3 Men and a Body

by Stephanie Bond

  “Please try to remember. It’s not apparent on camera. She was wearing a leopard-print scarf around her neck.”

  Holly’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute. She was wearing a pendant. I remember her toying with it before we went on air.”

  Carlotta’s heart rate increased. “Can you tell me what it looked like?”

  “It was a circle of diamonds. I remember she had her finger through it, sliding it back and forth on a short chain.”

  “Do you remember how big it was?”

  Holly made a circle with her finger and thumb to indicate the pendant had been about an inch in diameter—the same size as the reddish circular imprint on Kiki’s collarbone.

  “Thank you. That helps a lot.”

  “It’s such a tragedy,” Holly said. “She was so young. I couldn’t say this on air, but the worst thing is that after the interview, I overheard Kiki and her publicist arguing about her inhaler.”

  “Arguing how?”

  “Her publicist asked if she had her inhaler with her. Kiki said yes, then remarked that the woman was only concerned because she had the most to lose if something happened. In hindsight, it’s kind of eerie.”

  Carlotta nodded. “Just one more thing. Was there a crowd here when Kiki did the interview?”

  “Yeah, fans gathered in front of the building. But Kiki was nice about it. She even stopped to sign autographs.”

  Carlotta pulled out a photograph she’d clipped from the entertainment magazine that best showed the face of the redheaded man. “Do you remember seeing him?”

  Holly studied the photo, then nodded. “Yeah, he was here. But he was apart from the crowd. I wondered if maybe he was on Kiki’s security detail.”

  “Thank you,” Carlotta said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I’m glad,” Holly said with a smile and a wave. “I hope you find the necklace.”

  “Me, too,” Carlotta murmured as the woman walked away. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Coop’s number.

  “Coop here.”

  “Coop, it’s Carlotta.”

  “I came up to check on you yesterday before the service ended, but you’d disappeared.”

  “Remember the redheaded guy pretending to be a priest? I saw him in the crowd outside.”

  A sigh sounded over the phone. “I take it you confronted him?”

  “I tried, but he got away. Coop, I found out that Kiki was wearing a pendant the day she died, one that matches the impression I saw below her neck.”

  “How did you find that out? No, wait. I don’t want to know. Besides, it still doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Can you call the medical examiner in Boca and find out if there was a pendant in her personal effects?”

  His hesitation told her he didn’t want to.

  “Please, Coop?”

  “Only if you promise me that if there was no pendant in her personal effects, you’ll let this go.”

  Carlotta crossed her fingers behind her back. “I promise.”

  25

  “H ey, Wes—”

  Wesley startled in his chair and hit a button on his keyboard to replace his current screen. He turned in his chair, frowning at Meg. “What?”

  She made a face. “You’re awfully jumpy. And secretive. What are you working on?”

  “Reports on the databases I’m encrypting. McCormick said to be careful with the data.”

  “Is that why you got your own dedicated printer?” Meg asked, gesturing to the newly added machine.

  “Yeah.”

  “And shredder?”

  “Yeah.”

  She walked to her own workstation and sat down. Wesley turned back to his computer, perturbed at the interruption.

  “You on something?” she asked.

  He jerked his head around. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “No, I’m not on something.”

  She shrugged. “You’ve got the look.”

  Wesley raised his eyebrows. “What look is that?”

  “Jittery, moody, irritable. And you never eat.”

  “I’m just a skinny dude.”

  “I noticed,” she said dryly. “And smart. You should get your bony ass in school.”

  He sat back, both irritated and intrigued. “And do what? Become a doctor?”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s not me,” he said, looking back to his screen.

  “Why? What do your parents do for a living?”

  He looked up. “None of your business.”

  She blanched. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

  Wesley felt contrite. “Just drop it, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Listen, the guys and I are going to get a sandwich around the corner for lunch. You wanna come?”

  He was tempted—Meg was hot. Today she had traded her GA Tech sweatshirt for a Curious George tee that hugged her in a way that explained why George’s curiosity had been aroused. But she also had that crazy-cool demeanor that screamed privilege. Her parents were brilliant scholars. She probably lived in a mansion, dined with great thinkers all over the world. He’d never measure up.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I have to be somewhere.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

  He watched her walk away, feeling depressed and for good reason. He was still smarting over his prize money being stolen right out from under him. He needed cash, so he was going to have to lean on Coop to get him more body-moving jobs. And he hadn’t yet been able to locate the grand jury transcript from his father’s hearing in the courthouse records database. He needed more information—a trial number, specific dates—to build the search keys. Information that was in his father’s file at Liz’s home office.

  He packed up his workstation and punched in the attorney’s number as he left the building.

  “This is Liz Fischer,” she answered.

  “Liz, it’s Wes.”

  “Well, this is a nice surprise.”

  “Are you busy for lunch?”

  Her rich, cool laugh floated over the line. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I can meet you at your place in fifteen minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  He rode his bicycle hard and fast to get to Liz’s house, but it helped to burn off some excess anger…and the last of the OxyContin he’d taken earlier, so he could pop a new one before popping Liz.

