Laughter resounded around the room as a flush climbed her neck.
“Here we are,” Tracey said, sliding Carlotta’s iPad in front of her.
She looked down to see the notes she’d presumably written—a script for her and Tracey. To her horror, it appeared to be a monologue about the good deeds of the country club.
“I’ll start,” Tracey said magnanimously, then launched into reading the prepared statement about the police benefit that sounded incredibly self-congratulating.
Carlotta bit down on the inside of her cheek as Tracey droned on and Jack’s eyes glazed over. The Neiman’s employees looked equally uninterested.
“I think you’ll agree our efforts are very commendable,” Tracey was saying, “and—”
“And,” Carlotta cut in with a little laugh, “there’s no need to be so formal. Why don’t we just get down to the business of choosing a vest?”
“Good idea,” Lindy agreed.
Tracey was momentarily thrown, then she recovered. “Okay.”
“Let’s see what we have here,” Carlotta said, rising and moving toward the boxes.
“I’ll read the descriptions,” Tracey said, now back to form.
Carlotta unwrapped and hauled out the first vest, surprised by its weight—at least thirty pounds. She awkwardly held it up for the others to see, focusing on Jack as Tracey read off a list of features—material, color, style—as if she were emceeing a fashion show.
Jack pulled a hand over his mouth and Carlotta pinged with embarrassment.
“Put it on,” Tracey whispered loudly.
Carlotta shook her head in protest, but Jack spoke up.
“By all means. It’ll help me get a feel for how it’ll work for our female officers. In fact, let me help you.”
He stood and took the vest from her as if it weighed nothing, then unzipped it and held it behind her while she put her arms through the openings. He slowly zipped the vest and tightened the buckles, his sardonic gaze boring into hers throughout. Her body responded to his proximity, loosening here, contracting there. The electricity between them could’ve burned down Atlanta for a second time. It was as if they were the only two people in the room.
“What do you think of this one, Detective Terry?” Lindy interjected into the thick silence.
His lion gaze remained locked with Carlotta’s. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Her mouth opened to allow her breath to escape. She was sure everyone in the room could hear her heart pounding against the constraints of the Kevlar.
“Why don’t we move on?” Tracey suggested, her voice artificially high as she shot Carlotta a private, bewildered look.
Carlotta self-consciously unfastened the vest and shrugged out of it to try on the other two models. How ironic the garments could stop bullets, but not protect her from Jack’s animal magnetism.
While Tracey jauntily ticked off the features of the last vest, Jack’s phone chimed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, then announced he needed to leave.
“But we’re not finished,” Tracey said, stopping short of stomping her foot.
“Any of the vests will be fine,” Jack said, moving toward the door. “They all meet the department’s requirements.”
Tracey frowned. “That’s all you can say? We went to a lot of trouble to choose these samples and to set up this meeting!”
“Then you two pick the one you think is the prettiest,” he said, flicking his gaze over Carlotta. He gave the room a mock salute, then walked out.
Carlotta wanted to run after him, but she was weighted down by the bulletproof vest… oh, and her wedding ring.
Chapter 7
“What an ass that detective was,” Tracey declared as she climbed into her white Escalade. The back of the vehicle was full of packages from her post-meeting shopping splurge.
Carlotta smiled at the mall valet who held open the passenger door for her and slid into the seat. “He was probably just preoccupied,” she offered, but she was still shaken from the morning’s encounter.
Tracey put the SUV into gear and pulled away. “What was going on between you two?”
Carlotta tried on her innocent face. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean—I thought he was going to start humping you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know you’re concerned about Peter, but taking on a redneck lover won’t help matters.”
“I’m not taking on a lover,” Carlotta said, doubly irritated at Tracey’s classification of Jack being beneath them. “You misunderstood our… interaction.”
“Uh-huh. Well, so tell me—did you find the pictures you were looking for?”
