4 Bodies and a Funeral

2

Wesley glanced all around as he hurried into the building on Pryor Street that housed, among other government agencies, the offices of the Fulton County District Attorney. He was a nervous freaking wreck after riding his bike in a circuitous route just in case anyone from The Carver’s camp knew about the appointment and decided to intercept him, then persuade him not to agree to a plea deal in return for testifying against the brutal loan shark.

When he’d agreed to help The Carver’s men swipe the body of a starlet, Wesley had told himself he was killing several birds with one stone, so to speak.

The woman was already dead, after all. It was an olive branch to offer the loan shark for an embarrassing stunt Wesley had orchestrated on him at a strip club. And The Carver had promised to erase the rest of Wesley’s gambling debt in return for the favor. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been given the option of refusing the man who had already carved the first three letters of his last name into Wesley’s arm for a former offense.

At the memory, Wesley rubbed his arm through the jacket he’d worn as directed by his attorney. Underneath, the newly healed wounds itched where the skin had drawn tight.

Thinking back to the body-snatching scheme, Wesley shook his head. Why did he think he could do it? At the last minute he’d balked and when it was over, he’d come clean with his boss, Cooper, and the police. The D.A., an asshole named Kelvin Lucas who had indicted his dad, had wanted to nail Wesley to the wall. But his attorney, Liz, had managed to persuade the D.A. that Hollis Carver was a bigger fish. Since Wesley still owed The Carver a shitload of money, it was in his best interests if The Carver went to jail for a long time.

On the other hand, The Carver could probably pull strings no matter where he was. If he found out that Wesley had turned on him, he might have the rest of his name and his address cut into Wesley’s skinny body.

Once inside the lobby, Wesley slowed his pace so as not to attract attention from the security guards, and joined the line of bored people going through a metal detector. He jammed his hands in his pockets, trying to calm his nerves, but his brain was firing like a machine gun. Sweat trailed down his back, and behind his glasses his left eye ticked nervously. It was the OxyContin—or rather, the lack of it—kicking in.

He was really making an effort this time to stay away from the stuff. The Percocet he’d pinched from Carlotta’s purse and the two refills he’d gotten had bridged the worst of his withdrawal symptoms, but he had only one pill left. He fingered the capsule in the corner of his pants pocket, yearning to swallow it, but drawing some comfort from its mere presence.

He’d hardly left the house the last couple of weeks except to go to ASS, Atlanta Security Systems, where he was poking around in his dad’s trial files under the guise of doing community service for hacking into the courthouse computer. So he’d definitely noticed that the house was being watched. The first appearance of the black SUV at the curb in front of the town house where he and Carlotta lived had nearly made him piss his pants. He’d gathered up anything that could be used as a weapon: a hammer, a few butcher knives, a cast-iron skillet, even a can of hair-spray from Carlotta’s bathroom. But when no one had emerged from the SUV with guns drawn to storm the place—the vehicle had simply left and returned at different hours of the day—he’d wondered if someone was looking out for him. Maybe Jack Terry had sent a fellow cop to patrol the house, at least until Wesley could strike his deal.

He pivoted as the line moved forward, looking for signs of trouble. When he was two people back from reaching the detector, he spotted Mouse, The Carver’s head henchman, entering the front door of the building.

Wesley almost swallowed his tongue and pecked on the shoulder of the stout woman in front of him. “I’m late for a meeting. Would you mind if I go ahead of you?”

The woman frowned. “We’re all in a hurry. You’re gonna have to wait your turn like everybody else.”

He hunched his shoulders and tried to look inconspicuous, but Mouse noticed him and came charging toward him.

The woman was chatting with the security officer, taking her sweet, fat time.

“Hey, could you put some wheels on it?” Wesley said, moving his hand in a rolling motion. His heart was galloping like a racehorse’s.

She frowned, but lumbered through the metal detector. Mouse lunged for him and Wesley practically humped the woman trying to get through the narrow opening behind her. He felt a tug on his shoulders as Mouse grabbed the neck of his jacket to yank him back. Wesley held his arms behind him and walked out of the garment.

