6 Killer Bodies

by Stephanie Bond

  He walked back into the bathroom. “Damn maid,” he muttered, then he reached inside the shower curtain and dumped the ice.

  On her bare feet.

  She swallowed a gasp, but when he twisted the knob to turn on the shower, she nearly swallowed her tongue.

  The icy spray blasted her in the face. She stood stock still, but her mind raced. Her only hope was to wait until he was naked, and then he might not run after her—if she could make it to the hallway. Her heart stampeded her lungs.

  She could hear the sounds of him pushing down his swim trunks. And then from the other room, the sound of the ringing phone.

  The cavalry.

  Garza cursed.

  Answer it, she silently begged. Answer it.

  He stomped into the bedroom and answered the phone. She could hear him arguing with whoever was on the other end. She thought about making a run for it now, but then remembered she needed that glass—her fingerprints were all over it.

  He slammed down the phone and came back to get his trunks, grumbling, then reached in and turn off the shower. The sudden absence of the water was more shocking than the initial spray. Her robe, cold and sopping wet, clung to her and weighed a ton.

  She heard more shuffling, then the blessed sound of the room door opening and closing.

  Carlotta shoved aside the shower curtain and jumped out of the tub as fast as the sodden robe would allow. She ran into the bedroom, leaving a trail of water, scanning for the glass. When she found it, she shoved it in her pocket and dashed to the door. She opened it and slipped out into the hall, smiling at the couple coming down the hall toward her. They squinted at her drenched appearance and hurried into their room. Carlotta sprinted back to the ice machine room and yanked out her purse. She made a split-second decision that putting her clothes on over wet underwear would draw more attention than if she wore no underwear at all, so she stripped naked and redressed. Then she pulled out her phone and wallet—now waterlogged—and stuffed the wet robe in a trash can.

  She took the stairs down to give herself a few minutes to repair her appearance. She skimmed her wet hair back into a ponytail and removed mascara streaks with a tissue. By the time she walked out into the lobby, her sunglasses and attitude were back in place. Rueben Garza stood there dressed in swim trunks, T-shirt and sandals. When she passed him, he ogled her in between shooting exasperated glances at his watch as he looked for someone who hadn’t yet shown up.

  Carlotta walked quickly to her car, unlocking it from a safe distance. Just as she opened the car door, Hannah’s van pulled up and the window zoomed down. “I had to come see.”

  Carlotta’s shoulders fell. “How did you get him out of the room?”

  “I told him he had to come to the lobby to sign for an ostrich egg.”

  “What?”

  “I panicked…it was the only thing I could think of. You didn’t give me a lot to go on.”

  “It worked. You saved my life.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. Can I use your phone? Mine took a shower.”

  Hannah handed over her cell. Carlotta punched in Jack’s number.

  “Terry,” he barked after the second ring.

  “Jack, it’s Carlotta.”

  “Carlotta, my plate is pretty full right now.”

  She frowned. “This is important. Before you dismiss me or hang up, promise me you’ll hear me out.”

  He sighed. “I’m listening.”

  “Maria’s ex-husband murdered her.”

  “What? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Maybe, but that’s beside the point. Rueben Garza killed her and he made it look like The Charmed Killer did it.”

  He made a disbelieving noise. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Jack, shut up for a minute and think about it. Maria knew he was stalking her. That’s why she asked you out to dinner, because she expected a confrontation and knew you’d protect her. It was Garza watching us from the trees that night, I know it. He knew Maria smoked and that she would come outside eventually. The charm is all wrong, Jack—it’s feminine, not like the others. Besides…I know for certain he killed her.”

  “How’s that?” he asked. But the absence of sarcasm meant he was, at least, listening.

  “I found proof in his hotel room.”

  A strangled noise sounded over the phone. “You what?”

  “A charm bracelet, missing a charm. He did it, Jack. So you should be able to find evidence other than the charm bracelet, proof that he was in town the night the murder occurred, that there’s a history of violence, something. But he’s checking out tonight, so you’ll need to move fast.”

