Читать книгу Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body - Stephanie Bond, Stephanie Bond - Страница 6

When Coop entered the house Carlotta noticed that he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. His hair was disheveled; his sideburns merged with an unshaved jaw. Her heart tugged when she realized he hadn’t been to bed. “Did you drive around all night?”

“I checked the hospital emergency rooms and a few places I thought he might be, but no one had seen him.”

“Hi, Coop.”

He looked up and did a double take at Carlotta’s stripe-haired friend standing barefoot and fresh-faced in her unexpectedly cuddly pj’s. “Hannah?”

She flapped her eyelashes. Hannah had a huge crush on Coop. “In the flesh. Um, this isn’t what I normally sleep in, in case you’re interested.”

Carlotta rolled her eyes as Coop smothered a smile. “Okay. Did you keep Carlotta company last night?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” He glanced at Carlotta, his gaze softening. “I was worried about you. How’s your arm?”

She squirmed. “It’s fine, thanks. How about that coffee?”

“I’ll make a pot,” Hannah said with a frown. “Yours is sludge.” When she disappeared into the kitchen, Carlotta motioned for Coop to sit down.

He lowered his long frame into a chair, then removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to throttle Wesley for making you worry so much.”

Carlotta smiled to herself—for making her worry so much? Since Coop had hired Wesley to help him move bodies for the county morgue, he’d become a mentor to her brother. Whether Wes realized it or not, he looked up to his boss. And it appeared Coop was equally fond of him. Her heart swelled with gratitude. Wesley needed a positive male influence in his life.

Heaven knew their father had fallen down on the job.

The phone rang and Carlotta dived for it. “Hello?”

“Yeah … is Wesley there?”

Carlotta pursed her mouth, recognizing the guttural voice of a person who’d lost more than a few brain cells. “He’s not here, Chance. Didn’t you get any of the messages I left for you, asking if you’d seen him?”

“No.”

She touched her forehead. “No, you didn’t get the messages, or no, you haven’t seen him?”

“I ain’t seen him since the day before yesterday.”

She exhaled. “Do you know where he could be?”

“Uh … no.”

“With his girlfriend maybe?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Come on, Chance, he’s been coming home smelling like women’s perfume. Unless you’ve suddenly started wearing Chanel No. 5, he’s been spending time with someone else.”

“I would not know anything about that,” Chance said woodenly.

Carlotta wanted to scream. “Chance, this is serious. He could be in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, my boy can take care of himself.”

She gritted her teeth at the implication that Wesley was part of Chance’s “posse.” “If you see him, will you tell him to call me as soon as possible?”

“Sure thing,” Chance said, then disconnected the call.

Carlotta sighed. “His friend Chance Hollander hasn’t seen him.”

“What’s this about a girlfriend?” Coop asked.

“I thought you might know.”

“I know he’s got a thing for his probation officer.”

“But she has a boyfriend—remember, we met him at the Elton John concert.”

Coop gave her an amused smile. “Some women have more than one guy on the line.”

A flush climbed her face. Coop and Wesley had walked in on her and Jack Terry kissing, and there had been no mistletoe—or even December—in sight. She didn’t know if Wesley had told Coop that Jack had spent at least one night in her bedroom, but Coop probably suspected as much. Coop had also met Peter and was aware of their history. All of which would have to be sorted out at another time…. At the moment she couldn’t think past Wesley being gone.

Luckily, Hannah arrived with three cups of coffee, and a box of sweet rolls left over from one of her catering gigs the previous day. Carlotta took the food gratefully, her stomach rumbling from hunger.

“Wesley has to come back,” Hannah said dryly. “Or you’ll starve.”

Carlotta stuck out her tongue, but she appreciated her friend’s attempt at humor. And it was true. Wesley did all the cooking, and had done so for years. He was pretty good, too, darn his infuriating, scrawny little ass. Her eyes watered.

“Hey,” Coop said quietly, putting his large hand over hers. “Wesley is a smart kid. If he’s in trouble, he’ll figure out something.”

