7 Brides for 7 Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  Carlotta looked over and saw Patricia on her phone, obviously distraught. She walked over and touched her arm, then whispered, “Is everything okay?”

  Patricia shook her head, then covered the mouthpiece. “Leo can’t bring Casey to eat with me—a friend of his died suddenly. He’s so upset.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Carlotta said. “If you need to leave early, I’ll cover the booth...and we’ll split the commissions.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.”

  Patricia nodded gratefully, then uncovered the mouth piece to resume her conversation.

  Carlotta tended to customers, thinking about what Patricia had said once about bodies turning up around her. The truth was, death had always been nearby—she’d just never noticed how indiscriminate it was until she’d started body-moving.

  When Patricia ended the call, she walked over, dabbing at her eyes. “How awful. His name was Jeffrey Oxblood. He was so young—only thirty-eight.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He was out for a run and collapsed. They think it was a heart attack.”

  “Very sad,” Carlotta agreed.

  “He had just started a new job, and he was engaged. Leo said he was really stressed out.”

  Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Engaged?”

  Patricia nodded. “His fiancée is devastated. They were planning their wedding.”

  “That can certainly be stressful.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I will take you up on your offer and go be with Leo. Would you like to take a bathroom break before I leave?”

  “Yes,” Carlotta said. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  She walked in the direction of the restrooms, but detoured over to the HAL Properties booth, where she spotted an impeccably groomed Hannah talking to a young couple, handing them vacation brochures. Carlotta smiled to herself to see Hannah behaving almost—genteel. At the same time, she couldn’t help feeling she’d been deceived by this woman whom she’d allowed into her life.

  “Can I help you?”

  Carlotta turned to see a tall woman with honey-colored hair and Hannah’s eyes standing behind a counter. One of Hannah’s sisters, she presumed, and model pretty. “I’m waiting to talk to Hannah,” she said, then waved when Hannah looked in her direction.

  “You know my sister?” the woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  She put out a beautifully manicured hand. “I’m Anna Kizer.”

  Carlotta shook her hand. “Carlotta Wren.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “Wren?”

  Apparently the woman read the newspapers.

  Hannah appeared suddenly and grabbed Carlotta’s elbow to shepherd her away from the booth.

  “Hello to you, too,” Carlotta said, trotting to keep up with Hannah’s long stride.

  “I asked you to stay away from my family,” Hannah said, her tone irritated.

  “They seem normal to me. Besides, I needed to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Were you serious about renting Greg Pena’s apartment?”

  “The guy who slipped in the mouthwash? Yeah. I even called, but the manager said he wanted to wait to show it until the guy’s stuff is out of there.”

  “Perfect. Can you call him back and get him to show it to you anyway, like this evening?”

  “Let’s see.”

  Hannah pulled out her phone and searched her call log until she found the number, then connected the call. She reminded the manager who she was, then said she needed to see the apartment that night because she was getting ready to go out of town...and no, she didn’t mind that the previous renter’s stuff was still there...and did she mention she was willing to pay the deposit and six months’ rent in advance—in cash? “Great,” she said, giving Carlotta a nod. “I’ll be there.” She ended the call. “We’re in.”

  “Great. Meet you at the entrance when the show closes?”

  “I’m counting the minutes.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “THANK YOU,” Hannah said as the manager pushed open the apartment door.

  “We’ll lock up when we leave,” Carlotta added.

  The man looked back and forth between her and Hannah. “Since I’m not supposed to let you in, I probably should stay.”

  Hannah leaned in and gave him a flirtatious smile. “But that’s the very reason you shouldn’t stay. We don’t want to see you get into trouble.”

  “Right,” Carlotta added with her own smile.

  “Besides,” Hannah said, “do we look like the kind of women who would talk our way into a place just to do something underhanded?”

  The guy looked them up and down. Hannah preened in her Kate Spade colorblock dress that emphasized her knockout figure. Carlotta felt less dazzling in a red pleated mini-skirt and white silk tank, but it seemed to suffice.

  “Er...no,” he murmured, a flush tinging his ears.

  “We won’t be long,” Carlotta said.

  “Meanwhile,” Hannah said, angling herself between him and the door, “why don’t you go ahead and draw up the lease agreement? I’d really like to get this wrapped up tonight.”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be in the office.”

  As they walked inside, Hannah shook her head. “I mean, it’s scary how easy this is sometimes. We could loot this entire place.”

  Carlotta flipped on light switches. “Well, he does have your phone number.”

  “Hello? If I were going to commit a burglary, I obviously would use a burner cell phone. After I move in, I’m going to complain about the lax security.” Hands on hips, she glanced around to take in the high ceilings, large windows, and aged wood floors. “Yeah, I think I’m going to like this place.”

  “I didn’t mean to force you into making a decision today,” Carlotta said.

  “No, it’s better that I do this while I’m working at the Wedding Expo—if I came dressed as myself, the manager probably wouldn’t have shown it to me.”

  “You think?”

  She shrugged. “Hey, it comes with the territory. People see tats and leather and they think I’m a criminal. Like your buds at the country club.”

