Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

by Stephanie Bond

  “She probably felt that same way about you.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  Carlotta frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I knew she was depressed. You wouldn’t believe the things she’s been through—her brother didn’t tell the half of it. If I’d been her, I’d have killed myself ages ago.”

  Carlotta’s powdered eyebrows arched.

  Hannah blew her nose noisily, piercings clinking. “But she hung in there through a lot of bad shit. I thought things were getting better. Her brother was starting to be more responsible and she’d met this guy who was crazy about her.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Hannah’s shoulders fell. “I just didn’t see the signs.”

  “It’s true that sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us.”

  Hannah squinted. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  Carlotta reached up to remove the retainer that fixed her gapped grin. “Hannah, it’s me.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened and she scrambled back on the pew. “Carlotta—you’re back! I always made you promise that if you died first, you’d let me know what it’s like.” She frowned at the costume. “Was that the only body available?”

  Carlotta rolled her eyes. “Hannah, you idiot, I’m not dead. I never was. It was all a hoax.”

  As realization dawned, Hannah’s face revealed disbelief, then surprise, then anger. “You bitch! I can’t believe you did this to me!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to—let me explain.” She told Hannah in as few words as possible what had transpired in the last few days, leaving out the part where she’d had sex with Jack.

  Hannah pointed to the casket. “So who’s in there?”

  “Nobody. Coop pulled it from the sample room.”

  “So Coop was in on this? And Wesley?”

  “Yes, but not willingly. And Peter knew, but only because he was there the night I came home and found out everyone thought I was dead.”

  “So the woman who jumped…”

  “We still don’t know who she is or why she killed herself.”

  “Amazing. What about your job?”

  “I, uh, kind of got suspended before this all happened. But Detective Terry let Lindy in on it so she’d keep my job open.”

  A movement in the back of the chapel caught her attention. She looked up to see Jack and was relieved to see Wesley with him.

  “I have to go meet with the D.A.,” she said to Hannah, then winced. “How mad at me are you?”

  Hannah glared. “Superbly.” Slowly her glare turned into a smirk and she sighed. “But I’ll wait to take you and Wesley home.”

  Carlotta smiled. “Thanks. Oh, and you said some pretty nice things just now.”

  The glare returned. “You know, I could kill you and then this funeral wouldn’t have been wasted.”

  Carlotta laughed as she walked back up the aisle, but sobered by the time she reached Jack and Wesley. “So we’ve been summoned.”

  Jack nodded curtly and led them to an office where Kelvin Lucas and a couple of assistant D.A.’s were waiting. Lucas looked at her and frowned. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s me, Lucas. Carlotta.”

  He squinted, then looked at Jack, who looked at the ceiling. Lucas frowned, then cleared his throat. “I thought you should know how we’ll be proceeding.”

  “Since you didn’t trick my dad into giving himself up?” Wesley asked in a bored tone.

  “Your father is a criminal,” Lucas spat out. “And I guess I gave him more credit than he deserved when I thought he might care enough about his own daughter to come to her funeral.”

  Carlotta hugged herself, glad for the heavy makeup to hide behind. A lump of emotion lodged painfully in her throat as all eyes in the room darted to her, then away. Jack shifted and wiped his hand over his mouth.

  “My father cares,” Wesley said angrily. “He probably knew it was a trap.”

  Lucas gave a dry laugh. “Your father isn’t smart, kid, just heartless.”

  “He’s smart enough to have outwitted you this long,” Wesley returned.

  “Wesley,” Carlotta admonished, trying to salvage the situation, “not now.” She turned to Lucas. “We had a deal.”

  But Lucas was staring at Wesley with loathing—pent up hatred for their father, no doubt. “The deal’s off.”

  “Lucas—” Jack began.

  “I said they could have the reward money if they helped to lure in their father and if he was captured. He wasn’t, therefore no reward.”

  Carlotta had expected as much, but struggled to contain her disappointment. Besides, she hadn’t done it for the reward—she’d done it to buy Wesley some breathing room. “What about my brother’s probation and fine?”

  “Unchanged,” Kelvin said, eyeing Wesley triumphantly.

  She gripped the edge of the table for support. “But you said—”

  “You should talk to your brother, Carlotta, and convince him to be as cooperative as you are.”

  He might as well have slapped her. Lucas made it sound as if she were on his side, but she’d done this for Wesley. And all for nothing. How stupid was she not to get Liz involved, not to get the D.A.’s offer in writing?

  “What gives you the right to play games with my family?” she said to the smug, odious man, her voice shaking.

  “My job title,” he said simply, cracking his knuckles with a casual sweep of his hands. “And the fact that your father and brother both committed crimes in my jurisdiction.”

  “Lucas, with all due respect,” Jack broke in, “you owe Carlotta and Wesley something for their assistance. Carlotta allowed her friends and family to think she was dead, for God’s sake.”

  “A press release will be issued from my office in time for the eleven o’clock news stating that Ms. Wren had checked herself into a clinic for exhaustion. Her car and purse were stolen by some desperate woman who took her own life and who has yet to be identified. It was all a case of mistaken identity.” Lucas pushed to his feet. “This meeting is over.”

