Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 06.5 (7 page)

Tracey had already emptied her martini glass and her expression was confrontational. She opened her mouth to say

something, but Carlotta headed her off. “Absolutely, we’ll let you know, Bette.”

The woman smiled, then glanced at the photo album still lying open on the table. “By the way, Carlotta, I mentioned to Valerie that last week I saw Peter at a restaurant way up in Cumming.”

“Yes,” Carlotta murmured. “Peter has clients all over the metro area.”

“It was a lady client,” Bette said with a knowing smile. “In fact, it was
this
lady client.” She pointed to the photo album, then tapped Angela’s face. “Very pretty.”

Carlotta’s heart dropped, but she managed to conjure up a smile. “Yes… she’s a very pretty friend of ours.”

“That’s good to know,” Bette said, feigning relief. “I’d hate to be the source of bad news.”

Tracey tipped her glass for the last few drops of vodka, leaving Carlotta to fend for herself.

“I’ll tell Peter you said hello,” Carlotta said with as much composure as she could muster. When the woman walked off, she muttered, “What a bitch,” just as Hannah returned. Hannah’s mouth twitched and they shared a glance of solidarity.

Tracey took the second martini, then made a shooing motion to Hannah, bumping her empty glass in the process and

sending it crashing to the floor. “Oops, sorry about that.”

Hannah’s cheek extended with the insertion of her tongue. “No problem. I’ll get a broom… unless the one you rode in on is handy?”

Carlotta choked back a laugh as Tracey’s expression went lethal.

“You should really watch your mouth. It would be a shame if your first day on the job was also your last.”

Hannah visibly bit her tongue, turned on her heel and stalked away.

“Tracey,” Carlotta admonished.

“What? Are you forgetting the only reason she’s here is because you got that last girl fired for putting too much lemon in your tea?”

Carlotta sat back, nonplused to hear she was guilty of such petty behavior.

“Forget that,” Tracey said with a wave. “And Bette Noble is a bitch, but she did you a favor. Now you
know
Peter and Angela are having an affair.”

Carlotta started to protest that a clandestine meal an hour outside the city didn’t an affair make, but deep down, she knew there was no other explanation. The knowledge that Peter had taken vows with her, but had turned to another woman was like a knife to her heart. The fact that he’d just upgraded her engagement ring made it seem unlikely he was contemplating asking her for a divorce. Did that mean he simply intended to keep Angela on the side?

“So,” Tracey said, leaning in, “are you going to do it?”

Carlotta was clueless as to what the woman was talking about, but the gleam in Tracey’s eye concerned her. “Do what?”

Tracey glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “Kill Angela.”

Chapter 8

In the span of two heartbeats, Carlotta realized Tracey was serious… dead serious. “What?” She tried to laugh.

“You said if you found out Angela was messing around with Peter, you were going to kill her.”

“I was joking, of course.”

“The list you told me about didn’t sound like a joke.”

Carlotta’s hand fisted in her lap. “List?”

“You know—how you were going to do it and get away with it.”

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I would never do something like that, Tracey.” Would she? Her relief that Angela Keener

was still alive was somewhat mitigated by the fact that she herself was planning to murder the woman.

“Don’t worry—your secret is safe with me,” Tracey said in the sing-songy tone that was starting to tap dance on Carlotta’s nerves. “But if you ever need to move a body, don’t call me.”

She frowned. “I won’t.”

At that moment, Hannah appeared with a broom. Carlotta was relieved to see her, but she pinged with embarrassment as her friend knelt to deal with the broken glass.

A movement next to their table caught Carlotta’s eye, then her heart vaulted to her throat. A man, dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, stood there with a pillow case in one hand, a gun in the other, marching the hostess, a security guard, and the valet captain in front of him, their hands in the air. “Ewywon, phut the phale ut!”

When hardly anyone in the noisy room noticed, he lifted the mask off his mouth. “I said, shut the hell up!”

That did it. Everyone in the room stopped, forks and glasses in mid-air, to gape. Someone screamed daintily.

The robber turned in a half-circle to address the diners in a thick drawl. “Nobody move. I’m going to need your wallets and your jewelry, just drop ’em in the bag. If anyone reaches for their cell phone to call the police, I’ll put a hole in ya, got it?”

