Body Movers (15 page)

“Christ, you sound like Wesley. All he talks about is how

cool it is to ride around in the hearse, and how cool his

undertaker boss is.”

“Is his boss creepy?”

Carlotta thought of the long-legged, funky-looking man

who had seemed so comfortable at their breakfast table.

“He’s not as creepy as you are.”

“Funny.”

“But how normal can the man be if he works around dead

bodies all the time?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah said dryly, “some days it sounds

preferable to working with live ones. Fridays suck, don’t

they?”

“Let me guess—trouble with your pastry-instructor lover?”

“Since we got back from Chicago, he’s cooled way down.”

“Do you think it might have something to do with the fact

that he goes home to his wife every night?”

“Maybe.”

Carlotta bit her tongue to keep from scolding Hannah for

taking up with yet another married man—the memory of

kissing Peter Ashford two nights ago was stil too fresh for

comfort. What a hypocrite she was.

She looked up and nearly dropped her cel phone to see

Angela Ashford charging toward her counter. Had she

somehow conjured up the woman with her il icit musings

of Peter? “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.

“Gotta go,” Carlotta whispered, then disconnected the

cal .

Angela bore down on her, wearing the expensive black

knee boots Carlotta had sold to her, black trench coat

flapping. A paralyzing thought struck Carlotta: what if

Peter had developed a guilty conscience and confessed the

kiss to Angela? That vengeful-wife ass-kicking that she had

been warning Hannah about for years might just be

coming her way.

She swallowed and straightened her shoulders, and

although her heart threatened to pound through her

breastbone, she managed a shaky smile when Angela

stopped in front of the counter. “Angela…hi.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” the woman slurred, her expression

dark.

Carlotta drew back slightly at the woman’s flammable

breath—another head start on her martini lunch,

apparently. “What…what can I do for you?”

“Take it back,” she said, leaning into the counter.

A sharp inhale tightened Carlotta’s chest. “T-take what

back?”

Angela swung a shopping bag onto the counter with a

thud. “The man’s jacket you talked me into buying. It was

all wrong.”

Carlotta was so giddy with relief that she decided to allow

the gibe to slide. “It didn’t fit?” she asked, reaching for the

bag to hide her guilty flush.

“Hmm?” Angela asked, seeming preoccupied. “Oh…right.”

Automatical y, Carlotta’s sales expertise kicked in. “Would

you like to exchange the jacket for something else?

Another size?”

“No—I need the cash.”

Carlotta looked up, surprised. “Oh.”

Angela recovered unconvincingly. “I mean, I’d rather have

a refund.”

Carlotta reached into the shopping bag and withdrew the

charcoal-gray jacket that she had thought would look so

handsome on Peter—the same jacket that she had

inquired about at the cocktail party and that Peter seemed

to have no knowledge of. Had Angela given it to him since?

Had it spawned an argument? Had Peter admitted running

into her and that she’d spil ed the beans about the jacket

just before allowing Peter to put his tongue in her mouth?

She glanced at Angela beneath her lashes and the fact that

the woman was studying her with unveiled loathing did

not put her at ease. She had the feeling that the woman

knew something…or was it simply her own guilt getting

the best of her?

Unnerved, Carlotta gave the jacket a shake. When the

stench of cigarette—no, cigar—smoke reached her nose,

she frowned. The jacket’s tags had been removed, and it

appeared a bit disheveled. She bit her lip. Exchanges and

returns under her employee ID were being closely

scrutinized since the trouble she’d gotten into over

returning clothing that she’d bought and worn for a special

occasion (or three). Since Peter had obviously worn the

jacket, there was no way she could take it back without

getting into trouble. “It, um, it looks like the jacket has

been worn, Angela. I can’t give you a refund, but I can give

you a store credit.”

Angela’s head snapped up. “No way, I want cash.”

“But—”

“Do you know how much money I spend in this store?”

“Yes, but—”

“And that I could buy and sel you if I wanted to?”

That stung. It was true, but the woman didn’t have to

remind her. People were beginning to stare. Moisture

gathered on her neck and she cast about for something

soothing to say. She put her hand out. “Angela, this isn’t

personal—”

“Personal?” Angela’s eyes turned murderous. “Everything

between us is personal, Carlotta, considering my husband

is stil in love with you.”

Carlotta’s throat convulsed. Did she know about the kiss?

“Th-that’s…not true, Angela.”

“Yes, it is!” Angela shouted, her eyes watering.

She reached across the counter, grasped the gold-plated

Judith Leiber fox pendant around Carlotta’s neck and

yanked her forward, until their faces were inches apart.

Carlotta’s feet left the ground as she floundered forward

onto the counter. Nose to nose with the wild-eyed Angela,

she was too shocked and alarmed to speak.

Angela twisted the chain, tightening it against Carlotta’s

throat. “You’re fooling around with him behind my back,

aren’t you?”

Carlotta flailed, gasping for air and kicking emptiness. She

could hear commotion around them, but she couldn’t

process the noises because she was feeling light-headed.

Even Angela’s voice fused into one long droning sound.

When the pressure on Carlotta’s windpipe increased, self-

preservation kicked in. She managed to get a handful of

Angela’s blond hair and yank with all her strength. She was

rewarded with Angela’s howl and her release. Carlotta fel

back, sprawling on the floor, heaving and sputtering for

air.

And suddenly Angela was on her again, this time crawling

over her and straddling her, hair and eyes wild, hands

circling Carlotta’s throat. With what little air and energy

she had left, Carlotta grunted and fought back, bucking

and kicking, thinking that if she lived, she would probably

be fired for creating a spectacle. Abruptly, Angela was

dragged off her. Carlotta pushed to a sitting position,

rubbing her throat, and saw a wide-eyed Michael Lane

holding Angela, forcing her arms to her sides.

