Body Movers (22 page)

heard the bitterness in her own voice.

He sipped from his coffee. “Does that have something to

do with the little Christmas tree in your living room?”

She looked up sharply.

“I noticed it when I went there to take your brother in. It’s

hard to miss.”

She picked at the éclair in front of her. “Yes. Wesley

wouldn’t let me take it down.”

“Even after al this time?”

“Even after.”

He made a rueful noise in his throat. “When did you first

hear from your parents?”

She looked off into the distance, and tried to make her

voice sound detached from the information she conveyed,

as if it had happened to someone else. “It was about six

months later, in June. We received a postcard from

Michigan, I think.”

“Do you have family in Michigan?”

“None that I know of. My mother’s parents were deceased

before I was born, and she was an only child. My father’s

parents died when I was in grade school. He has a half

brother in New Zealand, and a couple of extended cousins

somewhere in Utah, but he wasn’t close to them. I believe

the police fol owed up with them, though.”

He scribbled on a piece of notepaper. “Where did your

family go on vacations?”

She shrugged. “Where didn’t we go? All along the eastern

coastline, north and south, France, Germany, England and

Ireland, cruises to the Caribbean. My father liked to live

large.”

The only vacation she and Wesley had taken since then

were the three days they’d spent at Walt Disney World

when he was eleven. It had taken months of saving every

dime and had been marred by Wesley’s conviction that

Carlotta was holding out on him—that their parents were

going to join them in Orlando as a big surprise. Of course

that hadn’t happened, and Wesley had cried the entire

eight-hour drive back to Atlanta. She straightened. “How

much longer, Detective? I’m rather tired, and I haven’t

eaten yet.”

“Jack.”

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t you drop the detective stuff? My friends call

me Jack.”

She glanced at the notes in front of him and reminded

herself that the man was manipulating her to get the

information he needed to bring her father home, which

would only plow another furrow through her and Wesley’s

lives. She stood and smiled down at him. “Goodbye,

Detective.”

He nodded. “Ms. Wren, before you go…was there

something you wanted to tel me about the Angela

Ashford case?”

Her hand moved automatically to cover her neck as she

tried to look innocent. “Uh…no.”

His gaze went to her neck. “Really? Because if you know

something…”

She knew she had reached the point of now or never. “W-

wel , it probably doesn’t mean anything.”

He slurped his coffee. “Why don’t you let me decide?”

“Angela was a customer of mine,” she blurted before she

lost her nerve. “She purchased a man’s jacket last week. A

couple days later I ran into Peter at a party and asked him

about the jacket, but he didn’t know anything about it.”

She decided to leave out the fact that she’d asked Peter

about the jacket again last night and he hadn’t corrected

her when she’d said it was brown.

The detective frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Wel , I started thinking that…perhaps she had bought the

jacket for…someone else.”

“You mean a lover?”

“I have no idea. I’m just tel ing you what I know.”

“You mean what you think.”

Carlotta gritted her teeth. “Anyway, she returned the

jacket yesterday.”

“When yesterday?”

“In the afternoon.”

“Was she acting strangely?”

“She’d been drinking,” Carlotta admitted. “The man’s

jacket had been worn and when I told her I couldn’t give

her a refund, she became…verbally abusive.”

“What did she say?”

“She had the idea that…Peter and I were having an affair.”

He lifted his cup to his mouth. “Why would she think

that?”

Carlotta fidgeted. “Perhaps because he and I were

engaged before they were.”

“But you said that happened years ago.”

“Yes. Peter ended our relationship about the same time

my parents left.”

He frowned. “He dumped you when the going got tough,

huh?”

“He was just a kid,” she said defensively. “I was hurt, but I

eventually understood why he did what he did.”

“So maybe Mr. Ashford has been pining for you all these

years?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“But Mrs. Ashford seemed to.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, what I’m trying

to tel you is that Angela might have been the one having

the affair. I don’t know if it means anything, but I felt

obligated to tel you, so there.” At this point, mentioning

that the woman had also tried to strangle her seemed like

overkil .

He leaned back in his chair and shook his head slowly.

“You want to know what I think? I think that you imagined

this thin story of Angela Ashford having a lover to make

yourself feel better over the fact that whatever was going

on between you and her husband might have made her

take a flying leap into that pool all on her own.”

Carlotta’s mouth opened, then closed as denial washed

over her.

He lifted his cup to her. “This theory that you have—where

I come from, we call that borrowing trouble. The truth is,

Ms. Wren, you and Peter Ashford both should be thankful

that the M.E. ruled the death an accident.” He smiled.

“Now you can carry on with a clear conscience.”

White-hot anger whipped through her. “You don’t know

what you’re talking about.”

He looked her up and down over the top of his cup, then

he gave a little laugh. “Maybe not, but I know guilt when I

see it, lady.”

Carlotta glared at him, then wheeled and stalked away as

fast as her high heels would allow. The man was

insufferable!

And dead on.

18

Carlotta pul ed up in front of Hannah’s apartment building

just as Hannah bounded outside, long black leather skirt

flowing, thick buckles and silver chains clanging. She

opened the passenger-side door of Carlotta’s car and slid

inside. “Hiya.”

Carlotta stared at the goth garb. “Hannah, for Christ’s

sake, this is a funeral not a Halloween party!”

“I’m wearing black,” Hannah said, unfazed as she buckled

her seat belt.

“When are you going to let me give you a makeover?”

“Let me see…uh, never. Besides, what does it matter what

a person wears to a funeral?” She snorted. “I can promise

you the person in the casket doesn’t give a crispy crap.”

Carlotta frowned. “Funerals are for the living, and I can

promise you, everyone at this funeral wil be dressed as if

they were going to the Oscars.”

