7 Brides for 7 Bodies (6 page)

Everything was sparkly, spangly, shiny, and shimmery. Scents of sugary treats, fresh blossoms, and perfume rode the air. Chamber music and dance tunes boomed from different directions. Carlotta moved down a center corridor feeling as if she was under assault. Even for someone who was accustomed to the over-the-top merchandising of retail sales, it was sensory overload.

The Atlanta location of Neiman’s didn’t feature an in-store bridal boutique like the renowned Dallas location, but they saw their share of brides in the formalwear department, in the jewelry department, and in gift registry. And the NM café was a popular venue for bridal parties and showers. It made sense they would have a presence at the Expo...but still, the spectacle put Carlotta on edge.

Which spoke volumes about her state of mind, she realized.

They hadn’t heard a word from Randolph, and Wesley was communicating in monosyllables. Being denied access to their father was reason enough for her brother to be surly, but she had a feeling something else was bothering him.

And it could be
so
many things.

Meanwhile, the voice mail inbox on her cell phone and their home phone continued to fill with messages from people who wanted to talk to her, check on her, interview her, or—in a couple of creepy cases—simply meet her. Between being the last intended victim of The Charmed Killer and the daughter of Randolph “The Bird” Wren, she was in demand.

Carlotta wound her way through the exuberant exhibition until she located the expansive and unexpectedly dark-hued booth the store was cosponsoring. The theme of the exhibit was projected onto the tall background wall:
Your Perfect Man
.

Carlotta pushed her tongue into her check. Seriously?

Admittedly, among a sea of booths brimming with white, frilly femininity, having a groom-based booth was a standout idea. The display area was populated with a multitude of products in rich, masculine vignettes, separated into four distinct sections for four different male archetypes—the warrior, the king, the lover, the magician.

Hm.

The cosponsors’ products were intermingled, but Neiman’s clothing and accessories dominated the lifestyle displays that included furniture, luggage, sports gear, and electronics.

The booth already had a few lookers, so Carlotta stepped forward to introduce herself to a hostess who was smoothing a gray throw over the back of a leather club chair. “Hello, I’m—”

The woman turned and her familiar face erupted in surprise. “Carlotta! I didn’t know you’d be here! I thought you were on vacation.”

Carlotta maintained her smile for Patricia Alexander, her prim but energetic coworker at Neiman’s. The blonde was like an annoying puppy yapping at her ankles, and just when she started to tolerate the woman, Patricia would reveal a witchy side.

“My trip was cancelled,” Carlotta said. “I thought you were doing inventory back at the store.”

“So did I. But someone working the show called in sick and I happened to be standing there, so Lindy asked me to fill in.” She beamed. “I guess she knew I’d be interested in weddings.” She thrust out her left hand and wiggled the sparkling ring on her finger. “Leo and I got engaged!”

Carlotta’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. I thought you broke up with him.”

“I did, because I felt like he was keeping something from me. And he was—he has a daughter, and he thought I wouldn’t accept it. He apologized and told me everything and then he proposed!”

“When did all this happen?”

“Last week—the night of the full moon. It was so romantic. He took me to Stone Mountain and proposed during the outdoor laser show.”

“That’s...super.”

“Isn’t it? And you’ll get to see Leo again—he’s going to be in the celebrity fashion show on the last day.” Patricia clasped her hands together. “How great is it that you and I will be working together all week?”

“Great,” Carlotta agreed.

Then Patricia gasped. “But are you okay?” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I heard you were
stabbed
by The Charmed Killer?”

“Er...yes.” Carlotta inadvertently touched her shoulder. “But I’ll be fine.”

“What a relief that maniac is behind bars.”

“Yes.”

Patricia’s eyes widened. “And your
father
is back in town?”

The woman’s family had deep roots in Buckhead society, and she knew the entire sordid story of the Wrens’ ruin. Carlotta tried to smile. “That’s right.”

“He just showed up, out of the blue?”

She felt compelled to defend Randolph, especially since Patricia would likely retell the story. “He saved my life, actually. Somehow, he knew I was in trouble.”

Her jaw dropped. “He’s been watching you all this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Patricia’s neck turned blotchy. “But he’s been...close by?”

