—come on, let's go call her. I need to ask her if Russell has that tattoo." They started toward the break room. "So, what's going to happen to you?"
Jolie inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "My attorney seems to think they'll arrest me Wednesday when the D.A. gets back into town."
"Aren't you scared shitless?"
"Well...pretty much. The police don't seem to have the manpower to look into all the leads, at least not right away. But I have a good lawyer, and I hope that some of the leads will pan out before there can be a trial."
"You seem remarkably calm."
Jolie tried to smile "Give me an alternative."
Carlotta spun the dial on her combination lock and shook her head. "We need to take matters into our own hands, start making phone calls and taking names."
"I'm game."
Carlotta opened her locker and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. "I think I'll go out on the loading dock for a smoke before I call Hannah. Want to join me?"
"No, thanks."
"Oh, Christ!"
Jolie looked up from her own locker to see Carlotta staring at the box of matches. "What is it?"
"I just remembered where I saw that picture on the wall—the pig in the suit that's in your photograph."
"Where?"
She held up the matchbox. "Manuel's Tavern down on North Highland Avenue. It's a hangout for politicians, reporters, cops, attorneys." She grinned. "I've met lots of famous people there, like Jimmy Carter." She sighed. "He signed my autograph book...fat lot of good it is now."
Jolie nodded absently, aware of a memory stirring just below the surface of her consciousness. "Manuel's," she repeated. "Where have I heard that name...word...lately?" In the crazy way a person's subconscious teases, she knew it wasn't in association with the bar. It was out of context...In a conversation? She shook her head. Maybe on one of the matchbooks in Gary's box of belongings?
No! It was the note he'd scribbled illegibly on the back of a brochure: hardy manuals. At the time she had thought it was nonsensical, but maybe there was a connection.
On impulse, she withdrew her cell phone from her bag. "Is there a number on the matchbox?"
Carlotta recited it as Jolie dialed.
The phone was picked up on the second ring. "Manuel's Tavern."
"Yes, is Hardy, working tonight?"
"Yeah, he takes over for me at the bar in about an hour."
Jolie's pulse picked up. "Thanks." She disconnected the call. "Want to take a field trip?"
Carlotta shrugged. "Sure. I got my new wheels from the impound lot this morning—that was a degrading experience. Are we going to Manuel's?"
Jolie nodded, more excited than she'd been since...last night, with Beck. She pushed the thought from her mind. "Why don't you call Hannah and have her meet us there?"
* * *
Manuel's was a neighborhood tavern, full of customers who moved around the bar and the crowded tables with familiarity. The furnishings were old and eclectic: scarred tables, mismatched chairs, a beer can collection, faded photographs. The patrons themselves ran the gamut from suited businessmen shooting pool to dusty laborers ordering from menus. Even so, Hannah stood out, dressed in what could only be described as gothic guerilla. She was sitting at the bar glaring at her cigarette as if she might simply eat it and dispense with the formality of smoking.
"You're going to have to work on looking more approachable," Carlotta commented wryly as she and Jolie slid onto stools on either side of her.
Hannah blew smoke into the air. "I managed to save you seats, didn't I?"
Carlotta winked at Jolie. "Bad day in cooking school, Hannah?"
She ground her cigarette in an ashtray, twisting it until it broke, exposing the fibrous filter. "Russell filed assault charges, the wimp."
Jolie winced.
"I thought that's why you liked him," Carlotta said lightly. "Because he's a wimp."
Hannah gave her a wry smile. "Ha ha."
"You're going to get the last laugh," Carlotta said. "Can't you visualize the cour
troom? He'll be in his Brooks Brothers special, and you'll soar in like Elvira and he'll be a big fat laughingstock. The courtroom regulars will crucify him from the gallery."
Hannah managed a little smile. "You're right. That will be a rush."
"Hannah," Jolie asked, "does Russell have a tattoo on his wrist?"
She nodded. "Yeah, a tiny thing, four hands or four arms or something. I remember teasing him that it looked like some kind of sissy Boy Scout badge." She looked at Jolie. "Did you bring the picture Carlotta told me about?"
Jolie nodded and withdrew the photo from her purse.
Hannah studied the picture, shaking her head. "Can you believe that your boyfriend and my boyfriend knew each other? Small world, isn't it?" She frowned, then flicked her finger against Russell's wife's face.
