Body Movers (33 page)

kings!”

Wesley almost felt sorry for Quinn…until the man turned

over his cards: an eight and a nine of spades. With the five

and the seven of spades from the community cards, that

put him one card short of not just a straight, but a straight

flush, one of only two hands that could beat four of a kind.

The crowd went crazy and Wesley swallowed hard. He was

stil in good shape—the man had only one “out” card to

beat him, the six of spades. Including the discards between

rounds, eleven cards had been dealt, leaving forty-one

undealt. The chances of the next card being a six of spades

was about two percent. On the other hand, the chances of

the next card not being a six of spades was about ninety-

eight percent.

If the next card was anything other than a six of spades,

he’d won a seat at the final table, was guaranteed to go

home with more money than he’d come with and had a

good shot at the twenty-five grand. That kind of cash could

make all his problems disappear, and put him back in

Carlotta’s good graces.

If the card was a six of spades, he was out the one grand

he needed to pay Tick on Tuesday, owed Chance fifteen

hundred bucks, and Carlotta would flay the skin off his

body with a stiletto heel.

“Here comes the river card,” the dealer said, then paused

before turning the final card faceup on the table. Half the

room erupted in cheers, half the room cried out in dismay.

Wesley stared down at the six of spades.

He was so fucked.

26

Carlotta looked over the dinner table at Wesley, who was

moving the salmon with dil sauce around on his plate

more than he was eating it.

She paused in her chewing—something was definitely

wrong. When he’d come home yesterday, he’d gone

straight to his room and spent the evening there, and since

she’d arrived home from work today, he’d barely spoken

more than a dozen words. She hadn’t pressed him because

she’d been preoccupied with her own problems, but she

was truly becoming concerned. Had he intercepted

another postcard from their parents?

“The salmon is terrific,” she ventured.

“Thanks.”

“You’re not eating.”

He set down his fork and picked up his glass of iced tea.

“Not hungry, I guess.”

She took another bite, chewed slowly, and swallowed.

“How was your weekend?”

His hand tightened on the glass. “Fine. Yours?”

“Fine.”

They ate in silence for another minute or so, then Carlotta

tried again. “How’s your job?”

“Good. Four pickups this morning, and I’m on call this

evening.” His voice was low and indifferent.

She took another bite. “Thanks for doing the laundry.”

“No problem. I, um, noticed that there were some things

missing from your closet when I set the basket on your

bed.”

“Oh, I gave away a bunch of stuff Friday.”

He gaped. “You did?”

“Hey, I’m a charitable person.” Accidentally, but stil .

Wesley resumed eating. “By the way, I found a man’s

handkerchief in your laundry.”

She frowned, then her memory kicked in. “Oh, it’s

Detective Terry’s.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t get any weird ideas. He loaned it to me the day of

your arraignment.” But the thought of the man put her in

an instant funk, and she wasn’t sure why. He already

thought she was from bad stock, so why should she care

what he thought of her lapse with Peter?

In her car.

In the parking lot where she worked.

With a man suspected of murdering his wife.

She pressed her fork on her mound of garlic mashed

potatoes, flattening it. Christ, what had she been thinking?

The detective was probably convinced that she and Peter

had conspired to kil Angela.

“Are you okay?” Wesley asked.

Carlotta frowned. “I was getting ready to ask you the same

thing.”

The chirping of his cel phone broke into the silence. He

seemed relieved at the distraction and answered quickly.

After a few cryptic “uh-huhs” and “okays” he disconnected

the call and looked up, chewing his lip. “Got any plans

tonight?”

“Why?” she asked warily.

“That was Coop. He’s at the scene of a murder, and wants

me to meet him there if I can. Can you give me a lift?”

She set down her fork. “Not again. Good grief, Wesley—

another murder scene?”

“A woman was strangled at Martinique Estates,” he said

solemnly. “I thought you might be…interested.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. Peter’s neighborhood! She

could only nod.

“Give me a few minutes to change.” Wesley’s chair

scraped the floor, and he disappeared.

Carlotta sat frozen in her chair, considering the

implications. Was a kil er targeting women in the upscale

subdivision? As awful as that would be, it would exonerate

Peter in Angela’s death. Peter had mentioned that perhaps

a stranger had murdered Angela. Maybe she’d simply been

in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Pushing to her feet, Carlotta cleared their plates, her heart

thumping and nerves tingling.

“Ready?” Wesley asked from the doorway.

She was stil dressed in her work clothes, so all she had to

do was grab her bag on the way out. As they drove toward

the neighborhood in the falling darkness, Wesley turned to

her and grinned. “This is kind of cool, us working

together.”

She gave him a chastising look. “We’re not working

together. I’m simply dropping you off.” And getting the

scoop on what had happened.

“We could probably work independently for Coop, you

know, as a brother-sister duo. All we need is a van. Hey,

what about Hannah’s van? It’s even refrigerated!”

“Are you crazy? Her van is for storing food not cadavers.”

“Stil , Coop is always looking for extra help.”

“Wel , don’t give Hannah any ideas. She’s already

fascinated by this stuff, and she doesn’t need any more

creepy hobbies.”

“It’s really not too bad most of the time,” he said, cajoling.

“Being around dead bodies kind of demystifies death.”

“I don’t mind being mystified. In fact, I prefer it. I’ve been

to the morgue.”

He frowned. “When?”

“Last year when my friend Jolie dragged me there to

identify her boyfriend’s body. They had him in a drawer,

like some kind of human file cabinet.” She shuddered at

the memory. “Besides, I have a job, remember?” Unless

she got fired due to her plummeting sales. “By the way,

how much was your check last week?”