She reached into her purse to pull out the small yellow photo album. “You mean these photos from college graduation?”
“Yeah. Did you see anything to prove Angela and Peter have been seeing each other behind your back all these years?”
Carlotta inhaled sharply. “I… don’t know.”
“We’ll look at them over lunch at the club,” Tracey said with a wave. “I think we can both use a martini.”
“Right,” Carlotta murmured, mulling the new information. Since Peter had married Angela in her world, it made sense they shared an attraction. She’d harbored guilt over Angela’s death because she’d known Peter’s pining for her had affected the couple’s marriage, and subsequently, Angela’s behavior. Was the shoe now on the other foot? Maybe Peter was destined to yearn for a woman he couldn’t have?
During the drive to the country club, Carlotta kept an eye on the digital clock on the high-tech dashboard. Time in this place seemed to be passing at a normal pace, at least.
Tracey noticed her checking the clock. “Are you on a schedule?” Then she laughed. “As if. When have either one of us been on a schedule? I guess we haven’t done much with our pricey college degrees, have we?”
Carlotta smiled, but the comment left her feeling a little empty. She had no place to be at any time in particular? What did she do all day?
The Deer Ferry Country Club was much the same as it had always been—beautifully maintained on an exclusive plot of land, surrounded by a tall, ornate fence that served as a warning to riffraff to stay the hell out, thank you much very.
“Wow, look at the line,” Tracey said when they pulled up to the valet stand. “I hope we don’t have to wait for a table.”
“There should be plenty of seating on the patio,” Carlotta offered.
“Ack, and sit in the sun? My dermatologist would kill me.”
“Oh… right.”
Carlotta watched the beautiful people alight from their pricey vehicles, suddenly nervous for no good reason. She’d practically grown up at the club before her parents had fled town, and she’d been Peter’s guest more than once recently. But at Peter’s side, she’d known she was an outsider and was able to maintain her guard. How different would it be to walk in with people with whom she’d never broken ranks?
Better… or worse?
A few people said hello and waved as they entered. Carlotta responded in-kind to the faces she found vaguely familiar. And a few people who wouldn’t speak to her when she’d accompanied Peter in the other place seemed exuberant enough now.
Tracey, of course, was part of that group.
Carlotta studied the blonde as they were seated near the restaurant entrance. Tracey had a Southern-belle stiffness, a product of being told at a young age to hold herself in restraint, and never to go out in public unless every hair was shellacked in place. The end result was a herd of clones in the restaurant wearing the same clothes and hairstyles, and speaking in the same nasal intonation. Carlotta realized with a start that most of these women wouldn’t know how to conduct themselves in any other setting, and it was their unease
with anyone or anything different that made them lash out. They cut down the unfamiliar before their own weaknesses and rigidity could be exposed. At that moment, she was very glad she’d had the freedom to do things these women would never experience.
Like help Coop to move bodies from crime scenes… and help Jack to solve a few real murder mysteries along the way.
A waitress stopped at their table and banged down water glasses. “Can I get you something from the bar?”
Carlotta looked up and did a double-take. “Hannah!”
Hannah Kizer was as tall and broad as ever, the culinary smock doing very little to hide her Gothic style and rampant tattoos. Her shoulders went back. “How do you know my name?”
Mortification and sadness swept through Carlotta—of course Hannah didn’t know her. She rushed to cover her gaffe. “I must have seen you here before.”
“This is my first day on the job.”
“Well, Carlotta must know you from another restaurant,” Tracey said sharply. “She didn’t just pull your name out of thin air.”
Hannah frowned at Tracey’s tone. “Something from the bar?” she repeated through gritted teeth.
“Martini, extra dirty,” Tracey chirped.
“And you?” Hannah asked Carlotta.
She hesitated, having seen Hannah lick her finger and use it to stir a drink she’d once served to Tracey, out of spite. “Do you have bottled beer?”
Carlotta could tell her worth had risen a notch with Hannah. “Coming right up.”
