Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

by Stephanie Bond

Carlotta’s head buzzed with the notion of how many experiences would be open if she would only let Peter back into her life.

  After he climbed behind the wheel, he gestured to the front of the house. “What happened to the window?”

  “Oh…neighborhood kids,” she lied, thinking she might scare off Peter completely if she revealed just how many ways her and Wesley’s lives intersected with what Mrs. Winningham had referred to as “a bad element.”

  Dinner was elegant and lovely. The restaurant’s service was impeccable, the food and wine exquisite. It was a place she couldn’t afford except on very special occasions, but the maitre d’ knew Peter by name. The atmosphere was as romantic as a Norah Jones song, and gave Carlotta a further glimpse into what her life would be like with Peter. The best of everything, hers for the asking.

  So what was stopping her?

  She glanced at her watch and wondered if Jack’s awards ceremony had started. She imagined him in his tux. He and Liz would be the most striking couple at the event, no doubt.

  “You’re checking your watch,” Peter teased. “I guess that means you’re eager to get to the concert.”

  She smiled and nodded guiltily, determined to push thoughts of Jack out of her mind and focus on the man in front of her. Peter signaled for the check and soon they were on their way to the Fox Theater, only three blocks away.

  Known as the Fabulous Fox Theater, the building was a former Masonic Temple restored as an entertainment venue, with domes and turrets inspiring thoughts of romantic Arabian nights. Inside, the five-thousand-seat theater was arranged with floor seating and a sweeping balcony under a spectacular ceiling of navy blue shot with twinkling lights. When the house lights were down, it was easy to believe you were sitting beneath a velvety star-kissed sky. The dramatic structure and glamorous interior made it a favorite of performers and audiences alike and a jewel of midtown Atlanta.

  They ran into Wesley in the ticket line and Carlotta couldn’t pass up the chance to tease him. “So, am I going to get to meet this girlfriend of yours?”

  He scowled. “Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Coop walked up and said hello, his eyes lighting with appreciation when he looked at her. She reintroduced him to Peter, then grinned. “You’re Wesley’s date?”

  “Yeah,” Coop said with a sigh, then draped his long arm around Wesley’s shoulder. “And I’m damn proud of it too.”

  Wesley rolled his eyes and Carlotta laughed, but secretly wondered how much of Wesley’s sour mood had to do with problems with his lenders. He wouldn’t talk to her about it except to say that he had everything under control and didn’t need Jack or anyone else making things worse.

  “Wesley, hi,” said a gorgeous redheaded who made Wesley straighten and knock Coop’s arm off his shoulder.

  “E…. how’s it going?”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m glad you used the tickets.”

  “This is my boss, Coop,” Wesley said. “This is E. She’s my probation officer.”

  “Eldora Jones,” the woman said, shaking Coop’s hand.

  “And this is my sister, Carlotta.”

  Eldora turned and smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Carlotta was struck by her dazzling beauty—no wonder Wesley hadn’t missed a probation meeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She introduced Peter just as a dark-haired beefy guy walked up to Eldora.

  “Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Leonard.”

  Everyone said hello—except for Wesley, Carlotta noted. He had a stricken look on his face that told her he was in love with this girl.

  Her heart ached for him.

  “We’d better get to our seats,” Peter murmured, and they said their goodbyes.

  Once they were inside the theater, they were escorted to their seats—center stage, second row. Carlotta gasped. “I’ve never been this close to the stage.”

  Peter winked at her. “Enjoy. And keep your autograph book handy. We might get invited backstage.”

  She squealed in delight. Collecting autographs was a life-long hobby of hers, born of her father’s proximity to celebrities since his investment firm had catered to VIPs. She’d gotten Elton’s autograph years ago, but it had been ruined when her autograph book had gone swimming in a pool one night at a party she’d crashed.

  Since her new autograph book, compliments of Jolie, was virtually empty, having Elton’s autograph would be even more special. The fact that Peter had remembered and humored her somewhat frivolous pasttime meant a lot to her.

