6 1/2 Body Parts

by Stephanie Bond

  Carlotta set down the journal with a shaking hand, although she was relieved not to find any mention of a list. Had she made one and if so, where would she have put it?

  Her mind went to the iPad in her purse. She retrieved it and puffed out an exhale—obviously she was more technically inclined in this world. But remembering how Tracey had turned on the device, she pressed the sleep/wake button and was rewarded with a screen full of icons. Calling on her inner Wesley, she fumbled around and was able to find the file manager. The tablet must be new because there were very few files to scan, and none of them referred to a list. Still, she opened each document to check.

  She sat back, relieved.

  Although admittedly, the absence of a to-do murder list on her iPad might indicate she knew enough not to commit such a list to a digital file.

  She stood and glanced around the room for possible hiding places. She checked the nightstand, her closet drawers, even under her mattress, but came up empty. Turning back to the desk, she looked for anything she might have placed a list inside—a book or a magazine. In the back of a drawer, her hand closed around a long, thin cardboard tube. When she pulled it out, she noticed the Vanderbilt University Commencement sticker and recalled Wesley’s mocking question about whether the tube she’d received that day had contained an actual diploma.

  Her throat convulsed as she popped off one end of the tube and removed the piece of rolled paper inside. Moisture gathered in her eyes as she read the letter informing her unfortunately, she would not be receiving her diploma that day because she was deficient in the six classes listed.

  She bit her lip—did anyone else know? Tracey’s comment about neither one of them using their pricey college degrees came back to her. Obviously she thought Carlotta had graduated. Is that why she didn’t work, because she couldn’t rightfully list a college degree on her résumé?

  Her mind raced with helplessness over the embarrassment of riches she’d been given in this life, and how she’d squandered them. But as she churned over what to do and if she could do anything that would affect this life going forward, she noticed another piece of paper inside the tube. Hoping it was documentation proving she’d finished her degree, she pulled out the sheet.

  But at the sight of hand-written words on the paper, her hopes fell… and her lungs squeezed as if they were held in a vise. At the top of the sheet she’d written the words How to Kill a Mistress.

  Chapter 11

  Carlotta fought to breathe as she scanned the list she’d made to off the person she suspected was having an affair with Peter, aka Angela Keener.

  Learn her schedule. Set up an alibi. Make it look like an accident. Beneath the bulleted points were details about trailing Angela and using the upcoming police benefit as a cover when the “deed” happened. The notes were cryptic but she got the feeling she was planning some kind of carjacking or ambush… and that she intended to carry it out with a gun or a knife, although thank goodness it appeared she hadn’t yet procured a weapon. She’d written notes to herself including “stay off the Internet when doing research.” Carlotta pursed her mouth, wondering why she hadn’t reminded herself not to share the existence of the list with a frenemy like Tracey.

  She was an idiot. A murderess and an idiot.

  Her mind replayed a conversation she’d once had with Jack where he’d commented everyone had the capacity for murder. Apparently, he was right.

  She hugged herself, horrified to learn she could go to such a dark place. Even if Angela was sleeping with Peter, she didn’t deserve to die for it. Peter was the one who’d taken vows with her, not Angela. And if he wanted to be with the woman, Carlotta would give him his freedom.

  Meanwhile, she had to get rid of this incriminating list.

  She returned to the desk and retrieved the cigarette lighter, panicked now she would somehow be sucked back through the time vortex before she could undo this horrible plan. She carried the paper into the spa-sized bathroom and held it over the commode while she set fire to the corner. Flames blackened, then dissolved the paper as they climbed upward. She held on to the paper until the last possible moment, then dropped it into the toilet bowl and flushed it away, heaving a sigh of relief.

  But she was still trembling as she backtracked to the bedroom and sat down at her desk. She selected a pen, then opened the journal and began with Dear Carlotta, this is a letter from yourself, from another place…

  She went on to describe how she’d wound up walking in her designer shoes for the day, how she’d always wondered what her life would’ve been like if her parents hadn’t left, and if she’d been allowed to follow the path set for her early on.

  But I’m disappointed to learn my (your) life is empty and without purpose, that you haven’t fostered your marriage, and worse, you are on the verge of doing something evil. I destroyed the list. Everything I’ve been through has shown me how precious life is. If you love Peter, rededicate yourself to your marriage. If it turns out he’s in love with someone else, let him go. I’m proof you are more than Mrs. Peter Ashford, but only if you want to be. Finish your college degree, and find something useful and interesting to do with your time besides lunch at the club. You are more capable than you give yourself credit for. Expand your circle of friends to include people from all walks of life. Take more of an interest in Wesley and keep an eye on him—you can be a great source of strength for each other.

  Oh, and hang on to the Miata.

