“Who did Hollis work with from the Deerling girl’s side?” Jack asked.
“Her publicist, I think. She said if Kiki went missing, it would guarantee that she would be famous forever.”
“Marquita White,” Carlotta confirmed. “She was at the party the night Kiki died.”
Jack looked at her. “How do you know that?”
“I…just do.”
Jack lifted his hands. “So we’re looking at an accidental drug overdose, not a strangulation.”
“Which means the dealer can be held liable. And if she didn’t inject herself, the person who administered it to her is guilty as well,” Coop added.
“Matt Pearson,” Carlotta said. That news would certainly rock the industry.
“What were they planning to do with the body?” Jack asked.
Wesley shook his head. “I was afraid to ask.”
Coop scowled at him. “That’s the only smart thing you did.”
Carlotta tried not to feel any sympathy for her brother. He’d done a terrible thing. But Wesley looked so distraught, it was hard not to have compassion.
“What was in this for you?” Jack asked him.
Wesley averted his gaze, then looked back when Coop bumped him from behind. “The Carver said he’d clear my debt.”
Jack smiled wryly. “I take it since you weren’t able to pull it off, The Carver reneged?”
Wesley nodded.
“So what does this have to do with Carlotta’s hit-and-run? The girl’s already entombed, so The Carver’s kid is off the hook unless the family changes their mind about the autopsy and has the body exhumed.”
“You said what happened to Carlotta looked like a professional job. I just thought it sounded like something The Carver would do to get to me, maybe keep me quiet.”
Carlotta gasped and covered her mouth.
Jack pivoted his head. “What?”
“I might have inadvertently tipped off the publicist that Kiki’s death is still being investigated,” she mumbled.
Jack frowned. “But it isn’t.”
She shifted in her bed and glanced around. “Has anyone seen the ice chips?”
“Carlotta…” Jack said, his tone a warning to come clean.
She winced. “I went to a private party last night at Kiki’s sister’s restaurant, and I might have insinuated to her that Kiki had been murdered.”
“You did what?” Coop and Jack shouted in unison.
“You said without more evidence, only the family could request an autopsy. She had a right to know.”
“And the publicist was there?”
Carlotta nodded. “She’s close to Kayla. Kayla probably confided to her what I said.”
“How did you get into a private party?” Jack asked. “Wait. I don’t want to know. So last night the publicist, who’s in cahoots with The Carver, found out that you’re still poking around, and today you almost get run down in the street.”
“Sounds like a connection,” Coop said.
Jack nodded, making a few notes in a pocket pad.
“What’s going to happen to me?” Wesley asked and Carlotta felt a little proud that he at least seemed ready to face his punishment.
Jack looked thoroughly disgusted. “I don’t know. The D.A. sure as hell won’t cut you any slack. I’ll get with your attorney. If you agree to testify, maybe we can convince one of the assistant D.A.s that you came forward on your own and that you were extorted into going along with it.”
“Thanks,” Wesley said.
“I’m not doing this for you,” Jack said pointedly.
“There’s one more thing,” Wesley stated. “The tall, bald guy at the morgue and in the green van definitely worked for The Carver. I don’t know who the other guy was, the beefy one.”
“Maybe The Carver was just covering his bets by sending more than one team,” Coop said.
“Or maybe there’s another ring to this circus,” Jack muttered. “I’ll have Dillon Carver and Marquita White brought in for questioning. We can at least book them on conspiracy charges, and I’m going to push for attempted murder charges for the hit-and-run.”
“Do you think the D.A. will step in now to order an autopsy on Kiki Deerling?” Carlotta asked.
“I doubt it. There’s still no motive for murder. And unless someone comes forward to say they saw the girl inject herself, or someone else inject her, she still could’ve died from an asthma attack. I’ll talk to her parents, but if I were them, frankly, I’d leave it alone.”
Carlotta bit her lip. It was looking more and more as if Kiki Deerling had overdosed on heroin, that the bruising around her neck had occurred as a result of someone trying to resuscitate her. The circle pendant could have come off at any time, wound up in someone’s pocket as a keepsake, or fallen down a street grate when the body was loaded in and out of the ambulance. An autopsy wouldn’t be necessary to charge Dillon Carver and Marquita White for conspiring to steal a corpse. Jack was right. No good could come from disturbing Kiki’s body now.
She wondered how long it would take for news of the body-snatching conspiracy to hit the wires. The media would be ecstatic for one more juicy chapter in the Kiki Deerling story.
Coop drove them home from the hospital, but they were a morose trio. The tension between Coop and Wesley was so tangible, it was like having a fourth person in the car. As they were pulling into the driveway, Wesley attempted to break the silence with perhaps the worst possible question: “Will you need me for any jobs this week, Coop?”
Carlotta shook her head.
Coop squinted at him in the rearview mirror. “After the stunt you pulled, why should I ever trust you again? You obviously have no concept of the sanctity of the dead.”
She willed Wesley not to say anything, to just listen, but no, he couldn’t resist.
“I’ve learned my lesson.”