He started with their table. A wide-eyed Tracey dutifully dropped in her wallet and jewelry. Hannah scowled, but added numerous skull rings and snake bracelets. Carlotta reluctantly relinquished the rings Peter had given her only this morning, then reached into her purse for her wallet.

He was pointing the gun directly at her with a shaking hand. At first she couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong, then she realized she saw daylight through the round cylinders—the revolver was empty. Jack would be so proud of her for noticing.

She relaxed a bit… she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could overcome the man, but at least no one was going to get shot.

“Hurvy ut!” he yelled, pulling at his mask. She glared and dropped in the wallet. He moved on to the next table, waving the gun wildly to get the women to comply.

He was either high or nervous—or both. She realized he was having trouble seeing through his ill-fitting ski mask, and a plan started forming in her head as he jerkily made his rounds. The security guard was aged and unarmed—probably to appease the sensibilities of the mostly-female diners. Any doubts she had about intervening were put to rest when the robber used the revolver to backhand an elderly woman who didn’t want to give up her wedding ring.

The brute simply couldn’t get away.

She looked up and caught Hannah’s eye, then tapped her temple. Hannah nodded that she understood the man’s field of vision was compromised. Carlotta made a gun symbol with forefinger and thumb, then mouthed “no bullets.” Hannah pursed her mouth, then nodded again.

The robber’s bag was filling up—they only had a few seconds to stop him. Hannah held up the broom and gestured to the doorway. Carlotta nodded. Tucking behind tables, they positioned themselves on either side of the entrance with the broom between them.

The robber turned with an overflowing bag and lumbered toward the entrance, still pulling at his mask. He ran toward the door and didn’t see the broom they raised to shin level as he went past them. When his foot caught on the wooden handle, it snapped out of their hands, but the damage was done. The bag of stolen items went flying into the air and scattered spectacularly over the lobby of the restaurant. The robber hit the floor hard face-down… and his gun went off. His body jerked once, then he lay still.

Hannah looked up, her eyes wide. “I thought you said the gun was empty!”

Carlotta swallowed hard. “I thought it was!” She turned back to the dining room. “Someone call 911!”

They rushed to the still man’s side and Hannah sank her fingers into the side of his neck. “No pulse. He’s dead.”

Before Carlotta could react, cheers went up behind them. She turned to see all the diners on their feet, yelling and applauding.

She and Hannah exchanged startled glances. They were heroes.

“Should we turn him over or something?” Hannah whispered. A red stain bled into the carpet beneath the man.

The wail of sirens approaching reached their ears.

“Maybe we should let the police handle it,” Carlotta murmured.

“Do you think we’re in trouble?”

Carlotta blinked. She and Hannah had been in countless scrapes together—including being arrested—and she’d never seen the woman flinch. She opened her mouth to say of course not when she saw Jack Terry barreling through the entrance, weapon drawn. She swallowed her words past a constricted throat.

They were, indeed, in heap big trouble.

He came up short next to the body and stared at her. “You!”

“Me,” she confirmed with a shaky smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

Hannah raised her hand. “So am I, thanks for asking.”

Jack grunted. “Where did the blood come from?”

“He fell on his gun,” Carlotta said, “after we, um, tripped him.”

“We think he’s dead,” Hannah offered.

Jack frowned. “Stand back.”

She and Hannah retreated a few steps while Jack knelt and shook the robber. When he received no response, he gestured for a couple of uniformed officers who’d arrived to turn over the body while he kept his gun trained on the man. They flopped him over, but the robber remained lifeless. His black shirt was stained blacker with blood. The gun he’d wielded fell out of his hand onto the floor. One of the cops checked for a pulse, but shook his head.

Jack reholstered his weapon. “Call it in.”

“And we need an ambulance for a woman he struck in the face,” Carlotta said.

“On its way,” Jack said. His scowl encompassed Carlotta and Hannah. “Would one of you like to tell me what the hell happened here?”

They told the story in halting tag-team fashion. After a minute, Jack massaged the bridge of his nose.

“What’s your name again?”

“Carlotta Wren—er, Ashford.”

“Hannah Kizer, with a ‘Z.’”

