Body Movers (8 page)

attorney’s expertise. “His arraignment is Monday.”

“I won’t be back until Tuesday or I’d go with you. Is there

anything I can do from here to help?”

A rush of fondness swelled Carlotta’s chest and she

laughed. “Not unless you have a spare thousand you could

wire me.” Her friend would know she was kidding, of

course. Hannah earned barely enough with her sporadic

catering work to pay for her culinary classes.

“Uh-oh. Does this have to do with his case or something

else?”

“Something else.”

Hannah sighed. “His loan sharks again?”

“Yeah.”

“Gee, Carlotta, you know I’d give it to you if I had it, but

even if I did, that’s only a temporary solution. How much

does he owe now?”

She closed her eyes and swallowed bile. “Close to twenty

thousand.”

“Shit fuck fire.”

“I know.”

Hannah groaned. “Carlotta, I know you don’t want to hear

this, but don’t you think it’s time for little brother to grow

up? I mean, Christ, when you were his age you were

raising a kid.”

Carlotta sank her teeth into her lower lip. She’d been the

only eighteen-year-old at the middle-school PTA meetings,

and she had sheltered Wesley so he could enjoy his

childhood for as long as possible. But Hannah had a point.

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “But I think he’s trying

to take responsibility for what he did. He wouldn’t let me

go to the attorney’s office with him.”

“Good, give him some rope, Carlotta.”

“But what if he hangs himself with it?”

“Just make sure he doesn’t have the other end tied around

your neck. That boy needs some tough love, or you’l be

bailing him out of jail and out of debt for the rest of your

life.”

“You’re right. I’l try.”

“Meanwhile, the little shit needs to get a job—how’s that

for a revolutionary idea? I might be able to get him some

catering work, but he’d need a car.”

“And a driver’s license, so that’s out. But thanks. And

thanks for the pep talk. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Ah, hell, we were awake…sort of.”

“We?”

“My pastry instructor. I told you how cute he is.”

Carlotta frowned. “And how married he is.”

“That, too. Hang in there and good luck on Monday. I’l call

you when I get back.”

The call was disconnected, leaving Carlotta to shake her

head. One of these days Hannah was going to meet up

with a vindictive wife in a dark alley.

She drank from her coffee cup, but the liquid had gone

cold. She winced, her mind stil whirling with questions

and what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. Then she pushed to

her feet, thinking she might as wel go to work. As much as

the loan shark’s voice haunted her, she could only deal

with one crisis at a time.

First, they had to get through Wesley’s arraignment on

Monday. She didn’t trust Liz Fischer, but she hoped that

this time her father’s former mistress had something

helpful up her skirt.

6

Carlotta sat in the back row of the courthouse gallery,

shooting anxious glances between the wall clock and the

door. She and Wesley had arrived together, but he’d said

he needed to visit the men’s room and that was thirty

minutes ago. Arraignments would begin in three minutes,

and Wesley’s case, Liz Fischer had warned, could fall

anywhere in the lineup, so he had to be prompt if he

wanted the deal that she’d managed to work out with the

D.A.

The rows of chairs in the gallery were crowded with

people of all shapes and sizes, some of them nervous and

fidgety, others merely bored. Liz Fischer stood next to the

front row and cast furtive glances at her watch. The

district attorney, Kelvin Lucas, sat sprawled in a chair

across the aisle wearing a smug smile as the seconds

ticked away. Carlotta remembered the way the man had

gril ed her after her parents had disappeared.

“They must have said where they were going, or called to

say they were okay. If you know something and you don’t

tel me, young lady, I’l have to charge you with accessory,

and then who’l take care of your brother?”

But she’d stood her ground—she hadn’t known where

they were. If she had, she would’ve turned them in just to

stop her brother’s tears.

The man’s hair was grayer, his neck thicker, but the

arrogant set of his mouth was unmistakable. “Tracking

down Randolph Wren is my top priority,” he’d said to a TV

reporter ten years ago, a vein jumping in his forehead.

“Now it’s personal.”

When his heavy-lidded gaze now landed on Carlotta, she

swallowed and looked away. The man gave her the creeps,

although she supposed that was part of his job

description. She wondered if he had any idea who she was

and how much he’d added to her nightmares at a time

when she’d thought she might never sleep again.

“Did you lose your client?” Carlotta heard him ask Liz

Fischer, his voice cutting through the noise.

“He’l be here,” Liz responded, her tone cool.

Lucas gave a derisive laugh. “It’s déjà vu, Counselor. Just

like ten years ago.”

Carlotta set her jaw. Ignoring the man, Liz strode toward

her and leaned down. “Where the hel is Wesley?”

“He’s in the restroom,” Carlotta said hotly. “He’l be here

in a minute.”

“He’d better,” the woman said. “I don’t even want to think

about what I had to do to get him this deal.”

Carlotta gave her a pointed look. “I’m sure it’s nothing you

haven’t done before.”

“All rise,” the bailiff announced as the judge walked in.

“Go find him,” Liz said through clenched teeth.

Carlotta rose and exited the rear doors into the hallway,

nodding at the guards stationed there. She scanned the

area for Wesley, panic gathering in her chest. Had he fallen

il ? Been detained in some way? Another thought slid into

her mind and took her breath away. Had Wesley, who so

adored their father, somehow gotten it into his head to

imitate The Bird’s behavior, to earn his own notorious

reputation?

She asked one of the guards for directions to the men’s

room. She practically ran in the direction the man pointed

and when she found it, hesitated only a second before

barreling inside. There she found Wesley leaning over a

sink, his mouth bloody and his clothes disheveled and a

bulky man standing over him—Detective Jack Terry.