Coop slammed the van into Park, then turned around to face him. “Your lesson? Listen, chief, Kiki Deerling wasn’t your lesson to learn. She was a person. A human being. And we were entrusted with her body. You not only broke the law, you broke a moral and ethical code.”
“I let you down.”
“You let yourself down. Get your issues worked out with the D.A., then we’ll talk—if you’re not sitting in jail. Or if I’m not picking up your body for turning on The Carver. I’m already on the ropes with Abrams at the morgue. Your little stunt will only make things worse. This makes me look bad, Wesley, for trusting you.”
“Coop, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Coop interrupted. “Show me. Get your shit together, grow the hell up and stop being such a burden to your sister. Now get out of my sight.”
Carlotta sat stock-still while Wesley climbed out wordlessly and closed the door. He walked to the house as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Sorry I came down so hard on him,” Coop said.
“No, you were right to say those things. He does need to grow up and start thinking about the repercussions of his actions.” She sighed. “I haven’t been the best mom.”
“You’re not his mom,” Coop said. “And even if you were, he’s old enough to start taking responsibility for his own life.”
“I know. You’re right. This thing with our parents…it’s like a cancer. It affects everything we do and everything we don’t do.”
“So have you told him yet that your father’s fingerprints were at a hotel in Daytona?”
“Not yet.” Nor had she told Wesley that she’d actually talked to Randolph. “I’m not sure now’s the time.”
“When is the time? When he’s behind bars because his anger at your parents has caused him to let his life spin out of control?”
She looked up at Coop. “You’re so smart.”
He smiled for the first time in hours. “Don’t forget sexy.”
She laughed. “How could I?”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he offered.
“I�
�m fine—”
“I insist.”
She smiled as he came around to help her out of the van. She was moving pretty gingerly, but it felt good to have his arm to hold on to. The feel of his muscles under his warm skin and the scent of his aftershave brought back strong images of their night in her hotel room, stirring her senses. When they reached the door, she was hoping he would kiss her passionately, like he had the night in the hot tub.
Instead he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, closer to her ear than to her mouth.
Minus ten.
“Good night, Carlotta.”
“Good night,” she murmured, her lips left wondering. And waiting.
She frowned and went inside. Wesley was in his bedroom with the door closed, the fan running. She knocked, but he ignored her. She left him alone, thinking there wasn’t anything she could say, anyway. He needed to think through what he’d done, and come to terms with it himself.
She took a hot shower to stave off some of the soreness she’d surely feel tomorrow, then climbed into bed to watch TV and relax. A few minutes later, the phone rang. When it became apparent that Wesley wasn’t going to answer, Carlotta picked up the cordless handset by her bed.
“Hello?”
“Is this Carlotta Wren?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Kayla Deerling. We met briefly last night at Diamonds.”
Carlotta’s pulse picked up. “Yes, of course I remember.”
“Detective Terry just notified my family of the conspiracy between my sister’s publicist and that drug dealer to steal Kiki’s body. It’s just…too awful to comprehend. He said that you were instrumental in helping the police. I can’t tell you how grateful we are to you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Please say you’ll come to the restaurant tomorrow night and allow us to prepare a meal for you and a guest, all on us, of course. It’s the least I can do to thank you for all that you’ve done for Kiki.”
She could think of worse ways to spend the evening than being comped at a four-star restaurant. “That’s very generous of you. Thank you, I’d love to come. What time?”
“Around seven?”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Carlotta hung up the receiver and pursed her lips. What a nice gesture. Now, the real dilemma—who to ask? She mulled over her choices and how that choice might impact the future…or not. After an hour of changing her mind, she picked up the phone and punched in a number.
“Hi, it’s Carlotta. I was wondering, are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”
32
Carlotta opened the door and smiled at her dinner date. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Peter said, his eyes devouring her. She was wearing a short red baby-doll dress and the highest heels she could walk in, considering she was still sore from yesterday. “You look…amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said, grateful for the body makeup that concealed her scrapes and bruises. She straightened his Pucci tie, which so did not need to be straightened. “You’re looking pretty great yourself.”
“I’m glad you called.”
She nodded. “Me, too.” And she meant it. Dinner at Diamonds was the perfect opportunity to spend time with Peter, to try to recapture the feelings they had once shared. “Let me grab my wrap. It’s the best I can do to camouflage this horrible cast.”
“Which reminds me,” Peter said as she locked the door, “the last time we went out, you wound up dangling from the balcony of the Fox Theater.”
She winced. “I know.”
They walked down the steps and over to his dark blue Porsche two-seater. He held open the door for her. “I hope it’s safe to assume that we’re not going to have that much drama tonight.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, then swallowed a grunt when her aching back twinged from swinging into the low-slung car. “No drama tonight.”
He smiled. “Good.” Peter closed her door and she nursed a pang of guilt for not sharing more with him. But he would be appalled if he knew she went on stakeouts at the cemetery, crashed upscale parties and was the target of hit-and-runs.
After all, this was a man who would be appalled if he knew she occasionally smoked a cigarette.