He looked back to see Mouse glaring at him, holding the jacket. Wesley gave him a little salute. No way was Mouse walking through the metal detector—the man probably had weapons stowed in his cheeks.

“You have to come out sometime,” Mouse called.

Wesley swallowed and continued walking across the lobby and down a hall to the elevators. Liz Fischer, his attorney, was standing to the side, checking her watch. She was a triple threat—beautiful, blond and bossy. When she glanced up, her red mouth lifted in a chiding smile. “I was just getting ready to call you. It wouldn’t look good for you to arrive late for your own plea bargain.”

“It took longer to get here than I’d planned.”

She frowned. “I thought I told you to wear a jacket.”

“Sorry—I forgot.”

She sighed. “Oh, well, at least you wore a tie. But you’re sweating like a pig.”

He wiped a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s summer in Atlanta, and I rode my bike here.”

“So why are your hands shaking?”

“I’m nervous, okay?”

She gave his shirt a little pat. “Shake it off. You need to make a good impression on the D.A. Otherwise he might worry that you’ll renege on your agreement to testify against Hollis Carver.” She glanced at her watch. “We should go. This will be over soon, and we can all get back to normal.” Her fingers slid inside his shirt to stroke his bare skin and the tip of her tongue appeared.

Wesley swallowed. He missed banging Liz—her body was to die for—but at the moment, he’d rather have a hit of Oxy. Inside his pocket he turned the last Percocet capsule over and over, telling himself he’d save it to celebrate after the meeting ended. Maybe he’d just chill in a men’s room and outwait Mouse.

He followed Liz onto the elevator, his pulse clicking as they climbed floors. When the elevator doors opened, he broke out into a fresh sweat. “Will Lucas be in the meeting?” he asked as she led him down a carpeted hallway.

“He could send an assistant, but since it’s you, he’ll probably put in an appearance.”

“You mean since I’m Randolph Wren’s son?”

“That’s right.” She stopped at a frosted glass door, rapped sharply, then pushed it open.

Wesley followed her inside, thinking in that respect, Liz wasn’t so different from the D.A. She, too, was interested in him because of his dad. He’d recently discovered that not only had Liz been his father’s attorney, but she’d also been his mistress.

Like father, like son.

Kelvin Lucas, an amphibious-looking man, sat at the end of the table, his hands steepled with authority, his expression smug. At the sight of the man who had targeted his father and reneged on a deal he’d made with Carlotta in an attempt to lure their dad from hiding, bile backed up in Wesley’s throat. He didn’t want to be in the same room with the bastard, but he tried to keep his abject loathing of the man from his expression.

Next to Lucas sat a petite, bookish-looking woman who stood and introduced herself as Cheryl Meriwether, Assistant District Attorney. She seemed skittish and kept sliding her glance toward her boss.

“Well, shall we get started?” Liz suggested, indicating which chair Wesley should occupy.

He lowered himself into the seat unsteadily. The room had a sterile smell and rang with the white noise of incandescent lights buzzing overhead.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at Wesley. “Well, Wren, you can’t seem to stay out of trouble … just like your gutless father, wherever he is.”

Wesley bit down on his tongue to keep from blurting out the fact that his father had made contact with Carlotta at a Florida rest area a few weeks ago, and was planning to resurface as soon as he could prove his innocence.

Under the table, Liz’s hand closed over Wesley’s knee as a warning for him to keep quiet. Liz didn’t know about his father’s reappearance. Carlotta had told him to keep it quiet. But he heeded Liz’s advice out of necessity because his head was suddenly throbbing and he was having trouble focusing.

The lawyers opened with legal small talk to set the stage for their negotiation. Wesley zoned out, studying the books on the bookshelves, the fly trapped in the light fixture, his untied shoelace. He just wanted this meeting to be over. The Percocet capsule was burning a hole in his pocket, calling to him. He tried to concentrate on what was being discussed, catching occasional phrases.

