“I remember the smell.”
“So I tested the throw-up.”
“And?”
“Grant Monk had been poisoned. Throwing up probably saved his life until he was shot.”
“But not the other victim?”
“Right, no poison. But I found defensive wounds on his hands, so he might have been shot simply because he put up a fight.”
She gasped. “So someone really is targeting grooms?”
“I didn’t say that. But it’s a strange coincidence shared by five victims that we know of that I’m willing to pursue further. So I’ll be reexamining Greg Pena’s body, too.”
“And Jack knows all of this?”
He nodded. “He mumbled something about “Groom Slayer” and now he’d never hear the end of it?”
The smile she swallowed went down like a happy little bubble. “Can you add another name to the list?”
He looked surprised. “Sure.”
“Jeffrey Oxblood. He died Sunday, collapsed while he was running.”
“That name sounds familiar. The body might be here. Another groom?”
“About to be.”
“Wow. Okay, I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you, Coop.” Impulsively, she reached up to kiss him on the mouth. He seemed surprised, but kissed her back.
It was a good kiss.
At the sound of someone clearing their throat, they parted to see Rainie Stephens standing there, giving them both an amused look.
“Rainie, hi,” Coop said. “Carlotta was just…”
“Wishing Coop happy birthday,” Carlotta supplied.
“Right,” Coop said, nodding.
Rainie looked dubious, but kept smiling. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Carlotta, but I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick report. “Obituaries of all the single men in the metro area who died in the past thirty days.”
Coop gave Carlotta an exasperated look, then turned back to Rainie. “I’ll take that.”
Rainie didn’t ask questions, just handed him the report. “Ready to go?”
“Yes.” He walked to the coat rack, removed the fedora Carlotta had helped Rainie pick out and set it on his head. He wore it well. “Carlotta, we’re going out to get a bite to eat, want to join us?”
“Yes, join us,” Rainie added.
Carlotta could tell the pretty redhead didn’t mind if she tagged along, but Carlotta she didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to impede anything that might be developing between the couple. “Thanks, but I need to get home.”
Her phone rang. Carlotta retrieved it to see Sammy Sanders was calling. “I need to get this. Do you mind if I stay and take it in here?”
“Close the door when you leave,” Coop said.
She gave them a little wave, and connected the call. “Hi, Sammy.”
“Hi, Carlotta. I have some information for you on the house next door, but I don’t know that it’s going to be helpful.”
She’d forgotten she’d asked Sammy for info on the owner. After talking to the photographer renting the house, her suspicions now seemed silly. But she felt obligated to feign interest since Sammy had gone to the trouble. “What did you find out?”
“The deed is recorded to a business called Property Group Holdings. The mailing address is Virginia, but that’s where the trail goes cold. I can’t locate a phone number or email address, and it’s not a registered corporation. But if you’re interested in making an offer, I can send a letter of inquiry to the address of record.”
“That’s okay, Sammy. Thanks anyway.”
“If you’re interested in looking at other properties, I’d be happy to show you some nice homes. Interest rates are terrific right now.”
Not for people with her credit rating. “I’ll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, where shall I send the Neiman’s coupon I mentioned?”
“You can send it to my house…I think you know the address.”
Carlotta smirked—a reminder of the time she’d crashed a pajama party at Sammy’s home which had ended with Carlotta being arrested for murder. “Um…yes, I remember.”
“Good. Sorry about the house next door, but if it’s any consolation, it’s probably not worth your trouble anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“In my experience, those generic property holding companies in Virginia are almost always government related and a real hassle to deal with. Bye, now.”
“Bye, Sammy.” Carlotta ended the call, her mind racing. Government related?
Minus ten points.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“HOW’S IT GOING at your community service job?” E. Jones asked.
Wes lifted his hand to his mouth and chewed on a straggly piece of skin. It was torture. For the past two days he’d had to endure Meg’s sunny optimism, snug jeans, and spontaneous declarations of affection. And now that she’d confessed her feelings for him, she didn’t care who knew. Ravi and Jeff sent daggers of loathing at him when Meg wasn’t looking.
He knew how they felt—he loathed himself, too. After receiving a full-body kiss goodbye from Meg Monday, he’d gone to Liz’s and cooked dinner for the two of them. He’d tried to put Meg out of his mind, but the dreamy look on Liz’s face when she talked about the baby made his stomach hurt and the goodbye kiss had been the place he’d escaped to in his mind. Yesterday he’d made vague excuses not to spend the evening with Meg, but in a weak moment today, he’d agreed to come by her dorm later, with the implied understanding he’d sneak into her room and they’d make out. Just the thought of it made his balls tingle.
He was in such deep shit.
“It’s going great,” he said.
“Good,” E. said, although she was staring at his hands.
He cracked his knuckles casually, then tucked his hands under his legs so he wouldn’t be tempted to bite his nails.
“Have you talked to your father?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about.”
