2 Bodies for the Price of 1 (18 page)

Carlotta stuffed another bite of bagel in her mouth and nodded.

“I’m just giving you a chance to change your story before I ask the bank to go through their video to get a picture of the person who made the withdrawal.”

“I’m not changing my story,” she mumbled.

“Good. Then I need for you to take another look at the florists to see if you can remember who sent those flowers. I’m going to try to track down the mysterious Mr. Mason.”

“Jack, the woman stole my car—can’t you get her prints from the steering wheel or something?”

“The car was dusted, but the shop had cleaned it inside and out and the woman was wearing thin gloves.”

“In the middle of summer?”

“She obviously didn’t want to leave behind traceable prints.”

“So that must mean she’s in the system. Hasn’t the coroner been able to take her prints and run them?”

“No. Apparently, she put her hands out to break her fall and…there are no prints.”

She winced. “When do you think I’ll get my car back?”

“In a few days. But it’s a little banged up.”

“Huh? I just had it fixed!”

“Apparently the lady drove into the side of the bridge before getting out to jump.”

“Oh, that’s just great. Now I have to get it fixed again. I
hate
that car!”

“Look on the bright side. With the reward money, you’ll be able to buy a new ride.”

Carlotta blinked. Was he judging her? Or was he mocking her because he suspected her parents wouldn’t show?

Jack’s cell phone rang. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. She caught the downward twitch of his mouth before he answered. “Detective Terry…no, Lucas, no news.”

She tensed and could only imagine the tension on the phone line.

“No, they haven’t…no…no, he isn’t here…yes, she is, but not the brother…he doesn’t like the arrangement…yes, his cell phone has been tapped.” Jack turned away from her slightly. “Who knows?

Maybe they haven’t heard, or have to make travel arrangements.”

Her face felt hot—he was making excuses as to why her parents hadn’t shown, but was too polite to say,

“Maybe they don’t give a crap that their daughter took a dive off a bridge.”

His shoulders went rigid. “I know how to do my job, Lucas…yes, we can do that. I’ll give him a call.” He disconnected the call and heaved a sigh.

“What, Lucas is irritated that my father hasn’t fallen into the tiger pit that you two set for him?”

“Hey, this wasn’t my idea. I’m just—”

“Doing your job, I know. So what does he want us to do?”

“Uh, plan your funeral. I’m supposed to give Coop a call.”

She pursed her mouth. “I don’t suppose you could let my creditors know that I’m dead?”

He laughed and picked up the phone to make another call. After a few seconds, he said, “Coop, this is Jack…no, no sign of them yet. Just in case they don’t show today, we need to put together a phony funeral for tomorrow, courtesy of the D.A.’s office. Can you handle it? Yeah, we’ll be here. Can you drive something with the name of the funeral home on it to park in the driveway? Thanks.” He put down the phone. “Coop is on his way over.”

She frowned. “Does it make you feel weird that he walked in on us the other day?”

“No. Do you and Coop have something going?”

She bristled. “Of course not. But you work with him occasionally and I wouldn’t want what happened to get you in trouble.”

He scoffed. “It was a kiss, it’s not like we were having sex on the floor.”

Both of them averted their gaze to the floor, then back.

“Besides,” Jack said wryly, “Cooper Craft is the last person to be throwing stones.”

“What exactly got him fired from the M.E.’s office?”

Jack hesitated. “I don’t know the entire story, but the word was that Coop was off-duty, came up on an accident scene and pronounced a woman dead. But she wasn’t.”

Carlotta gasped. “Did she die?”

“No, but she was left in pretty bad shape. Coop was drunk and blamed himself for not getting help sooner.

And so did everyone else.”

“But he’s sober now.”

“As far as I know, yeah. He and the new coroner butt heads sometimes, but the fact that Dr. Abrams contracted with Coop to haul bodies for the morgue tells me that he wants to keep him close in case he needs him. And I know for a fact that he calls on Coop for VIP body retrievals and for the more difficult cases.”

“Like the bridge jumper?”

“Right.”

She hugged herself, shaking her head. “I’m not sure this is the right line of work for Wesley. It’s so…gruesome.”

