2 Bodies for the Price of 1 (20 page)

She wore green contact lenses, one of her mother’s now-dated long dresses, a boxy jacket and shoes with a sensible heel. She was a very convincing sixty-something-year-old Southern woman, complete with conservative bag and jewelry.

A horn sounded in the driveway. “That’s Hannah,” Wesley said, jumping up. “I’ll see you there.”

“Wesley.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m supposed to be dead. Do you have to be so cheerful?”

“Oh. Sorry.” He poked himself in both eyes and blinked up a few tears. “How’s that?”

“Better.”

Jack stepped forward. “Just so you know, a camera will capture the face of everyone who enters the funeral home and we’ll have people in the back watching a monitor. Wesley, I’ll be in the chapel along with two plainclothes officers. When you get there, one of them will let you know where to sit or stand. If you see either of your parents, let someone know.”

Wesley frowned. “Look, man, I’m going along with this because Carlotta asked me to, but I’m not going to do your job for you, got it?”

“Wesley,” Carlotta said, giving him a pointed look, “let’s just get through this, okay?”

He pursed his mouth, then nodded and left.

Carlotta watched through a tiny slit in the curtains. Hannah had her head down on the steering wheel.

Carlotta’s stomach pinched. It wasn’t fair that she had to put her friend through this. Hannah would have been so happy to help plan a fake funeral.

When the van left the driveway, Carlotta turned to Jack and wondered if every time she looked at him, she would always think of their night together. She smoothed a hand down her costume. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I’m feeling a little pervy right now. You’re pretty good at changing your appearance.”

“Yeah, but I usually don’t go for the middle-aged look. It’s typically a wig, makeup, contact lenses, outfits, accents.”

“Accents?” He grinned. “So you could be a Swedish flight attendant if I asked?”

She hit him in the arm with her purse. “Like I said, let’s get this over with. Although I’m not sure how eager I am to get back to my life.”

“You’re convinced that your parents won’t be there, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“No matter what, this could be a traumatic experience for you. Are you sure you want to go?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” He hefted the bulky duffel bag in one hand. “I’ll back the car out of the garage, then come back for you.”

She watched him leave and felt a bittersweet pang that their time playing house was over. Or was it?

Would Jack still want to see her? And would it be on the sly or could they have a relationship out in the open? Then she frowned. Hanging the word
relationship
on their intense physical chemistry was a bit premature. What if they were only good between the sheets?

“Ready?” he asked from the doorway.

Carlotta looked up and nodded, then took his arm, remembering to bow her shoulders a tad and slow her step.

Jack seemed amused. “I think you missed your calling as an actress. You could go undercover.”

“That’s sort of what I do when I crash parties.”

“You’re a little scary.”

She smiled. “I’ve been told that before.”

Jack’s department-issue sedan sat in the driveway. He opened the door for her and she slid inside, a little surprised at its cleanliness, considering the one time she’d been in the man’s office it had been a slovenly mess.

After he slid into his own seat, she felt as if she was privy to some sort of subconscious checklist that he went through when he got inside. He checked the rearview mirror and the side mirrors, then started the ignition, turned on the police radio and patted the bulge at his waist. She found it all very arousing, and marveled at how sex changed the way you viewed a person.

But Jack was all business, calling the precinct to get messages and let them know where he’d be for the next couple of hours. Carlotta studied his profile and told herself she could not fall for this man. They had simply shared a night of great sex—to work out the mental kinks, as Hannah had said. She sank her teeth into her lower lip. Jack was a physical guy. He probably had multiple lovers and made booty calls when the urge struck him.

But she wanted to believe that this was different, maybe even a little special. The kind of sexual synergy they had wasn’t typical, at least not in her world. She was pretty sure that at one point last night, she had levitated off the bed.

Plus ten points.

Maybe they could overcome the obstacles between them after all. Maybe her father would reveal himself and be taken into custody and the case would be passed to an investigator in the D.A.’s office. Then she and Jack could fornicate until the cows came home without it being a conflict of interest. She could go to every awards dinner on his arm, beaming with pride as he accepted his distinguished-duty statues.