Including the fact that he’d gotten his father’s mistress pregnant. He pulled his hand out from under his leg and found another jagged piece of nail to bite off.
“Have you been staying out of trouble? No drugs, no gambling?”
“Right. You can take my blood if you want.”
She studied him for a few seconds, then shook her head. “Not today. That’s all.”
He jumped to his feet and headed for the door.
“Wesley?”
He turned back. “Yeah?”
“Your father will be proud of you for taking responsibility for your actions.”
Wes swallowed hard and walked out the door. He had so many problems, his problems had problems.
And when he walked out of the building and unlocked his bike, one of his problems pulled up next to him in a black Town Car.
“Hey, Little Man.”
He bit back a groan. “I thought we weren’t going to collect today.”
“Change of plans,” Mouse said, then popped the trunk. “Get in. I got a surprise for you.”
Wes felt the sweat pop out of his pores as he walked his bike to the back of the car. Did Mouse know he was working undercover for the D.A.? Was he going to work him over, beat a confession out of him? Or worse?
“And grab the driver,” Mouse added.
Wes stared at the golf club, wondering if it was intended for his head today. He stowed his bike, then pulled out the club and trudged to the passenger side.
When he swung inside, he was afraid to make eye contact with Mouse, so he just stared straight ahead. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Wes slumped in his seat and watched the passing scenery. Mouse steered the car onto Peachtree Street and drove north.
“Have you heard from your old man?”
Wes shook his head.
“You got a mother?”
“Yeah. She left with my dad.” He b
rought his hand to his mouth to trim the uneven bits of nail he had left.
“Where is she now?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Your sister raised you?”
It occurred to him that if Mouse felt sorry for him, he might not kill him. “Yeah. It was rough.”
“Yeah, lots of people have it rough.”
He sagged. So much for sympathy.
The traffic of downtown gave way to Midtown, then Buckhead, then the perimeter, and still they headed north.
“Going a little out of our jurisdiction, aren’t we?”
“I thought we’d take a little drive.”
He was a dead man. Anyone who watched television knew that taking a drive was code for going to an isolated location to be executed. He examined the head of the club, checking the grooves for blood or bits of flesh. “Mouse, I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Teaching me the ropes, putting in a good word for me with The Carver, and helping me to get clean.”
“You’re welcome.”
The man seemed unmoved. Wes gave up on his nonexistent nails and picked at his raw cuticles.
“You nervous about something?” Mouse asked.
Wes’s stomach cramped. “No.”
Mouse seemed unconvinced. “You sure you don’t have something you want to tell me?”
“I’m sure.” That, at least, was no lie.
They were on Peachtree Industrial now, well north of the city, driving through fits and spurts of old commercial property and residential housing. Mouse chewed on a toothpick, and Wesley chewed on his fingernails.
When they reached Norcross, Mouse veered the car left onto Peachtree Parkway into an increasingly residential—and rural—area. Wes couldn’t recall ever being this far north.
After a few more miles, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Are you going to tell me the surprise?”
Mouse made a sudden right turn onto a smaller road. “Then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?”
Wes stared at the passing trees and fields and wondered if the look of surprise would be frozen on his face when his body was found. If his body was found. There were a few stacked-stone entrances for subdivisions he couldn’t see with names that had words like “Estate” and “Colony” in them. He supposed people paid big money to live in big houses with big yards and good schools…and lots of undeveloped countryside in between.
He had to hand it to Mouse—no one would think to look for him way out here in—
“What county are we in?”
“Forsyth, I think.”
No one would think to look for him way out here in Forsyth County. He wondered if Meg would raise the alarm when he didn’t show up tonight…or if she’d think he’d flaked out, like before.
When Mouse started craning his neck and tapping the brake as if he were looking for a place to pull over, Wes began to panic. At this point, he figured he had nothing to lose. “Mouse…actually, there is something I want to tell you.”
“Thought so. Well, might as well get it off your chest.”
Wes was going to be sick. “I, um…that is…” He coughed and a bitter taste filled his mouth.
“Spit it out.” Mouse slowed the car and flipped on the turn signal.
Wes squeezed the armrest, then noticed where they were turning. “St. Marlo Country Club?”
“Yeah,” Mouse said with a big grin. “I thought we’d play a round of golf, just you and me.”
“That’s the surprise?”
Mouse’s grin dissolved. “You don’t want to play with me?”
Relief flooded his limbs. “Are you kidding?” He whooped. “Yes, I want to play. This is…this is great, Mouse.”
Mouse grinned again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Then Wes stopped. “But what about clubs?”
“Relax, we’ll get everything we need at the golf shop.”
“I don’t have much cash on me.”
“It’s all on me, Little Man.”
It was perhaps the worst, ugliest game of golf ever played, Wesley decided as they slogged, chopped, and hacked their way through eighteen holes. His swing was awful, and Mouse’s was even worse. They trash-talked each other relentlessly. He drove the golf cart while Mouse sucked down a couple of beers. In the interest of time, they set a maximum number of shots per hole. By the time they’d reached the eighteenth green, they’d lost nine balls and both of them were knocking on a score of 140.