  She had just closed the journal and returned it to the locked drawer when the thought hit her like a lightning bolt that she’d been expecting at some point to be transported back to the place she’d come from… but what if she’d been dropped here to stay? What if after years of wishing her life had been different, she’d been granted her wish, and it was permanent?

  While her mind reeled with the new revelation, the phone in her purse rang. She pulled it out, nervous about talking to anyone, but smiled when she saw Peter’s name on the screen. She connected the call. “Hello.”

  “Carly?” His voice was agitated. “I just heard about the robbery at the club. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  His breath whooshed out. “Oh, thank God. I’ve died a thousand deaths.”

  Her heart filled up to hear the sincere concern in his voice. This man loved her… didn’t he?

  “I heard you had something to do with the robber being captured? Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s so dangerous! It doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”

  “I guess I’m braver than I thought.”

  “Or foolhardy,” he chided.

  “Or brave,” she repeated stubbornly.

  He sighed. “I guess the important thing is you’re safe.”

  “I am. How did you hear about it?”

  “I, uh… actually, Angela told me.”

  Her pulse blipped. “You saw Angela today?”

  “We, um... met for coffee. We were just leaving when her mother called and told her.”

  “Oh. I left you a voice message.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. Where are you now?”

  “At your house.” She caught herself, then tried to cover her gaffe with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I’m home.”

  “Did Tracey drop you off?”

  “No… a police detective did.”

  “I should’ve been there for you.” A frustrated groan sounded over the line.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  His weary tone made it sound as if they were frequently out of step, and he didn’t know what to do about it. She could see how a relationship could erode over missed opportunities… and clandestine coffee meet-ups.

  “Are the workers there this afternoon?” he asked, seizi
ng on a safe topic.

  “Yes. It’s quite a mess out there.”

  “It’s a big project.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Are you sure we need it?”

  He gave a little laugh. “Need it? No. But we were both so impressed with the Lowensteins’ pool addition, I thought we just agreed it would be a nice thing to have.”

  “It’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes, but we can afford it. Is there something else you’d rather do with the money?”

  “I was thinking about going back to school.”

  “School? I’m surprised, but I think it’s a great idea.”

  Her heart expanded. “You do?”

  “I didn’t marry you just for your pretty face. I know you’re a smart cookie.”

  She held up her left hand. “I’m sitting here admiring my gorgeous new ring.”

  “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “I don’t like it… I love it.”

  A pleased laugh sounded. “Good.” After a few seconds’ hesitation, he added, “Carly… we need to talk.”

  Her heart squeezed. “I’d like that. When?”

  “Tonight, after your father’s party?”

  “Okay.”

  “I was planning to come back and pick you up, but I’m afraid I’m going to be stuck in a meeting all afternoon.”

  “Don’t worry about it—I’ll get Wes to give me a ride.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll let your dad know you’re okay. See you soon?”

  “See you soon,” she managed past a narrowed airway.

  She disconnected the call, besieged by the feeling she was too late to save her marriage. The irony of arriving just in time for her life to fall apart seemed unbearably cruel.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand. It was Valerie. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that she could talk to her mother on the phone. She connected the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Carlotta? Are you okay? Bette Noble just called me with the most absurd story!”

  “The club was robbed,” Carlotta confirmed. “But I’m fine.”

  “Thank goodness. But Bette said you killed the robber—is that true?”

  “No,” Carlotta said firmly, wondering how many versions of the story were going around. “He fell on his gun and shot himself. Everyone else is fine.”

  “Unbelievable. What is this world coming to?”

  She bit her tongue to keep from commenting that the Valerie she knew had walked outside the law, and apparently she herself had been plotting a murder. “Is Wes around? I’d like to talk to him.”

  “He’s in his room. Why don’t you call him on his cell? That would be easier than me trying to get him to open the door.”

  “You could take the door off the hinges,” Carlotta suggested dryly.

  “I couldn’t do that,” Valerie said, her voice shocked. Then she added, “Could I?”

  “Yes. You’re the parent.” The words came out more vehemently than she’d meant.

  “I know that.” Valerie sounded injured. “I just don’t feel strong enough to deal with him.”

  “Then stop drinking.” There… she’d said it.

  After a shocked silence, her mother said, “You’re way out of line.”

  “I’m your daughter, and I love you.”

  “And you have your life so together that you can criticize other people?”

  Carlotta swallowed. “No. But I’m working on getting my life together.”

  After a lengthy silence, Valerie said, “Will I see you at your father’s party?”

  Deflect, ignore, postpone.

  “Yes, I’ll be there,” Carlotta said softly. She disconnected the call with a sigh, then retrieved Wes’s number on her phone. He answered on the third ring. Loud music thumped in the background.

  “Somebody dead?”

  She blinked. “No.”

  “Can’t remember the last time you called is all.”

  She felt contrite. “I’m sorry, I’ve been a little self-absorbed lately. I was wondering if I could get a ride with you to Dad’s work party.”

