Читать книгу Body Movers Books 1-3 - Stephanie Bond, Stephanie Bond - Страница 10

By Friday morning, Carlotta thought she might be having a nervous breakdown—four nights of stress-induced insomnia were taking their toll. “We have four days, Wesley. Where are we going to get the rest of the money to pay this Father Thom character?”

Wesley frowned and popped the top of a can of Red Bull, his standard breakfast drink. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ll think of something.”

Her blood pressure ballooned. “Think of something? Wesley, your arraignment is Monday and you might be in jail Tuesday! How are you going to pay off these thugs if you’re in jail?”

“Liz isn’t going to let me go to jail.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Liz?”

His cheeks colored. “She told me to call her Liz.”

Weighing her words, she said, “I don’t like the idea of you becoming chummy with that woman.”

“We’re not chummy,” he said in a teenage-weary tone. “She’s a good lawyer, and she’s handling my case pro bono.”

Carlotta’s mouth puckered. “As if we’re some charity case. And what makes you think she’s a good lawyer?”

“Dad hired her, didn’t he?”

She swallowed her words about what services her father actually had been paying for. “If he had so much faith in Liz Fischer, then why did he skip town?”

Wesley blanched, and immediately she was sorry. She had promised herself over the years that she would refrain from badmouthing her parents in front of her brother, thinking that when he became an adult, he would naturally reach the same conclusion that she had: that their mother was an unfeeling coward and their father an unfeeling, unlawful coward. But apparently he wasn’t yet ready to let go of his childhood fantasies.

“Okay, time out,” she said, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table and lowering her head into her hands. “I’m scared for you, Wesley. You’re in big trouble here.”

He downed the drink. “And Liz Fischer is the best chance I have to make things right and get back on track.”

She sighed and looked up. “I still think I should go with you today to talk about your case. I don’t trust Liz Fischer as much as you do.”

He lifted his empty can high and aimed for the trash can across the room, let it fly, and grinned when it dropped in.

She glared until he sobered. Then he ambled over to the table, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Sis, I know you want to help, but please let me handle this. I promise everything’s going to work out.”

Staring up at him, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu washed over her. Ten years ago she had been sitting at this table, eavesdropping on her parents’ conversation in the next room.

“Let me handle this, Valerie. I promise everything’s going to work out for us.”

For us, her father had said, as in for him and her mother. Not for her and Wesley. They’d been left to fend for themselves.

She studied her brother’s sharp, precise features, so like her father’s, and the familiar sense of love tinged with helplessness crowded her chest. When had he grown up? It seemed like only yesterday she was putting Band-Aids on his knees and helping him with science experiments. And now suddenly he was an adult, with adult problems that she couldn’t fix, and might even have contributed to…

“Sis?”

She blinked. “Yeah?”

“I said let me take care of this. Don’t worry, okay?” He leaned down and dropped a fleeting kiss on her forehead on his way toward the door, but the rare display of affection was enough to distract her from her troublesome thoughts. She so wanted to believe him. “Do you want me to drop you at her office on my way to work?”

“Nope. I’ll take the train.”

“Call me and let me know what happened.”

“Yup.”

The front door banged closed, and she sighed, her shoulders drooping. A headache pressed behind eyes that were gritty and dry from lack of sleep. Despite Wesley’s assurances, worry leaked back into her mind, and she suddenly longed for something to numb her senses for a while. Her gaze drifted to the liquor cabinet, which, out of deference to Wesley’s age, held exactly two bottles of wine—a cheap chardonnay that she’d gotten at a gift swap at the Christmas office party, and a decent pinot noir that she had bought on impulse two years ago, thinking it would be nice to have on hand in case someone special stopped by unexpectedly for a romantic evening.

A dry laugh escaped her. What had she been smoking that night? She’d had about a half-dozen dates since then, none of them interesting enough to inspire an encore, much less the label “special.” Her friend Hannah claimed that she had been without a man for so long, she was officially a re-virgin.

Thinking of her friend who was in Chicago on a field trip with her culinary class, she sighed, missing Hannah, missing being able to share her recent drama with the only person she knew whose life was more tragic than her own. Carlotta glanced at her watch. It was an hour earlier in Chicago. Hannah was a notoriously late sleeper, but if she called now, she could be sure to catch Hannah before she was out and about for the day.

She dialed her friend’s cell-phone number. On the sixth ring, Hannah’s sleep-muffled voice came on the line.

“Who the fuck is calling me at seven-thirty in the goddamn morning?”

“Good morning, sunshine. And it’s eight-thirty in Atlanta.”

“Christ, Carlotta, this had better be important. Did you get laid?”

“No. I called because I miss you, you hag.”

“Yeah, right. What’s up?”

Carlotta sighed. “It’s Wesley. He’s in trouble…again.”

“What’s the little shit done this time?”

Hannah was the only person who could get away with calling Wesley names, because Carlotta knew that beneath her crusty veneer, Hannah was protective of him. “He got arrested for hacking into the courthouse database.”

“I knew he was a smart little dude, but…damn. Why would he do something like that?”

“To delete his traffic violations.”

“Wow, can he do that? I’ve got a couple of parking tickets I wouldn’t mind having taken care of.”

“Hannah.”

“Sorry. So how much trouble is he in?”

“I’m not sure yet, but he could go to jail.”

“Yikes, Wesley’s too pretty to survive in jail.”

“I’m so regretting making this phone call.”

“Sorry. Do you want my attorney’s number? He did a great job of getting my assault charge against Russell dismissed.”

Hannah had a thing for married guys—and for public breakups, which her last married guy had responded to by filing an assault charge. “Uh, thanks, but Wesley already has an attorney.” Plus, she suspected that Hannah’s ex dropping the charges had more to do with his reluctance to face the six-foot-tall, tongue-pierced, stripe-haired, goth-garbed Hannah in an open courtroom than with her 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’ll be bailing him out of jail and out of debt for the rest of your life.”

“You’re right. I’ll 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’ll 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 still whirling with questions and what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. Then she pushed to her feet, thinking she might as well 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.