  “I’ll get us some wine,” he offered.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room, I’ll meet you back here.”

  As she moved through the milling crowd, Carlotta hugged her purse close, feeling the outline of her autograph book tucked inside beside the phone that Peter had given her. A few minutes later, when she exited the stall in the ladies’ room, she saw Patricia Alexander washing her hands at the sink next to hers. Jesus, the woman was wearing a suit to a concert—what a tightass.

  Her hope to go unnoticed was lost when Patricia caught her gaze in the mirror. Her mouth twitched downward. “Hi, Carlotta.”

  “Hi, Patricia.”

  “Where are you sitting?”

  “Uh, up front.”

  Patricia got out her lipstick and began to apply it. “Must be nice, but our seats are decent. We’re near the front of the balcony.”

  “Yeah, there really aren’t any bad seats in this theater.”

  “So, Michael tells me that you had great sales today.”

  “I guess so,” Carlotta said, taking a paper towel from the attendant and dropping a tip on the vanity tray. “You know, I started with Neiman’s in accessories. It’s a great training ground.”

  “I suppose,” Patricia said. “But I’m not exactly new to Neiman’s.”

  “No?”

  “I worked there for a while last year.”

  A memory slid into Carlotta’s mind and she froze—at the same time Jennifer Stevenson had worked there.

  Her mind started chugging furiously. Patricia had access to the employee lockers. A determined thief could’ve broken in, gotten personal information from handbags and no one would be the wiser. Patricia could’ve sold her information and Jennifer’s to the likes of Barbara Rook and Beverly Tucker. Maybe she’d gotten to know the women through the store somehow. As customers?

  Then she remembered that Beverly Tucker’s body had been found by her dog walker, which meant she had a dog.

  A dog with a swim suit from Neiman’s accessory department where Patricia worked? And there were all those scarves….

  “What’s wrong with you?” Patricia said. “You look positively green.”

  “Something I ate isn’t agreeing with me,” Carlotta murmured. “I think I’ll sit in here for a few minutes. But I’ll come by to say hello to Michael. What are your seat numbers?”

  Patricia told her, then strutted out.

  Carlotta took a calming breath, then pulled out the cell phone Peter had given her and dialed Jack’s number. He was probably in the middle of his dinner, but she could at least leave him a message to come and pick up Patricia for questioning at the end of the concert.

  “Detective Terry.”

  “Jack, it’s Carlotta. I didn’t think you’d be answering.”

  “Then why did you call?” he asked irritably. He was talking low and she could hear applause in the background.

  “Because I think I know who’s involved in the identity-theft ring. Her name is Patricia Alexander. I just ran into her in the bathroom at the Fox. I’m at the Elton John concert. With Peter.” And what had compelled her to add that little tidbit?

  He sighed. “And what makes you think this Alexander woman is involved?”

  “Because she worked at Neiman’s at the same time as Jennifer Stevenson. And because she works in accessories.”

  “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Jack,” Liz said in the back
ground, “can’t that wait?”

  Carlotta’s grip on the phone tightened.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Jack said. “Go on, Carlotta.”

  “It’s significant because Beverly Tucker had a dog, and our bestseller right now in accessories are these adorable little doggie swimsuits—”

  “You’re killing me.”

  Carlotta frowned. “Never mind. I’ll handle this myself.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  She disconnected the call and turned off the phone, then exited the ladies’ room. She wasn’t about to confront Patricia here, but she did want to say hello to Michael and perhaps warn him about his companion.

  He was leaning on the balcony when she found him. Luckily, Patricia wasn’t around.

  “Hey, I saw you in your seat down there,” he said. “Pretty sweet.”

  She glanced down and saw Peter standing near their seats, scanning the crowd, looking for her. She waved her arm until she got his attention and he waved back.

  “Michael, I have something important to tell you and I don’t want you to get angry.”

  He frowned. “What is it?”