Carlotta gave Jolie a sideways glance, lifting her eyebrow.
A plump woman bartender came down to the end of the bar and gave it a swipe with a hand cloth. "What can I get for you ladies?"
"Gin and tonic," Carlotta said.
"Same for me," Jolie said. "I was told that Hardy was working the bar tonight."
The woman looked across the room. "Har-dee!"
A slender middle-aged man serving a tray of drinks looked up.
The bartender pointed to the women. "Fans of yours."
The man tucked the empty tray under his arm and ambled over, sporting a communal grin. "What can I do you for, ladies?"
Jolie leaned forward. "Actually, I was hoping to ask you a few questions."
His eyes narrowed. "You a cop?"
"No. I'm looking for some information about a friend of mine, Gary Hagan."
He nodded, his expression more congenial. "Yeah, Hagan. Likes fancy beer. I haven't seen him around here for a while. How is he?"
"Um, not well," Jolie said ruefully while trying to control her excitement at finding someone who actually knew Gary. She took the photo from Hannah and extended it to him. "I understand that this photo was taken here. I thought you might help me identify some of the people in it."
He squinted at the picture. "Yeah, it was taken here all right. Let's see—that's Hagan, right?"
She nodded.
"This guy's name is Coffee, I think, and that's Russell Island." He looked up. "He's kind of a pansy-ass, always orders a frozen drink."
Carlotta snickered and Hannah gave her a deadly look.
Hardy shook his head. "I've seen these other guys in here, usually with Hagan, but I don't know who they are." He grinned. "I can remember the drinks people order better than their names."
"Did you happen to overhear any of their conversations?" Jolie asked carefully. "How they might have known each other?"
He drew back a couple of inches, and she sensed his retreat. "You're asking a lot of questions."
"It's for a good cause," Carlotta said, then nonchalantly unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and held the drink the bartender had delivered to her long, slender neck. Because of course, it was so hot in mid-October.
Hardy stared at her cleavage. "Well...I don't remember any specific conversation."
Another button came undone. "Do you remember seeing tattoos on their wrists?"
He dragged his gaze up, then pointed his finger. "Yeah. In fact, I think they were all in here celebrating after they got them. I remember thinking they were grown men acting like a bunch of fraternity boys." He laughed. "In fact, I think I might have said something like that, and one of them remarked that they had their own fraternity house."
"What did you think they meant by that?" Carlotta asked, playing with the next button.
Fascinated, Jolie held her breath, wondering what would give first—Hardy, or Carlotta's bra.
Hardy's Adam's apple bobbed. "I'm not sure, but I took it to mean that they had a playhouse, you know, somewhere to take their girlfriends, some place their wives didn't know about. That's pretty common, actually."
Jolie and Carlotta's gaze swung to Hannah.
"Did Russell have a playhouse?" Jolie asked, her heart beating faster.
She nodded. "A condo on West Peachtree. We went there a few times."
Jolie's heart beat faster as a few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Gary was a services broker, and he owned a condo on West Peachtree. The four men used it as a playhouse. Hannah could provide the link between the condo and Russell Island, and the tattoos would provide the link between the four men. Hope flowered in her chest. She gave Carlotta a triumphant nod, barely able to contain her excitement.
Carlotta rewarded Hardy with a glimpse of her navel. "Thanks, Hardy."
He grinned, then looked back to the photo, as if hoping to find more details he could expound upon—Carlotta was, after all, wearing a skirt that buttoned up the front.
He pulled the picture closer, squinting.
"What?" Jolie asked, thinking at this point any information would be pure gravy.
Hardy shook his head. "I can't say for sure—this is an old picture, taken before we repainted, but..."
"But what?" she prompted.
"I swear this dark-haired lady staring off to the side looks like Della Underwood."
Jolie's heart dropped. "What?"
Carlotta grabbed the photo and jammed it close to her face. Jolie looked over her shoulder and broke into a full-body sweat.
Carlotta nodded. "I think he's right. Della went through a brunette phase in the mid-nineties. Tragic, really."
Jolie fairly buckled under the sense of betrayal—Beck had recognized his sister in the photo. That explained the phone call he'd made from her apartment. "...you should be thinking of a story. Yes, I got it from her and I have it with me...I shouldn't be here much longer."
