Читать книгу 5 Bodies To Die For - Stephanie Bond, Stephanie Bond - Страница 10

After several blissful moments of daydreaming, Carlotta pushed herself off the feathery guest bed and unpacked. The few clothes that she’d brought looked pitiful hanging in the expansive closet that also featured a steam-iron press, but it was a treat having so much space. She walked around the suite, exploring every inch.

The room was meticulously clean, but showed signs of having been lived in. Carlotta stepped on something imbedded in the carpet and unearthed a small broken silver pin shaped like a cat, no doubt left behind by a houseguest or perhaps a housekeeper.

She set the pin on the counter in the lavish bathroom and ran her hand along the pale granite flecked with gold. Luxury bath products lined the vanity shelves. Spa-quality towels and a white robe lay folded on the edge of the jet garden tub. She wondered idly if Angela had ever come in here for privacy, sinking up to her neck in bubbles when she had the chance.

And then a realization sunk in—this had been Angela’s room. She and Peter had apparently spent at least some of their marriage sleeping in separate beds. Carlotta felt a pang for the dead woman, sorry that Angela’s life—and death—hadn’t turned out as she’d planned. Carlotta and Angela hadn’t been best friends in high school or afterward when their social paths had diverged, but Carlotta had never wished the woman ill, not even after Angela had married Peter. To be here and uncovering all her secrets…it felt intrusive, almost an insult to the woman’s memory.

The troubling thoughts pushed her out of the room. As she closed the door, she glanced across the hall. While she was appreciative that Peter hadn’t tried to persuade her to share his room, the proximity alone worried her. On top of the nagging sense of betrayal she felt staying in his dead wife’s room, she knew that close quarters had a way of escalating intimacy.

But wasn’t part of her decision to be here with Peter to give them the chance to explore their chemistry?

With her heart and head clicking, Carlotta descended the stairs, once again awestruck over the sheer size of the house. If Michael Lane could live in the town house without her and Wesley knowing about it, a family of five could live hidden in this place without anyone being the wiser.

Through a set of open sliding glass doors leading out onto the pool area, she heard the telltale noises of grill-wrangling. When she stepped outside, she spotted Peter at the far end of the patio, in the outdoor-kitchen area. Mingled scents of chlorine and spices filled the humid air.

He waved her over and, after slipping off her shoes, she made her way across the stone lanai surrounding the breathtaking pool. Crystalline blue water slapped gently against the sides. The memory of Angela lying near the pool’s edge dressed in a black trench coat and boots, her eyes open and staring, rose in Carlotta’s mind. She gave herself a mental shake and walked toward Peter.

She’d forgotten the lavishness of the outside living area—a recent addition, Peter had hinted, that Angela had wanted more than he had. Besides the pool, there was an in-ground hot tub and a waterfall. The landscaping was magnificent, with huge potted trees and urns making it feel like a European villa. And behind the alfresco kitchen that featured commercial-grade appliances and a firebrick oven sat a small building separate from the house—a guest-house-slash-pool house. Allegedly, it’s where Angela had entertained her paying customers.

Carlotta marveled that Peter hadn’t sold the entire property after the whole ordeal, but she rationalized that he must have his own reasons for staying put.

“I forgave her,” he said, as if he could read her mind. He glanced up from the grill where he turned thick steaks and brightly colored vegetables with a pair of tongs. “That’s why I didn’t sell the house…or burn it to the ground.”

Two glasses of red wine sat on the bar. Carlotta slowly climbed onto a stool and reached for one. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Everyone else has—my friends, coworkers, my parents, even Angela’s parents. No one can imagine why I’d want to live here after everything that happened.”

“This is your home,” she murmured. “Besides, I’m sure you have good memories here, too.”

He nodded, reaching for the other glass of wine. “A few. But the truth is, Angie and I led separate lives, even when we were both here. I don’t feel bound up in memories because we didn’t make many.” He made a rueful noise. “That probably sounds cold.”

“No, I understand what you’re saying.”

He took a drink from his glass. “Still, even though our marriage wasn’t good for her or for me, I feel obligated to do right by her. And part of that is keeping the house she loved. Plus, I couldn’t stand the thought of ghouls coming round to tour the place, just to see where she’d been murdered. They would’ve, you know. Even her so-called friends were vultures. After she died, they brought food and gifts of condolence, but sooner or later, they were all demanding the gory details. It was sickening.”