When Hannah walked away, Tracey said, “You’ve never ordered beer before.”
Carlotta shrugged. “It just sounded good today.”
Tracey angled her head. “You’re acting so strange… what are you taking?”
Did she normally take something? “Nothing.”
“If you say so,” her friend responded in a sing-songy voice. “Let’s see those photos.”
Carlotta pulled the small photo album from her bag and opened it, a little nervous about re-examining the photos for some indication of a relationship between Peter and Angela. Tracey pounced on them right away. “I remember thinking Angela and Peter were pretty chummy at this party. Look at this one… everyone is looking at the camera except the two of them.”
Peter and Angela were looking at each other.
“Same thing in this one,” Tracey said a couple of pages later. “And this one.”
Carlotta’s stomach churned with anxiety. “But these pictures don’t really prove anything.”
“Only what you suspected—that this flirtation started in college. Add to that Peter’s cagey behavior lately, the suspicious phone calls, and the rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“You know—that Angela’s been telling her friends Peter isn’t happy.”
Carlotta bit her lip. “Does he seem unhappy to you?”
Tracey scoffed. “He seems as happy as any husband. They all think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, when they should be watering their own damn grass.” She glanced around. “Where’s that martini?”
Carlotta eyed Tracey. The vehemence in her tone sounded like the voice of experience. “What’s Freddy up to?” she asked delicately of Tracey’s physician husband.
A vein popped out in Tracey’s temple. “A two thousand dollar a week habit at the strip club.”
Before Carlotta could react, Hannah reappeared with their drinks.
“Oh, thank God,” Tracey said, taking the drink from Hannah’s hand before she could set it on the table. “You might as well bring me another.”
Hannah gave her a tight smile, then set a bottle of beer in front of Carlotta, along with a glass. “You didn’t say, so I brought a local brew that’s pretty tasty.”
“Thank you.” Carlotta tried to telegraph to her friend not only were they acquainted, but they’d had so many fun adventures together, from party crashing to body moving and even chasing down a few bad guys.
Hannah gave her a wary look. “Obviously, we’ve met before, but I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Carlotta Wren.” When Tracey bumped her, she added, “Ashford.”
Carlotta could see the wheels turning in Hannah’s head, could feel the connection and knew Hannah could feel it too. She felt guilty for putting her on the spot.
“We’re ready to order,” Tracey said in a tone meant to remind Hannah she was there to serve them. Carlotta averted her gaze and took a drink of the good beer straight from the bottle.
“Sure thing,” Hannah said. “What would you like?”
Tracey ordered a salad. Carlotta was famished, so she opted for the meatiest thing on the menu—a turkey burger.
“A beer and a burger?” Tracey asked when Hannah left. “If you weren’t drinking, I’d ask if you were pregnant.”
Carlotta nearly choked on her beer. Valerie had asked the same question. “No, I’m not pregnant.”
“I don’t blame you for putting the baby plans on hold until you figure out what’s going on between Peter and Angela.”
Baby plans? She lifted the bottle for another drink, but took only a sip, her hand snaking to her abdomen. What if she was pregnant in this life?
A well-preserved older woman walked up to the table and gave them both a wide, plastic smile. “Hello, girls.”
A memory chord strummed in Carlotta’s mind, but she couldn’t place the woman.
“Hi, Bette,” Tracey said.
Ah, Bette Noble, the woman who’d talked to her mother on the phone this morning.
“Hello, Bette,” she added.
“How is the policemen’s benefit coming along?”
The woman’s gender reference rankled her. “The police department benefit is moving ahead.”
“Yes,” Tracey added. “We had a meeting this morning to choose which bulletproof vest to order.”
“Let me know if I can help,” the woman said in a superior voice. “My benefit last year was a record success. But don’t feel pressured—no one expects you to top the money I raised.”
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.”
6 1/2 Body Parts Page 5