Carlotta nodded and inhaled a cleansing breath. If their parents’ leaving had taught her anything, it was that tears didn’t solve a thing. Action did.

“What now?” she asked Coop.

“I know he has an appointment to see his probation officer at eleven. I’d say if he doesn’t show, then you should call the police. Considering that thug’s comment to you about Wesley having done something stupid, this might have to do with the loan sharks he owes.”

Her heart squeezed, but she had to consider worst-case scenarios. “You’re right. He wouldn’t miss his appointment with Eldora. Not voluntarily.”

“Meanwhile,” Coop said, pushing himself to his feet, “try to think of somewhere he might’ve gone, or someone who might know where he is. I’ll keep making inquiries.”

“Okay,” she said, following him to the door. “And Coop.” She squared her shoulders, but that only caused pain to shoot down her arm. “I hate to ask this, but have you checked the … morgue?”

His brown eyes filled with sympathy, and he nodded. “I did. He’s not there.”

Tears of relief filled her eyes. “Thank you for caring.”

He gave her a little smile. “I can’t seem to help myself.” Then he turned and walked to the bottom of the steps. “You have my cell phone number if you need me.”

“Yes,” she called after him, waving with her good hand until he drove away.

Carlotta looked to her left and saw their neighbor Mrs. Winningham working in her yard. They weren’t the best of friends, but the woman had called 911 a few days ago when two of The Carver’s thugs had tried to drag Carlotta into their van. So she went down the steps and crossed to the fence that separated the yards of their respective town houses. “Hi, Mrs. Winningham.”

“Hello,” the woman chirped. “And you’re welcome.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said you’re welcome for the get well card I sent to you through your brother. He said you managed to only break your arm.” The woman sniffed. “Although I must say you made a spectacle of yourself, dangling half-naked from the balcony of the Fox Theater.”

“Yes, I’m good at that,” Carlotta said cheerfully. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen Wesley yet to get your thoughtful card. May I ask when you gave it to him?”

The woman looked perturbed. “I gave it to him yesterday morning. He said he was going to meet you at the hospital and bring you home in a taxi. Then he rode off on his bike.”

“And did he seem okay to you?”

“‘Okay’ is a relative term where your family is concerned, but yes, reasonably so.”

“Thank you,” Carlotta said as pleasantly as she could manage. “I’ll let you know when I get your card, Mrs. Winningham.” Her stomach rolled as she went back to her house.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.

Carlotta told her about her conversation with the neighbor. “So Wesley didn’t just get wrapped up in some marathon poker tournament and forget. He was planning to meet me at the hospital like he said. Something bad has happened, I know it now.”

“Shh, you don’t know that for sure,” Hannah said. “Wait to see if he shows up at his P.O.’s office. Do you have the phone number?”

“There’s a business card on the bulletin board in his room.”

“Want me to get it?”

“Would you?”

“Want me to feed Einstein while I’m in there?”

“Please,” she said. The last time the massive python had gone unfed for too long, it had found its way out of Wesley’s room and into Carlotta’s bed.

When she returned, Hannah tried to entertain Carlotta by coaxing her to the back deck to stick her feet in the kiddie pool Wesley had bought for her—to make up, he’d said, for the lavish life she’d given up with Peter in order to raise him. The cool water felt good between her toes, but it only made her miss Wesley more.

“I’m sorry I have to leave,” Hannah said later, standing with her hands on her hips, back in full goth garb and makeup, the barbell in her tongue clicking against her teeth. “But I can’t get anyone to cover me on this corporate luncheon.”

“Go,” Carlotta urged, shin-deep in the pool and clutching the phone. “You’ve done enough handholding for a lifetime.”

“Call me to let me know what you find out. I should be finished in a couple of hours or so.”