“… deserves to go to jail …”

“… Hollis Carver is a menace …”

“… might skip town like his old man …”

“… trumped up charges …”

“… testify if case goes to trial …”

“… give a written statement …”

His mouth was cottony, and his pulse pounded in his ears. Sweat trickled down his temples.

“Wesley?”

He blinked and focused on Liz’s face. “Huh?”

“District Attorney Lucas asked you to tell us what happened.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll decide after I hear your story,” Lucas said.

“Okay,” Wesley mumbled. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Okay.”

Liz’s hand was back on his jumping knee with an encouraging squeeze.

“Could I have a glass of water?” he croaked.

A.D.A. Meriwether left the room and returned a few seconds later with a bottle. He took it with one hand, then stuck his other hand in his pants pocket, wedging the Percocet between his fingers so he’d be able to slip it into his mouth unnoticed. He set the bottle between his legs to twist off the top, but his hands were shaking badly now. The white pill popped out from between his fingers and flew under the table where it bounced twice on the carpet before landing next to Lucas’s ugly brown wing-tip shoe.

At least no one else had noticed. But Wesley had to exercise restraint to keep from leaping under the table and pouncing on it. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a drink, sloshing water down the front of his shirt. He couldn’t take his eyes off that pill.

“We don’t have all day,” Lucas intoned.

“Wesley,” Liz said, tapping the table to get his attention.

He looked up.

“Tell us how you got involved in the body-snatching plan.”

With great effort, Wesley brought his mind back to the matter at hand. “I was leaving a friend’s house, and a guy came up to me and said he worked for The Carver, that he had a job for me. He knew I worked for Cooper Craft moving bodies for the morgue and that Coop was going to Florida to pick up that celebrity, Kiki Deerling, and bring her back to Atlanta. He wanted me to help them steal the body—to let them know where we were on the road and to keep Coop preoccupied.”

“In return for what?” Lucas asked. Beneath the table, the D.A.’s foot moved, covering the capsule.

Wesley wiped his hand across his mouth. “In return for erasing my debt.”

“Which is how much?”

He thought hard before telling the truth. “About twenty grand, give or take.” It sounded even worse when he said it aloud.

“Why did Hollis Carver want the body?”

“His son, Dillon, sold heroin at the party where the girl died. He was afraid the drugs had killed her and that he’d be charged with murder.” Ironically, as it turned out, the starlet hadn’t taken any drugs, so it had all been for nothing. Coop would probably never ask Wesley to work for him again. Wesley hadn’t realized how much he wanted the man’s respect until it was too late.

“What were they going to do with the body?” Lucas shifted forward and his shoe pressed down where the Percocet pill had landed.

Wesley made a strangled noise in his throat. “Uh … I didn’t ask.”

“My client was afraid for his life,” Liz interjected. “He felt as if he couldn’t say no.”

“Funny,” Lucas said, “I heard your client say he agreed to help carry out a felony in return for twenty thousand dollars. Who is the man who approached you?”

He looked at Liz before he spoke and she nodded. “Tell him.”

Wesley’s throat convulsed from wanting that damn pill. “His name is Leonard.”

“What’s Leonard’s last name?”

“We were never properly introduced,” Wesley said drily. But he could ask his probation officer, E. Jones. The thug was her boyfriend, although she had no idea what kind of stuff the man was mixed up in, including moving drugs for Wesley’s friend Chance.

“So how do you know this Leonard actually works for Hollis Carver?”

Wesley scratched his neck in irritation. “Because he said he did.”

“He could’ve been lying.”

“I don’t think so. He knew I owed The Carver money.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. This Leonard character could’ve been using The Carver’s name to pressure you into something he wanted done.”

Wesley scoffed. “That makes no sense. The Carver and his son were the ones who didn’t want the body autopsied.”

Lucas spread his hands. “I’m just telling you what a defense attorney will say. From where I sit, you got nothing on Hollis Carver that can be corroborated.”