  “I can’t believe you!” he bellowed. “Have you not heard a single word I’ve said about staying out of police work?”

  “Okay, before you have an aneurysm, I have something else to run by you.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can stop you from telling me?”

  “No. I’ve been wracking my brain thinking about how someone could’ve framed Coop for these murders.”

  “Carlotta, don’t.”

  “Just listen, Jack, please. If someone wanted to incriminate Coop, they would’ve had to know where he goes—the bookstore where Shawna Whitt worked, the block where Pepper hung out, the gym Cheryl Meriwether belonged to, the grocery store where Marna Collins shopped, the cigar shop. And when I started thinking about how you tracked down Wes, it occurred to me—maybe there’s a GPS chip on Coop’s van somewhere.”

  “You can’t honestly believe—”

  “The van has probably been impounded, right?”

  “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Then can’t you wave a wand over it or something to find a chip if there is one?”

  “Yes, I’ll get out my magic wand,” Jack said dryly. “Are you hearing yourself? This is crazy talk, even for you.”

  Carlotta bit her lip to stem tears of frustration. “Okay, Jack, don’t do it for me. Do it for Maria and for Coop. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. But what if I’m right?”

  He expelled a burdened sigh. “Oh, well…I wasn’t planning to sleep tonight anyway.”

  28

  Wes was awakened early Sunday morning by his ringing cell phone. He cracked an eye at the clock—6:15 a.m.—and brought the phone to his mouth. “This had better be Jesus.”

  “Wes, man, it’s Kendall. Where have you been?”

  Wes winced. “I’ve been sick. Dude, it’s not even dawn. Go back to sleep.”

  “That’s the problem,” Kendall said, his voice small and squeaky. “I can’t sleep. I have nightmares. I don’t think I can do this job anymore, Wes. I’d rather work with roadkill.”

  Wes rubbed his eyes. “Moving bodies isn’t for everyone.”

  “So why do you do it?”

  Wes sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the mattress simply because the idea of lying in bed talking on the phone to another guy weirded him out. He sighed. “I used to do it because of Coop. He made it interesting, he made it seem…I don’t know—like we were doing something that mattered.”

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.” More than he would ever admit to Gomer. “Dude, did you call for a reason or are you just PMSing?”

  “Will you help me tell my uncle?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “That I’m just not cut out for this job. I’ve tried so hard to make him proud of me, but…I miss my squirrels.”

  “Squirrels?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but there’s just something really beautiful about them when they’re all flat. Did you know that most of them die in a perfect silhouette?”

  Wes squinted. “Uh…no.”

  “Their tails bush out—”

  “Dude, no offense, but I couldn’t be less interested.”

  “Aw, okay. Can you help me make some pickups today?”

  “You mean after the sun comes up?”
r />   Kendall laughed. “Good one. I can pick you up at noon.”

  Wes gave him the address. “Wear a coat and tie, how about it?”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” Wes said, remembering the lecture Coop had once given him about professionalism. “And Kendall?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll go with you to talk to Dr. Abrams if you want, just let me know.”

  “Okay. Thanks, man.”

  Wes ended the call and shook his head. There was something wrong with that boy.

  He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was wide awake—the one downside of being clean of the Oxy was the burden that came with thinking clearly.

  Where was Coop? How could the man who had raked him over the coals for conspiring to have a body stolen do all the things he’d been accused of? It just didn’t add up. But if Coop was innocent, why run?

  Just like his own father…

  Then he was tormented by images of Meg with that other guy. He’d totally blown it with her.

  He needed to call Liz.

  And repair the townhouse.

  And thank Mouse.

  At this point, he was glad that the identification of the headless corpse in the morgue had gone cold. Because if one of the three names on the list he’d sent anonymously to the APD actually panned out, they might link the dead guy back to Mouse. And he owed Mouse one. A big one.

