Body Movers (21 page)

clinic on Piedmont. She said that Angela was a patient

there and always showed up drunk on her ass. Guess it

was only a matter of time before she hurt herself or

someone else.”

Carlotta chewed on her lip. Everyone seemed eager to

believe that Angela had brought her untimely death upon

herself. It did seem like the simplest, neatest

explanation…but was it true? She hadn’t particularly liked

the woman, but it was starting to dawn on her that she

was in a peculiar position to ensure that Angela’s death

received more than a passing glance.

Michael frowned. “Are you okay?”

Carlotta managed a nod. “It’s just such a shame, to die

that way. She was so young and so beautiful.”

“That’s pretty big of you considering that yesterday the

woman tried to kil you.”

“You’re exaggerating, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I stil think you should have filed an

assault charge. Your neck is bruised where she tried to

choke you.”

She covered her neck with her hand. “It doesn’t really

matter now, does it?”

“No,” he agreed, then sighed dramatically. “She’s gone,

along with her big fat commissions. Poor you.”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to mimic his light tone.

“Of course, there’s always her husband,” he said, wagging

his eyebrows. “Not to be tacky, but any chance that you’l

hook up with the grieving widower, or are you two really

just friends?”

I thought you were my friend, Peter had said. But what if

he was playing her so that she would protect him instead

of revealing that he might have had a motive for kil ing his

wife?

But how could she report the facts without implicating

herself?

“Hey, I was only joking,” Michael said.

She exhaled and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s not you.

I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Hmm. Guilty pleasure or guilty conscience?”

She flushed under his gaze and murmured, “I need to find

an aspirin.”

“Don’t dawdle,” Michael said softly. “Lindy is watching

your every move.”

With his threat ringing in her aching head, Carlotta moved

through the rest of her shift fighting bouts of paralyzing

paranoia. If she went to Detective Terry with details about

Angela and Peter’s relationship, things were bound to get

a lot worse for her, and she couldn’t afford to draw more

negative attention to herself at work.

No, she decided as she clocked out and made her way

toward the mall, she would leave Angela Ashford’s death

to the professionals.

And for now, she’d try not to think about the fact that

Peter, the love of her life, was now a single man, and what

that might mean to her life.

She wove her way through the Saturday crowds, dodging

packs of suburban kids and in-town kids making their

rounds, young marrieds on their way to the cinema, and

pathetic people like her who had convinced themselves

that an evening of window-shopping was better than a

date.

With her new autograph book in mind, she decided to

cruise by the Sunglass Hut to see if anyone famous was

trying on the new Maui Jim sunglasses. Next to Blue Pointe

restaurant in Buckhead and the Fulton County Courthouse,

it was the best place in Atlanta for celebrity sightings.

She had just sidestepped a teenage couple who only had

eyes for each other when the back of her neck prickled

and she was overcome with the feeling that someone was

watching her. She swallowed hard and tried to shake the

eerie feeling, chalking it up to the events of the previous

day and her frayed nerves. But as she continued walking,

the feeling grew stronger. Fighting panic, she turned into

the sunglass shop. From the display case, she picked up a

pair of retro Ray Ban aviators and jammed them on her

face, then adjusted the mirror to see behind her.

There…a few feet back in the mall stood a man, his torso

and face obscured by a newspaper—a cartoonish ruse. She

could tel little from the jeans-clad legs other than that he

was a big man. Her pulse spiked. One of Wesley’s thugs,

fol owing her? Maybe planning to jump her on her way to

her car and take her cash?

Fear coalesced into anger. She punched 911 into her cel

phone, then whipped off the sunglasses and charged out

into the mall and up to the man, wielding the phone like a

weapon, her thumb over the Send button. “I’m onto you,

mister, and I’m going to call the police.”

The corner of the newspaper came down, revealing

Detective Jack Terry wearing a dry smile. “I don’t think that

wil be necessary, Ms. Wren.”

17

At Detective Terry’s nonchalant declaration, Carlotta’s

anger detonated. “How dare you fol ow me like I’m some

kind of criminal!”

He folded the newspaper careful y and tossed it into a

nearby trash bin. “I wasn’t fol owing you. I just happened

to be out shopping.” He lifted a ratty Dick’s Sporting Goods

bag as proof.

“Really? That’s funny, because there’s no Dick’s in this

mall.” Then she angled her head. “Of course, if you’re

talking about just plain old dicks, I could probably point

one out for you.”

“A muscle car and a sense of humor—wow, you’re just ful

of surprises.”

“And you’re ful of crap. What the hel do you want?”

“Like I said, I’m off duty, just doing a little shopping. But

since I ran into you, I’d like to talk to you for a few

minutes. How about we grab a cup of coffee?”

Instantly wary, she asked, “What do you want to talk

about?”

He smiled again. “The weather, the Braves, your parents—

there are so many things.”

Through clenched teeth, she said, “I told you, I don’t know

where my parents are.”

He held up both hands, Dick’s bag swinging. “I’ve been

reading the files, and I just want to clarify a few details,

that’s all.” A cajoling smile transformed his big features

into almost handsome, dammit. “Come on, let me buy you

a cup of coffee for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

She hesitated.

“Ms. Wren, you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or

later. Let’s try to keep this as informal as possible.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This doesn’t have anything to do

with Peter Ashford?”

“Should it?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I just thought…after last night…”

“No, I got final word from the coroner’s office this

morning. They stand by their accidental-death ruling. Case

closed.”

“Oh.” So even the police had put the matter to rest.