Her maternal hackles stood on end. “Get away from him!”

She went in slapping at the bigger man like a windmil .

“Hey, hey, hey!” he said, arms raised to ward off her blows

while he backed up. Then he grabbed her wrists and held

her, his eyes blazing. “What the devil are you doing?”

“This is police brutality!” she cried. “Help, someone!”

He released her wrist to clamp a hand over her mouth.

“Shut up before you get someone hurt, dammit. I walked

in and found your brother like this. I was trying to help him

get cleaned up before his court appearance.”

She cut her gaze to Wesley for confirmation and her

brother nodded. “He was trying to help,” he mumbled

through a fat lip.

She relaxed and the detective released her, her red lipstick

bright against his fingers. “What happened?”

Wesley dabbed at the blood on his face. “Some guy

jumped me, took my wallet.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror but bit her

tongue. She’d bet anything the “guy” had something to do

with Father Thom, a detail that Detective Terry didn’t need

to know. “Liz Fischer sent me to find you. You need to get

to the courtroom right away.”

She moved next to him, her heart beating faster to see his

puffy lip and bloody teeth. At least his glasses weren’t

broken. “Are you okay?” She reached for him, but he

leaned away.

“I’m fine, sis,” he said, then walked toward the exit,

tossing the wet napkin in the trash. “Let’s get this over

with.”

When the door closed, she turned to face the detective,

who seemed bemused.

“Told you we’d be crossing paths again,” he said. “I just

didn’t think it would be in the men’s room.”

She glanced around the slightly grubby tiled room lined

with urinals. “Um, sorry for…attacking you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then he frowned. “Your brother seems

to be having a string of bad luck.”

“Yes. Thanks for helping him.”

“Just doing my job,” he said smoothly. “I hear that Liz

Fischer made a deal with the D.A.”

“Yes, thank goodness.” Then she frowned. “Do you know

Liz?”

“Sure,” he said with a slow smile. “Liz and I are…friendly.”

She pushed her cheek out with her tongue. “I so didn’t

need to know that.”

He shrugged. “Just making conversation.” Then he

gestured toward the urinals. “Now, if you don’t mind, I

actually came in here for a reason.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Hmm? Oh…” A blush climbed her

neck as she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

“But I need to talk to you,” he said behind her. “Save me a

seat.”

“Fat chance,” she muttered.

When she entered the courtroom, she slid into a seat in

the back row just as Wesley’s case was being called. He

and Liz Fischer stepped forward and took their place

behind the defendant’s table. Her brother looked so

handsome in the brown suit that she’d pul ed out of his

closet, cut off the tags and forced him to wear. His

normally shaggy hair was combed and his posture was

arrow straight. But Carlotta’s gaze was riveted on how Liz

touched Wesley’s chin and peered at his injury, then

angled her head toward his ear as the judge situated his

paperwork. Her body language seemed almost…intimate.

Carlotta hardened her jaw. Had the woman transferred

her affection to the son of her former lover?

“Don’t look so grim,” Detective Terry murmured in her ear

as he took the seat next to her. “If the judge goes along

with the plea bargain, your brother’s getting off easy.”

Carlotta frowned, and leaned away from the man who had

somehow insinuated himself into their lives. Unbidden,

thoughts of the detective and Liz Fischer together in bed

popped into her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good

grief, what was it about stick-thin women that drove men

nuts?

“Can’t bear to watch, huh?” the detective whispered,

touching her arm.

She opened her eyes, exasperated. “Shut. Up.” She looked

down and pul ed her arm away. “And I hope you washed

your hands.”

“I did—had to get the lipstick off.” He pul ed a

handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Speaking of which, you could use a touch-up.”

She glared and snatched the hankie, then used a mirror to

wipe her smeared lips and handed it back to him.

He looked at the now-pink hankie. “You can keep it.”

She shoved it into her purse and looked to the front of the

courtroom.

“And the state is satisfied with the plea agreement?” the

judge was asking the D.A.

Kelvin Lucas dragged himself to his feet, then gave Wesley

a long, slow look, before turning back to the judge. “The

state is satisfied, Your Honor.”

“Very well. The defendant is hereby sentenced to five

thousand dol ars in reparations, one hundred hours of

community service, which wil include col aboration with

the city on computer security, and one year of probation.”

He banged a gavel. “Next case.”

The sigh of relief she’d been saving remained pent-up in

Carlotta’s chest at the realization that yet more debt had

just been heaped onto their already considerable pile. Add

to that her credit card balances and the miscel aneous bil s

that were late, and the fact that tomorrow a big, hairy guy

was coming by to col ect a thousand dol ars they didn’t

have, and she could barely push herself to her feet and

toward the door. She just wanted things to be…good.

She’d given up on easy years ago, but good would be nice.

To her chagrin, Detective Terry was on her heels. “Ms.

Wren, I need to talk to you.”

She turned and sighed. “What do you want, Detective—to

tel me more about your manly conquests?”

A whisper of a smile crossed his mouth before his eyes

turned serious. “Er, no. When was the last time you heard

from your parents?”

She frowned. “I don’t remember—oh, we received a

postcard maybe two years ago.”

“From where?”

“Texas, maybe. I don’t recall.”

“Where is the postcard?”

“I threw it away.”

His eyebrows went up. “One of the few pieces of

communication that you’ve had from your fugitive

parents, and you threw it away? That’s destroying

evidence.”

Anger surged in her blood. “So arrest me, Detective.”

His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Ms. Wren, I think you

and your brother both are keeping secrets. I think you

might know where your parents are.”

“Wel , you’re wrong.”

“I can have your cel -phone records seized. And your mail.”

For a second, she wondered if that might buy her time to