Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (18 page)

she poured. “What do you mean?”

Angela lifted her hands. “To be living in my house, with my

husband.”

“It’s only temporary.”

“Right. That’s what you keep tel ing yourself so you’l feel

better about stealing my life.”

“I didn’t steal your life.”

Angela’s smile vanished. “Yes, you did, shopgirl.”

“You don’t have to get nasty about it,” Carlotta said,

sipping from her cup.

“But I was the one who picked up the pieces after you and

Peter broke up. I was the one who ate alone while he went

to dinners to build his client list. I was the one who

endured his indifference and his coldness.” Angela began

grooming herself with her tongue.

“I’m sorry the two of you weren’t happy together,”

Carlotta offered.

The blonde lifted her head and growled. “We could’ve

been, if not for you. When I found that picture of you in his

wallet, I thought I would die.”

Carlotta winced. “I hate to point out the obvious, but you

are dead.” She nodded to her mug. “Great coffee, by the

way.”

“Thanks. I put cyanide in it. You should be feeling lousy any

second now.”

Carlotta’s eyes went wide, and her lungs began to

squeeze. “You didn’t have to kil me.”

“If I can’t have Peter,” Angela said with a feline smile,

“neither can you. Meow.”

Carlotta’s throat convulsed. She couldn’t breathe. She

gasped for air, but the cyanide was bleeding through her

system, paralyzing her organs…

Angela purred with happiness. “Meow…meow…meow.”

Carlotta sat up in bed with a start, clutching at her neck.

Her chest rose and fel sharply, her heart thumped against

her breastbone. Predawn light filtered through the doors

leading to the veranda. A familiar scratching noise

sounded. Carlotta looked down to see the stray Persian

pawing frantically at the door. It was raining outside, and

the creature was wet and shivering. She must have

climbed a tree to get up there and was afraid to go back

down.

Meow…meow…meow.

Carlotta shook the remnants of the disturbing dream from

her mind and climbed out of bed. “I’m coming,” she

muttered.

When she stood, a headache shot to her temples,

reminding her of the wine she’d drunk the night before at

the auction event. All the details of the crime scene came

back to her in a torrent, and she realized wryly that her

subconscious had managed to blend The Charmed Kil er’s

latest cause of death with her obviously unresolved guilt

over betraying Angela.

She limped over to the door and opened it. The cat yowled

as if scolding her for leaving it out in the rain, then darted

inside and bounded up onto the bed, trailing mud and

water onto the pale sheets.

“Not the Egyptian-cotton sheets! Shoo!”

But the bedraggled cat simply bared its teeth and hissed at

her.

She shrank back, then frowned. “You ungrateful little…”

The big, sad eyes of all the animals from the shelter in last

night’s film came back to her and she tamped down her

irritation.

“Never mind,” she said with a sigh. “I was planning to

leave my nice comfortable bed at the butt crack of dawn

and give it over to a grubby stray.”

The cat growled back from where she crouched in the

covers.

Carlotta went into the bathroom and turned on the

shower. She wasn’t looking forward to taking that

polygraph exam this morning. Maybe some development

overnight had broken the case, or maybe Michael had

turned himself in, and it would be a moot point.

She flipped a switch to release aromatherapy oils into the

air, chose blues on the stereo system built into the wall,

then stepped under the dual-massage showerhead.

Of course that meant she’d have to go back to the

cramped town house with the broken television and

shabby furnishings. Not that she wanted the kil ing spree

to continue simply so she could have an excuse to live in

Peter’s house. She leaned her head forward and moaned

at the sensation of a hundred fingers massaging her skin,

while imported French conditioner fortified her hair. That

would be selfish and unconscionable…

She gave the faucet handle a yank until icy water blasted

her, rousing her from her luxurious stupor. She quickly

rinsed her hair and stepped out of the shower shivering.

After wrapping herself in a towel thick enough to sleep on,

she stepped onto the floor that was nice and warm

because of the heating coils beneath the tiles.

Which explained why the stray cat was now curled up on

the floor near the door.

“I see you found a warmer spot after running me out of

my bed,” Carlotta muttered.

The cat meowed a retort, as if they were having a

conversation. Carlotta frowned, recalling how Angela and

the cat had seemed to be one and the same in her dream.

She’d probably had the dream because she’d

subconsciously heard the cat meowing and pawing at the

door before she was ful y awake. And because when

Angela was alive, she had struck Carlotta as being catlike,

with her lioness mane of blond hair, her green eyes and

her twitchy, aquiline nose.

Carlotta stared at the cat and the cat stared back with such

loathing intensity that Carlotta blinked first. If she didn’t

know better…

Then she truncated the idea and scoffed. But she did know

better.

The cat blinked lazily and resumed her bored, blank

expression.

Carlotta downed a couple of aspirin to help clear her head,

then turned her attention to getting ready. If she got the

polygraph exam over early enough, maybe she’d have

time to ride over to Coop’s place to check on him. She

wanted to see for herself that he was okay. Being tucked

away in Peter’s house was a double-edged sword—it made

her feel more safe, but also left her feeling insulated from

the outside world.

Carlotta pinned up her hair in preparation to dry in

sections, then plugged in the blow-dryer. Her thick dark

hair was a trait of her mother’s for which she was normally

grateful, but it was a pain to dry thoroughly. She’d once

asked her mother if they had Native American heritage

because of their shared coloring and bone structure, but

her mother had insisted they had European ancestors.