“Uh...” Carlotta gestured to a couple of customers who looked as if they had questions. “We probably should get busy. What can I do?”

Patricia straightened, as if she suddenly remembered where they were. “Just answer questions. And if customers find something they like, offer to help place an order online.” She indicated two kiosks equipped with flat screen monitors and keyboards.

“Anything else?” Carlotta asked, noticing Patricia seemed distracted.

“We, um...get commission on any Neiman’s merchandise we sell. Too bad we don’t have any wedding gowns on display—I bet we could’ve made a bundle.” Her throat convulsed. “So...your father’s in jail?”

Carlotta nodded, puzzled over Patricia’s sudden unease. Maybe she was afraid Randolph had been stalking Carlotta and her coworkers at the store?

“Good,” Patricia said, then caught herself. “I mean, I’m glad he’s back...for your sake, of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and one of us is supposed to help with the fashion show this afternoon,” Patricia continued, her voice stronger. “Neiman’s is supplying all the menswear. It’s going to take place in the rear of the hall—they’re still putting together the runway. And don’t forget to download the Wedding Expo app to your phone...”

Carlotta nodded, allowing the woman to drone on, steeling herself for a long, boring day standing on her feet. But it was better than bouncing off the walls of the townhouse. She spent the next few minutes familiarizing herself with items in the expansive booth and assisting browsing customers. She passed the first sluggish hour handing out coupons for free shipping on website orders, then smothered a yawn.

When had retail gotten so godawful boring?

Across the aisle, a woman screamed. Carlotta wheeled, all senses on alert for danger. Thief? Stalker? Rapist?

But instead of fighting off an assault, the woman was holding up a frothy white dress, her face lit up with the discovery that had elicited the loud response. Carlotta exhaled and shook herself—she had to stop looking for intrigue in every situation.

She glanced around at the smiling, hopeful faces of the women pouring into the exhibition hall, chattering excitedly. There was nothing here but happy people planning happy occasions, set to embark on happy lives.

She sighed. Everyone, it seemed, was happy...except her. She glanced back to the squealing bride, tempted to approach her and ask her how her life had gotten to such a happy place. But when she saw the woman’s companion, she froze.

Tracey Tully—now Mrs. Dr. Lowenstein. A friendly acquaintance of Carlotta’s back when they’d attended private high school together, and daughter of Walt Tully, Randolph’s former partner at the firm.

In Carlotta’s vivid dream that had swept her to an alternate universe, she and Tracey had been best friends because their lives there had traveled along similar paths...but in this world, she and Tracey were on less affable footing. She took a step backward to evade detection and bumped a piece of luggage that toppled with a loud thud.

To her chagrin, Tracey looked up, then made a beeline for her through the crowd. “Carlotta Wren, what are
you
doing here?”

Carlotta straightened and extended her good arm to indicate the masculine-themed booth behind her like a game-show hostess. “I’m working...with Patricia,” she said, including the blonde in her vague gesture. The two women knew each other, still moved in some of the same circles.

“Oh,” Tracey said with a sniff. “Well, I knew you weren’t here planning a wedding. I heard you and Peter broke up.”

Well, at least Peter had gotten the word out—no doubt Walt Tully had told his daughter posthaste.

“You and Peter broke up?” Patricia asked. “Is that why you cancelled your vacation?”

“Among other reasons,” Carlotta murmured.

“Oh, right—your felon father is back,” Tracey said with a tight smile. “Did he happen to say where he’s been all this time?”

Carlotta’s face burned. “Actually, I haven’t talked to Randolph. He was taken into custody.”

“Your mother wasn’t with him?”

“No.”

“So she’s somewhere living high on the money your father stole from clients?”

“That was never proven,” Carlotta said, lifting her chin.

“Because he didn’t stand trial,” Tracey snapped. “My father personally paid back a portion of some of the money clients lost, but the partners couldn’t fix everything. People lost their homes because of your father.” Then she swung her gaze to Patricia. “Didn’t they, Patricia?”

Carlotta looked to Patricia. “What is she talking about?”

But Patricia wouldn’t make eye contact.

“You didn’t know?” Tracey continued. “Patricia’s parents were two of Randolph’s biggest clients. He stole a small fortune from the Alexanders.”