“Do you think they’l have food? I’m starving.”

“No, they won’t have food, you idiot. It’s a funeral. Haven’t

you ever been to a funeral?”

“No,” Hannah said. “Have you?”

“No,” Carlotta admitted. “But I’ve seen them on television,

and there’s no buffet.”

“I don’t know why you want to go to your ex-boyfriend’s

wife’s funeral anyway. It’s like you’re rubbing it in that

you’re stil alive and she’s…not.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say. I knew Angela—we went to

school together, and I told you, she was a customer of

mine.”

Hannah gave her a sideways glance. “But what aren’t you

tel ing me?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh?”

Carlotta sighed. “Okay…the other night when I ran into

Peter at the party…”

“Yeah?”

“When I left, he fol owed me.”

“And?”

“And…we kissed.”

Hannah whooped. “You kissed a married man? After all

the shit you’ve given me over the years?”

“It’s not something I’m proud of.”

Hannah hooted. “This is great.” Then she stopped. “Oh,

wait. You kissed the man and a couple of days later, his

wife drowns in a pool. That’s not great, that’s…weirdly

coincidental.”

Carlotta wet her lips. “I know.”

“Oh my God, do you think he kil ed her?”

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Of course

not.”

Hannah jumped up and down in her seat. “Maybe he kil ed

her because he’s stil in love with you! Oh my God, that’s

so romantic!”

Carlotta was starting to regret her decision to ask Hannah

to attend the funeral with her, but she’d thought she’d

stick out more if she went alone. Now with Hannah’s

getup—and her oozing mouth—the only thing she needed

to draw more attention to them was a flare.

“Peter didn’t kil Angela,” Carlotta said careful y. “She was

drunk and fel into the pool. The coroner’s office ruled her

death an accidental drowning.”

“Mighty convenient for you,” Hannah said slyly.

“That’s not remotely funny.”

“But it’s true. You must stil have feelings for this guy,

Carlotta. I saw how shaken up you were the night you ran

into him. I’ve never seen you have anything more than

disdain for men. In fact, I was beginning to think that you

might prefer women.”

“Also not funny. And my reaction to Peter, wel , I was just

so shocked seeing him after al these years, I was

disoriented.”

“So…you don’t have feelings for him.”

Carlotta rol ed her shoulders. “I didn’t say that. I’m

confused. Besides, I don’t think it’s appropriate to lust

after a man who’s grieving for his wife.”

“Are you kidding? If he’s as rich as you say, there’l be

single women stacked up at this shindig to wipe his tears.

If you want him, you’d better be prepared to claw your

way to the top of the pussy pile.”

Carlotta frowned. “I have no intention to claw my way

anywhere. Here’s the place,” she said, slowing and

signaling to turn into the Motherwel Funeral Home, a

stately white plantation-style home in front with some less

attractive additions jutting off the back.

“Damn, look at the cars,” Hannah said.

Indeed, Carlotta felt self-conscious parking her muscle car

next to the Beemers and Mercedes and Bentleys, but it

couldn’t be helped. She climbed out, aware that their

arrival had garnered a few stares from other attendees

who glanced at her car—and Hannah—with faint distaste

as they strol ed by. Seriously suited men and severely

coiffed women made their way toward the entrance of the

funeral home.

Carlotta’s pulse pounded harder as they fel in with the

crowd, stil questioning her decision to attend but unable

to deny the compulsion that had grown since her

encounter with Jack Terry. Damn him, he was right about

her guilt. Her conscience wouldn’t let her rest and no

matter what she’d told the detective, or Hannah, for that

matter, she wasn’t at peace with the M.E.’s ruling of the

cause of death. She had convinced herself that attending

the funeral might settle her mind, give her a sense of

closure.

She dearly hoped so.

They were almost to the entrance when a man’s voice

sounded. “Carlotta, hel o.”

She turned her head to see Walt Tul y and next to him, his

daughter Tracey. Recalling that her last encounter with her

estranged godfather had been during her accidental

reunion with Peter, Carlotta almost panicked, but pul ed a

smile out of thin air. “Hel o, Walt, Tracey.”

“Carlotta, it’s been just ages,” Tracey said, raising her left

hand to her cheek in a way that sent the sun beaming off

the knuckle-spanning cluster of diamonds. “Daddy said he

ran into you the other night…with Peter, of all people.”

“That’s right.”

“I can’t believe Angela drowned in her own pool,” the

woman said, her voice melodramatic. “And I can’t imagine

a more horrific way to die.”

“Actually,” Hannah interjected, “I read on the Internet that

the most painful way to die is in a garbage-truck

compacter, but drowning ranks near the top.”

Tracey glowered at her, then turned her attention back to

Carlotta. “Didn’t Peter used to date you?”

“We used to date each other,” Carlotta clarified quietly. “A

long time ago.”

“Oh…right,” Tracey said, then looked puzzled. “So…are you

here for Peter?”

To support him, or to nab him? The innocent question was

loaded with catty suspicion. Carlotta pushed her tongue

into her cheek. “Actually, I’m here because I know—knew

Angela.”

“Really? That’s strange because Angela was a very good

friend of mine and never mentioned you…in that way.”

Carlotta wondered in just what “way” Angela had

mentioned her name—in tandem with the C word, no

doubt.

While Carlotta cast about for an ambiguous response,

Tracey changed tack. “What is it that you do again,

Carlotta? Seems like I remember that you worked for

Neiman’s years ago.”

“Stil do,” Carlotta said cheerful y.

“Oh.”

Only her mother had been able to inject more disapproval

into one word.

Hannah dug her elbow into Carlotta’s side. “Aren’t you