  She was waiting for him in the living area of the guesthouse, dressed in a narrow skirt and a sleeveless blouse that was already unbuttoned, revealing a lacy black bra.

  “Hi,” she said in greeting.

  His dick stood straight up. “Hi.”

  “Want a beer?”

  “Just iced tea for me,” he said, remembering Chance’s warning about not mixing the Oxy with alcohol. “Care if I take a shower?”

  “Go ahead,” she said, then glanced at her watch. “But you’d better hurry.”

  He went down the hallway to the john and turned on the shower head, then crept across the hall to her office. With one ear to the door, he slid open a file drawer and located the fat, familiar folder with his father’s name on it. He’d slowly been reading through it when he could sneak the time between balling Liz.

  He opened the file and scanned the first few documents, looking for a trial number, the dates he needed.

  “Wesley!” she called from the other room. “Hurry!”

  He grimaced, then closed the file. He started to put it back, but changed his mind. Holding it behind him, he crept back to the hallway. After a quick check to make sure Liz wasn’t looking, he tiptoed into the bathroom and shoved the folder into his backpack. He’d read it at home, take his time, make copies of things he needed, then put it back the next time he came over.

  Liz would never miss it. She probably hadn’t thought about his father in years.

  He washed his hair and soaped up his boys in record time. The cuts on his arm still hurt like hell, but the water softened the tight skin a little.


  Just before he left the bathroom, he popped a white pill in his mouth and chewed it. He was starting to get used to the bitterness of it, starting to like it, even, because he knew what came afterward—the feeling of being lifted and carried along on the most feathery cloud imaginable. Everything looked better, smelled better, sounded better.

  The world improved.

  He padded back to the living room, naked. His hard-on was so stiff, it hurt to walk. Liz stared at his cock and smiled. “I love how you have no pretenses.”

  Wesley wondered what she’d think if she knew he’d started sleeping with her to get to his father’s files.

  But then again, the sex was pretty damn good—a nice bonus.

  Then Liz saw his arm. “What happened to you?” She jumped up to inspect it.

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Someone did this to you. Who?”

  “No one you want to know,” he assured her, moving her hand from his arm to his erection.

  “This has something to do with you calling me the other night, doesn’t it? Is that why you needed the money? To keep someone from doing this?”

  “Uh, no, he did this anyway. The cash was to keep him from cutting out my liver.”

  She gasped. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get involved, Wesley. What did you do?”

  “I worked it out. Don’t worry about it.”

  She kissed him, hard. And rubbed his dick like it was some kind of magic lamp. The woman had always been a good lay, but suddenly, she was an animal. Maybe it was knowing he’d come close to being filleted like a fish that had her jazzed, or maybe it was the sight of his roughed up body. Whatever, he just lay back and went with it.

  She ripped off her own clothes, snapped a condom on his wood, then impaled herself on him and rode him like a pogo stick. He helped her along as best as he could—the porn at Chance’s was nothing if not educational—although he felt more like a prop than anything else. She felt so damn good sliding up and down on him, her boobs bouncing. Man, she was smoking hot. And her ass…Damn, what a sweet handful.

  Maybe it was the heat of the moment, maybe it was the drug, but for some reason, he slapped her bottom. Hard. It echoed loud in his ears, and his hand stung like fire. Liz’s eyes widened and she paused. Wesley swallowed, steeling himself against her wrath. She’d probably throw him out on his dick for daring to…well, spank her.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

  “Harder,” she moaned, then started rocking on him as if he had chair runners.

  He wet his lips, then tapped her ass lightly, in case he’d misunderstood.

  “Harder,” she insisted.

  He obliged, and she urged him on. The spanking spurred them both to crashing orgasms, then they fell back, exhausted.

  “That was amazing,” Liz said, looking over her shoulder to rub her red cheeks. “I wish I had time for more.” She lay down and lit a cigarette for them to share, like always. She drew off it, then passed it to him. He was almost too weak to pucker.

  “Wesley, Jack doesn’t know about us, does he?”

  Wesley made a disdainful noise. “No. Why would he?”

  “The night you were in trouble, he called me to see if I knew where you were.”

  “So? You’re my attorney.”

  Liz pulled on the cigarette, then exhaled. “I guess so. I don’t know, there was just something about the tone of his voice.”

  “You balling the cop, too?”

  She frowned. “That’s none of your business. Jack and I have known each other a long time.”

  “Am I better in the sack?”

  She shook the cigarette at him and pushed herself to her feet. “Don’t go there, Wesley. Let’s just have fun, okay?”

  “Why were you with him in Florida?”

  She looked up, then averted her gaze. “It was a case that involves one of my clients. Jack asked me to go as a second set of eyes, that’s all.”

  “Why aren’t you married, Liz?”

  She paused from fastening her bra, then continued dressing. “I don’t know.”

  “Never met the right guy?”

  She gave a quiet little laugh. “Actually, I did meet the right guy once. But he wasn’t available. Get dressed. I have to get back to work. How’s your community service going, by the way?”

