7 Brides for 7 Bodies
Page 9
“He wanted to know if you had spoken to Randolph before he was arrested.”
She frowned. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were injured, and you’d only exchanged a few words before being taken to the hospital. That seemed to satisfy him.”
Why would Brody Jones care if Randolph Wren had had a conversation with his daughter before he’d been arrested? “Anything else?”
“Not really. He just reiterated that Randolph had done a lot of damage to the firm’s reputation they’d had to repair, and they were afraid his reappearance would be bad for business.”
“That’s understandable, I suppose. Actually, Peter, there is something you can do for me.”
“Name it.”
“Can you get me a list of my father’s clients who lost money?”
“I…sure. It might take me a day or two. Why do you need it?”
A tiny red flag rose in her head. Why did he need to know why she needed it?
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he added.
“Not at all. I found out the parents of one of my coworkers lost money. I just want to know if any other acquaintances are on the list.”
“I understand. Who is the coworker?”
Another red flag rose. “Um…Patricia Alexander.”
“Yes…her parents are Hess and Laura. They were two of Randolph’s best clients.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Thanks for your help, Peter.”
“So…have you spoken to Randolph yet?”
Carlotta hesitated. Why was she reluctant to share with Peter the fact that she hadn’t heard from her father?
Because on some level she feared he might feel compelled to share information she gave him with the partners in the firm…and play both sides of the fence.
It hit her like a gong—she didn’t trust Peter…which wasn’t fair because he hadn’t told the police about Randolph calling him at the office.
Unless it was out of self-preservation, so the partners wouldn’t think he was helping Randolph.
Someone fell into step next to her. “Good morning, early bird.”
Carlotta looked up to see Jack striding along, sipping coffee, as if they walked to work together every morning.
“Carly, are you there?” Peter asked.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Is someone with you?”
“I’m at the Expo, so I have to go.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Call me?”
“I will,” she promised, then disconnected the call.
“No need to hang up on my account,” Jack said amiably.
“Unless I don’t want you to eavesdrop on my conversation,” she said dryly.
“Keeping secrets, huh?”
She smiled. “Don’t we all, Jack?”
Instead of answering, he turned his head in the direction of three large groups of protestors who had gathered near the sidewalk, holding up handmade posters and pumping their fists in the air, shouting cheers and jeers together and at each other.
“What are they protesting?” Jack asked.
“That group supports same-sex marriage,” Carlotta said, pointing. “That group supports multi-partner marriage, and that group wants to abolish marriage altogether.” She angled a smile at Jack. “I bet I can guess which camp you’re in.”
He held up his hands. “No comment, not applicable.”
“Oh, come on, Jack—you’ve never come close to getting married?”
“No,” he said vehemently. Then almost under his breath he added, “Not yet.”
She gasped. “So you haven’t ruled out the possibility entirely?”
He stopped, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the flashing bull’s eye beeper. “Duty calls. Jett kept me out until one this morning. I was hoping I’d get here early enough to enjoy a cup of coffee before he arrived.”
“He’s supposed to sign copies of his new book this morning at the media booth. It’s just inside the entrance, to the left.”
He gave her a grateful wave, but watching him stride away, Carlotta was left with the feeling that Jack had been relieved for an excuse to get away from her and their conversation.
But then again, hadn’t they promised to maintain a proper distance from each other?
Someone walked by and shoved a brochure into her hand announcing an art exhibit titled “After the Dress.” This visually stunning and thought-provoking show features wedding gowns of bygone decades and live narrative from the women who wore them regarding what they learned about themselves during marriage and after divorce.
Carlotta pursed her mouth. Apparently the Wedding Expo was the catalyst for stirring up all kinds of opinions on marriage—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
She stuffed the brochure into her bag and hurried inside. Jarold Jett had done her a favor by summoning Jack to keep him occupied. She had arrived before the Expo opened to the public with her all-access worker-bee lanyard in the hopes of going back to the runway and tent area to snoop around a bit—assuming everything hadn’t been dismantled.
She casually made her way back to the walled-off area where a “Do Not Enter” sign was posted across a curtain that spanned the doorway. Carlotta rolled her eyes—really? A lousy sign and a curtain? She would have to talk to Jack about the lax security…after she got in and out, of course.
After a quick scan of the area, she slipped through the curtain, prepared to say she’d left something in one of the changing tents if anyone stopped her.
But thankfully, the area was deserted…eerily so. Carlotta walked to the end of the waist-high runway and took in the mashed, strewn white flower petals that had fallen from the bouquet carried by the woman who’d been walking next to Jeremy. One of the petals looked dark and wet, as if it was stuck to something. She carefully picked it up to find a flat wad of chewing gum, tinged with blood. Jeremy had been chewing gum—it was probably his, dislodged when he’d collapsed.
A noise behind her startled her. She curled the flower petal in her hand and turned around guiltily to see a man in janitorial garb holding a push broom.
“Uh, nobody’s supposed to be in here, ma’am.”