“And you two know each other?”

“Yes,” Carlotta said, then checked herself. “I mean, we met today.”

“Which one of you had the hare-brained idea to trip an armed man?”

At his sarcastic tone, Carlotta drew herself up. “It was a mutually agreed-upon plan.”

He glared. “Well, you could’ve gotten yourselves or someone else shot.”

“I thought the gun was unloaded,” she declared hotly. “The cylinders were empty.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You know something about guns, do you?”

A flush climbed her neck. “A little.”

“Well, apparently not enough,” he said pointedly. “A man’s
dead
.”

Carlotta bit into her lip. “Are we in trouble?”

“Detective?” one of the uniforms said. “Will you take a look at this?”

They glanced over to see the man’s mask had been removed to reveal a plump, grizzled face.

“Is this who I think it is?” the cop asked.

“Shit fire,” Jack muttered, walking closer. “Duke Thornhouse.”

“Looks like he’s gone from robbing banks to robbing country clubs.” The cop grinned. “Guess these ladies did you a favor, Detective, bagging the man you’ve been chasing for years.”

Carlotta’s mouth opened with incredulity. The robber was a federal fugitive? She and Hannah exchanged private, wide-eyed glances, then Carlotta looked back to Jack. “You’re welcome, Detective.”

His jaw hardened, then he rebuked the grinning officer with a glare. “Take the statements of these two vigilantes. And send a couple of uniforms inside the restaurant to take down names and make sure everyone’s stories add up.”

Tracey had managed to slip into the lobby. “Hi, Detective Terry—remember me?”

He sighed, then nodded.

She beamed, then gestured at the items strewn on the floor. “Everyone is asking when we’ll get our things back.”

“At some future date. For now, everything has to be bagged as evidence.”

She frowned. “We’re talking about a lot of irreplaceable jewels, Detective.” She lowered her voice and jerked her head toward the uniformed cops. “What if some of your men decide the temptation is just too much?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Then we’ll be able to buy our own bulletproof vests, and you’re off the hook for the charity event.”

Tracey’s eyebrows came together.

Carlotta stepped up. “Detective Terry, the items weren’t removed from the property—isn’t there something you can do?”

She wasn’t above batting her eyelashes.
Flap, flap.

And he wasn’t immune. “Okay, but no one takes anything until everything has been catalogued.” He pointed to Carlotta.

“You, don’t leave.” He stalked away, his phone to his ear.

Tracey turned to Carlotta and handed her the Bottega Veneta pink leather hobo bag she was holding. “That man seems fixated on you.”

“It’s not me. Turns out the guy we took down is some kind of high-profile criminal.”

Tracey crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you ask me to help you instead of that waitress person?”

Hannah waved from a few feet away. “I’m right here, I can hear you.”

“Everything happened so fast,” Carlotta improvised. “Why don’t you help the officers inside the restaurant keep everyone calm?”

Tracey stomped off, and Hannah stepped closer. “Real treasure of a friend you got there.”

“She’s not so bad, she’s just… sheltered.”

“And you’re not?”

Carlotta gave Hannah a little smile. “Not as much as you’d think.”

But Hannah’s attention was snagged on something behind Carlotta. “Who is
that
?”

She turned to see a tall, lean man walk into the lobby and make his way over to Jack for a brief handshake. Cooper Craft.

And in this place he wasn’t a lowly body mover. The jacket he wore identified him as the Chief Medical Examiner.

Chapter 9

Cooper Craft was all business as he and Jack surveyed the scene. His gaze stopped on Carlotta and her skin tingled.

“Do you know him?” Hannah asked.

“No.”

“Well, he obviously knows you.” Hannah tossed her black and white striped hair. “Here they come. Introduce us.”

Apparently Hannah was crushing on Coop no matter which world they were in.

“This is Dr. Craft, Medical Examiner,” Jack said. “He’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

Coop stuck out his hand to Carlotta. “Your name?”

“Carlotta Wren.” Hannah bumped her. “Er, Ashford.” She took his hand and warmth suffused her entire arm.

When he released her hand, he flexed his as if he’d had a similar reaction. “I’m sorry—have we met before?”

“I don’t think so,” she murmured.