Wesley looked at Liz, at a loss.

“What about calls between Hollis Carver and the celebrity’s publicist?” Liz asked Lucas. “They were the masterminds of the scheme.”

“We have a record of phone calls, but the content of the calls could’ve been about anything. For all we know, they could’ve been lovers.” Lucas leered at Liz pointedly.

But Liz didn’t shrink from the D.A.’s sly remark. “I would think that the publicist would be falling all over herself to turn on Hollis Carver.”

A.D.A. Meriwether looked down and shifted in her seat.

Liz looked from Lucas to Meriwether and gave a dry laugh. “Wait a minute. The publicist has already made a deal, hasn’t she?”

Lucas took his arrogant time answering. “Yes. So as it turns out, we don’t need your client’s testimony after all, Ms. Fischer. Although it’s good to know that his story corroborates the publicist’s.”

Wesley heaved a huge sigh of relief and pushed to his feet. “I’m outta here.” Once the room was vacated, he’d come back to rescue the flattened capsule.

But Liz stopped him with a warning glance.

“Not so fast, Wren,” Lucas said, then leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smile. “You confessed to conspiring to steal a body.”

Wesley sat back down, his stomach churning with dread. Something was up.

“But the body wasn’t stolen,” Liz protested. “And my client came clean.”

“Only after the plan was foiled,” Lucas returned. “And besides confessing to a felony, your client’s actions revoke his previous probation. He’s going to jail.”

Panic skewered Wesley’s chest. He’d spent a few hours in jail when he’d been arrested for hacking into the courthouse computer. He’d passed the time and kept the pervs at bay by teaching the other guys in holding how to play Texas Hold ‘Em poker, but he didn’t relish the thought of going back.

Liz angled her head. “Kelvin, isn’t this all a moot point? We both know that Hollis Carver is an informant for the APD and will probably get a pass.”

Lucas blanched. “Who told you that he was an informant?”

“I have my sources,” Liz said silkily.

Wesley pressed his lips together. Liz must be back to banging Detective Jack Terry again, if they’d ever stopped.

“So why drag us in here today?” she demanded. “What do you want, Kelvin?”

The D.A. screwed up his mouth and bared his crooked teeth. “Maybe young Wren here has some information about his long-lost daddy he’d like to trade for his freedom?”

Wesley fisted his hands and started to rise. “You motherfu—”

“Wesley—” Liz cut in sharply, reaching up to place her hand on his chest. “Sit down.”

He dropped back into the chair, but didn’t bother to hide his contempt for Lucas.

“We’ve been over this before,” Liz said calmly. “My client doesn’t know anything about the whereabouts of his father. Come on, there must be something else we can do to work this out. Wesley is performing well under the terms of his probation, his supervisor in the city computer department says he’s excelling at his community service.”

Lucas’s mouth formed a long, thin line. “If your client is so smart, he’ll take what I have to offer.”

Liz wet her lips. “Which is?”

“I want Hollis Carver behind bars on something that will stick. I think his son is distributing drugs for him.”

Liz gave a dry laugh. “You want to set up your own informant?”

“We only made Carver an informant so he’d let down his guard. We thought we’d be able to get closer to him, but we need someone on the inside.”

Liz’s shoulders went rigid. “You want my client to go undercover in The Carver’s organization?”

A smile spread over Lucas’s toady face. “It’s a win-win situation. He gets to work off his debt to The Carver, and work off his debt to society at the same time.”

Liz shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. The man is an animal.”

“It’ll be safer,” the D.A. insisted. “Your client won’t be running from The Carver, he’ll be working for him. He’ll be too valuable to rough up.”

“Why should I trust you?” Wesley asked. “You went back on the deal you made with my sister.”

“This one will be put in writing,” Lucas said.

Wesley barked out a hoarse laugh. “What am I supposed to do, just walk up to The Carver and ask him to put me on the payroll?”

Lucas nodded. “Something like that. We’ll provide you with a contact in the APD who will guide you through the process.”