  He finally managed to doze for a couple of hours, then showered and took the vitamins and minerals that were supplementing his energy and his full recovery. When he went upstairs, Carlotta and Peter were having brunch out by the pool. Through the glass door he watched them interact for a few minutes, nursing guilty pangs about pushing Peter on Carlotta when it was so clear to him her heart was elsewhere. He’d explored the rest of the house and suspected their separate sleeping arrangements had little to do with appearances.

  But Peter had really helped him out of a jam, and he did seem to care for Carlotta. He would give her the life she deserved, the one their parents had yanked out from under her.

  Wes walked outside and joined them. He snagged a strip of bacon and a banana, then noticed the brochures they were studying.

  “Who’s going to Vegas?” Excitement stirred in his stomach as he picked up one of the flyers.

  “Peter bought a trip to Vegas for charity. We’re leaving Tuesday for five days.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here while we’re gone,” Peter added.

  Envy stabbed Wes. He’d always dreamed of going to Vegas. Any poker player worth their salt played the strip. “Thanks for the offer, Peter, but I’m heading back to Chance’s place tonight.” He glanced at Carlotta. “I’m going with Kendall Abrams on a few body pickups this afternoon. I’ll have him drop me off there when we’re done.”

  She looked sad, but she nodded. He wondered briefly if she was lonely living with Peter. There was a feeling of detachment here in the suburbs that didn’t seem to fit his sister’s personality.

  “Have you called Liz?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “So…” Carlotta grinned. “How did it go with Meg yesterday?”

  Wes frowned. “It didn’t. She’s going out with someone else, someone in her own league.”

  “Well, if you’re giving up, that will definitely make her decision easier,” Carlotta said lightly.

  A honk sounded from the front of the house.

  “That’s my ride,” Wes said. “Later.” On impulse, he dropped a kiss on his sister’s cheek, then bolted.

  The body pickups were rote—four nursing homes and the veteran’s hospital, six trips to the morgue. Kendall Abrams was as morose as the country songs he insisted they listen to. Dr. Abrams wasn’t at the morgue, so the dreaded, “I gotta be me,” meeting with Kendall and his uncle was postponed. As Wes maneuvered around Kendall’s shortcomings on the job, he realized how much he’d learned from Coop. But it wasn’t the same making calls without him.

  The afternoon turned into evening and they were still stacking bodies in the back of the van. An influenza outbreak in one of the nursing homes had taken its toll. They were completing their final run to the morgue when his cell phone rang. At the sight of Meg’s name on the screen, his pulse kicked up. Uncaring of how uncool it was, he answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Meg.”

  “Hi. Are you busy?”

  “Just moving bodies.”

  She grunted. “Are you going to be busy all night?”

  Hope stirred in his chest. “No. We just finished.”

  “Why don’t you come over?”

  “To your dorm?”

  “Yeah. My roommate’s gone. We can hang out and watch TV.”

  “I thought you girls weren’t allowed to have guys in your room this late.”

  “We’re not. If you want in, you’ll have to think of something creative. Room 2011.”

  He swallowed hard. “What time?”

  “That’s up to you,” she said, then clicked off.

  He snapped the phone closed and looked at Kendall. “We’re done. I’ll buy pizza.”

  Twenty minutes later, Kendall dropped him off in front of Meg’s dorm. Wes pulled out the hat he’d bought from the guy at the counter of the pizza joint and walked in with a pie propped on his shoulder. “Pizza for room 1911,” he told the dour-faced woman manning the lobby desk.

  “The girls have to come down and pay for it here,” she said primly, as if she were personally responsible for guarding their hymens.

  “I’ve been calling and calling from the parking lot, and it’s busy.” He tried to look pitiful. “Please, ma’am. I got fifteen more of these things to deliver in the next forty minutes, or it all comes out of my paycheck.”

  She frowned. “All right. But if you don’t come back, I know which room you’re in.”