She gave him a huge smile, and held up her handy lanyard. “I’m an exhibitor—I work for Neiman Marcus. We cosponsored the fashion show yesterday, and everything ended so quickly, I left a few things in the changing area.” She gestured vaguely to the white tents behind the stage. “Do you mind if I get them before someone makes off with them?”
The guy glanced at her legs, then nodded. “I guess that would be okay…if you hurry.”
She blasted him with another smile. “Thank you.” Then she moved toward the tent, folding the gummy flower petal into a side pocket of her purse to discard later. She wasn’t watching where she was going and tripped, catching herself at the last minute. On the carpeted floor lay one of the red wigs the brides had been wearing in the fashion show. She scooped it up and carried it with her to the changing tent where the young men had dressed in their groom’s garb.
The tent was empty. All the clothing and accessory racks had been removed, leaving only a few folding chairs, a looted snack cart littered with dead flies and empty water bottles, and a bank of temporary plastic lockers, most of which stood open. Carlotta went through them one by one, but didn’t find anything…and truthfully, didn’t know what she was looking for.
Trouble, Jack would say.
She conceded defeat with a laugh, left the men’s tent and stepped next door into the women’s tent to return the red wig. The brides’ tent was also empty, but even more trashed, with remnants of flowers, sequins, straight pins, and elastic hair ties cluttering the floor. One lone flip-flop lay forsaken, as if someone had literally walked out of it and kept going. She could only imagine the pandemonium of getting the women out of their dresses and away from the terrible scene. The fact that the wig she held sported strands of dark hair gave her a sense that the wearer had ripped it off mid-stride. Clumps o
f tissues overflowing a small garbage can spoke of the tears that had been shed in the aftermath.
It was a terrible thing to witness someone’s death, to see a person alive and happy one moment, and the next, dead and, well…unhappy.
Except Jeremy hadn’t exactly been happy about being a groom, had he?
Had his discontent led him to ingest a lethal mix of drugs and alcohol? Had the stress of his impending wedding triggered an aneurysm?
Regardless, it all seemed so unnecessary and random, it was mind-numbing.
Shaken, Carlotta laid the disheveled wig on a table and left. Another couple of workers had joined the first guy, along with Melissa Friedman, who was barking orders to get the place cleaned up and reconfigured in time for the noon flower arranging contest, chop, chop! Carlotta ducked her head and slunk outside the curtain.
And was instantly propelled back into the land of happy.
The Wedding World Expo had reopened with a vengeance. Between it being Friday, and the extra punch of publicity generated from the news reports, the betrothed women of Atlanta had shown up in impressive numbers. The crowd was rolling toward the booths at the rear of the exhibition hall like a big, colorful tide.
Carlotta picked up her pace and hurried to the Your Perfect Man booth. No surprise, Patricia Alexander was already there, looking as bright and shiny as a first-grader.
“I wanted to get a jump on commissions since yesterday was cut short,” Patricia said.
“Good idea,” Carlotta agreed.
“Gosh, that was just awful what happened yesterday. Did you see it?”
“Yes. Actually, I had a brief conversation with the young man beforehand. Such a tragedy.”
Patricia angled her head. “Bodies seem to turn up wherever you are.”
Carlotta straightened. “That’s not true.” All of the time.
“Still. You have to admit it’s kind of weird. It’s like you have this thing around you…like a black cloud.”
Carlotta swallowed a retort, remembering that Patricia had reason to take pot shots at her, and her family. And besides…she wasn’t exactly wrong about the body count.
“I can see why you would think so,” she murmured. Then she conjured up a smile. “So…have you and Leo set a date?” She’d met the guy once—he played for the Gwinnett Braves farm team. She hadn’t been bowled over by him, but Patricia was completely smitten, which was all that mattered.
The blonde lit up. “We’re thinking a fall wedding, you know, after his playing season ends.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Something small and elegant,” Patricia said. “We’re saving our pennies for a new house.” She could guess what Patricia made in a year, and Leo wasn’t in the major leagues yet…plus he had a daughter to support, so a big elaborate wedding probably wasn’t in the budget.
And because of Randolph, Patricia’s father couldn’t foot the bill. “That sounds lovely,” Carlotta said with a smile. “Very classy.”
“Maybe someday you’ll have a wedding of your own,” Patricia said. “Peter isn’t the only fish in the sea.”
“Right.”
“Although he is one of the most handsome.”
“Yes.”
“And one of the richest.”
“Er…yes.”
“Why did you break up again?”
“Um…it’s complicated.”
“Does it have something to do with that detective that’s always hanging around?”
Carlotta squirmed. “No.”
“Because I think he has a thing for you.”
Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the specific “thing” Jack had for her. “Detective Terry is a bona fide bachelor.”
Patricia scoffed. “Every man’s mind can be changed by the right woman.”
Carlotta squinted. Was Patricia implying that Carlotta wasn’t the kind of woman who could change a man’s mind? “Then obviously Leo has found the right woman in you.”