  “What country club does your family belong to?” Carlotta asked lightly.

  Hannah ignored her and walked into the tiny kitchen to the right. “Nice appliances...gas stove—that’s a plus.”

  “Have you told Chance you’re moving out?”

  “I never really moved in. But no, I haven’t told him...yet.”

  Carlotta walked through the living room, set down her purse, then began opening drawers and peeking under magazines. “It doesn’t bother you that a man died here?”

  Her friend scoffed. “Something tragic has happened or will happen in just about every apartment, condo, and house that’s ever existed—a terrible accident, a fire, flood, or tornado, or yes—a silly, senseless, needless death.”

  “Or a murder,” Carlotta said, moving through the hall and into the bedroom. She glanced over the neat room, which was much the same as when they’d been here, the covers folded down at an inviting angle.

  “Ooh, nice fixtures,” Hannah called from the bathroom, her voice echoing. “I didn’t notice before because the body was taking up so much room in here.” The shower came on, then went off. “Good water pressure!”

  “Be careful—we don’t want to disturb any potential evidence.”

  “What exactly should I be looking for?”

  She opened the closet door and poked around. “I’m not sure...something suspicious that proves he didn’t slip on mouthwash.”

  “Like a homicidal banana peel?”

  “Very funny. Or something that would point to motivation. It looks to me as if he was expecting company—maybe he was having a last-minute fling before he walked down the aisle.”

  “And you think his girlfriend did him in?”

  She lifted the lid on a wooden box that was a catchall for jewelry, odd keys, pape
rclips and ticket stubs. “You felt his body—rigor hadn’t set in, he hadn’t been dead very long. Iris had been working out with Tracey, remember?”

  “Maybe they’re in on it together.”

  Carlotta pursed her mouth at the unlikely scenario.

  “Or maybe,” Hannah said in a sing-song voice, “like Coop said, he slipped on mouthwash and whacked his head on the tub and that was that.”

  Carlotta sighed—Coop was probably right. She lifted the pillows from the bed and felt along the sheet. When she came across a small lump, she looked underneath to find a red acrylic fingernail.

  “Someone’s back was getting scratched,” Hannah observed from the doorway.

  “Not by Iris,” Carlotta said, holding it up between finger and thumb. “This is a press-on nail. I think that’s a little beneath her manicure grade.”

  Hannah clapped. “This is getting good.”

  A sound of the door opening and closing reached them. Her first thought was the manager had returned...until she heard female voices.

  “Why are the lights on?”

  “Whose purse is that?”

  She met Hannah’s wide-eyed gaze. They were trapped.

  “Who’s there?” a woman called.

  “I have a weapon!” another female voice cried.

  With nowhere to hide, Carlotta led the way out. “It’s okay, it’s just—” She stopped at the sight of Iris Kline and Tracey Lowenstein. “—us.”

  Tracey gasped. “You two!” She wielded a large wooden spoon.

  “Were you going to spank us?” Hannah asked.

  Tracey lowered her weapon, her face a mottled red. “What are you doing here?”

  “How did you get in?” Iris demanded.

  Carlotta opened her mouth. “We...we’re...that is—”

  “I’m taking over the lease,” Hannah blurted.

  Jaws dropped, faces contorted, Iris covered her mouth with her hand.

  “That’s just—” The woman broke off in a sob.

  “Sick,” Tracey chirped.

  Carlotta felt Hannah bristle, so she spoke up before any more damage was done. “The manager was kind enough to let Hannah take another look while he finished the paperwork. If we had any idea you would be coming by, Iris, we wouldn’t have dreamed of imposing. We’re very sorry.” She bumped Hannah.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Iris seemed to believe them, sniffed mightily and nodded. “I wanted to get some personal items.”

  “We didn’t bother anything,” Carlotta assured her.

  From the bathroom came a crash, a clatter of glass on porcelain.

  Hannah grunted. “I might have glanced inside the medicine cabinet.”

  Tracey glared and pointed to the door. “Get out!”

  “We’re going,” Carlotta said, stopping to pick up her purse. Then she turned back. “Tracey...I was very sorry to hear about Walt.”

  Tracey’s eyes watered. “You should be. It’s your father’s fault.”

  “Hey,” Hannah said, hands on hips. “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s true,” Tracey said, sending lasers at Carlotta. “My father’s been cleaning up your father’s mess ever since he ran like the thief he is.”

  Anger sparked in her stomach, but she recognized that Tracey was lashing out from worry over her father’s condition. “We’re all hoping for a speedy recovery.” Carlotta tugged Hannah toward the entrance.

  Once they were out in the hallway, Carlotta exhaled.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Hannah said.

  “It’s okay,” Carlotta said. “Tracey’s entitled to vent. And there’s probably a lot of truth in what she said.” Still, the encounter had left her shaken. As they descended to the first floor she held onto the handrail a little more tightly than she had going up.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard the sound of a faint bark and followed it.

  “What is it?”

  “I was going to ask the manager for the apartment number of a woman I saw when we were here before, but I think I can find it on my own.”

  “What woman?”

  “The officer said a neighbor who dog sat for Greg found his body. I want to talk to her.”