  “I know who’s involved in the identity-theft ring at the mall.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. And I came to warn you.”

  “Are the police on their way?” He shifted nervously and yanked his keys out of his pocket.

  “What? No. Where are you—” Carlotta stopped when she saw his keyring. It was the same as the ones that Barbara Rook and Beverly Tucker had had in their possession. And suddenly she remembered where she’d seen the symbol—on Dr. Delray’s business card that Michael had given her.

  “Interesting keyring,” she said carefully, belying the rush of adrenaline pumping through her body. I’ve seen it before recently…twice, in fact.

  “It’s from therapy,” he said. “Dr. Delray gives them to patients when they reach a milestone.”

  So Michael had met Barbara Rook and Beverly Taylor at therapy—the perfect place to hook up with other people who had problems.

  “If you were in therapy, Carlotta, the doctor would tell you that you’re way too nosy for your own good.”

  She took a step backward, but Michael grabbed her wrist with an ironclad grip. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

  “I thought it was Patricia,” she whispered. “I never dreamed it was you.”

  His laugh was sarcastic. “What, do you think I can afford my lifestyle on retail wages?”

  Michael drove a nice car, she recalled. A Mercedes.

  Could’ve been a Mercedes or a BMW.

  “Why would you sell my identity?” she asked, her eyes clouding with tears of betrayal.

  He snorted. “Your credit was already shot. Everything would’ve been fine if only you’d filed for bankruptcy like I told you. I only sold the information for people I knew were headed for chapter seven anyway.”

  She tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip. Stall. “Did you kill those women?” she asked past the bile building up in her throat.

  Michael scoffed. “Barbara was getting crazy—using your name to do everything, even pretending to be you at the mall. When you got the roses at work and didn’t know who they were from, I knew she’d gone too far. Then I followed her and saw her pick up your car. She was bound to get caught and lead the cops straight to me. Stupid bitch. I pulled her over to talk some sense into her. And when I saw the interstate behind her, it was just so easy to push her.”

  Carlotta shuddered at his matter-of-fact tone.

  He laughed. “Then when the police thought it was you who’d died, I thought I was scot-free. Figured you’d decided to leave your miserable life behind just like your parents and that I’d gotten lucky.” His smile was mean. “But then you came back. And you wouldn’t leave things alone.”

  “And Beverly Tucker?”

  “She got antsy about Barbara’s death. She was going to rat me out.”

  The lights flickered, indicating the house lights would be lowered soon.

  She swallowed hard. “Were you working with loan sharks? Were they threatening you?”

  “What? No. I was independent.”

  “Someone drove by my house. Fired shots.”

  “I was trying to throw off the police, make them think Barbara was murdered because someone thought she was you.” His laugh was dry. “I’m not good at this criminal life. I should’ve been a ballroom dancer, like my mom wanted.”

  “Michael, let me help you. Turn yourself in. You can plead insanity, still have a life.”

  “After prison? Do you know what would happen to someone like me in prison?” He shook his head. “No. I’m going to wait until the lights go down and then, I’m sorry to say, you’re going to take a dive off this balcony. Everyone was so ready to believe you took a dive off the Seventeenth Street bridge, this is actually a step down.”

  Her wrist was aching. “Michael, don’t.” She saw Patricia walking up behind Michael, carrying two drinks, oblivious to what was going on.

  The lights flickered again, then went down.

  “Goodbye, Carlotta.”

  She threw her head back and screamed, trying to resist him. But Michael was taller and had strength on his side. He wrestled her back over the edge of the balcony, and she felt the momentum of her body weight carry her over….

  Minus ten points.

  43

  The bottom fell out of Carlotta’s stomach as she felt the weightlessness of open air around her. She flailed wildly, then miraculously caught a handful of corded fringe—a curtain, she realized—and prayed it would hold her weight. It did, but she heard the telltale rip of fabric slowly giving way. The arm that had been holding her purse dangled uselessly and from the excruciating pain, she concluded it was broken. Her favorite Manolo Blahniks fell off her feet and from the ensuing yelps below, landed on the heads of the people sitting beneath where she swung at the end of the curtain.