  She looked at Jack, panicked that everything was falling apart. He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  “Lucas,” he said. “Someone stole Carlotta’s identity. The least we can do is to use the power of the D.A.’s office to help get her financial records straightened out.”

  Lucas gave him a strange look. “Have the Wrens become a charity project of yours, Detective?”

  A muscle jumped in Jack’s jaw. “That was out of line, sir.”

  “Not if it keeps you from going over the line, Detective.” Lucas swept out the door, his assistants scrambling behind him.

  “Fucking asshole,” Wesley muttered, then looked at Carlotta. “Told you so.”

  Carlotta blinked back tears—the entire charade, for nothing. Oh, unless she counted making a fool out of herself with Jack Terry. She looked at Jack and betrayal flooded over her in waves. He was the one who’d convinced her to go along with Lucas.

  “Wesley,” she said through gritted teeth, “Hannah’s waiting in the chapel to take us home. Let’s go.”

  Wesley stomped out and as she followed him, Jack reached out to clasp her arm. “Carlotta, wait.”

  She stopped and stared up at him wearily. “What do you want, Jack?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  He lifted his hands. “For…everything. I’m sorry for going along with Lucas.”

  “You were just doing your job,” she said, parroting him.

  A shadow fell over his gold-colored eyes “And I’m sorry that your parents didn’t show. I know how that must make you feel.”

  She gave him a flat smile. “Don’t presume to know how I feel about anything, Detective. See you around.”

  Feeling defeated but determined not to let it show, she walked back through the entryway to where Wesley stood talking to Coop, figuring out their week’s work schedule. She slowed as she approached, noting the men’s bod
y language—Wesley gravitated to the older man, unwittingly mimicking his movements. They seemed to click on several levels and for that, she was grateful to Coop.

  Coop turned and took in her costume. “I thought that was you.”

  She frowned, indignant. “How could you tell?”

  “When you look at someone as much as I’ve looked at you, you just know.”

  Wesley gave his boss a withering look. “I’ll go get Hannah.”

  Carlotta bit back a smile as they followed Wesley into the chapel. “Thank you for all the trouble, Coop.”

  “I was paid for my services,” Coop said. “You were the one who had to go through all the trouble.” His eyes suddenly clouded with concern. “Carlotta, I’m sorry your parents didn’t show.”

  The sincerity in his face dissolved the offhand joke that sprang to her tongue. “Thank you,” she murmured instead. Then she angled her head at him. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

  A smile curved his mouth. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” Then the smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, not all of it is good.”

  She studied his light-brown eyes and realized that despite his peaceful exterior, Coop was still haunted by things in his past. “Perfection is boring,” she said lightly.

  “You think?” He looked as if he wanted to say more, then changed his mind. She wondered if the memory of her kissing Jack had stopped him.

  Gesturing toward the front of the chapel, she asked, “Is there something that can be done with all the flowers that people sent?”

  “I have a gentleman to bury who is indigent; I can send the flowers to his gravesite.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Sis,” Wesley called, “I thought you said Hannah was in here?”

  Carlotta looked around the empty chapel. “She was—” She spied the casket and noticed that the white roses on top had been displaced.

  Hannah wouldn’t.

  But as she rushed to the casket, she knew that Hannah would.

  She yanked up the lid and sure enough, Hannah lay inside in all her Goth glory.

  “Hannah!” Carlotta shouted.

  Hannah’s eyes popped open, her expression reverent. “This could possibly be the best day of my life.”

  “Get out.”

  “Okay, okay. Give me a hand, would you?”

  It took all of them to get Hannah out of the casket, then Carlotta shepherded her toward the parking lot before she could do any more damage. When they reached the graffitied van, Hannah suddenly gave her a fierce hug. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

  Carlotta smiled and nodded, then expelled a long sigh. What a day! She climbed into the van, feeling as old as she was made up to be. While Hannah and Wesley chatted about his latest body retrievals, she leaned her head back and tried to forget what had transpired over the past few days. As they pulled out of the parking lot, they passed Jack’s car, and he was sitting in it. In the few seconds that their gazes locked, she tried to telegraph the betrayal she felt over the way things had turned out—and that she never wanted to see him again.

  Minus ten points, Jack.

  30

  When Hannah dropped them off—and retrieved her black door wreath, thankyouverymuch—Carlotta’s first thought when she walked into the townhouse was that it felt empty. Of course, Jack was a big guy, he’d taken up a lot of room in their small place. So naturally it would feel empty.

  “Whew, it’s nice to have our place back to ourselves,” Wesley said, dropping onto the couch and reaching for the remote control.

  “Right,” she said. “I think I’m going to go take off this getup.”

  “Okay,” he said absently.

  “Wesley.”

  He looked up. “Yeah?”

  “You didn’t have to say all those nice things that you said today at the service.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Thanks.”

  He gestured to her costume. “Don’t mention it, Grandma.”