Wes couldn’t remember ever having so much fun.
“You were actually getting pretty good there toward the end,” Mouse said as they left the clubhouse.
“Better maybe, but not good.”
“You just need practice. Me, I doubt I’ll ever get the hang of it.”
“I doubt it, too,” Wes said, then ducked a playful punch. It was a far cry from the kind of punishment he thought he was going to get today. When he climbed into the car, he was pleasantly tired, and…happy.
Mouse started the engine. “Say, what was it you wanted to tell me earlier?”
“Huh?”
“You said you wanted to get something off your chest.”
He shifted in his seat, his mind racing for a plausible answer. “I…got a woman pregnant.”
Mouse winced. “Jeez, no wonder you’ve been so jumpy. Is this your Meg?”
“No,” he said morosely.
“Aw, shit. What’s the situation?”
“The woman is older.”
“Not married, I hope?”
“She’s single, and she wants to keep the baby.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“It’s her decision. I told her I would help anyway I can.”
“Is this someone you care about?”
Wes wet his lips. “It’s complicated. She’s my attorney.”
“Aw, hell.”
“And my dad’s former mistress.”
“Aw, fuck.”
Wes sighed. “I know—it’s a mess.”
“Does Meg know?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t had the nerve to tell her yet.”
“You gonna call her from the hospital waiting room?”
“No.” Although that wasn’t a bad idea.
“All I’m saying is you gotta tell her sooner, rather than later.”
“She’s going to hate me.”
Mouse nodded. “Probably so. Women are funny about their guys having kids with other women.”
Wes puffed out his cheeks in an exhale. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Sure, you do. If you want to be a man, you do the hard thing.”
“The hard thing?”
“Yeah—the hard thing is usually the right thing. Especially where your kids are concerned.”
That gave Wes something to chew on other than his nails. Mouse was right. Carlotta had done the hard thing by sacrificing her twenties to raise him.
So did that mean Randolph had taken the easy way out?
No. His dad had a good reason for leaving…leaving had been the hard thing. Somehow.
“But how do you know what the hard thing is?”
Mouse gave him a little smile. “Easy—it’s the thing you don’t want to do most.”
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”
“Welcome to adulthood, Little Man. It sucks for a while…and then it doesn’t. You’ll see.”
“If you say so.” He saw the sign for a MARTA station and sat up. “Why don’t you drop me at the train? That’ll save you time and I won’t have to sit in traffic and smell you.”
“Okay, smartass.”
When Mouse pulled up to the MARTA dropoff, Wes rolled out, then turned back and leaned in. “Mouse…thanks, man. For everything.”
“You’re welcome. Collections Saturday. I’ll call you.”
Wes shoved the door closed, then retrieved his bike from the trunk. His mind whirled on the long train ride back into Midtown. He rehearsed
what he was going to say to Meg over and over. On the short bike ride from the station to her dorm, he worked up a little irritation—it wasn’t as if Meg had been putting out…and they weren’t even dating. She couldn’t really blame him for being with someone else when she would barely give him the time of day. He was a red-blooded man, after all. And virile, according to Liz.
What did Meg expect him to do—wait for her to decide if and when she might bestow upon him the gift of her uptight self? Did she think she held his balls in her hand?
She had no right to be angry with him for doing what men do…and he’d tell her so.
He called from her dorm lobby while the lady watchdog at the desk eyeballed him warily. “Meg, I’m here.”
“Oh, good, you’re early. Have you thought of a way to sneak in?”
“Um, maybe you’d better come down first.”
“Okay.”
As much as he’d psyched himself up, every defense he had constructed evaporated when she bounced off the elevator and into his heart. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a yellow onesie-romper thingy that exposed her tanned arms and legs. She’d gotten a henna tattoo on her wrist while on vacation and the colors were still vibrant. Meg smiled wide and opened her arms to invite him into her personal space.
He went. He deserved this, one last hug to inhale the scent of her shampoo and feel her lithe body snug against his. He ran his hands down her back and when the woman at the desk glared at him, he went a few inches lower for a blissful handful. Meg kissed him with her pink berry mouth, then pulled back and frowned.
“Is something wrong?”
“Uh…I need to tell you something.”
She smiled. “Okay. What?”
He should ease into it, he decided…tell her how much she meant to him, and he wished he had waited for her because after all, he’d pretty much made a career out of thinking about having sex with her…
She gave a little laugh. “Wes, whatever it is, just tell me. I mean, how bad can it be—”
“I got someone pregnant.”
She stopped midsentence, mouth open. He was ready for anything—a slap to the face, a knee to the nuts. Crying, shouting, name-calling. He braced himself.
Instead, her eyes got quiet and faraway. “You’ll be a great father,” she said softly, then turned and walked back the way she’d come.
7 Brides for 7 Bodies Page 22