4 Bodies and a Funeral
“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.
6
Carlotta manufactured a wide smile to counter the frown on Peter’s face that appeared when Jack emerged from her house. The men exchanged wary looks and did an awkward dance as they passed on the narrow stoop. There wasn’t room enough for both of them.
“Hi, Peter,” she said. “Come in.”
“I know I’m early,” he said as he stepped over the threshold. “The receptionist at the firm told me about a disturbance at Neiman’s. I was worried about you.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The woman in the driveway said you had a dead battery?” Then he noticed what she was wearing and squinted. “What’s going on?”
“Eva McCoy had a speaking event in the store today.”
“The Olympic marathoner?”
“Right. Some guy used a cake as a ruse to get close to her and I …” She lifted her arms. “I wound up in the cake.”
He gave a little laugh. “I’d like to have seen that.”
“It wasn’t pretty.”
“That’s impossible,” he said, then sighed. “I guess superhero Jack Terry was on the scene?”
She let the jab pass. “He and his new partner were at the store for security. When they found out I’d ridden the train to work because my car battery was dead, they offered to give me a ride home.”
“Ah. So that woman is Jack’s new partner?”
“Yes. Detective Maria Marquez.”
He pursed his mouth. “Pretty lady.”
Carlotta smiled and angled her head. “Are you interested?”
“No, but I was hoping that Jack might be.” He gave her a pointed look, then his expression softened. “You’re rubbing your arm. Are you still up to having dinner?”
Her arm was aching, but on the heels of getting such good news about Wesley’s charges being downgraded, she felt happy and expansive. “Of course. I’ll pop some Advil—it’ll be fine.”
“You probably want time to get ready. I can come back to pick you up later.”
“No—stay.” She gestured to the shabby living room, suddenly noticing how yellowed the paint had become, how dingy the baseboards. She’d tried so hard to shield her dilapidated lifestyle from Peter—always meeting him at the door or in the driveway, withholding details about her and Wesley’s financial and legal problems as much as possible. But if they were going to date, he needed to know how she lived. “That is, if you don’t mind hanging out on the couch and watching a broken TV while I dry my hair and find something to wear.”
“Sounds good to me.” He seemed so pleased by the modest offer that her heart gave a squeeze.
“Give me twenty minutes,” she said, then dashed back to her bedroom where she leaned against the closed door and exhaled.
She could do this. She needed to do this, to try to rekindle the feelings she once had for Peter, both to give her father a chance to prove his innocence, and to give her and Peter a chance to … test the waters. At the very least, she owed it to herself to investigate how she felt about Peter so she could move on.
As she dried her hair and applied her makeup, Carlotta admitted to herself that her reluctance to get involved with Peter again might be rooted in fear that she’d fall for him again, and then after he’d exorcised his guilt over leaving her, he’d break her heart … again.
Which, come to think of it, was the way she felt about trusting her father again.
She downed a couple of Advil tablets, then dressed in a knee-length tan skirt and white long-sleeve linen shirt, with a triple strand of long, faux pearls and red Donald J Pliner strappy sandals. She desperately wanted a cigarette, but knew Peter would frown on the scent that would undoubtedly cling to her clothes. She glanced at the charm bracelet lying on the dresser and, on impulse, decided to put it back on. Eva McCoy had said her bracelet brought her luck, and Carlotta certainly needed all the luck she could get.
She left her hair down and as much as she hated to, she donned the flexible cast to support her tender arm. And because she was working on a blister from being on her feet all day, she tucked a pair of black Cole Haan loafers into her shoulder bag. The bottle of over-the-counter painkillers went in, too.
After checking her appearance, she put a hand over her racing heart and acknowledged she was nervous over their date. Just being near Peter always left her feeling caught between the infatuation she’d had as an eighteen-year-old and the uncertainty of the woman she was now. She took a deep breath, then returned to the living room where Peter stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the tarnished Christmas tree.
“Now that Dad has made his presence known, I was hoping that Wesley would let me take down the tree.”
Peter turned. “You told Wesley that you saw your dad while you were in Florida?”
She nodded. “I decided he had a right to know. But he doesn’t know that Dad called you.”
“That’s probably wise for now,” he agreed, then reached for her hand. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.”
He kissed her fingers. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”
Her pulse kicked up. She hadn’t considered that Peter might want to …
“Let’s just take it slow and have fun,” she murmured. “Ready to go?”
He nodded and they left the house. Peter’s low-slung Porsche two-seater was a far cry from the beater cars in her garage. She slid into the leather seat that cradled her like a hand and allowed him to close her door. If one thing led to another, she knew Peter would buy her any car she wanted.
Any thing she wanted. Just for the asking. She studied him as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes worried as if he were expecting her to pull the plug on the date at any moment.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too. I thought we’d go to Ecco. Have you been?”
“No, but I’ve heard about their bar.” Her former coworker Michael Lane had wanted her to go with him a couple of times, but it hadn’t worked out with her schedule … or her finances. She hadn’t known financial security since her parents had left, but after having her identity stolen and her already-compromised credit damaged further, she’d cut up her plastic and put herself on a strict budget.
“They have a great wine list, and I think you’ll like the food.”
“Don’t we need reservations?”
He winked. “I got you covered.”
“Sounds good.” Good for someone else to make decisions, good to be taken care of for a change. Just … good. Carlotta closed her eyes and allowed the music on the stereo to wrap around her during the short ride to Midtown.
For a muggy Monday night, the sidewalks were busy with locals waiting out rush hour by indulging in happy hour, and visitors looking for something to do after touring the Margaret Mitchell House.