Carlotta’s heart squeezed for what he had endured at the hands of people who pretended to be his friends. “I know what that feels like to some degree. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, then smiled. “That’s all behind us now. We can’t change the past…only the future.” He lifted his glass of wine. “To the future.”

She clinked her glass to his and drank deeply, glancing at him over the rim. With his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hair tousled and his face flushed with heat, he looked incredibly handsome. Awareness curled in her stomach—Peter had been her first lover. At one time, they’d known each other’s bodies intimately, couldn’t get enough of each other. She could feel his body pulling on hers now, calling her home.

Sleeping across the hall from him might be harder than she’d anticipated.

“Did you get unpacked?” he asked, then took a drink from his glass.

She nodded. “Yes, the closet is wonderful, the room is wonderful and the house is…wonderful. Thank you for having me as your guest, Peter.”

His eyes glowed with a banked fire. “You can stay as long as you want.”

The way he looked at her fueled her own curiosity. She expected him to flirt with her—over dinner and as the evening wore on and the wine went down. But he was the perfect gentleman, keeping the conversation light, even steering clear of talking about their recent agreement to start looking into her father’s assertions that someone within his old firm had framed him.

Instead, they laughed and teased and discussed movies and nonsensical things, as if he sensed that she was happy to avoid talking about The Charmed Killer and the panic unleashed on the city. To avoid thinking Michael Lane was the sicko they were looking for. The only time Peter hinted at the danger she was in was later in the evening, when he showed her how to operate the alarm system.

“I have an early breakfast meeting,” he said. “But when I leave, I’ll reactivate the alarm. When you get up, you’ll need to turn off the motion detector before going downstairs, by pushing this button.”

He demonstrated and she nodded. Simple enough.

“The alarm will still be on for the doors and windows on the first floor, so if you want to go outside, push this button. At that point, the entire system is off. But I don’t recommend you do that.”

She nodded. “I understand.” The house might be wired for bear, but if the alarm was off and someone made it past the guardhouse, a person would be a sitting duck. The neighbors were too far away to be of much help.

“When you leave the house, there’s a panel next to the door leading to the garage. Push the button to reactivate the motion detector and close the door behind you. There’s no alarm on the garage door, so you have all the time you need to get into the Porsche and out of the garage.”

She nodded, mentally reviewing things in her head. “This thing isn’t going to go off if I get up in the middle of the night, is it?”

He smiled. “Not if you stay upstairs. The motion detectors are just for the first floor.”

She bit her lip. “And if I set off the alarm by mistake?”

“Within a few seconds, the monitoring service will call to see if everything is okay. They’ll reset the alarm if you need them to.”

“Okay.” Carlotta smiled. “If you don’t mind, I think I might go ahead and turn in. I need to check in with Wes, and let Hannah know where I am.”

“I’m tired myself,” Peter said, then winked. “It’s not every day I get shot with a Taser.”

As they climbed the stairs together, her heart rate accelerated and her hand felt slippery on the railing. Suddenly the palatial house seemed small, the air claustrophobic. When they reached the landing, Peter turned to her and lowered a very nice kiss on her mouth. She kissed him back, surprised at her all-over reaction. He raised his head and studied her face. The air sizzled. She wondered if Peter was going to ask her to spend the night with him, and what she would say if he did.

Then he smiled. “Good night, sleep tight.” He disappeared into his room and closed the door.

Carlotta stood there for a few seconds, then retreated to her own room, blaming her response on the wine. And wondering why Peter hadn’t tried to take advantage of her.

Inside the guest suite, she picked up her cell phone and her purse and headed for the veranda. Outside in the muggy night air, she glanced over the scattered lights of the neighborhood and lit up a cigarette. She inhaled it greedily while dialing Wesley’s cell number.

“Hey, sis,” he answered. “How do you like being back in the ’hood?”

She smiled. “I can’t lie—Peter’s house is nice.”

“What’s that sound? Are you smoking?”

She turned her head to exhale. “What? No, I’m not smoking.”

“The Surgeon General says smoking is bad for your health.”

Carlotta frowned. “You’re smoking right now, aren’t you?”

He exhaled into the mouthpiece. “Yeah. But it’s an organic cigarette, so it’s cool.”

