7 Brides for 7 Bodies (18 page)

“That’s simple enough,” Sammy said. “I need the street address.”

Carlotta gave it to her.

“Are you interested in buying the house?”

“Maybe,” Carlotta hedged, knowing Sammy would be motivated to get more information if she sniffed a potential sale.

“Okay. Weekends are my busiest time. Can I get back to you early in the week?”

“Sure. Thanks, Sammy.”

Carlotta ended the call and started to minimize the search engine screen, then pursed her mouth.

Just because Jack wouldn’t listen to her theory on the suspicious deaths didn’t mean she couldn’t ask a few questions on her own. While the booth was still quiet, she performed searches for Jeremy Atwater and Greg Pena, just to see if there was any obvious overlap in their lives.

Thank heaven for social media.

There were personal pages, memorial postings, and recycled and forwarded entries filled with shock and sadness for the men, who were separated in age by several years. There were condolences for the family and the respective fiancées—Jenna and Iris—each of whom had posted an endless array of pictures. Funds had been set up for charitable donations to various causes in lieu of flowers. Carlotta didn’t find a mention of the men’s names in connection with each other, and a cursory review didn’t reveal shared friends, hobbies, places of employment, or proximity of address.

Of course, even if they weren’t related, it didn’t mean that one or both of the men hadn’t been murdered.

Then she sighed and rubbed her temples. The awfulness of The Charmed Killer case had left her paranoid. Most likely, Jeremy Atwater had died from some drug and/or alcohol reaction. And Greg Pena had slipped and cracked his head on the tub.

End of stories.

“What did I miss?” Patricia asked, striding into the booth.

“Nothing,” Carlotta assured her, zapping the screens she’d been studying. She gave herself a mental shake to get back to the matter at hand—her job. The one that kept a roof over her head and clothes on her back. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice crowd today. We should get some good commissions.”

“Uh-huh,” Patricia said, but she seemed distracted.

“Everything okay?”

She gave Carlotta a watery smile. “Leo and his ex-wife Kaitlin decided to meet here today so she can hand off their daughter Casey to Leo, and Casey can meet me.”

“This will be the first time you’ve met the ex and the daughter?”

Patricia nodded. “Kaitlin thinks it would be best if Casey meets me in a neutral environment. And Leo thinks Casey will be more comfortable with me if she sees me and Kaitlin together.”

“That sounds very civil.”

Patricia worried her lower lip. “It does, but kids don’t usually like me very much.”

Carlotta flitted her gaze over the woman’s prim suit and hairstyle, and cast about for something to ease her mind. “You’re good with people. You’ll know the right thing to say.”

Patricia brightened. “You think so?”

Carlotta nodded and felt guilty again for all the times she’d had unkind thoughts about Patricia Alexander. Peter hadn’t yet gotten her the list of clients her father had allegedly bilked. She wondered how many other familiar names would be on it. “If it makes you feel better, kids don’t seem to like me very much, either.”

“It’s probably your voice,” Patricia offered.

Carlotta blinked. “My voice?”

“The pitch is annoying...like a dog whistle.” She shrugged. “Maybe it hurts little kids’ ears.” Patricia turned to straighten items in the display.

Carlotta fumed, then stuck out her tongue at Patricia’s back. So much for trying to be nice.

She turned and flinched when she realized a young woman had witnessed her childish behavior.

Minus ten points.

“You’re Carlotta, aren’t you?”

Great—and the woman knew her. She manufactured a smile as her mind raced to identify the redhead. “That’s right.”

“I’m Eldora Jones. I meet with Wesley every week.”

When recognition dawned, Carlotta wanted to disappear—Wes’s probation officer...who now probably believed the entire Wren family had issues.

Which was true, but still.

“Yes, I remember,” Carlotta rushed to say. “So good to see you again. What brings you to the Wedding Expo?”

Eldora hesitated, then held up her left hand. “I’m engaged.”

Carlotta smiled. “Congratulations.”

The woman smiled back, but the enthusiasm didn’t quite reach her green eyes. “Thank you.”

“I met your boyfriend that night at the Fox Theater...but I’m sorry, I don’t remember his name.”