The restaurant was packed, but Peter maneuvered a place at the oversize bar where they enjoyed a leisurely glass of wine. Peter was a good conversationalist, thoughtful, yet entertaining, and startlingly handsome. She felt a rush of affection for him. Peter’s rejection ten years ago had devastated her, but surely he’d suffered more than she had with his unhappy marriage, then his wife’s betrayal and subsequent murder only a few months ago. Peter had even confessed to his wife’s murder to protect her reputation, but in the end, her dirty laundry had been aired.
Still, Carlotta thought as she smiled up at him, his actions had been noble and selfless.
After their glasses were refilled, the hostess appeared and announced their table was ready. Their “table” was more of an open-ended booth, which allowed them to sit close and look out into the crowd, European café style. Peter’s leg pressed against hers under the table while she studied the menu. Lots of variety—especially cheeses—and steep prices.
But the service was impeccable, and the menu was amazing.
When the waiter left after taking their order, Peter lifted his wineglass. “Here’s hoping this meal ends better than the last one we shared together.”
He was referring to the time she’d sneaked out for a smoke and had been attacked by a killer who was afraid that Carlotta was on to them. To her utter astonishment, Peter had saved her by showing up and whipping out a gun. With bullets and everything.
“Are you packing heat tonight?” she asked, clinking her glass to his.
“No. Are you packing cigarettes?”
She pouted. “I’m trying to quit.” But even now she was dying for one.
He twined her fingers in his. “I’m only asking because now I have even more of a vested interest in your living a long, long time.”
She pressed her lips together. Becoming part of someone else’s life made even everyday choices more complicated. “So what did your company think when you turned down the position in New York?”
“The partners had encouraged me to take it, but they were fine with my decision. Everyone at the office has given me a wide berth since Angela died. And I wasn’t really eager to go to Manhattan—I just needed a reason to stay.” He squeezed her fingers. “I’m looking forward to us spending more time together.”
She smiled. “Me, too.”
He gave a little laugh. “Sometimes I think we have so much to talk about, I don’t know where to start.”
“How are your parents?” she ventured. When they’d reunited a few months ago, he’d admitted his parents had pressured him to end their engagement back when news of her father’s scandal had broken.
“They’re fine. Dad plays golf every day at the club, and mother spends hours in her rose garden.”
“Sounds idyllic.” Perhaps her parents would have been doing something similar had their life not taken such a felonious trajectory.
“Has your father contacted you again?”
Carlotta shook her head. “I don’t suppose he’s been in touch with you?”
“No. There’s only been that one phone call.”
“What do you think about my father’s claim about there being paperwork that can prove his innocence?”
Peter took a drink from his glass. “I asked around to see what happened to Randolph’s files.”
“And?”
“And … I was told that everything was handed over to the D.A.’s office.”
She frowned. “But surely the firm kept copies?”
“One would think, but since Walt came around wondering why I was asking questions, I decided not to push it.”
Walt Tully—her father’s former partner at the firm and her and Wesley’s godfather. In name only, since he hadn’t bothered to check on them after their parents had disappeared.
“Well, I guess we’ll just wait to see what dear old Dad has in store,” Carlotta said. “He certainly likes to make dramatic exits and entrances.”
“So your first day back to work sounded pretty interesting.”
Grateful for the subject change, she nodded. “In all the commotion, the guy with the cake stole Eva McCoy’s charm bracelet.”
“That’s too bad. I’m sure it meant a lot to her.”
“Yeah, it did. She was really upset.”
“I noticed you’re wearing a charm bracelet.”
She stroked the links. “It’s one of Eva’s bracelets. All of them are supposed to be unique.”
“And foretell the future, I’ve heard. Let’s see what you got.”
She put her hand over the charms. “It’s silly, they don’t mean anything.”
He ran his thumb over her bare ring finger. “So you wear jewelry only if it doesn’t mean anything?”
Carlotta felt pressure building in her chest. “Peter, let’s not go there.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He smiled. “How’s Wesley?”
She brightened. “The D.A. reduced the charges. He got off with having to perform more community service, which is good for him. He’s so smart, you know. He really should be in college.”
“He needs to follow his own path,” Peter chided gently.
“I know. Still, I can’t help but worry about him. It’s not as if he had anyone else who cared.” She sighed. “This whole thing with Mom and Dad leaving has affected him more than it affected me.”
“Don’t downplay what they did to you,” Peter said, then grimaced. “What we all did to you, leaving like that.”
“It was tough on me,” she agreed. “But Wesley was young. He didn’t understand what was happening, or why. He blamed himself for them leaving, and he had so many problems adjusting. No one will ever know how much he suffered.” She smiled. “That’s why it’s so hard to be angry with him when he makes dumb decisions.”
“Is he still working for Cooper Craft?”
She shook her head. “Not since the body-snatching incident. But I can’t blame Coop. He gave Wesley a chance and Wesley’s stupidity put Coop’s reputation on the line.”
Peter’s eyebrows raised. “From what I heard, the doctor did himself in years ago.”
Carlotta frowned. “Have you been checking up on Coop?”
“A Google search isn’t exactly a background check.”
She angled her head. “And what exactly did you find out?”
“That he ascended to coroner at a young age, and was considered a wunderkind … until he started drinking. There was something about him declaring a woman dead when she was still alive?”
She nodded. “Jack told me about it. He said that Coop was driving home and came upon an accident. He’d had too much to drink and declared the woman dead when she was only unconscious.”
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