When he sank behind the wheel and flashed that sexy grin, though, she decided that if she and Peter became more seriously involved, he didn’t have to know every move she made. There was something irresistible about maintaining a certain amount of mystery.
Entering through the front door of Diamonds was certainly more of a pleasurable sensory experience than entering through the door by the Dumpster. A dozen chandeliers reflected like diamonds on the polished black floor. Red carpets ran between tables, creating a vivid Mondrian effect. Live piano music played. Aromas of braised meats and rich wines saturated the air.
When Peter gave their name at the hostess station, the staff seemed to come alive. “Ms. Deerling instructed us to tend to your every need this evening,” said the maître d’. “Right this way to your table.”
It was the best table in the house, private, but with a stunning view of midtown and downtown. A bottle of Cristal champagne chilled tableside. The linens were exquisite, the flatware was silver and the lighting was romantic. Peter held out her chair, and when he took his, she couldn’t help but sigh. It was going to be a perfect night.
The headwaiter removed their napkins from blown-glass napkin holders and placed them in their laps. As a junior waiter filled their water glasses with San Pellegrino, the headwaiter handed them menus. “Everything in our kitchen and our wine cellar is at your disposal. Please enjoy.”
When they were left alone, Peter seemed impressed. “Did Kayla Deerling offer a complimentary dinner to Cooper as well?”
“Um, I’m not sure,” Carlotta murmured. She hadn’t been completely forthright about Kayla Deerling’s reasons for extending the dinner invitation, just telling him that it was for handling the details of her sister’s transportation with discretion.
“If that was the case, I would’ve thought that the two of you might have dined together,” he said mildly. “Since you handled the job together.”
“I know what you’re getting at, Peter. And I’m dining tonight with the person I most want to be dining with.”
He grinned. “I just wanted to hear you say it. What looks good on the menu?”
“Everything.” She closed her menu. “Why don’t we let the chef decide?”
Peter closed his in turn. “Excellent idea. Champagne?”
“Absolutely.” But she reminded herself to take it easy, considering she’d taken a Percocet a few hours earlier.
He filled both flutes, then lifted his glass. “To new beginnings.”
She touched her glass to his, loving the sound of the crystal tinkling. “To new beginnings.” The champagne was delicious, sliding over her tongue in a cool shower of bubbles.
They turned the food and the wine selections over to the waitstaff, and soon savory delicacies appeared—figs stuffed with spiced prosciutto, duck with glazed mandarin oranges, lamb with sherry-soaked currants. A plate of exquisite cheeses and fresh fruits came next, then entrées for each of them to choose from—filet mignon, sea bass, pork tenderloin and pheasant. With each course a new bottle of wine appeared. Carlotta tried to keep tabs on the times her glass was refilled, but it all began to blend into a silky haze of happiness.
Peter was delightful company. They talked and bantered while managing to skirt the issue of her father. Peter made her laugh, made her feel desirable, made her feel as if maybe she did have a place by his side. If at times he seemed stiff and predictable, she reminded herself that it was in his pedigree and that he’d had a loveless marriage. He loosened up around her, and she cleaned up around him. They could be good together.
Again.
Kayla Deerling herself made an appearance with their dessert menus. She kissed Carlotta on both cheeks and squeezed her hands. “Thank you again for all that you�
�ve done for my family.”
Carlotta introduced Peter, who stood to clasp Kayla’s hand in his and offered his deepest condolences. Kayla seemed touched, and was pleased that they had enjoyed the food and the service. Carlotta noticed that under the woman’s makeup, she looked drawn, her eyes puffy. But each day would get easier.
“Now, what would you like for dessert?” she asked.
“We’ve been deferring to recommendations all evening,” Carlotta said. “Why stop now?”
“I agree,” Peter said. “What do you suggest?”
The woman smiled. “How about a chocolate torte for the lady, and crème brûlée for the gentleman?”
“Perfect,” they said in unison.
“She’s different than I expected,” Peter murmured when Kayla walked away.
“Different how?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ve heard so much about her sister’s antics, I thought she might be a little wild, too.”
“No, she’s only a few years older, but she appears to be the serious one. The restaurant seems to be doing well. She dates a developer—Reardon, I think is his name?”
Peter nodded. “Jamie Reardon. A wunderkind, I’ve heard. I’m sure her father approves.”
“What do your parents think of me, Peter?”
The question slipped out—it was much too serious for the evening, much too serious for the fledgling state of their relationship.
“I’m sorry, forget it,” she said, then lifted her glass for another sip of wine.
“No, I’m glad you asked,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t know if they would approve of us being together, but I don’t care. I married the woman they wanted me to marry, and it was a disaster for both of us. I’m not making that mistake again.” He reached across the table to clasp her hand. “I love you, Carly. It’s always been you, and only you. Stay with me tonight.”
She had trouble swallowing the mouthful of wine. Dinner tonight was supposed to be one of those small steps toward becoming closer to Peter. But it was clear that he wanted to accelerate the dance.
She needed a cigarette—a long one.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I think I’ll visit the ladies’ room before dessert arrives.”
He nodded and released her hand.
Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body Page 21
