4 Bodies and a Funeral. Stephanie Bond
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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