Читать книгу 4 Bodies and a Funeral - Stephanie Bond, Stephanie Bond - Страница 10

Carlotta stopped by her locker for her purse and her cell phone, feeling miserable. At least the break room was empty—all employees had been dispatched in the aftermath of the disturbance.

Her dress was sticky and stiff and dotted with scorch marks from the sparklers on the cake. Cake and icing were everywhere—under her fingernails, inside her arm cast, in her bra. She winced as she turned toward the mirror, dreading the sight of herself.

She gasped in horror at her reflection. Bits of cake and icing clung to her face, eyebrows, chin and hair. She looked as if she’d been whitewashed.

The realization sent her running to the restroom to wash off what she could. She’d need mascara remover to get rid of the icing from her eyelashes, and a good exfoliant scrub to cleanse her pores. And she’d have to shampoo, rinse and repeat a couple of times to get the hardened mess out of her hair.

She dried her face and hands with paper towels, then checked her cell phone for messages. There were two messages from her friend Hannah, but nothing from Wesley. She dialed his phone but he didn’t answer.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said into the mouthpiece, trying to sound upbeat. “Just wondering how things went today. Call me when you can.”

She disconnected the call, hoping against hope that Wesley wasn’t sitting in jail. Surely he or Liz would call her if the meeting had gone south, wouldn’t they? Carlotta bit her lip in frustration, tasting sugary remnants of icing. Swallowing her pride, she emerged from the break room to find the shimmering Maria Marquez waiting for her.

“Jack is pulling the car around,” the detective said, gesturing to a side exit.

Carlotta nodded and fell into step next to the woman, feeling like a crusty child who was being picked up from school to be driven home.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Maria asked.

“Nothing a shower won’t fix,” Carlotta mumbled. “By the way, thanks for pulling me out of that mess.”

“No problem.”

When they got to the exit, Maria held open the door, like the parent. Carlotta walked through to see Jack’s black sedan sitting at the curb. She headed for the front passenger seat, but he intercepted her by getting out and circling to the back.

“I put down something for you to sit on,” he said. From his sweeping gesture, one would’ve thought he’d rolled out a red carpet for her instead of crinkled pages of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

“Thanks,” she said as she climbed in.

“Buckle up,” he said cheerfully, then closed the door.

She fastened the seat belt and watched as the two of them slid into their seats simultaneously, then checked mirrors, visors and their radios like a choreographed dance. They seemed to be perfectly in sync with each other, she noticed irritably. When the car pulled away, they conversed in low tones, as if they didn’t want Carlotta to hear what they were saying.

“Is it true that Eva McCoy has received death threats?” Carlotta piped up.

Jack adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see her. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s all over the Internet.”

He frowned. “I thought one of the terms of Wesley’s probation is that he can’t have computers at home.”

Carlotta frowned back. “We don’t have a computer at home. A coworker told me she saw the rumor online. Is that why you two were there?”

“No comment,” Jack said.

Carlotta’s mouth tightened. He would’ve told her if Maria hadn’t been in the car. “Maria, did you notice anything special about the guy with the cake before he got away from you?”

Jack shot her a warning glance in the mirror, but Carlotta returned with an innocent eyebrow raise.

“No,” Maria replied with a smile. “Except that he left tire tracks over you.”

Jack pressed his lips together and turned his attention straight ahead.

Carlotta unbuckled her seat belt and stuck her head between their seats. “That reporter from the AJC hung around after the event. She heard Eva say that her bracelet was stolen—it’ll be all over the news.”

He shrugged. “That could help us. Maybe someone will see the bracelet and get in touch with the police. And a piece of jewelry known to be hot will be harder to resell.”

“Maybe it was just a warning,” Carlotta said. “Maybe the guy took the bracelet to let everyone know how close he could get to her. Or maybe whoever took it will ask for a ransom.”

“Maybe,” Jack said in a noncommittal tone. “Frankly, in the scheme of things, I don’t consider this to be a high-priority crime.”

“I’m with you, Jack,” Maria said. “I don’t understand all the hoopla around the charm bracelets in general. I see you have one, Carlotta.”

Carlotta covered the bracelet with her hand. “It was a gift from a coworker,” she said defensively. “Although I can see why the idea of charms appeal to women. They’re mementos of special times, and they’re jewelry—what’s not to like?”

“It just seems silly to me,” Maria said.

Carlotta frowned. “Where are you from, Maria?”

“Chicago.”

“And what brings you to Atlanta?”

The woman turned her head to look out the window. “I just needed a change.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to find the Atlanta heat a little hard to handle,” Carlotta offered.