All you have to do is tell him about the phone calls,
her mind whispered.
You could help end this ten-year
ordeal and you and Jack would have a fair chance to explore whatever this is.

But was she willing to take that risk for something that might turn into nothing? Sacrifice her father and close herself off from other relationship possibilities for Jack Terry just because he could make her hit a high-C note?

“Awfully quiet over there,” Jack observed.

“Actually, I was thinking about your awards dinner and that I’d very much like to go—as your date.”

In the ensuing silence, Carlotta instantly wanted the words back.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I thought you were trying to ask me to go with you the other day.”

He shifted in his seat. “Uh…I don’t think that’s such a good idea after all.”

Beneath the pancake makeup, her face burned. “Okay, no problem.”

“Look, I asked you last night if you wanted to talk about what happened between us—”

“It was…fun.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “That’s not what I meant. And I don’t think I can talk to you about sex while you look like my grandmother.”

Tell him what he wants to hear.
“I don’t have any expectations, Jack. With all the tension between us, I think it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t my intention. Not that I regret it,” he added quickly. “But I’m still working your father’s case and what we did…well, it was a one-time thing.”

“Funny—I counted four and a half.”

“Carlotta, it can’t happen again.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Fine.”

“You said you didn’t want complications and neither do I.”

“Right,” she said, nodding. “I agree totally. Besides, we have nothing in common, really. Well, there’s that one thing with the scarf that we both liked—”

His phone rang and he glanced at the screen with irritation. “I have to get this.”

She clamped her mouth shut and told herself to stop talking and let Jack give her the polite brush-off like he was trying so hard to do. It was classic the-chase-is-over behavior. He’d sampled her goods and it wasn’t worth any more trouble.

No biggie. She’d known it was the likely outcome when she’d gone to him last night. It wasn’t like she was in love with him or anything.

Still, it smarted a little to be rejected just before your own funeral.

Minus ten points.

Carlotta sighed and turned her attention to the passing scenery. It was the first time she’d been out of the house in over two days and it was a bit of a shock to her system to see that in the wake of Carlotta Wren’s dramatic suicide, nothing in Atlanta seemed to have missed a step. The sun was high and hot; heat wafted off the roads in distorted waves. Traffic was intense and drivers were honk-happy. Pedestrians hurried along, defenseless against the temperatures and the tempers of commuters.

The world had marched on without her. Had anyone even noticed she was gone?

Her stomach was churning by the time they arrived for the service at Coop’s family’s funeral home, Motherwell’s. At the sight of the crowded parking lot, she felt a ridiculous surge of happiness.

“They’re all here for me?” she asked, surveying the knots of people who were headed toward the entrance.

“Looks like it,” Jack said, pulling up to the entrance. “I’ll drop you off and I’ll see you inside. I want to sit with you so you can help me ID your parents if necessary. But let’s not make it look too obvious.”

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “Detective, I’m a pro.”

He gave her a dry smile. “Sorry, I forgot I was talking to the woman who is crashing her own funeral.”

27

C
arlotta merged with the crowd to make her way into the funeral home. She looked up to find herself next to Peter, who was in conversation with his boss, her father’s former partner, Walt Tully. Next to Walt was his daughter, Tracey Tully (Mrs. Dr.) Lowenstein, who had gone to school with Carlotta and had reveled in her subsequent tumble from the social register.

Neither one of them saw through her careful disguise.

“I knew this was going to happen,” Tracey was saying to Peter. “Carlotta always
was
strung a little too tight, you know what I mean?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Peter said, and Carlotta felt a burst of affection for him taking up for her.

“You know that her mother Valerie had a nervous breakdown,” Walt offered in dramatic undertones.

“No, I don’t remember that,” Peter said.

“Well, back then there were code names for it, but we all knew what Randolph was going through with that woman. We let a lot of mistakes slide and covered for him when we shouldn’t have because we felt sorry for him. And look where it got us.”

