8 Bodies is Enough--for Amazon

by Stephanie Bond

  “Maybe he put it between his teeth to free up his hands to try to get out of the safe? Hard to say.”

  Jack’s phone rang and Carlotta glanced over to see Liz’s name come up on the screen.

  “Sorry, I need to get this,” he said.

  She nodded and leaned away from him, squashing the flash of resentment. She forced her mind away from the murmured conversation and back to the matter plucking at her.

  How had Dead Johnson gotten the address for the shipping store? She hadn’t shared it with anyone except Hannah, when they were searching online databases for a potential street address for Bill and Melanie Randolph.

  Then a thought struck her—before coming to Las Vegas, she’d used her phone to find out as much as she could about the post office box address. Had the dead man hacked into her phone? Or Peter? Or someone at Mashburn & Tully?

  Regardless, it was imperative she keep an eye on box 610. If only there was a way she could know when someone would be there to pick up mail. And she had less than a week.

  Then she remembered something Jack had said—that packages had to be picked up within two days. Which meant customers were notified when packages arrived. In fact, she recalled seeing a sign to that effect.

  “Okay, let me know if you have any updates,” Jack was saying. “Okay, bye.” When he disconnected the call, his expression was pinched.

  “How’s Liz?” she asked lightly.

  “Liz is fine. But…I have some bad news.”

  She jerked her head around. “Randolph?”

  Jack nodded. “He was jumped in the prison food hall and stabbed.”

  “Is he--?”

  “He’s alive in the prison infirmary under heavy guard; they’ll move him if he recovers enough. But Liz said it doesn’t look good.”

  “What happened? I thought he was in solitary confinement because a relative of one of his clients is housed there?”

  “He was. The incident happened at meal time. The person you mentioned isn’t implicated, but it’s still under investigation.”

  She bit into her lip to stem rising tears. So after all this time, she and Wes still might never get to talk to Randolph, might never get answers. “If we fly back to Atlanta tonight, will they let us see him?”

  “No. I’m sorry, they won’t. And he’s unconscious. But Liz said she’d call me with updates.”

  “She can’t call me? Or Wes?”

  “I guess she assumes you’d rather not hear from her. And she did try Wes, but she said he didn’t pick up.”

  “Liz,” Carlotta said with a strident little laugh. “No matter what happens, she’s always in the mix, isn’t she?”

  Jack didn’t seem to have a response. “I’ll get you back to the hotel.”

  “Actually, can you drop me off at the post office up there on the left? I want to mail my postcard. I’ll walk back to the hotel from there.”

  “I can wait while you get a stamp, Carlotta.”

  “Thanks, but I need to clear my head. And I can call Wes to let him know.”

  “Okay,” he relented.

  When he slowed the SUV, she hopped out. She could feel Jack watching her to make sure she went into the post office. When she got to the door, she turned and waved. The SUV pulled away. When it was out of sight, she turned and scanned the shops clustered around the post office. With Randolph ailing, all the more reason to seize any opportunity to find her mother.

  A bookstore a few doors down caught her eye.

  When she walked in, she was struck by how much bookstores had changed. In order to get to the actual books, she had to weave her way past kiosks of electronic devices, games, stuffed animals, and other tchotchkes. After some browsing, she found the section she was looking for.

  Valerie had devoured glitz fiction—novels about the rich and famous leading decadent lives most people only dream of. She called them her brain candy. Carlotta often wondered if her mother used them as guidebooks for how to move in high society circles.

  She recognized some of the authors’ names from the books that used to adorn Valerie’s nightstand. Randolph teased her about them, but often came home with a book he’d bought on his lunch hour he thought she would enjoy.

  Despite the womanizing, he’d seemed to love Valerie. Had their love persevered being on the run the past ten years? And if so, did Valerie have any idea Randolph was now fighting for his life?

  Pushing aside the melancholy thoughts, Carlotta selected several recent hardcover releases and paid for them, then lugged her load to the post office. From the wall of retail supplies, she selected a colorful cardboard box that would hold the books but also was larger than box 610 at the shipping store. She filled out the mailing label to M. Randolph while she waited in line. When she got to the counter, she hefted the box to the scale in front of the clerk.

  “One postcard stamp, and I’d like to send this package overnight delivery, please.”

  The guy’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s gonna be expensive to send a package this heavy overnight.”

  “That’s okay.” She reasoned if she got a promotion and raise when she went back to Neiman’s, she could pay down the towering balance on her credit card.

  He scanned the address. “You know that’s just a couple of miles from here.”

  She nodded.

  “Lady, you could take it over in a limousine cheaper than this is gonna be.”

  “Still,” she said, pleasantly.

  He scratched his head. “Okay, but I can’t send it without a return address.”

  She filled in the townhome’s address—if the package wasn’t picked up and found its way back to her in Atlanta, at least she’d have reading material for a while. When the clerk told her the delivery charge, she coughed, then swiped her beleaguered card. “What time will it be delivered?”

  “Guaranteed by 10 a.m.”

