2 Bodies for the Price of 1 (8 page)

“Good.” E. sat back and scrutinized him. “Are you staying out of trouble?”

He swallowed involuntarily. Could she possibly know about the gambling? “Yeah, I’m clean.”

“Are you still hanging around with that friend of yours?”

“What friend?”

“The one who is such a good friend that he would ask you to do something that could ruin your life.”

Wesley cracked his knuckles. “I’m not giving you his name.”

“I don’t want his name. I don’t care if he flushes his life down the drain. I only care about you.”

He stopped, wondering if she meant it, and on what level. Was she saying that she cared only because she was responsible for getting him through probation and out of the system with as little fuss as possible? A great-looking woman in her mid-twenties could never be into him. Could she?

“How’s your sister?” E. asked, breaking the tension. “I read about her involvement in the Buckhead murders. Sounds like she was lucky to escape with her own life.”

Wesley nodded, unwilling to think about how close he’d come to losing his sister. “Carlotta is tough.”

Then he grinned. “She has to be to have put up with me all these years.”

“Do you stop to consider the impact your actions have on her life?”

“Not enough,” he admitted.

“Is that fair?”

“No one in my family has gotten a fair shake.”

“Oh, right. You believe that your father is innocent of the crimes he’s charged with.”

He sat up straighter. “Yes.”

She angled her head. “If he’s innocent, why do you think he would skip town? Leave his family?”

Wesley shrugged to cover the anger accumulating in his chest. “I don’t know, and it’s really—” He wiped his hand over his mouth.

“None of my business?” she finished for him.

He glanced around her office. “Don’t you have a cup for me to pee in or something?”

She gave him a flat smile, then rifled through the papers in his file. “I have good news. I’ve spoken with Richard McCormick at the central IT department. He said he could meet with you later this week to set up a time when you could begin your community-service work.”

Excitement skittered along his skin, but he tamped down his reaction. “When?”

She handed him a piece of paper. “You need to call him.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

E. removed a plastic cup from a drawer. “And you do need to give a urine sample before you go.”

“Okay.” He stood to leave. “Are we through? I need to get to work.”

“Still moving bodies?”

“Yeah.”

She seemed amused. “And do you still like it?”

“Like it?” He scratched the scruff on his chin. “I don’t know. It’s something that has to be done, and I’m better at it than most, my boss says.”

E.nodded and studied him in a way that made him uncomfortable, like she was wondering when—with his dysfunctional family, friends and part-time job—he was going to blow.

“See you next week,” she finally said, then looked down at another folder—another misfit case. “And you might think about shaving before you meet with Mr. McCormick about that job.”

He frowned at her bent head, then left, wondering what it would take to impress the unflappable E. Jones and if he would ever have a chance with a woman like her.

After whizzing in the cup and leaving it with the dough-faced uniformed attendant, Wesley walked out into the summer heat, removed his jacket and shoved it in his backpack along with the papers E. had given him, then unlocked the new bicycle and headed for home.

On the way, he thought about the postcard that his parents had recently sent, postmarked Miami. The message had been simple,
Thinking of you
or something like that. He’d hidden it because Carlotta had threatened to burn any more postcards they received. But she’d found it in the tennis-ball can in the garage where he’d hidden it along with his emergency stash of cash. Instead of asking him about it, she’d put it in her purse and somehow Detective Jack Terry had gotten his hands on it. Now the jerk cop was probably stepping up his efforts to find their father, which meant that Wesley needed to get his hands on his father’s secure case files as soon as possible.

The sooner he started his community-service job “to improve the security of the city’s legal records,” the better.

Cooper Craft was waiting for him when Wesley wheeled into the driveway. He stored the bike in the garage, shrugged back into the sport coat, then swung up into the passenger seat of the plain white van that Coop typically used when retrieving bodies for the morgue; he saved the hearse for more ceremonial pickups. “Hey man, been waiting long?”

“Just a few minutes. How was your probation meeting?”

“Fine.” Coop seemed to know a lot about the probation system. Wesley wondered if the man would ever give him details about how he’d gone from being the coroner to retrieving bodies for the morgue and running his uncle’s funeral home. “What’s on the schedule today?”