Patricia nodded happily, then pivoted away to help a customer. Carlotta exhaled, feeling a headache coming on. If things were awkward between her and Patricia now, how much more tense would things become if Randolph went to trial? How many of her acquaintances and customers would be in the court gallery, demanding their pound of flesh from her father?
And could she blame them?
In her small Tory Burch crossbody bag, her phone vibrated. Her heart lurched hopefully—stupidly—that it was some word from Randolph. Or Wesley calling to say hello and he was sorry for acting like a jerk since their foiled visit to the jail two days ago. Instead it was Hannah returning an earlier text.
Got a weeklong catering gig, catch up with you soon.
Carlotta battled a stab of disappointment. Between Hannah’s erratic job and spending all her free time with Chance, she’d been scarce lately. But it wasn’t her friend’s fault her life was crumbling at the corners.
Carlotta texted back Okay, talk soon.
She checked to make sure she hadn’t missed a phone call from the U.S. Penitentiary, then reluctantly dialed Liz’s phone number. The woman answered on the first ring.
“What is it, Carlotta? I’m busy.”
Carlotta swallowed a foul word. “Too busy to go with me Monday to sit down with Kelvin Lucas?”
A beat of silence passed. “What’s this about?”
“I assume he wants to take my report on The Charmed Killer case, but I’m afraid he’ll use it as an excuse to dig for information about Randolph.”
From the throaty noise Liz made, she could tell the woman agreed. “What time?”
They synced details, then ended the call without ceremony. Carlotta stowed her phone with gritted teeth—she was so tired of Randolph occupying space in her brain!
With a mental shake, she busied herself helping customers, trying not to think about anything except selling men’s clothes and accessories. It was, at least, fun to help women decide if their man was a warrior, a king, a lover, or a magician. She had to give kudos to the booth designer—it was an interesting way to connect with shoppers and engage them in conversation. She drew on the high energy of the show and before she knew it, Melissa Friedman was announcing over the loudspeaker that the flower arrangement competition would begin soon in the runway area, and seats were filling fast.
Carlotta sighed. Yesterday a young man had died on that runway, and today the world marched on with its frivolous pastimes…but it was how things had to be.
Still, it made a person feel inconsequential.
“Hello, Carlotta.”
At the sound of the vaguely familiar female voice, she turned and blinked in surprise at the curvy redhead who had stopped next to the booth. “Hi, Rainie.” Guilt suffused her chest. “I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. I’ve been…busy.”
Rainie Stephens smiled. “I understand. You have a lot going on right now. How is your injury?”
“Better, thanks.”
“It must be if you’re working.” She nodded to the display. “The four male archetypes—very clever.”
“I can’t take credit for it, but yes. What brings you to the show? Are you planning a wedding?”
Rainie laughed and shook her head. “No. I’m writing a general interest piece for the paper. I’m sure you heard about the young man who collapsed and died yesterday?”
“Yes. I was there when it happened—very sad.”
“Is there a story there?”
Carlotta shook her head. “It was awful, but innocent enough. The poor guy had a baby on the way, was going to be married soon.”
Rainie made a mournful noise, then glanced at her watch. “Do you have time now to chat? I’ll buy you lunch.”
“I’m really not up for an interview, Rainie.”
The woman fingered a black leather Tom Ford wallet. “Maybe you can help me find a gift, then?”
Carlotta was wary. “Okay. Someone special?”
“Cooper, as a matter of fact. His birthday is next week.”
“So which one of these archetypes do you think best matches Coop?”
She didn’t want to say, but her gaze involuntarily went to one particular display.
Rainie’s eyebrows rose. “The lover, huh?”
“Um…I…wouldn’t really know.”
The redhead circled the display, then nodded. “No, you’re right…he’s a lover.”
Carlotta pressed her lips together. “If you say so.”
“Can you recommend something?”
“How about this?” She held up a straw fedora with a black band.
“Yes, I think it would suit him nicely. I’ll take it.”
Carlotta stepped to a register to ring up the sale, still on her guard.
Rainie leaned into the counter. “So how about some questions to satisfy my own curiosity? Off the record.”
Carlotta hesitated, then remembered the times Rainie had helped her. “Okay…off the record.”
“When Bruce Abrams attacked you, did he tell you why he killed all those women?”
“He implied he was doing it to set up Coop.”
Rainie’s eyes clouded in concern. “Did he say why?”
“I got the impression he felt as if he was operating in Coop’s shadow.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. Coop was a popular chief M.E.”
A part of Coop’s life that transpired before Carlotta knew him. “I’m sure he was.”
“God, I’m so relieved Abrams is locked up and Coop’s nightmare is over.”
The way she said it made Carlotta think Rainie was helping Coop pick up the pieces…which was great. He deserved to be happy. “We’re all relieved.” She wrapped the hat in tissue and placed it in a shopping bag. Coop was the kind of guy who could wear a fedora. He was…cool.
Rainie handed over her credit card. “How is your father?”
Carlotta gave a careful shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Why not?”
“Are we still off the record?”
Rainie’s eyes softened and she nodded.
“The feds are keeping him under wraps.”