  Carlotta thanked the man, then left, thinking of the supplies she would need for a stakeout. Binoculars, portable phone charger, snacks, water…

  Chapter 9

  “DUDE, IT’S BEEN twenty-one hours,” Chance said, abandoning the joystick of the Mortal Kombat console. “Isn’t that close enough, considering the different time zone and all?”

  Wes looked up from the NBA Live game he was playing and squinted. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Sniff it and see if it smells.”

  A cute girl walking by gave Chance a lethal look.

  “He didn’t mean you,” Wes offered, but she was gone.

  He shook his head at his snickering friend, then fished out his wallet and removed the fake driver’s license. After glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he ran the plastic card under his nose and inhaled.

  “Well? Does it stink?”

  “I can’t tell. Maybe.”

  “Let me take a whiff.”

  Wes handed it over. Chance held it under his big schnoz and inhaled deeply. “Mmm…smells like French fries.”

  “You mean like the fries you had for lunch?”

  Chance sniffed again, then frowned. “Yeah, maybe I’m smelling my fingers.”

  “Wash your hands sometime, how about it?”

  “I don’t smell the card, though, so maybe it’s okay to use it.”

  “And maybe I don’t want to risk it,” Wes said. “The guy specifically said to wait twenty-four hours.”

  “Dude, I’m dying here. Let’s go gamble.”

  “Nothing’s stopping you from playing.”

  “It’s not as much fun by myself,” Chance whined. “And normally I’d kill time by going out and getting laid, but now there’s Hannah, so…”

  “Where is Hannah?”

  “She said she went shopping with Carlotta.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to text her.” He pulled out his phone.

  Wes kept playing, with one eye on the clock, counting down the minutes until he could hit the poker tables. His backpack vibrated. Hoping it was
Meg reaching out, he checked, but it was the phone Mouse had given him. Disappointed, he ignored it—it was nice Mouse wanted to stay in touch, but he’d ping the man back later. He’d ignored Liz’s call, too—that whole fatherhood scare was still a little fresh.

  “She’s not responding,” Chance said.

  “Maybe she’s busy.”

  “She hasn’t responded all day.”

  Wes heard the injured note in his buddy’s voice. He wouldn’t be surprised if Hannah was out following Coop around the city, but he didn’t want to dash Chance’s dreams. “Don’t get worked up about it.”

  “I love her, dude.”

  Wes abandoned his game. Chance looked like a little boy who’d lost his blankie. “That’s cool, man, really. But you’re not going to land Hannah if you act all needy and shit.”

  Chance worked his mouth from side to side. “But I do need her.”

  “But you can’t act like you do, understand?”

  “I guess so. But I’m miserable when she’s not around. I think about her, like, all the time.”

  Wes could relate. Meg sat on his mind like a hat. “I get it, but you need to relax, man. Hannah digs your fat ass, don’t mess it up by being a pain. She’s on vacation, too.”

  “I know. I just can’t shake this feeling that she’s hiding something from me.”

  “I don’t think she could get anything past you,” Wes lied.

  Chance nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m being hemorrhoid.”

  “I think you mean ‘paranoid.’”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  Wes’s backpack vibrated again. He reached inside with the intention of turning off the phone Mouse gave him, then realized it was his main phone. He pulled it out and grinned. A text from Meg.

  Hi. I’m guessing you put the bracelet on my teddy bear? Very pretty. Thank you.

  His heart lifted. She liked it.

  His phone vibrated with another text. But this doesn’t change anything.

  But it did change something—she was at least communicating with him. He hesitated, trying to think of something cool to text back and settled on You’re welcome. I’m in Vegas. Wish me luck. And he added a few four-leaf clover emojis. Girls loved that shit.

  A few seconds later his phone vibrated again. You’re not old enough to gamble.

  Wes frowned.

  His phone lit up and his hope that Meg was calling was dashed when he saw Carlotta’s name on the screen. Had she somehow found out about the money? Then he scoffed—now he was being a hemorrhoid. He connected the call. “Hey, Sis. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Wes.” Her voice sounded tired. “Not good news, I’m afraid. Randolph was jumped and stabbed.”

  His grip tightened on the phone. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s alive in the prison infirmary, but it’s serious.”

  “Should we go home?”

  “They won’t let us see him. But if the worst happens, we’ll have to cut our trip short.”

  “So we can’t see him until he’s dead, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I suppose that’s true. But it was his choice not to talk to us when he had the chance.” She sighed. “Look, Wes, there’s nothing we can do except hope he recovers. Try not to worry. Do something to keep your mind off everything. I’ll let you know if I get any updates.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Sis.” He disconnected the call, fighting tears of anger. Life just wasn’t fair.

  “You okay, dude?”

  “Yeah.” Wes swiped at his eyes. “C’mon, let’s hit the tables.”

  “Fucking A, man. Hey, do you need some cash? I can spot you a few bills.”

  “Not necessary.” Wes patted his jacket. “I got it covered.”

  Chapter 10

  “THERE’S THE POSTAL TRUCK,” Hannah said, bouncing in the driver’s seat. Something on her jangled, but it could’ve been anything from her jewelry to the buckles on her studded black clothing.

  Carlotta glanced away from the shipping store entrance and gave her friend a pointed look. “You might ease up on the caffeine—this could be a long day.”