“Calm down,” he ordered the woman who was struggling

against him. “Security is on the way,” he assured Carlotta.

“She’s screwing my husband!” Angela screamed, then

sagged against Michael, sobbing. He gaped at Carlotta and

as soon as he loosened his grip, Angela sprang to life,

jerking away, then running haphazardly toward the

escalator. “Keep the damn jacket,” she yelled over her

shoulder. Michael looked back to Carlotta for guidance.

“Let her go,” Carlotta said, sitting on the floor, dazed,

trying to process what had just happened. A crowd had

gathered, covertly looking over clothing racks and around

shelving units. Her skin tingled, her face burning with

shame as she pushed to her feet and righted her clothing.

From the direction of the elevator Akin Frasier came

jogging toward her, his head pivoting side to side, looking

for potential perps. Her boss was right behind him.

“Are you all right, Carlotta?” Lindy asked.

“I got a report that you were being assaulted,” Akin said.

“I’m fine,” Carlotta said, growing more mortified by the

moment. “It was…a misunderstanding with a customer.”

“Was it someone you knew?” Lindy asked.

“Yes,” Carlotta admitted slowly. “It was Angela Ashford,

but I think that she’d been drinking. She wanted a refund

on something and became a little…bel igerent when I

offered a store credit instead.”

“What did she do?” Lindy demanded.

Carlotta swallowed. “She…uh…”

“She tried to choke Carlotta,” Michael said dryly. “I was

coming up the escalator and saw everything.”

Akin’s eyes narrowed as he reached for his phone. “I’m

filing a police report.”

“No,” Carlotta said quickly, then gave a little laugh. “It was

just a misunderstanding. I wouldn’t want to blow it out of

proportion.” She gave her boss a reassuring smile, but

Lindy Russel ’s gaze was wary. A flush burned its way up

Carlotta’s neck. The only thing that had kept Lindy from

canning her over the clothes-returning business a few

months ago was her exemplary sales record. An

altercation with a customer was not helping her cause.

“I don’t think a police report is necessary,” Lindy said

finally. “How much longer on your shift, Carlotta?”

Carlotta glanced at her watch. “Forty-five minutes.”

“Why don’t you straighten up here and then go home? If

Ms. Ashford returns, someone else wil deal with her.”

Carlotta nodded, knowing she was getting off lightly. Akin

and Lindy walked away and the knots of people dispersed,

leaving only her and Michael.

“What was that all about?” he murmured.

“She was drunk,” Carlotta said, picking up the jacket that

Angela had left.

“She said you were sleeping with her husband.”

“I’m not,” Carlotta said, although she couldn’t make eye

contact with him. “Peter Ashford and I go way back, but he

broke off our relationship years ago to date Angela, and

then he married her. End of story.”

“Wow, I knew there was tension between the two of you,

but I had no idea a man was involved.”

“It’s all in her head.”

“Are you sure?”

Carlotta looked up at her friend’s concerned expression.

“Yes. There’s nothing between me and Peter Ashford.”

Anymore.

“Okay,” Michael said, although his voice was stil

uncertain. “I have to get back to work. Are you sure you’re

okay?”

“Yes. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem.”

She watched her friend walk away and only then gave in to

her frayed nerves. Her hands shook as she bagged and

tagged the jacket with an ambiguous “hold” note. Then

she made her way toward the employee break room, her

legs stil wobbly over the encounter.

She felt her neck where it would surely be bruised and

wondered if Angela really meant to hurt her. The woman’s

accusation that she and Peter were having an affair

reverberated in her head. What had Peter told his wife?

Anger flared in her chest. He had no right to pul her into

his marital difficulties.

Just as he’d had no right to kiss her the other night.

Her head was beginning to thump as she walked through

the parking garage. She massaged the bridge of her nose

and fought back sudden tears as the scene unfolded in her

head. Good grief, hadn’t she deserved the confrontation?

Kissing another woman’s husband—what had she been

thinking? She couldn’t blame Angela for being angry. Even

if the woman didn’t know the whole story, her intuition

apparently told her that there were unresolved feelings

between her husband and his former girlfriend. How

maddening would that be?

Carlotta squeezed her eyes shut against the confusion

assailing her, but the sound of an accelerating car jarred

her out of her reverie. She jerked around to see a long,

dark car with tinted windows speeding toward her. She

stood frozen for a split second, then dived to the side and

landed with a whoomph on the ground between her car

and the vehicle next to it. She lay there, her heart beating

wildly, expecting the driver to stop, apologize and ask if

she was okay. Instead, the car sped down the ramp of the

parking garage.

She pushed to her feet, cursing at the general craziness of

Atlanta drivers who were too distracted by cel phones and

road rage to be bothered with pedestrians. And she

blamed herself for walking out in front of the car.

It was only after she was behind the wheel and backing

out of her parking place that Angela Ashford popped back

into her brain. Could the woman be angry enough to try to

run her down? Then she almost laughed in relief. Angela

drove a luscious red Jaguar. She’d seen the woman climb

into it on more than one occasion at the valet stand.

The rash of crimes around the mall was another

possibility—had someone targeted her for a mugging?

That didn’t seem likely since the driver hadn’t even

stopped to wrestle away her Coach bag. Then her blood

went cold as the threat from her brother’s creditor ran

through her head. A henchman had come to visit her at

the store once before. Was it possible that they were

fol owing her, that they had tried to run her down as a

warning?

She shuddered and kept one eye on the rearview mirror as

she drove home, but didn’t see anything out of the

ordinary, no dark cars with tinted windows fol owing her.

Stil , as she pul ed her car into the garage, she was thinking