Carlotta wished she’d pushed her mother for more

answers at the time because she knew next to nothing

about her deceased grandparents. Maybe they were

Italian, she mused as she held a hank of black hair straight

up with a wide-tooth comb to speed its drying.

She progressed from section to section and had nearly

finished when a movement at her waist startled her. She

looked down to see that the matted cat had jumped up

onto the counter and despite the noise of the hair dryer,

was nudging Carlotta’s arm and pawing in the air.

“Scat,” she said, fanning the hair dryer over the cat.

But instead of running away, the animal rol ed its

shoulders and leaned closer.

Carlotta pursed her mouth. If the creature was chil ed to

the bone, the warm air probably did feel good. “You could

use a comb out,” she murmured to the bedraggled feline,

then rummaged for a metal comb in the drawer where

she’d stored her toiletries.

She set the blow dryer on the lowest setting, but stil

expected the cat to run away when she started to comb

and fluff her matted fur. But not only did the animal stand

stil , she closed her eyes in pure delight, her whiskers

trembling orgasmically.

“You’re accustomed to being groomed,” Carlotta said

wryly. “Which means you’re someone’s pet. Too bad your

owner didn’t declaw you.”

By the time she’d combed out its luxurious blond fur, the

cat was three times its original size. When Carlotta turned

off the hair dryer, the poufed cat walked up and down the

counter, rubbing against the mirror.

“Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” Carlotta said.

The morning rain had yielded to the summer sun, so with

the scooter in mind, Carlotta dressed in slacks, a silk shel

and a cropped jacket. When she left her bedroom, she

glanced at Peter’s bedroom door and her face burned. She

would’ve slept with him last night, but he’d been the one

with the level head. Hopeful y things between them

wouldn’t be awkward this morning.

From the kitchen below she smel ed coffee and heard him

moving around. He was talking on his cel phone. The

fluffed cat bounded down the stairs in front of her, almost

tripping her. When she walked into the kitchen, the cat

was twining herself between Peter’s legs, meowing for

attention and licking his shoes. Peter was jacketless and

had his back to her, but seemed engrossed in his phone

conversation. “I’l ask Carlotta about it, Wil , and I’l get

back to you. Bye.”

He closed the phone and sighed.

“Ask me about what?” she said lightly.

He started and turned with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Ask me about what?”

“You’re up early. I made coffee.”

She experienced a shot of déjà vu from her dream, and

moved toward the pot. “Ask me about what?” she said

again.

Peter crouched down to idly pat the cat’s head. “I see the

cat has returned.”

“She woke me up this morning, meowing at the veranda

door. When I let her in, she jumped up on my sheets and

got them muddy.”

“The housekeeper wil take care of the linens.”

Carlotta angled her head. “Peter, you’re stalling.”

He winced. “That was Wil Plank on the phone. He said

that another purse went missing last night.”

She looked up from pouring her coffee. “And what are you

supposed to ask me?”

His mouth flattened into a line. “About your friend

Hannah.”

Irritation spiked in her chest, but Carlotta tamped it down.

“The police questioned Hannah last night and they were

quite satisfied that she didn’t have anything to do with

Bebe’s purse being stolen.”

“Okay. Are you satisfied she didn’t have anything to do

with Bebe’s purse being stolen?”

“Yes, I am.” But she couldn’t look him in the eye because

before she’d interrupted the interrogation last night in the

manager’s office, she’d had some misgivings about

Hannah herself. Now she realized her doubts had more to

do with acknowledging that she hadn’t reached out to get

to know her friend than anything Hannah had done.

He set down his coffee and came over to loop his arms

around her waist. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

She softened toward him, although she was stil feeling

awkward about the way the previous nights had ended.

But she accepted his kiss, and didn’t retreat when it

deepened and he pul ed her against him. A yowling noise

sounded and they parted as the cat practically climbed up

his leg.

“What the—” Peter careful y extricated the cat from his

trousers.

“Watch out for the claws,” Carlotta warned, but the cat

simply licked his hands as if it couldn’t get enough of him.

“Er…it must be hungry,” he said, setting the cat back on

the floor.

“She.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s a she,” Carlotta said, studying the cat. “Are you sure

this wasn’t Angela’s cat? She seems…I don’t know—

familiar with this house.”

“Angie didn’t have a cat, although she loved them. She

always said she was going to get one, but never got

around to it.”

“I found a broken silver cat pin in my bedroom.”

He stopped, then nodded. “It was probably Angela’s. You

can toss it.” He walked over to the cupboard. “Let’s see

what we can find to feed her. I wonder how we can find

her owner.”

“If you don’t mind me using your computer, I could put

together some flyers.”

“Feel free to use the computer in the den anytime you

want,” he said, then pul ed out a tin. “I think I have just the

thing.”

Carlotta made a face. “Sardines?”

“Angela ate them like popcorn. I could never stomach the

things and was thinking the other day that I should toss

them.” He smiled as he peeled back the opening and

dumped the contents onto a saucer. “Guess it’s a good

thing I kept them.”

He set the saucer on the floor and the cat pounced on the

tiny headless fish, devouring them in seconds, then licking

the plate hard enough to move it across the floor. Peter

laughed when the feline came over to lick and nudge his

hand, meowing and begging for more.

“That’s enough for now,” he chided, standing. Then he

looked at Carlotta. “I don’t normally eat breakfast, but I

have time to watch you eat.”

She smiled, but shook her head. “I have to run. I have

another appointment at the police department this

morning.”

His mouth twitched downward. “Again?” He walked

backward as he tried to elude the cat that was purring and

rubbing herself on his legs.

“I was asked to take a polygraph exam to clear myself.”