  She wanted to scream, but was afraid to move. Besides, people were screaming all around her. The lights came back on, blinding her. Carlotta dangled like a doll, but even the fact that she was about to plummet to her death—or at least a full body cast—did not erase the realization that everyone in the theater was getting more of a show than they’d bargained for. Her skirt was around her waist—and for some unknown reason, she had decided to wear a thong tonight. She closed her eyes.

  What now?

  “Carlotta!” Peter shouted above her. “Give me your hand.”

  Her chest flooded with relief. Peter. “My arm’s hurt,” she cried, keeping as still as possible. The fabric ripped again, dropping her a couple of inches. The crowd gasped.

  “Hang on,” he yelled. “I’m coming down.”

  She chanced a glance upward and saw that a chain of men were lowering Peter. She felt his fingers brush her hand.

  “I’m almost there,” he said.

  Then she could feel herself slipping. The fabric was failing and with a loud rip, it gave way completely and she fell to a chorus of screams below. She mentally braced for landing on the rows of seats, knowing it wouldn’t feel good.

  She was right. She slammed face-first into a hard surface, then waited for either the painlessness of death or the pain of life to take over.

  It was, thankfully, pain.

  Plus ten points.

  And then Carlotta heard the groan beneath her. She knew that groan. Slowly she opened her eyes to see that Jack had caught her—or rather, had broken her fall.

  “You wore my tie,” she whispered.

  “Stand back, I’m a doctor!” came the distant sound of Coop’s voice.

  And then, fittingly for the theater, everything faded to black.

  44

  “You can start next Monday,” Richard McCormick said with a firm handshake. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. Wren.”

  Wesley nodded. “Thank you.” Richard was a geek of the first order, but he seemed nice eno
ugh.

  “Ooh, nasty burn,” the man commented on Wesley’s wound.

  Wesley put his hand in his pocket. “See you Monday.”

  He walked outside the city building, telling himself that he would be more excited about starting the community-service work if he didn’t have so many other things on his mind.

  Like if he was going to tell E. that her musclehead boyfriend was in cahoots with Chance.

  But he’d never do anything that would cause trouble for Chance. The guy had, after all, helped him pull off the Great Strip Club Caper, which brought him to another, more pressing, problem.

  With Michael Lane arrested for the murders of those two women and for firing at Carlotta to throw off the police, Wesley realized that The Carver had had nothing to do with the shooting.

  He had humiliated one of the biggest loan sharks in Atlanta for no reason.

  And he still owed the man a shitload of money.

  Which, he realized, was probably the only reason the man hadn’t killed him already. He probably wanted to collect his money first and then kill him.

  Almost nauseous with fear, Wesley rode his bike to The Carver’s place of business, a hole in East Atlanta with no street address and no front door. He went around to the back and leaned his bike against the building, aware that his teeth were chattering. Christ, he hoped he didn’t piss himself.

  The photo chip was in his shoe. All he could do was offer it up as a peace offering and tell the man that it had been an honest mistake.

  And then hand him the nine-hundred bucks he’d managed to scrape together.

  But before he could lower the bike’s kick stand, the door flew open. Wesley didn’t get the chance to react. Two beefy sets of hands clamped down on him, then dragged him inside.

  45

  “You have a visitor,” the nurse said.

  Carlotta looked up from the hospital bed to see Coop standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers.

  “How’s the lady who stole the show last night?”

  She smiled wide. “Fine.” She patted the cast on her left arm. “The doctor says I’ll be as good as new in about four weeks. Speaking of doctors, I hear you’re the one who took care of me before the ambulance arrived. Thank you, Coop.”

  He grinned and set the flowers on the table next to her bed. “Don’t mention it. I haven’t gotten to work on a live body since med school, so it was a treat.” Then he wagged his eyebrows. “And such a nice-looking body at that.”