  He scoffed. “I’m not going to that snooze fest.”

  “I think you should, it’s kind of a big deal.”

  “No way—I have plans.”

  Carlotta counted to three. “Can you at least give me a ride?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’ve had a rough day. I was at the club today when it was robbed at gunpoint.”

  “No shit?”

  “In fact, I took down the perp. He was a federal fugitive.”

  “Now I know you’re jerking my chain.”

  “Check the Internet. And if you want details, be here in thirty minutes. Wear a nice jacket.” She hung up before he could respond, but she knew she’d piqued his interest.

  She didn’t have time to shower and she balked at the thought of changing into something from the vast closet—she felt attached to the clothes she’d arrived in, and the items she’d bought at Neiman’s made the outfit dressy enough for an impromptu cocktail party. She did, however, make good use of the impressive and luxurious supply of toiletries and makeup to freshen up her face and smooth her hair.

  She paused and studied her reflection in the vanity mirror, wondering about the woman who had sat here yesterday, and if she was beyond salvaging. She wouldn’t wish the heartache and anguish she herself had experienced on anyone, but the ordeal had equipped her for the realities of life far better than the woman who’d grown up in the Buckhead bubble of entitlement.

  The sound of a horn honking turned her head. That would be Wes, brimming with hostility… and curiosity. She grabbed her purse and hurried downstairs, wondering if this grand place would remain her home.

  She supposed it hinged on what Peter had to say this evening… and her response.

  After resetting the security alarm, she walked out the front door and waved at Wes, gawking over the gargantuan yellow sport utility vehicle. “You drive a Humvee?”

  He frowned. “Since my sixteenth birthday. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Obviously not paying attention,” she murmured as she climbed up into the passenger seat of the massive vehicle and slammed the door behind her. She was glad to see he had at least worn a sport coat over his jeans and T-shirt. It meant some part of him wanted to please her.

  “Valerie said the party doesn’t start until after five. Why did you have me come so early?”

  “I want to buy a congratulatory gift for Dad.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You don’t expect me to take you shopping?”

  “Just one place—Moody’s cigar shop downtown.”

  He pursed his mouth. “Okay. Are you going to tell me what happened at the club? Mom said you’re some kind of hero.” He almost smiled.

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  He steered the Humvee south, rapt as she retold the story.

  “Wow, Sis, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  She turned her head. “I’m stronger than I seem. So are you, by the way.”

  He shifted in his seat and for a few seconds, he looked like the Wesley she knew—sweet and vulnerable. He didn’t respond for a long time, weaving in and out of traffic. Then he said, “We’re different than Randolph and Valerie… aren’t we?” He looked at her with almost pleading eyes.

  She nodded and gave him a little smile. “If we want to be. I’m sorry I’ve been absent lately. But I want that to change… I’d like for us to spend more time together.”

  He was quiet, but she took the fact that he didn’t object as a positive sign.

  “Is this the place?” he asked, pointing.

  She looked out the windo
w and her heart lifted at the familiar exterior of the beautifully restored building. “Yes, this is Moody’s.”

  He pulled the Humvee into a parking place and turned off the engine. “No offense, but it doesn’t look like a place you’d hang out.”

  She grinned. “Precisely.”

  She opened the door and jumped down, wondering if June Moody still owned and ran the place. The exterior of the cigar bar looked much the same as she remembered. Wesley surprised her by stepping up and opening the door. She crossed the threshold, much relieved to see the black horseshoe bar and art deco interior she knew so well.

  It was still early for the happy hour crowd that would pack the martini lounge on the second floor…. but apparently the lone figure sitting at the bar had gotten a head start.

  Cooper Craft.

  Chapter 12

  Cooper turned his head when Carlotta and Wesley walked into Moody’s. He was mid-drink. He held the liquid in his mouth as he perused Carlotta up and down, then he swallowed. “Hi… again.”

  “Hello,” she said with a nod.

  He set down his drink and stood. He was no longer wearing the jacket that identified him as the Chief Medical Examiner, just slacks and a long-sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled up. “Carlotta, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And you’re Dr. Craft.”

  “Coop,” he corrected, staring at her as if she were an apparition.

  “And I’m Wesley, her brother,” Wes said with a mock salute.

  Coop’s gaze cut to him, then he extended his hand. “How are you, man?”

  Wesley straightened and accepted his firm handshake with a solemnity that made Carlotta wonder if any adult male had ever treated Wesley like an equal.

  “I thought you told Detective Terry you were going straight home,” Carlotta said mildly.

  Coop had the grace to blush. “I live nearby.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Wes asked.

  “Coop is the Medical Examiner,” Carlotta offered. “He was on the, um, crime scene today.”

  “You’re the Coroner?” Wes asked, impressed.