“It’s reality,” Jack said. “And not a bad thing for him to see considering some of the choices he’s made.”

She set her jaw. “Is that an indictment of my parenting skills?”

“It has nothing to do with you. Wesley is old enough to take responsibility for his own choices. I think spending time with Coop will be good for him.”

His phone rang again and while he talked business to a colleague, she finished her bagel and tackled the florists again. Peachtree was in at least half the business names in Atlanta, with Buckhead and Midtown being close runners-up. Letter combinations were popular names for florists, but after a while, the L&Ps, B&Gs, and K&Ds started running together. Michael Lane might remember the name on the card, but she couldn’t call him without revealing the fact that
voilá
she was alive after all.

The ringing of the doorbell was a welcome distraction considering the task at hand. On the monitor, Carlotta noticed that Coop had parked a conspicuous Motherwell Funeral Home SUV in the driveway.

Carlotta steeled herself to face Coop, telling herself that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Jack was right—it was only a kiss. It wasn’t as if they’d been writhing on the floor naked, greased with herbed massage oil and having hot jungle sex, screaming each other’s names and howling at the moon until the break of dawn.

It was just a kiss.

Coop walked into the living room and like a good girl, she waited until the door was closed before she left the kitchen to greet him. He was tall and lean, with the casual, funky look of a rock star, complete with longish, neat sideburns and glasses. He wore dark overlong jeans, an open-collar shirt that she’d bet was vintage and a pale-colored four-button sport coat. When she met his warm, light-brown eyes, her smile wavered a bit. His gaze wasn’t critical, but the twinkle was gone.

Or maybe it was her imagination.

“Hi, Carlotta.”

“Hi, Coop. I hear we have a funeral to plan.”

The twinkle came back as he smiled. “A phony funeral—the best kind.”

She lifted her hands. “Where do we start?”

Coop patted a satchel he was carrying. “We have a strict budget, but I just want to go over a few things with you, to make sure it’s as believable as possible.”

“Take your time,” Jack said, moving past them. “I’d like that vehicle to sit in the driveway for a little while.”

She gestured for Coop to sit on the couch and he began to spread books over the surface of the coffee table. She noticed that he took in the sheets and pillow that Jack had used last night stacked in a chair.

“Do you want something to drink?” she offered. “Jack made coffee.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Are you and Wesley working today?” she asked, sitting next to him.

“Not today. I have some business at the funeral home and I want to get things ready for tomorrow.” He smiled. “It’s going to be hard to pull off a funeral without a body under my uncle’s nose.”

“How was Wesley…yesterday?”

“Angry for a while,” he said, averting his gaze. “But he’ll get over it. I guess it’s hard for him to think of you as a woman.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I want to thank you again for being so kind to Wesley the night before last.”

“It’s okay…it was a difficult night for anyone who cares about you.” He gave her a little smile, his expression forthright and honest, his affection for her obvious.

“Doing okay in there?” Jack asked from the kitchen.

“We’re planning
your
funeral, Jack,” Coop called, then grinned at Jack’s guffaw.

“Have you done this before?” she asked. “Planned a fake funeral?”

“No, but this is about as exciting as it gets in the mortuary business.”

Carlotta laughed and, having heard the story of his fall from grace, marveled at his seemingly unending good nature. Cooper Craft seemed to be at peace with himself.

“I just need to know a few basics,” he said. “Things that people who know you would expect your brother to choose.”

She bit into her lip. “Then we’re not talking about my parents, because even if they do show up, they wouldn’t know what to expect. They don’t know me anymore.”

His eyes shadowed briefly, then he winked. “So what will your friends expect?”

“Is there such a thing as a designer casket?”

His laugh—a rich, mellow sound—made his eyes crinkle in the corners.

She spent the next couple of hours becoming acquainted with casket styles and colors, flowers sprays, and

“In Memoriam” card formats. Coop noted her selections on a legal pad.

“This is all a little surreal,” she murmured.

He nodded. “I’ll need a current photo of you. And what would you like in the eulogy?”

“Oh…something generic. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

He shrugged. “I guess not. Who would you like to give the eulogy?”

