Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body. Stephanie Bond
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the city computer guy you interviewed with. You start your community service Monday?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Are you going to be able to work with Coop and do your community service, too?”
“Yeah. Coop is cutting back on body retrievals for a while. He said he was doing special projects for the morgue.”
“The morgue has special projects?”
Wesley shrugged and walked into the kitchen. “Want a sandwich?”
“No, thanks.” But she followed him. “I’m sure Coop was relieved to hear from you last night.”
“I guess.”
“Wesley, he was worried. He spent the entire night driving around looking for you.”
“He shouldn’t have. Besides, he did that for you, not for me.”
“That’s not true. He’s very fond of you.”
“Maybe, but he’s got it bad for you.”
A flush climbed her neck. “Coop is … nice.”
“Yeah, but he’s not loaded like Peter.”
Carlotta arched an eyebrow. “Is that an endorsement for Peter?”
He turned back to the refrigerator. “Are we out of milk?”
“Look in the back.” Carlotta wondered about his sudden attachment to Peter. Something illicit had definitely transpired. She could think of only one reason Wesley would call Peter—money. What had Wesley gotten her former fiancé in the middle of?
And how would she ever be able to repay the man?
“What are you doing after you meet with your probation officer?” she asked quietly.
Another shrug. “I’ll probably go hang out with Chance.”
She frowned. “I don’t like you spending time with that derelict.”
“He’s not so bad.”
“Wesley, he told me what the two of you did to your loan shark at the strip club.”
He paused in the door of the refrigerator for just a second. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Hannah and I kind of beat it out of him.”
“It was just a prank.”
“It could’ve gotten you killed! He said you did it to protect me?”
Her brother shrugged again.
“You don’t have to protect me, Wesley.”
He closed the refrigerator door, his eyes wide. “These men are dangerous, Carlotta. You don’t know.”
“So stop doing business with them. Get your life together. Think about college.”
He looked anguished for a few seconds, then angry. “I changed my mind about the sandwich. See you later.”
She knew better than to try to stop him. He was through talking. The front door banged, and she only hoped that whatever had happened the night he was gone had scared him straight.
She turned her attention back to the streaked window, attacking it with cleaner and a page of newspaper fished out of the mail basket. When she stood back, the sun shining through the spotless window was almost blinding. “You were right, you little shit,” she mumbled.
Guilt plucked at her for not telling him about the note their father had left and the development in Daytona Beach. She pulled the piece of paper out of her bra and read it again. Randolph had been within arm’s length of her. He could have pulled her aside, revealed his identity … given her a hug and a kiss … and an explanation. Why hadn’t he?
Because he didn’t trust her. He knew she’d gone along with the fake funeral to lure her parents out of hiding. Had he felt betrayed?
Anger whipped through her—he had betrayed them first. He and her mother, Valerie. Her father had left town to escape a trial and, presumably, jail time. But her mother, who always maintained a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other, didn’t even have an excuse. She had simply chosen her husband over her children. Carlotta had gotten past being angry for herself, but she would never forgive their mom for abandoning Wesley at the age of nine.
He’d slept in Carlotta’s bed for a year, clinging to her, crying for his mother every night until he was too exhausted to stay awake.
Carlotta’s eyes watered just remembering. No one but she knew how Wesley had suffered. He’d been a slight kid, with a genius IQ, and the creative capacity to concoct all kinds of stories about why their parents had left. Eventually he’d decided that their father was some kind of secret agent forced to go underground. She knew Wesley had outgrown the elaborate tales intellectually, but she wondered if he still entertained some of those childhood fantasies emotionally.
Over the years, she’d vacillated between hoping their parents were found and hoping they were lost forever. But she was starting to worry that Wesley would be at dangerous loose ends until there was some resolution to the jagged tear in their family.
Was their father close to turning himself in? Was he growing tired of life on the lam? Was that why he’d gotten sloppy and left fingerprints at a crime scene? She shook her head, trying to imagine her parents as a crime duo—her dad wielding a gun while her mom walked around holding open a designer bag for everyone to deposit their wallet in.
Frankly, the most ludicrous part of it all was the thought of Valerie entering a Holiday Inn. If her mother had any say, they would hold up only five-star establishments.
No, Carlotta couldn’t picture her parents as armed robbers. They wouldn’t have to resort to anything so overt. Randolph Wren could charm anyone out of his or her life savings, and Valerie was the kind of woman that men threw money at. Model-thin and beautiful, with an aura that mesmerized those around her, she was movie-star glamorous, and everyone had been happy to be in her entourage. Carlotta suspected that being on the run had been hard for her mother, who was accustomed to lavish attention. But it only demonstrated how emotionally dependent she was on Randolph … and on her vodka.
The phone rang, rousing Carlotta from her dark thoughts.
“Hello?”
“It’s Coop.”
She smiled into the phone. “Hi, there. You just missed Wesley.”
“That’s okay. It’s you I want.”
She gave a little laugh, enjoying the easy flirtation. “In that case, what can I do for you, sir?”
He groaned. “So many things. Seriously, though, did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Are you kidding? I’m so bored, I’m cleaning.”
“I figured you might be going stir-crazy being off work, so I have a proposition.”
She pursed her mouth. “I’m listening.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly romantic, but I have a VIP body pickup in Boca Raton, and I wondered if you’d like to ride along. We could leave tomorrow and have a couple of days of fun in the sun beforehand.”
“Boca Raton? Oh, my God, is it Kiki Deerling?”
“You know her?”
“Just from television. She’s hard to miss.”
“Yes. This trip is to pick up her body, but no one can know about it. I signed a confidentiality agreement, so mum’s the word.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
“So how about it? Want to hit the road for a few days? Separate rooms, of course … unless I can persuade you otherwise.”
She