Cooper gave him a wry look. “For you, a shave.” He gestured to the glove box. “There’s an electric razor in there. Use it. And where’s your tie?”

Wesley pulled a tie out of the pocket of his jacket, then rummaged for the razor. “Where are we going?”

“Grady Memorial Hospital first, then Crawford Long, then St. Joe. Then a couple of nursing homes and a delivery back to the funeral home. A full day.”

Wesley nodded, flipping on the razor. He noticed that Coop looked more pensive than normal, that a muscle ticked in his jaw beneath his neat sideburns. “You okay? Sorry I kept you waiting.”

“No, you’re good.” Coop looked a little sheepish. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“What was that?”

“That if I wanted to get your sister’s attention, I needed to do something bold.”

Wesley grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Does she like flowers?”

“No offense, dude, but getting flowers from a funeral director seems a little morbid, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t going to send her a damn wreath.”

“Whatever. Besides, some guy sent her, like, two dozen red roses Monday.”

“Oh. Who was that?”

“Peter Ashford, I guess. She didn’t want to talk about it. She’s been acting strange the last couple of days, moping around. I’m kind of worried about her.”

“She’s been through a lot lately.”

“Yeah, I guess.” But Wesley remembered the glazed look on Carlotta’s face the night before last when she had walked away from him. She looked as if she were ready to unplug herself from the world. And the only evidence that she’d left her bedroom yesterday was the empty cookie jar.

“So do you think I should ask her to dinner?”

Wesley shrugged. “Dude, you’re asking the wrong person. I bought a new TV for the living room and instead of being happy about it, she yelled at me.”

One corner of Coop’s mouth went up. “How big?”

“Sixty inch, high-def ready, plasma monitor.”

“Sweet. That must have set you back a load of cash.”

Wesley shifted in his seat. “I sold my motorcycle.”

“Still.”

He decided to keep quiet.

“You playing cards again?”

Anger sparked in his belly. “What if I am?”

“Then you’re being stupid,” Coop said casually. “Probation is another word for second chance. Don’t give your sister something else to worry about,
capisce?
”

“Yeah,” Wesley mumbled. “Hey, Carlotta said that you hired Hannah to help you move bodies?”

Coop snorted. “Hired? More like surrendered. The woman is a steamroller. I told her I would call her
if
I needed her, but I warned her that wasn’t likely to happen.”

“According to Carlotta, Hannah didn’t hear the last part and is pissed that you haven’t called.”

“Christ, is she going to cast a spell on me?”

“Don’t push it, man—with Hannah you never know. Besides, I’m supposed to start my community service soon, so unless you have someone else to fill in, you might have to bite the bullet and call her.”

“Maybe she can give me some insight into your sister.”

Wesley shook his head. “Good luck with that. I’ve lived with Carlotta for nineteen years and haven’t figured her out.”

Coop laughed. “That’s the fun part about being with a woman, when she keeps you on your toes.”

Wesley glanced sideways at his boss who seemed downright…giddy. He knew because it was the way he felt when he thought about E. Jones.

A couple of under-employed body movers lusting after beautiful, independent women. They were both way out of their league.

“Something
bold.
” Cooper thought out loud.

“And fast,” Wesley said, thinking of Peter Ashford, Detective Jack Terry, and Carlotta’s current state of mind. “Before she does something that we’ll both regret.”

10

W
ednesday afternoon on her break, Carlotta headed toward the general manager’s office with a stone of dread in her stomach. The sight of Patricia Alexander coming out of Lindy’s office further soured her mood.

“Hello, Carlotta,” the blonde said primly.

“Hi, Patricia.”

The woman reached forward and patted Carlotta’s arm. “I hope you know that we’re all pulling for you in your time of crisis.”

“Excuse me?”

Patricia lowered her voice. “I know your family history—my mother was in the Junior League with your mother. And then you were caught up in all that scandal with the Angela Ashford murder.” She shuddered. “All that stress was bound to catch up with you sooner or later. I’m sure that’s why your sales have fallen off a cliff.” Her waxy lips drew back in a false self-deprecating smile. “I was just lucky enough to be working here when it happened.”