  “I’m prepared,” Hannah said, holding up an oddly shaped pink rubber object.

  “What’s that?”

  “A portable urinal for women.” She positioned it for demonstration. “So we can pee like a guy without leaving the car.”

  Carlotta scoffed. “When we need to pee, we’ll take turns walking to the coffee house.”

  “Spoil sport. I brought it for you—I’m wearing a diaper.”

  Carlotta laughed, but she didn’t doubt it. She knew Hannah was trying to cheer her up. There was still no word about Randolph’s condition.

  She lifted the binoculars to watch the packages being unloaded across the street. They were sitting in a rented SUV in a parking lot, with the nose of the vehicle facing the shipping store.

  “Are you sure you’ll recognize the box?” Hannah asked.

  “Yeah. It had a colorful design, and I used a black marker to draw X’s on all six sides. There it is.” She released a pent-up breath, reminding herself this ruse was still a longshot. Randolph could’ve easily given a bogus contact number when he rented the box.

  “This is so exciting,” Hannah said, bouncing.

  “This from someone who yesterday was lunching with a prince.”

  “A prince from some country no one’s heard of. We could probably go there and be duchesses or some shit like that if we had enough money.”

  “You do have enough money,” Carlotta said lightly.

  “My parents have money,” Hannah corrected. “I’m a slaving culinary student and underpaid body mover.”

  “How many boxes do you think the postal guy is taking inside?”

  “Ten or so.”

  “I wonder how soon the man working there will call the customers to let them know they have a package.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be overrun with customers.”

  “Hopefully Tuesdays are slow,” Carlotta murmured.

  When the postal truck left, she lowered the binoculars and relaxed in the seat. “Okay, the desk is manned until 6, so that’s up to eight hours of waiting.”

  “Where does Peter think you are?”

  “Out shopping with you. Where does Chance think you are?”

  “Out shopping with you. He was suspicious last night, though.”

  “What time did you get back from your meeting?”

  “About nine o’clock. Thanks again for letting me use your bathroom for a changeroo. Where were you and Peter?”

  “At the Chihuly art gallery. He’s trying to keep my mind off Randolph. And he’s thinking about buying a chandelier for his house.”

  “Nice,” Hannah said. “He must be pulling down some bank at Mashburn & Tully. Seven figures?”

  “I’ve never asked,” Carlotta said. “I assume he does well.”

  “You’ve never wondered how it is that the partners there are making so much money when your father’s clients haven’t been made whole?”

  Carlotta squirmed. “Peter told me it’s because the case was never prosecuted, that the firm was only responsible for repaying a small percentage of the claims, that Randolph is personally responsible for the bulk of the restitution.” She sighed. “But that might never happen.”

  Hannah made a rueful noise. “Maybe when you find your mother, she’ll be hoarding stacks of gold bars.”

  Carlotta was suddenly seized by the predicament she’d inadvertently put Hannah in by sharing information about her parents. “Hannah,” she said carefully, “maybe you should sit this one out.”

  Hannah jerked her head around. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my mother is technically a fugitive. If you know where she is and you don’t report it to authorities, you’ll be aiding and abetting.”

  “So will you.”

  “But this is my family. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “You’re my family,” Hannah
said. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, too.”

  Carlotta’s eyes watered as emotion thickened her throat.

  “Oh, fuck, don’t cry. I take it all back.”

  Carlotta laughed, then wiped at her lashes.

  “Hey, I think he’s making calls,” Hannah said, lifting her binoculars.

  Carlotta lifted hers and focused. Sure enough, the man at the counter was making phone calls, then setting aside the packages one at a time.

  “There’s your package,” Hannah said.

  Carlotta held her breath.

  He tapped on the keyboard and after consulting the computer screen, punched in a number.

  “He’s calling,” Hannah said.

  He seemed to be waiting…and listening. Probably to a ringing phone. “No one’s answering,” Carlotta murmured with a sinking feeling.

  “There—his lips are moving. He’s talking to someone!”

  But he wasn’t taking breaks like someone listening to another person on the other end would. Then he hung up.

  “He left a message.” Carlotta lowered her binoculars and sighed. “Dammit. That voice message could be sitting on a burner cell phone hidden somewhere in the Buckhead house.”

  “Try to be positive. Think of all the little things that worked out in order for you to be sitting here.”

  “Ten years after the fact,” Carlotta said. “And if Randolph had just given me the address when I talked to him in the pen, I wouldn’t be jumping through these hoops. And look at the hoops you and I both jumped through just to get in and talk to him in the first place.” She grunted in frustration. “He could’ve made this a thousand times easier.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason he’s reluctant for you to reunite with your mother. You said she was an alcoholic.”

  Carlotta nodded. “I’ve wondered if she still drinks, or if she’s gotten worse.”

  “It had to be stressful for her to be away from you and Wesley.”

  “I’d like to think so,” Carlotta said, “but Valerie wasn’t what you’d call ‘maternal.’ She wasn’t a bad mother, just…inattentive.” She turned in her seat. “What’s your mother like?”

  “Ha—I wish my mother was an alcoholic. She’s so uptight.”