  “That’s what you think,” Wes muttered under his breath as he stepped onto the elevator.

  When Meg answered the door, she burst out laughing. “I knew you’d think of something.”

  He was kissing her before the door closed.

  She kissed him back, then lifted her head. “No sex, do you hear me? This is still our first date.”

  He nodded. He just wanted to be in the same room with her.

  They sat on the couch watching TV and sharing the pizza with her leg crossed over his, and his hand on her knee. In between talking, they kissed and petted, but despite a persistent hard-on, Wes didn’t let things go too far. He didn’t want to mess up again.

  Around two in the morning, they stretched out on the couch, their warm bodies pressed together. She had her hand under his shirt, caressing his stomach. As Wes stroked her hair, a fierce possessiveness welled in his chest.

  “So, what’s up with you and this Mark guy?” he asked.

  Meg’s hand stilled, and for a few seconds, he thought he’d angered her. Then she sighed. “Mark was my brother’s best friend.”

  “Was? Meaning they’re no longer best friends?”

  “Meaning, I no longer have a brother.”

  Wes twisted to see her face. “What happened?”

  Her eyes shimmered with tears. “He died of a drug overdose about three years ago.”

  So that explained why she’d given him such a hard time about the Oxy. It also explained the air of fragility he’d detected around Meg’s mother when he’d met her.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That must have been awful.”

  “It still is. I’m glad you decided to get clean.”

  “Me, too,” he said, and meant it. He felt like he had a new lease on life.

  She snuggled closer and that odd pain stirred in his chest again. An alien thought invaded his mind, but he pushed it away. No, he was not in love with Meg Vincent. He just wanted in her tight pants.

  “I’m going on vacation with my folks for a few days,” she said. “I’ll miss you while I’m gone.”

  Christ, he missed her already. With a sinking sensatio
n, he conceded that this miserable anguish wracking his body must be love. Like a drowning man, Wes closed his eyes and gave in.

  29

  “Last day before vacation?” Patricia Alexander asked Carlotta.

  “That’s right,” Carlotta sang, walking through Shoes on her way up to her department. “Have fun doing inventory.”

  Patricia stuck out her tongue good-naturedly.

  Carlotta frowned at Patricia’s bare wrist. “Hey, where’s your charm bracelet?”

  “Oh…I just realized how silly it was to believe that a bunch of random charms can predict the future.”

  “Did you break it off with Leo?”

  Patricia nodded. “I don’t know, Carlotta. There’s just something about him that I can’t put my finger on. It’s like he’s keeping something from me.”

  “You did the right thing,” Carlotta assured her. Then she held up her own bracelet with a smile. “But who cares whether the charms can predict the future? It’s a pretty bracelet.”

  Patricia laughed. “You’re right. I’ll start wearing mine again.” She gestured to the array of fall shoes that had just arrived. “Have you seen the Valentino leopard-print platforms?”

  “Yes,” Carlotta said wistfully. With a pang she remembered how much Maria Marquez had admired her silver Valentino sandals.

  She glanced at all the beautiful, shiny shoes that bloomed like flowers in a garden. She’d love a new pair of sandals for the trip to Vegas, but resisted, knowing she and Wes would need money to repair and repaint the townhouse. Besides, she had plenty of shoes. She planned to stop by the townhouse tomorrow on the way to the airport to pack some of her more dressy clothes.

  “Maybe later,” she said to Patricia with a goodbye wave.

  “Have fun in Vegas,” the blonde said slyly.

  Carlotta returned with a smile, then turned toward the escalator. She was looking forward to getting away, she just wished it were under different circumstances. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was abandoning the situation here in Atlanta when too many ends were still loose.

  Which was ridiculous, since Jack and everyone else had so often reminded her that it wasn’t her place to try to fix things.

  “Carlotta Wren, line two,” said a voice over the P.A. system. “Carlotta Wren, line two.”

  Carlotta hurried to her station and picked up the phone. “This is Carlotta.”