“How about that coffee?”

She frowned. “Don’t you have something better to do on a

Saturday night?”

“Apparently not. Did I interrupt some kind of sunglass-

shopping emergency?”

A flush warmed her cheeks. “I wasn’t looking for

sunglasses. I was looking for celebrities.”

“Excuse me?”

She tapped her purse, not caring whether he thought she

was sil y. “I col ect autographs, and this is a great place to

spot famous people.”

He pursed his mouth. “Good to know.” Then he gestured

toward the food court. “Shall we?”

She nodded curtly, then fel into step with him. He had

traded his suit and shoddy tie for Levi’s, a black T-shirt and

a pair of black western boots. Ten points for the boots

since western wear was back in style, although she

suspected that Jack Terry didn’t know or care that he was

accidentally in vogue. She became hyperaware of his size

as they walked. The man was a mountain, with a thick

torso and long legs. More than one woman turned to look

at him as they made their way toward a coffee shop. The

two of them must look like quite the odd couple, she

realized.

Not that they were a couple…or that anyone watching

them could mistake them for a couple.

“Is this table okay?” he asked, gesturing to a tiny café table

with two chairs.

She nodded and awkwardly lowered herself into the chair

he held out for her. With a shove, he scooted her so close

to the table she felt as if she were in a high chair.

“I’l get us some coffee. How do you like yours?”

“I’l have a double latte with fat-free soy milk and a bottle

of Pel egrino.”

He gave her a small smile that told her he had no idea

what she’d said. “I’l be right back.”

She watched him walk up to the counter, obviously out of

place at the yuppie establishment. Dread ballooned in her

stomach as she pondered the questions he had for her.

Just the thought of him reading the files on her father’s

case made her tingle in embarrassment—he knew all the

family secrets and scandals, and seemed intent on making

her relive the part of her life that she most wanted to

forget.

Her fingers itched. Christ, why had she stopped smoking?

“Here we go,” the detective said, setting a tray on the

table. “Two coffees with cream, a bottle of springwater

and two chocolate éclairs.”

She frowned. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He sat down on the diminutive chair

and slurped his coffee, then bit into the éclair and chewed

heartily. “How’s your brother?”

“Fine. Better, I think. Although I can’t say that I’m crazy

about his job choice.”

“There are worse jobs. It might scare him straight,

confronting death like that.”

“I noticed last night that you seemed acquainted with his

boss.”

“Cooper Craft? Yeah. When I first joined the force, he was

the coroner.”

She frowned. “The coroner? As in, a doctor?”

“Yeah, Dr. Cooper was the chief medical examiner.”

“But I thought he worked for his family’s funeral home.”

“He does now. He had some problems with alcohol and

there was some kind of blunder with a high-profile case.

There was an inquest and he lost his license—and his job. I

think he might even have served some jail time.”

Carlotta was astonished. The tall man with the long

sideburns who thought she was cute had quite a colorful

past. “So now he works for a funeral home and moves

bodies for the morgue.”

“Yep. And he seems to have put the booze behind him.

He’l be a good influence on your brother.”

“Good. Wesley worships the man.”

“He’s probably just starved for a father figure.” He cleared

his throat, reached into the Dick’s Sporting Goods bag and

pul ed out a folder. “Speaking of which, I was hoping you

could help me fil in a few gaps regarding your father’s

disappearance.”

Her spine stiffened as she sipped from the cup of

surprisingly good coffee. “I doubt it, but I’l try.”

He opened the folder that contained a half-inch sheath of

papers, most of them printouts and official-looking

reports. “Do you remember the day your father was

indicted?”

She nodded and looked into her coffee, recalling the

tension that had blanketed the town house, overrun with

a constant stream of lawyers and the addition of a bay of

file cabinets to keep up with the paperwork. “Everything

seemed to be leading up to that day. Wesley and I stayed

home, but we heard the news on the radio before my

parents returned home.”

“So they did return home?”

She nodded. “My mother was crying and my dad was

angry, saying that he’d been framed and that he’d get

even with everybody.”

“Did they mention that they were thinking of leaving

town?”

“No.”

“You had no idea?”

“No,” she said evenly. “My parents said they wanted to go

to dinner alone, to talk about some financial issues. They

left about seven o’clock and…they simply never came

home.”

His expression darkened. “That was the last time you and

your brother saw them?”

She nodded. “When we got up the next morning, their

bedroom door was closed. I assumed they’d gotten in late

and were sleeping in. I got Wesley ready for school and we

left. When we came home from school, Liz Fischer was

waiting for us. She’d been looking for my father al day.”

His eyebrows went up. “Liz?”

She squirmed, remembering that he and Liz had history.

“You were aware that she was my father’s attorney?”

“Yeah, it’s in the files, but I thought she was simply on the

defense team. I assumed she was handling things behind

the scenes.”

Her smile flattened. “She was. Liz and my father were—

how did you put it? Oh, yes. Friendly.”

He scratched his temple. “Are you saying that something

was going on between them?”

“Why don’t you ask her the next time you…see her?”

“I wil ,” he said smoothly. “So you were saying that Liz was

waiting for you?”

“Right. She said she’d been trying to reach my father all

day. From the look of my parents’ bedroom, it appeared as

if they hadn’t been there since they’d left the previous

evening.”

“Did they leave a note?”

She swal owed more coffee. “No.”

“Did they cal ?”

“No.”

His mouth twitched downward. “Do you remember the

date?”

“December second, three weeks before Christmas.” She