  “Fine. My boss likes me okay.”

  “Your father would be proud of you,” she said, looking wistful.

  Wesley sat up and considered telling her that his father had come to see Carlotta at the funeral home, in disguise. But he was afraid she’d tell Jack Terry, and that would ruin everything.

  Wes backtracked to the bathroom to clean up, then stared down at the split condom in alarm. Hell, that couldn’t be good. But Liz was probably on birth control. A career woman like her wouldn’t take chances.

  He dressed quickly, then grabbed his backpack, comforted by the extra weight it contained. Liz was right. His father would be proud of him.

  Especially once he found a way to help Randolph prove his innocence.

  26

  “H annah, hi, it’s Carlotta. I remembered something else I found out about Detective Jack Terry when he was here doing surveillance. Two words—pec implants. He told me all about it. I’m just glad he didn’t offer to show them to me.” She shuddered dramatically. “Call me back on my cell. I’m going on a stakeout at a cemetery and thought you might like to join me.”

  Carlotta hung up the phone and sighed. If dangling a cemetery job in front of Hannah didn’t work, she didn’t know what else to do.

  Her cell phone trilled. When Hannah’s number came up on the caller ID screen, she whooped and connected the call. “Hi!”

  “I’m listening,” Hannah said.

  “I need to do some surveillance at a cemetery. Want to come?”

  “When?”

  “How about now?”

  “I’m sitting in your driveway.”

  Carlotta went to the living room window and, sure enough, Hannah’s van sat there. Carlotta smiled and waved.

  Hannah gave her a curt wave back—with her middle finger.

  “Let me grab my purse,” Carlotta sang, then clicked the phone shut.

  Outside, she opened the van door and pulled herself up into the passenger seat, then slammed the door. “Hi!”

  Hannah glared at her.

  Carlotta sighed. “I didn’t sleep with Coop.”

  She pursed her mouth into a little black knot. “But you wanted to.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  Hannah continued to pout, jutting out her chin. Finally, she growled, “Damn it, I thought I’d at least get some juicy details. You know, find out if he’s circumcised.”

  “You’ll have to find out on your own.” Then maybe her friend could tell her the juicy details.

  “And why have you been leaving those bizarre messages about Jack Terry?”

  “Because the brute hasn’t lifted the tap on my phone yet.”

  “Oh. Good one. How did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That the tap hasn’t been lifted.”

  My long lost father told me. “Um…you can tell. There’s a clicking…thing.”

  “So what’s up with the cemetery watch?”

  “We’re going to Kiki Deerling’s grave.”

  “And why would we want to do that?”

  Carlotta pointed to the right. “Just drive, and I’ll fill you in.” She told Hannah about the road trip, leaving out the details about the hotel robbery and her parents and her own near-nakedness with Coop.

  When she got to the part about the attempts to steal Kiki’s body, Hannah smacked the steering wheel. “You get to have all the fun!”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t that fun when it was happening.”

  “So you think this girl didn’t die of an asthma attack like the M.E. said?”

  “I don’t know. Her injuries are curious, that’s all. And the attempts to steal the body could have been to cover up so
mething.”

  “What does Coop think?”

  “He thinks I’m bored.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Out of my mind. But since I don’t have anything else to do, why not follow up on some of these leads?”

  “What makes you think we’re going to see this mysterious redheaded guy at the grave site?”

  “Because he’s obsessed with Kiki.”

  “So you think he killed her?”

  “Maybe. Some killers like to hang around, revisit their victims.”

  Hannah raised her eyebrows.

  “I read that in a book at the library.”

  “Christ, you are bored.”

  They arrived at the cemetery to find several cars in the parking lot. Hannah drove around until they found a spot where Carlotta could see the crypt through her binoculars. Clumps of people stood around it.

  “Gee, do you think it stands out enough?” Hannah asked dryly. “That thing looks like it could glow in the dark.”

  “Makes our job easier,” Carlotta murmured.

  “Do you see our guy?”

  “No. There’s a security guard, and people taking pictures and laying flowers against the fence.”

  “What makes you think he’ll be here today?”

  “Because today’s her birthday.”

  “I thought she died on her birthday.”

  “No, she started celebrating early. Kiki would’ve turned twenty-one today.”

  “Kiki? You’re calling this girl by her first name, as if you knew her.”

  Carlotta lowered the binoculars and looked at Hannah. “Sometimes I feel like I do know her.”

  “Okay, you’re creeping me out, and that’s hard to do. But you’re right. If this guy is obsessed, he’d want to visit the grave today. Still, we could’ve just missed him. Maybe he’s already gone back to the rock he crawled out from under.”

  “Maybe,” Carlotta admitted. “Do you have something better to do?”

  “Hell, no. Want some pasta salad?”

  “Sure.” She took another look through the binoculars. Being on a stakeout with Hannah had its perks—her friend always had gourmet leftovers in her refrigerated van.

  Five hours later, they’d eaten their way through a bowl of pasta salad, a plate of ham wheels, a tub of crab dip and a third of a white-chocolate cheesecake.