Maria turned in her seat to smile at Carlotta. “I like the heat. In fact, I’m finding a lot of things about Atlanta that I like.” Her gaze drifted to Jack’s profile.

“The traffic is horrible,” Carlotta muttered, sitting back in her seat. When Jack gave her a chiding look, she wanted to stick out her tongue.

“Is that why you’re riding the train?” he asked.

“No.” Her shoulders fell. “My car battery is dead.”

“I’ll give you a jump when we get you home.”

His eyes met hers and she detected a flash of amusement—and desire. Her pulse betrayed her. Maria’s head turned.

“Your car, I mean,” he added, then turned his gaze forward as if he’d been a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What part of town is this?” Maria asked, looking out the window at the passing neighborhood landscape which was clearly middle to lower class.

“Lindbergh,” Carlotta supplied.

“Like the cheese?”

“Something like that.”

Jack spelled it for Maria and she pulled out a map. “I’m still trying to get my bearings,” Maria explained.

“Me, too,” Carlotta whispered to no one as they pulled into the driveway of the town house she shared with Wesley.

Jack adjusted the rearview mirror. “Carlotta, do you recognize that black SUV?”

She turned around in time to see the vehicle pull away from the curb where it had been sitting across the street. Anxiety bubbled in her stomach. “I don’t think so.”

Jack’s mouth tightened as he put the car in Park. “Do you have your car keys with you?”

“Yes.” She dug in her purse for the remote control to open the garage door.

“Please tell me that you backed into the garage when you parked.”

“Only because the only thing harder than backing into the garage is backing onto the street.”

She climbed out and depressed the button on the remote control.

Maria got out of the car, too. Carlotta noticed the woman taking in the shabby town house. She had done her best to weed and spruce up the landscaping as much as her bum arm allowed while she was off work, but there was still a lot of work to do. Now that her arm was almost healed, she was hoping she could get Wesley to help her with some painting and other major projects.

If they could find the money.

And if he wasn’t languishing in jail.

The motor on the garage door opener made a loud, grating sound as the door raised. It was just a matter of time before it stopped altogether or, more their luck, caught on fire and burned the house down. In the car she saw Jack shake his head. He was no doubt wondering how she and Wesley had made it this long.

He pulled his sedan up to the nose of her car, the dark blue Monte Carlo Super Sport that she’d accidentally bought—yet another long story of her bad luck and ill timing—and turned off his engine.

“This is your car?” Maria asked. “I figured you’d be driving something like that little convertible sitting over there.”

Carlotta gazed at her crippled white Miata longingly. “Those were the days.” Coop had promised to come over and take a look under the hood of the convertible, but after Wesley’s betrayal and after her and Coop’s near-miss at romance, she doubted if he’d still offer free car maintenance to the Wren family.

Jack got out and removed jumper cables from the sedan’s trunk. To Carlotta’s chagrin, Maria opened the door to the Monte Carlo and popped the hood, then lifted it to study the offending battery. “Your battery terminals are corroded.”

Carlotta peered inside and pretended she knew what the woman was talking about.

“Hang on,” Maria said, then returned to the sedan and emerged with an open can of Coke.

“Hey, I was drinking that,” Jack said.

Maria ignored him and emptied the can over the battery. It fizzed and bubbled and ran off the sides, leaving the battery clean enough to eat off of.

“Better,” Maria said.

Carlotta stared at her in dismay. Was there anything the woman couldn’t do?

Jack lifted the hood on the sedan and clamped the cable ends to his car battery. Without missing a beat, he handed the other end of the cables to Maria, who attached them to the Monte Carlo’s battery, then opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel.

Carlotta crossed her arms, wondering if the couple would notice if she left.

Jack reached into the sedan to turn over the ignition, then Maria turned over the engine to the Monte Carlo. It caught and started, much to Carlotta’s relief. The lady detective emerged from the car, then she and Jack removed the cables.

“You should pull your car outside and let it run for about twenty minutes to allow the alternator to recharge the battery,” Maria said, clapping her hands to dust them off.

For some reason, getting advice from the luscious Maria almost brought tears to Carlotta’s eyes. She felt so … useless.

“Why don’t you go on inside and shower?” Jack suggested. “I’ll babysit the car and bring you your keys.”

She nodded, then looked to his tall and talented partner. “Thank you, Maria, for your help.”

“No problem,” Maria said, as if it were of no consequence, making Carlotta feel even smaller.