Carlotta returned an equally disingenuous smile. Her hands practically shook from wanting to slug the obnoxious woman, but instead of saying all the vile things that burned her tongue, she simply sidestepped Patricia as if she were a piece of furniture in her path and proceeded to Lindy’s office. After a few calming breaths, she knocked on the door.

Lindy looked up from a paper-strewn desk and removed her glasses. “Come in, Carlotta. Sit down.”

Carlotta took a seat opposite her boss, her gaze riveted to her cell phone lying on the desk. Her fingers itched to snatch it up to see if her father had called again.

Lindy scrutinized her for a few seconds, then sighed. “I don’t quite know what to do with you, Carlotta. In the space of a few weeks you’ve gone from being the associate with the highest sales to being the associate with the highest maintenance.”

“I’ve been dealing with some things in my personal life,” Carlotta murmured, feeling moist around her hairline.

“I know,” Lindy said, nodding. “Angela Ashford’s death was a terrible tragedy. I’m sorry you were implicated and I’m relieved that the murderer was apprehended. I feel bad for you, Carlotta, but it’s caused a lot of upheaval around here too. And it doesn’t give you license to break the rules. You know that having a cell phone on the sales floor is strictly prohibited—and one of my pet peeves.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Lindy’s mouth flattened into a line. “I’m afraid I also have to mention the overdue balance on your store account. This isn’t something that I normally concern myself with, but the amount is excessive.”

A flush started at her collarbone and worked its way up. “I’m a little behind on my bills.”

“Unfortunately, your company credit card has been suspended until you can reduce the outstanding balance.”

Carlotta could only nod in mortification. She hadn’t bought anything on her employee discount in a long time—okay, a week or so—but she’d really been cutting back. She hadn’t bought those new Chip & Pepper jeans that she’d wanted so badly, nor the Diane von Furstenberg satin wrap dress that would be the singularly perfect dress for an awards dinner and ceremony—if she ever needed it. But apparently the finance charges on her account were compounding faster than the speed of light.

Lindy clasped her hands together. “And I understand that a detective has been coming to see you here?

The detective who apprehended the shoplifter?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t here on business. He was shopping for a suit.”

“So you don’t have any outstanding issues with the police department?”

“Um…well…there are a couple of things—”

Lindy’s mouth tightened and she lifted her hand. “I don’t need or want to know any particulars. But I’ve decided to suspend you for two weeks so you can get these personal issues worked out.”

Carlotta blinked. “Suspend?”

“Without pay.”

She felt faint. “Without pay?”

“I thought you would prefer it to being fired.”

Panic blipped in Carlotta’s chest, and she back pedaled. “Yes…a suspension would give me time to…regroup. But won’t it leave the department short-handed?” she asked, hoping to appeal to the woman’s business sense.

“Patricia Alexander is going to fill in for you while you’re gone.”

Carlotta’s intestines cramped.

“And when you return, I expect you to be back to one-hundred percent.”

“A-absolutely.”

Lindy pushed the cell phone forward. “You can go ahead and clock out.”

Carlotta nodded like a bobble-head doll, telling herself that she should be grateful that Lindy hadn’t fired her outright. But missing a paycheck was likely to send her already precarious mountain of bills toppling.

She curled her fingers around the phone, glad to hold on to something solid, then turned and left the office before Lindy could change her mind.

She waited until she was in the break room to examine her phone. As she feared, the display was shot and even with a fully juiced battery, none of the functions worked. She groaned. On top of everything else, she’d have to spring for a new phone. Fighting back tears of frustration, she gathered her things and walked to her service provider’s kiosk in the mall.

“Can I help you?” asked a sulky-faced young woman.

Carlotta held up her phone. “It’s broken. I need a new one.”

The girl grunted. “We’re having a special on our camera phone.” She handed a display model to Carlotta.

Her first instinct was to say she didn’t need the camera feature, but what if her father showed up? A picture might come in handy to prove he’d been there. “How much?”