She gave a little laugh. “Peter has plenty of room if you change your mind and want to stay here, too.”

“Thanks, but I’m settled in Chance’s extra bedroom for now. He lets me smoke inside. I’ll bet you’re out on a fancy porch or something, sneaking around, aren’t you?”

She looked at the exquisitely furnished veranda and flicked her ashes away from an upholstered chaise. “Or something. Have you been back to the town house?”

“No. Jack said he’d let me know when the CSI team was finished so I can install a security system.”

She frowned. “When did you talk to Jack?”

“Uh, earlier. I just wanted to see what was going on, that’s all.”

“Did he have any news?”

“Not that he shared with me.”

“Okay. So I guess I’ll see you when I see you?”

“Yeah. I’ll check in.”

“You’d better.” She disconnected the call, then sucked on the cigarette until her cheeks hurt. God, it tasted so good.

She punched in Hannah’s number, but no surprise, her friend didn’t answer. Carlotta left her a message with her whereabouts and the reasons why, then ended the call, shaking her head.

Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about Hannah not answering her phone. Her culinary friend, who dabbled in catering—and body moving when Coop permitted—had a lot of men, er, irons in the fire. But recently, Jack’s profiling partner, Maria, had accused Carlotta of not knowing anything about her good friend. Carlotta had bristled at the allegation, but admittedly, it had made her curious about what was going on when Hannah couldn’t be located or made vague excuses to escape.

She tapped some ash off the end of her cigarette, causing the charms on her bracelet to clink. She fingered them, shaking her head over the idea perpetuated that the charms on the bracelets sold by Olympian Eva McCoy for charity were not only unique to the wearer, but were also predictive. Her particular bracelet’s charms were a puzzle piece, an “aloha” charm, three hearts bound together, two champagne glasses toasting and a woman whose arms were crossed over her chest—which looked a little too much like a corpse for Carlotta’s comfort.

If she looked hard enough, she could find connections to her life. She was trying to figure out the puzzle of her father’s guilt or innocence, for example. And shortly after donning the bracelet, she’d met Mitchell Moody, the son of June Moody, the woman who ran Moody’s Cigar Bar. Mitch was currently on military leave from Hawaii.

It was a flimsy connection, but a connection nonetheless.

As far as the three hearts linked together, one might say that it could refer to the three men in her life: Jack, Coop and Peter. The champagne glasses…well, she would certainly celebrate once The Charmed Killer was apprehended…with someone.

And the weird corpse-looking charm, she didn’t want to think about.

Carlotta took a final deep drag on the cigarette, then exhaled leisurely while she glanced over the roofs of the quiet neighborhood. Where she and Wesley lived in Lindbergh, she’d grown accustomed to the boom of car radios and the scream of sirens. Here, the only thing disturbing the peace were suburban crickets.

She squinted at a flash of something—light? metal?—from the house closest to Peter’s, which was slightly up the hill and partially hidden by trees. There was a movement outside a window. As she continued to stare, she could make out more details and realized that someone was standing on a terrace in partial light.

Staring at her with binoculars.

Unnerved, she walked back inside and secured the door, dismissing the incident as typical neighborly snooping. In light of Angela’s scandalous behavior, she suspected more than one set of binoculars had been trained on the Ashford house over the past few months.

She suddenly felt very exposed.

After washing her face and donning silky tap pants and a matching camisole, she snuggled down in the mountain of pillows and set the alarm on her phone so she wouldn’t oversleep. She needed to allow extra time to get ready for work, not to mention drive an unfamiliar car along an unfamiliar commute. While she was scrolling through the features, her phone rang, startling her so badly she nearly dropped it.

She hadn’t realized how skittish she’d become.

But when she looked at the caller-ID screen, she smiled. Jack.

She connected the call. “Are you calling to tuck me in?”

His sexy laugh rumbled over the line. “Yup. What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants and big fuzzy socks.”

“Good, that should keep Ashford in his place.”

She sighed. “What do you want, Jack?”

He made a rueful noise. “I mentioned that the GBI is coming on board The Charmed Killer case.”

“Yeah.”

“They want to interview you as soon as possible.”

Her heart raced—when would this ghastly situation end? “I can come down in the morning before I go to work. Eight o’clock?”

“Okay.”

“Jack, will you be there?”

“Couldn’t keep me away.”

“Good night.”

“You, too.”