“How long are we talking about here?” Liz asked. “A few weeks? Months?”

“That depends on your client’s ability to blend in with criminals.” Lucas smirked. “Something tells me he’ll be good at it.”

A backhanded compliment, Wesley realized, even with his mind racing in circles. “My sister will worry herself sick—”

“You can’t tell your sister,” the D.A. interrupted. “No one can know except the people in this room and your contact at the police department. If we discover that you’ve told anyone, even your damn priest, we’ll find another stool pigeon, and you’ll be put in a cage, got it, Wren?”

Anger was a powerful motivator, Wesley realized. His mind was misfiring and sputtering, but even through the haze, he could process pure emotion. From now on, his life’s mission was to get even with Kelvin Lucas, to humiliate him the way he’d humiliated the Wren family.

The D.A. splayed his hands. “So what do you say, Wesley? Do you want to work for me or do you want to go to jail and make new friends?” Under the table, Lucas moved his foot back and forth. The capsule had burst and the precious white powder was being ground into the carpet.

Wesley gritted his teeth against the desperation swelling in his chest. God, how he’d love to spit in the man’s face. But his sister would be devastated if he went to jail. And he couldn’t very well help his father if he was sitting in the slammer.

“And all charges against my client regarding the body-snatching incident will be dropped?” Liz asked.

“I’ll drop it to a misdemeanor and add to his community service for appearances’ sake. That way no one’s suspicious.”

Liz turned toward Wesley. “It’s a good deal,” she murmured. “My advice is to take it.”

“And what if The Carver finds out what I’m doing?” Wesley asked, rubbing his arm where the man had already etched part of his name.

“Make sure he doesn’t find out,” Lucas said flatly. “Do we have a deal?”

More than anything, Wesley just wanted to get out of the building, ride to Chance’s and get a bag of Oxy. Even his eyelids were starting to sweat. “Okay,” he grumbled.

“Good,” Lucas said, pushing to his feet so triumphantly that Wesley immediately wanted to take it back. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Fischer.”

After the pair left the room, Liz touched Wesley’s shaking hand. “You made the right decision. Do this, and you’ll come out debt free on the other side.”

Wesley stared at the white powder stain on the carpet in despair and nodded numbly. Debt free—or dead.

3

Carlotta swallowed the last Percocet capsule from the bottle and returned her purse to her locker. She glanced in the mirror mounted on the door and smoothed her finger over the frown line between her brows that had become more pronounced recently. Leaning close, she noticed wryly that the furrow bore a distinct resemblance to the letter W—for Wesley.

Her brother was going to be the death of her youth.

She slammed the door closed and returned to the sales floor where the crowd waiting for the Eva McCoy appearance had swelled. Carlotta joined Patricia, who was back and passing out tickets.

“Did you get your charm bracelet?” Carlotta asked.

Patricia nodded and pulled back her jacket sleeve to display the silver bracelet and dangling charms. “But I’m confused. These charms have absolutely no correlation to anything in my life. There’s a little dog charm, and I have two cats. And a baseball glove, when I’ve never played any sport except tennis. A lion, which might stand for Leo, but I’m an Aries. A Texas steer head, and I don’t eat meat. And a broom. How weird is that?”

Carlotta pursed her mouth to keep from making a comment about the broom as a mode of transportation. “I thought the idea was that the charms are random, a way of challenging you to try something new.”

Patricia frowned. “So I’m supposed to try sweeping? And baseball? Right.” She sighed. “My bracelet is a bust.” Then she held up a brown box. “But I bought one for you.”

Carlotta gave a little gurgle of surprise. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I know you said you had an old one, but maybe it’s time you replaced it.” Patricia shrugged. “You know—start some new memories.”

Carlotta sighed. She really didn’t want to have to like the woman, dammit. But she accepted the box and murmured, “Thanks.” She opened the box and pulled out the tray that held the silver charm bracelet.

“What did you get?”

Carlotta squinted as she fingered the tiny dangling charms. “This one looks like a puzzle piece.”