She couldn’t put any of her friends through that kind of trauma and Wesley would be a hard sell. “Would you mind doing it, Coop? Is that too much to ask?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I think I can manage—since it’s not the real thing.”

“Let’s hope we don’t need to go through with it,” Jack said from the doorway. “There’s still a chance that the Wrens will show before tomorrow afternoon. But meanwhile, I want you to put the funeral announcement in the newspaper, on your information phone message…anywhere you can, to get the word out.”

“Will do.” Coop returned the books and pamphlets to his satchel.

“Have you heard anything about an ID on the Jane Doe?”

Coop hesitated. “You should talk to the coroner, Jack.”

“Just asking.”

“They don’t keep me informed,” Coop said, standing.

Jack put his hands on his hips. “I know that look, Coop. You know something.”

But Coop only shook his head. “I’m just a body mover, Jack. I’ll let the professionals handle this one.” He looked at Carlotta. “I guess I’ll see you when this is all over.”

“Oh, no, I’ll be there tomorrow,” she said.

Both men looked surprised. “How?” Jack asked.

“In disguise, of course. Don’t worry—no one will know me.”

Jack looked dubious as he walked Coop to the door, but maintained his silence until the other man had left. “I don’t think you should go tomorrow.”

“Why not? It’s my funeral!”

Jack lifted his finger until it almost touched the tip of her nose. “Because with your penchant for trouble, something’s bound to happen.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

He frowned. “I’m starting to doubt that.”

“Besides, don’t you think I’ll be safer there than here alone?”

He didn’t respond, but from the look on his face, she knew she had him. “Even you won’t recognize me,”

she promised.

“Don’t you have more yellow pages to look through? I’m going to call the coroner to see if anything else has turned up on our Jane Doe.”

Carlotta called Wesley’s cell-phone number and when he didn’t answer, she left him a message about the memorial service tomorrow, wondering if the words sounded as strange as it felt to say them.

“No developments here, but I’d like to talk to you if you get a chance to call me today.” But when she hung up, she felt his absence, his distance as surely as if he were in another country. He was making it clear that this was her deal with the D.A. and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Catching her kissing Jack Terry had only added fuel to Wesley’s fire.

She glanced over the top of the thick yellow pages volume to steal a look at Jack sitting across the room, engrossed in something on his computer screen. Unfortunately, she had her own fire to contend with, an internal blaze that seemed to be taking on a life of its own.

“No matter what, this will be over tomorrow?” she asked.

He looked up. “Yeah, no matter what.”

So…their last night together.

The unspoken words hung in the air all day as they maneuvered around each other. Three flower deliveries were left on the stoop for Wesley—one from his probation officer, one from Neiman’s and one from Walt & Tully. It made her think of Peter and wonder how this situation would affect their relationship—if it would be too much for him and he’d cut bait before he got pulled deeper into the Wren-family train wreck.

Jack spent most of the day on his cell phone, following up with the car shop, the bank and the coroner, who had no news. Mixed in with the weird sexual fantasies Carlotta was having about Jack was the sickening realization that her worst fear was on the verge of coming true. Two days after the announcement of her death, her parents had not come to mourn their daughter or console their son.

And if they didn’t show up at the funeral tomorrow, the whole world would know just how little her parents cared. She blinked back sudden tears.

“You okay?” Jack asked, his gaze leveled on her from the breakfast bar.

“Fine,” she murmured, blinking rapidly. “Listen, if you don’t mind, I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll go to my room and rest.”

“What about dinner?”

“I don’t think I can eat anything. I guess nerves are setting in.”

“I understand,” he said quietly. “I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“We both know that isn’t likely.”

As she was leaving the room, Jack said, “Carlotta.”

She turned around.

“I’m sorry.” He set down his pencil and ran his hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry that her parents hadn’t shown, that they were the kind of people that he would have to hunt down and put in jail.

“Good night, Jack.”

The fact that she fell asleep as soon as she crawled in her bed was testament to the mental gymnastics she’d been doing for two days. But her dreams were dark—snatches of her own funeral playing out, with friends lamenting her sad, loveless life of mediocrity…her parents were there, but when she reached for them, her hands went through them….