  “And I’m sorry that I let Kelvin Lucas talk me into this whole charade. I should’ve listened to you. And I should’ve told you about Dad calling.”

  “Yeah, I should be in the loop on family stuff.”

  “So do you think Dad knew the funeral thing was a trap?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But how?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he has the house bugged.”

  Carlotta pursed her lips. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Then she winced. If so, her parents had been privy to some pretty harsh things she’d said about them…not to mention her sexcapade with Detective Terry.

  “Or maybe he did something low-tech, like call.”

  “But Jack wouldn’t let me answer the phone, I could only call out.”

  “Did anyone call between the time Jack left that night and came back the next morning?”

  She shook her head. “Wait—there was a phone call just before he rang the doorbell the next morning.”

  “Do you remember who it was?”

  “It was one of those Internet calling-card numbers.”

  “Like the one Dad used to call your cell phone.”

  She squinted. “How do you know that?”

  “When Hannah told me that Dad had called you, I, uh, tapped into your cell phone records online.”

  Her eyes bugged. “Is that legal?”

  “In some countries.”

  “Wesley!”

  “So it was probably him that called the house that morning. When you answered, he knew you were okay, so he ignored the news reports.”

  She frowned. “It sounds a little James Bond-y. Lots of people use those calling cards. It could have been a wrong number or a telemarketer.”

  “It was him. Now we just wait until he calls again. You plan to stay in touch with Peter, don’t you?”

  “I thought you didn’t like Peter.”

  Wesley’s expression was one of pure innocence. “I never said that.”

  “Hypocrite.”

  “Hey, helping Dad is the least he can do to make amends.”

  “You mean for dumping me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you want me to pretend to like Peter so he’ll help Dad.”

  “I thought you did like Peter.”

  “I do, but not in that way…I don’t think…yet.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just keep it in mind.”

  “Okay. Meanwhile, no more secrets?”

  “No more secrets.”

  Carlotta went to her bedroom and closed the door. She started peeling off the costume, then used the heel of one shoe to dismantle the fire alarm and sat on the toilet to smoke two cigarettes. She managed to hold off the tears until she climbed in the shower to rid herself of the makeup on her face and neck and hands. And then she succumbed because she felt so damned sorry for herself.

  Given the choice between the wrong decision and the right one, she always managed to make the wrong one. What was it Lucas had called her in front of Jack? A charity case. God, that cut to the bone. Well, starting tomorrow she was going to get her life in order and back on track. By the time she returned to Neiman’s, she’d be ready to focus on reclaiming her spot as the store’s top salesperson.

  And she was going to put her father as far out of her mind as possible. Although Wesley’s theory about why their parents hadn’t come forward made him feel better, she didn’t buy it for a minute. But the worst-case scenario had happened—her parents had rejected her even in death—and she’d lived through it.

  When she emerged from her room, she felt somewhat revived. Wesley had popped corn, and they watched a dumb movie on the enormous television and laughed at the corny parts. But Carlotta kept glancing toward the kitchen where she’d become accustomed to seeing and hearing Jack. She wondered what he was doing tonight. Sharing that steak—and more—with Liz Fischer?

  Later when she crawled into bed, she was bombarded with sensual image
s of him—the way he’d had to lie diagonally to fit on her bed, how he’d slept with his hand on the curve of her waist, the lingering male scent of him in the linens that she would wash first thing tomorrow. The memory of him standing with Liz wrapped around him was a good reminder that she simply had been a convenient fill-in. A man like Jack Terry wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. He had told her as much and she had committed the classic female sin: thinking he would make an exception for her.

  She’d be better off to turn her heart toward a man who was interested in a relationship. Like Peter.

  Or maybe even Coop.

  She rolled onto her back and sighed. Or maybe another man whom she hadn’t yet met….

  31

  Sunday, Carlotta awoke mid-morning with a headache and a craving for a cigarette. She smoked half of one while she got ready in the bathroom, then followed the scent of food to the kitchen where Wesley was already eating.

  “French toast,” he said, pointing to the stove. “Oh and according to CNN, you’re alive again.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. Did it come out like Lucas said, about me checking myself into a hospital for exhaustion?”

  “Verbatim.”

  “So instead of people thinking I’m dead, everyone thinks I had a nervous breakdown.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Great. What’s on your agenda today?”

  “I’m working with Coop. How about you?”

  “I have so much to do, I don’t know where to start.” She glanced toward the breakfast bar where only yesterday morning Jack’s equipment had been spread out. Among the papers he’d left was her ghastly credit report. She passed it to Wesley. “Do you know anything about the accounts I circled?”

  He scanned the pages and whistled low. “No…why would I?”

  “Just checking. The woman who stole my identity must have opened these accounts. Jack said once I identified the bogus ones, I could file for some sort of affidavit to send to my creditors. Maybe I’ll do that today.”

  “Why don’t you just file bankruptcy?”

  She stabbed the French toast with her fork. “Because—starting today—we are going to be on a budget and we’re going to get all of our debt paid off, meaning my credit cards and your loan sharks.”