She trudged toward the house and groaned inwardly to see her neighbor, Mrs. Winningham, standing next to the fence between their houses. Not only was she the nosiest woman alive, but she was convinced that the Wrens were single-handedly eroding the property values on the street.

“Hello, Mrs. Winningham,” she said cheerfully.

“What on earth happened to you?” the middle-aged woman asked, eyeing Carlotta’s appearance.

“Food fight,” Carlotta offered, deadpan.

The woman squinted at her, then nodded toward Jack and Maria. “Who are those people?”

“Friends of mine. My car battery is dead, so they gave me a boost.”

Her neighbor’s expression turned leery. “Speaking of cars, do you know anything about a black SUV parked across the street off and on the past couple of weeks? I’ve never seen anyone get in or out of it.”

“No,” Carlotta said, but her heart skipped a beat. So the vehicle that Jack had noticed wasn’t simply passing by. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Excuse me, but I need to go inside and get cleaned up.”

“Speaking of cleaning up,” the woman called behind her, “your house could use a good pressure washing!”

Carlotta bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Thank you, Mrs. Winningham.”

She climbed the steps to the town house and unlocked the door. When she pushed it open, the air in the living room was stale and confining. She didn’t stop to consider the room—the small television with its warped picture tube, the worn furniture, the pathetic little aluminum Christmas tree in the corner, a carryover from the short time her parents had lived there. The fact that Wesley wouldn’t let her take it down after ten years spoke volumes about how much their desertion had affected him.

She turned left from the living room and walked down the hallway to her bedroom, shedding shoes and clothes as she walked across the carpet. She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water for the shower. While it warmed, she checked her cell phone on the slim chance she’d missed Wesley’s call, but there were no messages.

Mindful of the few minutes she had before Jack returned her keys, she removed the flexible arm cast and climbed in to wash away the remnants of the cake and icing. Her arm was aching again. She’d overdone it and now she was out of pain pills.

Which made her think of Wesley.

Which made her think of how messed up their lives were.

Which made her think of her absent parents.

As always, all roads led back to Randolph and Valerie Wren.

She turned off the water and toweled dry, then wrapped her hair. She pulled on her favorite full-coverage chenille robe and was walking back through the house when a rap sounded on the front door. She wasn’t surprised when Jack opened the door and stuck his head inside. He was familiar enough with her home.

“Carlotta?”

“Come in,” she said, walking into the living room.

He held up her keys and remote control, then looked her up and down and gave her a wicked smile. “I remember that robe—or rather, I remember what’s under it.”

Her bare toes curled in the pile of the carpet. Jack had that effect on her. “Gee, Jack, I thought your tastes were running toward a Spanish flavor these days.”

He came over to stand in front of her and lifted her chin. “Are you jealous of Maria?”

“Of course not,” she said, trying to scoff. Too bad it came out sounding like a cough.

“Oh, my good God,” he said, bringing his mouth close to hers. “You are jealous.”

“I am not,” she insisted.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I think it’s kind of sexy. By the way, you looked pretty tasty all covered in cake.”

She let him kiss her, a hot, probing kiss that pushed all her worries from her mind …

Until her cell phone rang from her purse on the chair.

She reluctantly broke the kiss. “Sorry—I need to get it. I haven’t heard from Wesley yet.” She pulled the phone out of her purse, but Peter’s name scrolled across the caller ID screen. “It’s not him.” She sent the call to voice mail and sighed in disappointment.

Jack scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, the D.A. reduced the charges to a misdemeanor and added hours to Wesley’s community service.”

She looked up, her mouth parting in elation. “He did? That’s great! That’s wonderful! That’s … wait—how did you know?”

“I, um, got a call.”

Her good mood dimmed. “Ah, from Liz. Of course.”

Jack reached forward to stroke her cheek with his thumb. “We both have other people in our lives. It has to be that way … for now at least.”

“You mean, until you arrest my father?”

“No, I mean until you make up your mind.”

The charm of three hearts came to mind. The doorbell rang, startling her. She and Jack both turned and Carlotta inhaled sharply to see Peter Ashford standing on the stoop, holding his phone and peering inside. He looked every inch the successful investment broker, impeccably dressed, his blond hair cut in a sleek, precision style.

Jack looked back to her. “Perfect timing.”

“Peter and I have a dinner date,” she murmured, drawing the tie on her robe tighter.

“Let me guess. Ashford is taking you to eat sushi?”

She flapped her eyelashes. “Who’s jealous now?” “No comment.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “If you need another jump after the Ken doll drops you off, give me a call.” Jack grinned, then turned to go, leaving her shaking her head.

Carlotta uncurled her toes and went to greet Peter.