Carlotta waved her off, and attempted to relax, trying to find some solace in the beautiful sunny day and the fact that the neighborhood that she’d hated living in was looking quite pretty today. When the trees were leafed out, they hid the shabbiness of most of the homes, their’s included. The gay couple that lived on the other side of them, whom they’d only seen and not met, had made upgrades to their house. Now that she thought about it, she decided her neighbors probably didn’t extend themselves because the Wren place was, as Mrs. Winningham had so often reminded her, “a blight on our good street.”

Ironically, Carlotta had vowed to update their place and make some badly needed repairs just before she’d broken her arm. For extra money, she had even contemplated joining forces with Hannah to go on some body-moving jobs for Coop—much to Hannah’s great delight. But that, too, would have to wait until after Carlotta’s arm healed.

“Come home safe, Wesley,” she whispered. “I have plans for us. You can’t leave me, too.”

In that moment, her hatred for her parents was a palpable black mass in the air around her. She shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. What if something happened to Wesley? Life without her brother was just too impossible to comprehend. She realized with a start how he must have felt when he thought she’d taken a dive off that bridge, before they had learned it was someone pretending to be her.

Their parents’ abandonment had forced them into a closeness that probably wasn’t healthy. She wondered if they would forever be emotionally dependent on each other, or if either would someday make room in their life for someone special. Wesley was particularly resistant to change—he still refused to allow her to take down the aluminum Christmas tree in the living room that their mother had put up mere days before she’d skipped town with their father. So it sat there in the corner, a sagging, tarnished emblem of their family, complete with little gifts underneath that had never been opened.

Except by Jack Terry, when he’d stayed at their house doing “surveillance” in case her parents showed up for the fake funeral. He’d thought he might find clues in them as to their parents’ whereabouts. He’d rewrapped the gifts, but Carlotta had been furious when she discovered what he’d done. Had been hurt. Confused. Torn.

With Jack, everything was muddy.

Meanwhile, the hands on the clock seemed to crawl. The phone didn’t ring. Wesley didn’t materialize. When she called the number on his probation officer’s business card at five minutes after eleven, she was nauseous.

“Eldora Jones speaking.”

“Eldora, this is Carlotta Wren, Wesley’s sister. We met a couple of nights ago at the Elton John concert.”

“How could I forget? Are you out of the hospital?”

“Yes, thanks, and feeling much better. I’m calling about Wesley. Did he make his appointment today?”

“As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”

Carlotta’s heart sank to her ankles. “Did he call to say he wouldn’t be there?”

“No, he didn’t. May I ask what this is about?”

“I hope it’s nothing, but my brother seems to be missing.”

“Missing?”

“He hasn’t been home, no one’s heard from him since yesterday, and he isn’t answering his cell phone.”

The woman paused, then said thoughtfully, “I did receive a call from a Richard McCormick saying that Wesley had impressed him in his interview yesterday morning. He’s set to start his community service with the city computer-security department next Monday.”

“He was supposed to meet me at the hospital after the interview, but he didn’t show.”

“Have you called the police?” Eldora asked hesitantly. Carlotta thought she detected more than professional interest in her tone.

“That’s next on my list.”

“Will you have Wesley phone me as soon as you … see him? He’ll have to make up the missed meeting.”

Carlotta promised she would, then hung up and put her head between her knees to relieve the light-headedness that suddenly overcame her. Please, God. She reached for the phone again and dialed Detective Jack Terry’s number from memory.

Jack had arrested Wesley for hacking into the courthouse computer. He’d reopened their father’s case. He’d investigated a couple of little murders that Carlotta had gotten involved in accidentally. And in between, he’d given her one or three mind-boggling orgasms. Theirs was a lust-hate relationship. After the fiasco at the Fox Theatre, during which he’d broken her fall, she was hoping she wouldn’t have to call him anytime soon.

Here we go again.

“Jack Terry,” said the rough-hewn voice over the line.

It was so unexpectedly comforting, Carlotta’s throat choked with emotion.

“Hello?” he said. “Is anyone there?”

“Jack,” she cried.

“Carlotta? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Wesley,” she said, openly sobbing now.

“Are you at home?”

“Yes,” she blubbered.

“I’m on my way.”