  The closer they walked to the apartment at the end of the hall, the louder the barking. Carlotta knocked on the door, and the barking escalated.

  “What are you going to ask her?”

  “Just if she noticed anything.”

  In a few seconds, the door opened, revealing the woman Carlotta had seen before. She was pretty and curvy, and snuggled the black terrier in some of Greg Pena’s photographs. “Yes?”

  “Hi,” Carlotta said with a smile. She searched her memory banks for the name the officer had given to Iris, who’d been curious about which neighbor had found her boyfriend—and curiously irritated when she heard it was the dog sitter. “It’s Emma, right?”

  The woman nodded. “I recognize you. You two were here Friday...when Greg died.”

  “That’s right,” Carlotta said. “We know you’re a friend of Greg’s.”

  She tightened her grip on the little dog until it yelped. “Yes.”

  “That’s his dog, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t mind keeping Peppy. I was going to take him anyway, when Greg got married. His girlfriend doesn’t like dogs.”

  “That’s very nice of you. I recall that you were the one who found Greg.”

  Emma teared up and nodded.

  “What do you think happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. When I came in, he was lying in the bathroom floor.” She sniffed. “He must’ve had a heart attack or something.”

  “How did you get in?”

  She hesitated. “The door was open.”

  “Did he always leave the door open?”

  She pressed her lips together, then shook her head.

  “But he was expecting you?”

  “I...I...yes, he was...because I...was going to walk Peppy.”

  “Were Greg and his girlfriend getting along?”

  Emma bit into her lip.

  “It’s okay,” Carlotta urged with a conspiratorial smile. “You can tell me what you think.”

  “Greg was having second thoughts about getting married. He said he was going to break up with Iris.” She teared up. “But he didn’t get a chance.”

  Carlotta made a sympathetic noise. “Thank you for answering our questions.” She started to turn away, then gestured to the woman’s hands. “I like your nail polish.”

  She held up her red-tipped fingers and smiled. “Oh, these are just press-on nails.”

  “I see you lost one,” Hannah piped up.

  Emma frowned at the naked nail on her pinkie finger. “Yeah...that happens sometimes.”

  “Have a nice day,” Carlotta said, then smiled and turned away.

  When they walked out of earshot, Hannah said, “So she was sleeping with Greg.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Just because the guy was fooling around on the side doesn’t mean he was murdered.”

  “I know. I’m just asking a few questions.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Rainie Stephens’s number. After a couple of rings, Rainie answered.

  “Hi, Carlotta. What can I do for you?”

  “A favor, I hope.”

  “If I can.”

  “A list of the obituaries of single men in the metro area who died in the last thirty days.”

  “Should I ask why?”

  “If it turns out to be something, the scoop is yours.”

  “Okay. Might take me a couple of days. Since I have you on the phone, any more news about Walt Tully’s condition?”

  “Not since we talked earlier. How about on your end?”

  “Still digging.”

  “Okay. Let me know when you get those obits.”

  When she ended the call, Hannah was staring at her. “Don’t you have enough going on right now?”

  Carlotta bit into her lip, t
hen sighed. “Apparently not.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  UNDER THE TABLE IN THE APD INTERVIEW ROOM, Wesley’s leg jumped as if he were high, but this time there was no Oxy coursing through his system—just pure, white-hot fear. He noticed a ragged edge on his thumbnail and bit it off. Too late, he realized he’d bitten it down to the quick. His thumb began to throb. Between this interview and having to face Meg afterward, he’d be down to the knuckle soon.

  “Relax,” Liz said, pushing his hand away from his mouth. “Even if they can prove you mailed in the note with the victim’s name, they can’t prove you knew anything about his death.”

  Wes nodded, then couldn’t seem to stop bobbing his head. The repetitive movement was calming somehow. Along with the knowledge that Liz was probably going to do everything she could to keep her baby-daddy out of the clink.

  The door opened and Jack Terry walked in, all attitude. He was flanked by a suited slender black woman who also wore a badge.

  “Hello,” Jack said in a brusque tone. “Wes, Liz, this is Detective Salyers. Detective, this is Wesley Wren and his attorney Liz Fischer.”

  “Wren?” Salyers asked. “Any relation to Carlotta Wren?”

  They all turned to look at Salyers.

  “I know her from another case,” Salyers murmured.

  No one seemed surprised.

  “She’s my sister,” Wes supplied.

  “Enough of the family tree,” Jack said with a frown. “I have to be somewhere, so let’s make this quick.”

  Liz crossed her long legs that looked great encased in sheer hose. “I’m surprised you’re here at all, Jack. I heard you were suspended.”

  A muscle worked in Jack’s jaw. “You heard wrong. I’m just taking a few days of vacation. But I thought this was worth coming in on my day off.” From an accordion folder, he removed an evidence bag and slid it onto the table. “Look familiar, Wes?”

  At the sight of the scrap of paper he’d mailed from Piedmont Hospital along with envelope he’d sent it in, Wes decided his fingernails could use another trim...the bonus of having his fingers in his mouth was he didn’t have to talk.