From the look on Patricia’s face, Carlotta knew it was true—no wonder Patricia had been acting strange about Randolph’s return. Dismay flooded her chest. Patricia had made occasional comments since they’d worked together about money being tight, but Carlotta thought the woman was worried about buying an extra pair of Louboutin shoes, not referencing her family’s overall financial well-being.

Patricia squirmed. “Mom and Dad were hanging in there until the real estate market tumbled.”

Carlotta thought she was going to be sick. She mentally retracted every bad thought she’d ever had about the woman. By all rights, Patricia should hate her.

Patricia nodded toward a customer. “Excuse me. It was nice to see you, Tracey.”

“You, too, Patricia.” Then Tracey turned her smug mug on Carlotta. “Are you starting to realize the kind of damage your father did?”

Carlotta blinked. She’d assumed the individuals who’d suffered losses blamed on Randolph were tycoons or institutional investors...she hadn’t thought about the actual faces on the other side of the scandal. She’d been too young and too busy trying to feed herself and Wesley.

“And why,” Tracey continued in the silence, “Peter can’t be associated with you?”

Carlotta finally found her voice. “Yes. I wouldn’t want Peter to be punished for someone else’s sins.” Then she glanced around. “But this isn’t the time or the place for this discussion. I have customers waiting.” Carlotta started to turn away, loath to let Tracey know her words had found their mark.

“Maybe you can help my friend,” Tracey said quickly. When Carlotta turned back, the woman who’d screamed over the dress walked up. “This is Iris Kline. She’s looking for a gift for her fiancé. Iris, this is Carlotta. She’s my favorite salesclerk.”

Ignoring the barb, Carlotta extended a smile to the woman. “Hello. Do you have something in mind?”

Iris shook her head. “Not really. It’s just a little make-up gift.” She blushed. “Greg and I had a little argument. Planning a wedding is murder on a relationship.”

“I can imagine,” Carlotta soothed. “Does he have any hobbies?”

“He golfs...but he has every kind of golf gadget you can imagine. I’d like to get him something more personal.”

“Absolutely,” Carlotta said, morphing into sales mode. “If you had to choose, which one of these labels best describes your fiancé?”

The woman scanned the displays. “Warrior...king...lover...magician.” She laughed. “I’m not sure.”

“Is this some kind of riddle?” Tracey asked, annoyed.

“Just a fun way to identify a man’s personality,” Carlotta said cheerfully.

“Like, what’s an example of each?” Iris asked, circling the displays.

Carlotta wasn’t expecting to have to supply an explanation. She surveyed some of the items presented in the first section—leather couch, rugged casual wear and boots, a no-nonsense black suit and red tie, fishing gear and a waterproof smart phone. “I’m no expert, but I suppose a warrior could describe an alpha guy, like a military man or a...cop.”
Like Jack.

“And a king?”

Carlotta scanned the second section—club chair, preppie clothes, modern slim-fit suit, golf equipment, humidor, and ultra thin laptop. “Maybe someone who is a natural-born leader, or who has a good pedigree.”
Like Peter.

“And a lover?”

A suede chaise, trendy clothes, surf board, leather-bound books, globe, and electronic tablet filled out the third section. A hot flush began to climb Carlotta’s neck. “I would say that’s a man who...is fun and sweet and...cerebral.”
Like Coop.

“And a magician?”

The last display featured a convertible leather sofa, black clothes head to toe, a poker table and deck of cards, expensive sunglasses, and several electronic gadgets. “Um...someone who can transform himself...and make you believe anything is possible?”
Like Randolph.

Iris looked troubled. “I’m starting to think I don’t know Greg very well.”

Ever eager to salvage a sale, Carlotta plucked an item from a table and held it up. “How about this stainless steel comb? It’s on-trend, very sculptural, and heirloom quality. Luxurious, but useful.”

The woman smiled. “He is a little vain. I’ll take it.”

“I told you,” Tracey said to her friend. “Carlotta is simply the best little salesgirl ever.”

Carlotta gritted her teeth and rang up the sale with practiced civility. When they left, she gave Tracey a cheerful wave, resisting the urge to accentuate with her middle finger. How ironic that under different circumstances, the two of them might’ve been close.