“Leonard,” she supplied.

“Right. I remember you made an attractive couple.”

“Thank you,” the woman murmured, barely audible.

Eldora, it seemed, was somewhat less than thrilled to be wearing an engagement ring. Carlotta could relate to that sentiment. Just this morning Peter had texted to remind her she’d promised to take this time to consider wearing his ring. She had deflected his comment by asking if there were any developments re: Randolph at Mashburn & Tully. He’d replied no, but it had taken him a while. And she hated that the hesitation made her suspicious.

“Can I help you with something?” Carlotta asked Eldora.

“Maybe later. Today, I’m just...taking it all in. This is all new to me, and the show is a little...”

“Overwhelming?”

The woman nodded, looking as if she’d made a big mistake—although whether she was thinking about the engagement, or her decision to come to the show, Carlotta didn’t know.

“It was good to see you,” Eldora said, and began to turn away.

“Eldora,” Carlotta said before the woman could leave. “I’m worried about Wes, and he doesn’t talk much. I wouldn’t ask you to betray a confidence, but how do you think he’s doing?”

Eldora pressed her lips together, clearly torn between her duties and a sister’s concern. “Wesley has been through a lot lately, but I think he’s turned a corner.”

Carlotta released a pent-up sigh. “Are you aware our father has returned?”

“Yes, Wes told me. I’m sure this is a stressful time for you both, but he seems very optimistic.”

“Good. I appreciate all you’ve done for Wes.”

“Don’t thank me—Wesley is in control of his own destiny.”

The woman gave a little wave and continued on to the next booth. Carlotta recalled the Wesley in the “other place” she had visited in her dream—there he’d been a spoiled, petulant jackass. But by the time she’d left, he was on the right path.

A message from the universe that no matter what, Wes would eventually find his way?

It was a cheerful thought to nurse as the day wore on and the Saturday crowd reached a fever pitch. The
Your Perfect Man
display was a bona fide hit. Foot traffic was so heavy, she and Patricia barely had time for bathroom breaks. Carlotta had planned to have lunch with Hannah, but wound up texting her to cancel. Hannah responded she, too, was swamped and would stop by when the exhibits closed.

In the early afternoon Patricia’s fiancé Leo Tennyson and an attractive brunette arrived at the booth with a little strawberry-blond girl. Leo was handsome in a raw-boned kind of way, tall and lean and sporting the telltale “lump bump” of snuff that he and many baseball players were known for.

Carlotta covered for Patricia and gave her encouraging smiles when it appeared the little girl was not warming up to the encounter. Kaitlin Tennyson seemed to be doing her best to cajole the little girl forward, but when Patricia knelt to talk to the girl, she retreated to her mother, crying, and causing such a scene that Leo picked her up and carried her away, with a promise to call Patricia later.

The incident left Patricia shaken. “She acted as if she was scared of me.”

Carlotta felt compelled to cheer her up. “It’ll be okay. Casey is young, and this is a big, noisy crowd. She was probably just feeling bombarded. It’ll be better next time, you’ll see.”

“Thanks,” Patricia said. “You’re right. You’re always right.”

The compliment caught her off-guard, but before she could reply, Patricia had retreated for a tissue, then resumed selling like a good little financially strapped sales clerk.

A tiny ripple of pride swelled in Carlotta’s chest. She wasn’t always right...but she was resilient. And after years of agonizing turmoil, things were finally looking up.

The feds couldn’t keep them from their father forever. It was just a matter of time now before they were reunited. And this was a good time for Randolph to reappear: She was relatively happy working for Neiman Marcus...she had good people in her life...she was learning new skills...she wasn’t being stalked by a serial killer...and Wes seemed to be on a good path, finally.

Things were looking up for the Wrens.

Hope bubbled in her chest and for the first time in days, she felt as if everything was going to be okay—and maybe sooner rather than later.

She was still smiling when she closed down the booth and Hannah arrived. Her friend’s minted designer exterior still triggered a double-take—the silky new Hannah was going to take some getting used to.

“Hiya,” Hannah offered. She looked pale...and this time Carlotta couldn’t blame the white Goth makeup. “I need to talk to you.”