He'd called Della to warn her. That was why he was trying to keep the story out of the papers and off television: for Della's sake, not for hers. He hadn't wanted to show the photo to Pam Vanderpool because he knew she would recognize Della.
All this time, Della might have known something about LeMon that would exonerate Jolie...or is that what Beck was afraid of? That his sister was somehow involved? He said he'd come back to Atlanta because his sister was going through some things that he wanted to be here for. Had she gotten in over her head with her old lover Roger LeMon?
Her heart shivered in disappointment. She'd imagined the connection between her and Beck, had wanted it to be so. Was she so starved for love that she couldn't recognize the real thing from a come-on?
She drew in a shaky breath, determined not to cry.
"Do you know Ms. Underwood?" Hardy asked them, handing back the photo.
"Indirectly," Jolie murmured, feeling Carlotta's perceptive gaze all over her. "Excuse me—I need to make a phone call."
"To Beck?" Carlotta asked in a low voice.
"No," Jolie said. She was finished with being gullible. "To Detective Salyers."
Chapter Twenty-four
JOLIE STOOD STARING DOWN AT GARY, glad she'd gone with the blue tie instead of the red one. It seemed more tranquil, and hopefully, more indicative of the resting place he'd made for himself in eternity.
Her eyes filled with sudden tears, and a sob caught in her throat from the guilt over not having cared enough about him. Somewhere there was probably a pretty girl who had been Gary Hagan's first love, who wondered how he had turned out, hoping she would run into him again someday, not knowing that he was dead unless she happened to subscribe to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Somewhere there was someone who was more qualified to bury him.
At the sound of footsteps behind her, she brushed away tears and turned.
Detective Salyers, wearing her uniform of chinos and jacket came walking toward her.
Jolie tensed. "If you've come to arrest me, can you wait until after the service?"
Salyers gave her a little smile. "I didn't come here to arrest you, Ms. Goodman. I came to pay my respects to Mr. Hagan...and to you."
"Oh. Thank you."
Salyers cleared her throat. "Ms. Goodman, I know th
is isn't exactly the time or the place, but I wanted you to know that I've made this case my top priority—on the clock and off. I truly appreciate all the leads you've sent our way. The information you got from the bartender at Manuel's last night will go a long way toward linking these two murders by way of more than an affair gone bad. We're looking into Kyle Coffee's death, and we're reexamining the West Peachtree condo." Salyers sighed and averted her gaze.
"But?"
Salyers looked back. "But you're still the prime suspect, and my boss is going to recommend to the D.A. tomorrow that an arrest warrant be served."
Panic pumped through her limbs. Jolie massaged her throbbing hand through the bandage. "Okay...okay...okay."
"I thought this would be better coming from your attorney, but I contacted Pam Vanderpool; she said that you had fired her."
Jolie nodded. Beck had left her a half dozen messages. "I'll find another attorney in the morning."
At the sound of more guests, Jolie turned. Carlotta and Hannah walked in, their footsteps careful and uncertain. Carlotta, always the trendsetter, wore yellow head to toe. Hannah looked surprisingly feminine in a flirty ruffled skirt. Jolie smiled, grateful for their presence. They spotted her and made their way toward the front of the chapel.
"He looks better than the last time I saw him." Carlotta murmured. "Nice suit—everyone should be buried in Prada."
Jolie nodded. She'd paid almost as much for the suit as she had the casket.
Hannah gave Jolie's hand a squeeze. "How are you holding up?"
Her gaze flitted to Detective Salyers, who had taken a seat in a middle pew. "Fine."
Hannah shifted from foot to foot. "Jolie, I stole that money from your boss's purse the night of the party." She puffed out her cheeks. "I was going to plant it on Russell."
Jolie frowned. "Why?"
She shrugged. "To discredit him, to show him that I could. I was trying to get close enough to put it in his jacket pocket when Carlotta grabbed me and we went into the pool."
Jolie bit into her lip. "Hannah...have you considered counseling?"
She nodded miserably.
"Omigod," Carlotta whispered. "Jolie, your ex-boss just walked in."
Jolie lifted her head and sure enough, Sammy had arrived, toning down her usual pinkness with a splash of gray.
Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries) Page 25