“Uh…I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”

Dread fil ed her chest. “What is it?”

“Okay, don’t be mad.”

“What?”

He sighed. “I messed up.”

She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Wesley, I swear

I’m going to drive us straight into traffic if you don’t tel

me what you don’t want to tel me.”

“The money’s gone.”

She tapped the brake, as if she could stop the words that

had already come out of his mouth. “What happened to

it?”

“I…lost it.”

“Lost it, as in dropped it down a manhole, or lost it, as in

gambled it away?”

The look on his face told it all. “I’m sorry, sis.”

She closed her eyes for as long as she dared while driving,

then counted to five to keep her fury at bay. “You

promised me you would stay away from the card tables.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I was so close to winning big.”

“That’s what all gamblers say, Wesley, just before they file

bankruptcy. Except you don’t owe a bank, you owe two

big, beefy loan sharks!” She inadvertently stepped on the

brake again, causing the car behind her to blast the horn.

“Oh my God, tel me you didn’t borrow any more money

from those horrible people.”

“I didn’t.”

“Are you just saying that because you’re afraid I’m going

to kil us in this car?”

“No,” he said, bracing his arm against the dashboard, “but

maybe we should talk about this later.”

“Later? Wesley, tomorrow morning that hoodlum, Tick, is

going to show up at our door and demand a thousand

dol ars. You told me you had it covered. There’s no way I

can get that kind of money together between now and

then.”

“Don’t worry, I’l take care of it.”

“How?”

“I’ll think of something,” he said. “Turn here.”

She bit her tongue and made the turn, her thoughts

chaotic. Wesley was playing with fire. This entire situation

was going to explode in his face…and maybe hers.

She stopped at the gated entrance for Wesley to show the

identification badge that Coop had given him. The security

guard radioed ahead to someone, then opened the gate to

let them drive through.

It was about the same time of day, she noticed, as when

she’d last driven into the neighborhood, unaware that she

would know the victim. She slowed to make out the street

signs in the waning light, then made two more turns, the

last one away from the Ashford house.

“There it is,” Wesley said, pointing up ahead to the left

where the lights of two police cruisers flickered. She pulled

in behind a familiar dark sedan and frowned. Not again.

“Come on,” Wesley said.

“They won’t let me in,” she protested.

“You’re with me. Besides, you’ve talked your way into

places more sensitive than crime scenes.”

So true—although she hated having her little brother

remind her of it. Burning with curiosity, she fol owed him

and nodded curtly at the officers who studied Wesley’s

identification.

“We’re here to remove the body,” Wesley said, his voice

deep and formal.

The officer glanced at Carlotta, then waved them both

through.

“If you start working with me and Coop,” Wesley said as

they walked toward the huge stucco mansion blazing with

lights, “you could have your own badge.”

“Tempting, but no.”

Coop’s white van sat in the driveway, next to a car with

the medical examiner’s insignia on the side. The door to

the house stood open, with light streaming out. Wesley

led the way inside and Carlotta fol owed. The palatial

foyer, painted in whites and yel ows, featured a sweeping

staircase to the right. To the left, the house opened into

cavernous rooms, the decor pale and exquisite, with

nothing out of place.

“Wesley, up here. Don’t touch anything.”

They looked up to see Coop gesturing from the catwalk.

Carlotta fol owed, hanging back, her heart tripping faster

as she climbed the steps. At the top, the six-foot-wide

catwalk gave way to luxurious rooms on either side—a

sitting room, a music room, most with French doors, all of

them standing open. A couple of gloved CSI guys, carrying

a camera and several brown bags, came out of a room at

the end of the hall and walked by them. Coop disappeared

into the room and Wesley fol owed. When Carlotta caught

sight of a woman’s scantily clad body lying on a bed inside

the room, she shrank back against the wall. A split-second

glance was enough, though, to brand the horrific scene on

her mind—the blonde’s limbs lying at awkward angles, her

pale skin glowing through the transparency of the black

lingerie she was wearing, one high-heeled shoe on her

foot, one lying on its side on the floor.

Manolo Blahniks—she’d know them anywhere.

The woman’s face was beautiful y sculpted, her blond hair

in loose, crimped waves. A chord of recognition vibrated in

the back of Carlotta’s head but refused to surface—maybe

the woman was a model. She squinted, recalling more

detail. The lingerie…black, maybe French, definitely

upmarket.

Wanting a better look, she stepped to the bedroom door,

only to have her view blocked by a set of panoramic

shoulders.

“Ms. Wren,” Detective Terry said, his expression wry. “I

almost didn’t recognize you without your skirt hitched up

to your waist.”

Carlotta flushed. “Wel , if it isn’t Detective Peeping Tom.”

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he said, looking supremely

annoyed. “You need to leave.”

She crossed her arms. “Are you the only detective in the

police department? You seem to be everywhere.”

He glared at her. “Buckhead happens to be my jurisdiction.

What’s your excuse?”

She bristled. “I brought Wesley to help Coop. When I

heard it was in the same neighborhood as…before, I

thought it might have some bearing on Angela Ashford’s

case.”

A thundercloud descended on his brow as he grabbed her

elbow and steered her back down the hall. “All the more

reason you shouldn’t be here.”

“Wait.” Carlotta shook off his hand and turned to face him.

“What’s the woman’s name?”

“I can’t tel you.”

She sighed, exasperated. “I’m going to find out in

tomorrow’s paper, or when Wesley comes home, for that

matter.”

His mouth tightened. “Lisa Bolton. Mean anything to you?”

She repeated the woman’s name under her breath. “It

sounds familiar. Can I see the body?”

“No. I can’t believe this conversation has lasted this long.