Peter frowned. “The firm seems to have recovered, Walt. By the way, I saw Ray and Brody go in ahead of us.”

“They wanted to pay their respects, too,” Walt offered in defense of the other partner in the firm and the chief counsel.

But from the dubious look on Peter’s face, he was thinking the same thing she was—the partners had come here thinking that Randolph Wren might show. She glanced around to see a news crew in the side lot, extra security officers, D.A. Kelvin Lucas and his groupies….

With a start she realized that most of the people were probably here for her father instead of her.

“I still can’t believe Carlotta would take her life like that,” Tracey said, flipping her stiff blond bob. “It’s just so vulgar, stopping traffic and all. I don’t mean to be crass, but at least you don’t have to deal with her anymore, Peter.”

Carlotta leaned in closer.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

“Well, everyone knows that she threw herself at you after poor Angela’s death.” Tracey touched Peter’s arm in a way that Carlotta found very suspicious for a happily married woman. “I hope you don’t blame yourself, Peter.”

“Why would I?”

Carlotta frowned.
Yeah, why would he?

“Well, it’s obvious that you put her in her place and she had to face the fact that her life had hit rock bottom.”

Carlotta fumed—the bitch!

Peter removed Tracey’s hand. “For your information, Carlotta turned
me
down.” He glanced from Tracey to Walt. “It was nice of you both to come and pay your respects. If you’ll excuse me.”

Carlotta pretended to lurch sideways and stomped down on Tracey’s foot, clad in a Dolce and Gabbana patent leather sandal.

“Ouch!” Tracey yelped and Carlotta felt bad—for the sandal.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in her best older-lady voice. “I’m a little unsteady on my feet today.”

“Let me help you, ma’am,” Peter said, offering his arm. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t suspect she was anyone other than who she appeared to be.

She smiled up at him and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Aren’t you just the nicest young man.”

And he was, she realized suddenly, taking in his kind blue eyes. She’d harbored so much resentment toward Peter over the years. It was easier to think that he’d turned into an unlikable person because it made her miss him less. And in the back of her mind, she’d assumed he was nice to
her
only because he thought it would help win her over, but had suspected that he might not be so generous toward other people. Yet she’d just observed that that wasn’t true.

It warmed her heart.

Not to mention made her feel a little guilty for jumping the bones of Jack Terry for a meaningless night of sex when Peter would have been more than obliging….

And would have offered her a future.

“May I help you to a chair?” Peter asked as he ushered her over the threshold of the entryway.

“Thank you.”

In the foyer, Cooper stood with his uncle greeting guests as they arrived and passing out the In Memoriam cards. She made eye contact with him, expecting to get the requisite polite nod, but instead, Coop latched his gaze on her and his mouth curled up in the merest smile. Either Wesley had let him know about her costume or he’d seen right through it.

She suspected the latter.

Carlotta allowed Peter to lead her inside the chapel. Low hymnal music reached her ears. Her gaze went to the front of the room where a deep red sample casket sat resplendent on a white pedestal, covered in white roses. A shudder passed over her body; this was, admittedly, pretty creepy. Flanking the casket were dozens of baskets and wreaths of flowers—all for her. Sudden tears gathered in her eyes.

Peter guided her through a throng of people to a chair. “There you are, ma’am. It looks like a full house, so I’ll probably stand.”

“Thank you,” she said, patting his hand and holding on a second longer than necessary.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

She smiled as she watched him walk away, then set her purse in the vacant aisle-seat next to her and looked at the in memoriam card curled in her hand. Centered under a photo of her that Wesley had taken on some unremembered occasion were the words
Carlotta A. Wren, Beloved Sister and Friend.
Another shiver overtook her, as if someone were walking on her grave. Maybe this whole fake-funeral thing was tempting fate a little too much.

She shoved the eerie card into her purse and began canvassing the room for anyone who might resemble Randolph or Valerie Wren.