Carlotta gave a little laugh. “Did you lose your black American Express card?”

Hannah scowled. “No. It’s about Wes.”

Carlotta’s pulse spiked. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Hannah assured her. “But there’s something I think you should know.”

“What?”

Hannah leaned in. “His girlfriend is pregnant.”

Carlotta’s stomach dropped. “How do you know?”

“He told Chance and swore him to secrecy, but Chance let it slip while we were having strap-on sex—”

“Hannah!”

“Anyway, Chance swore
me
to secrecy, but I thought you’d want to know.” Hannah winced. “Did I do the right thing by telling you?”

Carlotta nodded, her mind reeling with the potential problems ahead. Her chest welled with anguish. “Wes isn’t prepared for this, but at least the mother seems mature.”

Hannah gave a little laugh. “I’ll say—Liz is pushing forty, isn’t she?”

Carlotta squinted. “What does Liz have to do with Meg being pregnant?”

“Who’s Meg?”

Carlotta touched her forehead. “Wes’s girlfriend.”

Hannah’s mouth formed an “Oh” but no sound came out. Then she clamped her mouth shut as if she were waiting for Carlotta to figure out the riddle.

The realization hit Carlotta like a kick to the stomach. “Liz Fischer...is pregnant...with Wes’s
baby
?”

Hannah took a step back, then nodded.

She couldn’t talk...couldn’t think. In her mind, Wesley’s life unfurled in front of her—tied to a woman with whom he had nothing in common, obligated to a child he wasn’t prepared to father.

Father
...oh, Jesus, when they saw Randolph, what would he think of this bit of news?

Or had Liz already told him in one of their meetings?

“Carlotta?” Hannah shook her. “Talk to me.”

“I...can’t.” She couldn’t breathe either. She leaned over and gripped her knees, gulping air.

“Easy there,” Hannah soothed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No...it’s...not.”

“Yes, it is. This is Wesley’s life, not yours.”

She heard the words, knew it was true...so why did it feel as if her life had just been snatched away? This must be how a parent felt when their child did something irrevocable.

“It could be worse,” Hannah offered.

“How?” Carlotta managed to get out.

“Um...
you
could be pregnant?”

She had a point. Carlotta slowly straightened, then groaned. “I thought he was getting his act together. I thought things were...improving.”

“They are,” Hannah said. “Your dad is back—how amazing is that?”

“Amazingly frustrating.”

“For now...but not forever.”

Carlotta nodded, then took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“You can’t tell Wesley you know. You need to let him tell you when he’s ready.”

She nodded again, although she still felt sick to her stomach. It would take her a while to absorb this new development.

“Let’s go out and do something,” Hannah urged. “If I have to wear this getup, I might as well get some use out of it.”

Hannah’s “getup” was a navy belted Akris shirtdress with leather lapels and a price tag that would make even Carlotta cough. Ditto for the Chloe slingback wedges.

“I’m starting to get used to this posh side of you,” Carlotta said.

“Don’t. This gig was something I got roped into by my sisters. As soon as it’s over, I’m back to the Hannah you know and fucking love.”

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your family?”

Hannah looked panicked. “Absolutely not. Promise me you won’t go near them.”

“Okay, relax.”

Hannah seemed flustered. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Something anti-wedding, please dear God.”

Carlotta snapped her fingers and dug in her purse until she came up with the brochure for the “After the Dress” art exhibit. “Anti-wedding and free booze.”

“Sounds good and bitter to me. Let’s go check it out.”

Chapter Eighteen

“IT’S A WEDDING GOWN GRAVEYARD,” Hannah whispered.

Carlotta nodded soberly. In the low light of the warehouse-turned-art-gallery in the industrial Atlanta west side, the row upon row of pale wedding gowns on headless mannequins did have the appearance of tombstones.

The “After the Dress” exhibit featured two hundred gowns from the 1950s and every decade since. Some of the dresses had been pristinely preserved, some were tinged with age and dark spots, some were drooping and dry-rotted. Next to each dress was a small white podium, the kind that might hold a guest book at a wedding, but instead, held a mini computer tablet with a “play” button on the touchscreen.