7 Brides for 7 Bodies (27 page)

“It’s hard to explain,” Hannah said, suddenly flustered. “Do you want to grab a drink?”

“I’m sorry—I have to be somewhere.”

“Oh, okay. Need a ride?”

“No, I drove the rental. But thanks.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Carlotta nursed a pang of remorse as she watched her friend stride away. It seemed as if Hannah had been on the verge of confiding something...or maybe not. Maybe there was no explanation for her behavior beyond the fact that Hannah felt different from the rest of her family and dressing Goth-style gave her an outlet for her quirky personality.

Still, Carlotta felt guilty as she climbed into her car because if Hannah knew where she was going, no way could she shake her.

The Fulton County morgue looked more like an elementary school than a repository for dead bodies. Most people who drove by it didn’t even know how close they’d come to death.

She parked in the visitor’s lot and entered through the front door, remembering the first time she’d come to this place, under duress. She’d accompanied her friend Jolie Goodman to identify the body of her boyfriend, Gary Hagan. It had been as horrific as Carlotta had imagined it would be, offending every girly sensibility she had. Which made it all the more incredulous that she’d become a body mover.

The desk clerk greeted her by name. “Don’t see you coming in the front door much.”

“True enough. Is Coop around?”

The woman smiled. “For you? I’m sure he is. Let me see what floor he’s on.” She picked up the phone and pressed a couple of buttons, talked briefly into the mouthpiece, then set it down. “Second floor lab. He’s expecting you.”

Carlotta thanked her and took the stairs, chiding herself for being nervous about seeing Coop. Sure they hadn’t spent much time together lately—Coop had been away from the morgue and from body-moving for a while during The Charmed Killer murders—but he’d been a good friend to her and to Wes, and she missed seeing him. More than that, though, she didn’t like the wall he’d put up between them.

She pushed open the door to the laboratory and saw Coop standing next to a sink, washing his hands. He looked just as much at ease in a white lab coat as he had in the elegant jacket at the art gallery—tall and lean and handsome.

He smiled. “This is a nice surprise.” He shrugged out of the lab coat and hung it on a peg.

“Are you on your way out?”

“I have a few minutes. To what do I owe the honor?”

She handed him a gift bag. “Happy birthday.”

He seemed genuinely pleased. “You shouldn’t have. Can I open it?”

“Sure.”

He reached inside and pulled out a blue folded item about the size of an umbrella.

“It’s a kite,” she supplied.

“And a nice one, I see. Five foot wing span, counterweighted.” He grinned. “I can’t wait to take it to Piedmont Park. Thank you.”

He stepped forward to hug her, and his embrace was like a moor in a storm. Coop was warm and solid and comforting because he didn’t expect anything from her. The contact lingered longer than it should have, but it seemed as if both of them had left things unsaid, and wanted to make the most of this opportunity. Coop broke their contact first.

He stepped back. “Sorry—I shouldn’t have done that. Did I hurt your shoulder?”

“No.” She smoothed her hand over the area. “It’s healing well.”

“Good,” he said, but his expression was still guilt-ridden. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what Abrams put you through.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Coop. Besides, he put you through a lot, too. He’s an evil man, and he’ll be locked up for the rest of his life. I sat down with the D.A. yesterday to give my statement.”

“Since Abrams signed a confession, hopefully everyone will be spared a trial.”

“That’s what Jack said.”

“Speaking of, I just talked to Jack.”

“Oh?”

Coop walked over to a printer and removed a report of some kind. “I have a present for you, too. That wad of gum you gave me from the young man who collapsed at the Expo tested positive for
anticoagulant
 
rodenticide.
”

She frowned. “What’s that?”

“Rat poison.”

Her pulse bumped higher. “You’re saying Jeremy Atwater was murdered?”

“I’m saying he was poisoned. Rat poison is common, so it pops up in a lot of strange places, like in people’s homes and schools and restaurants and public toilets.” He spread his hands. “For all we know, Jeremy dropped his gum in it and put the gum back in his mouth.”

“
Ew
.”

“But it’s suspicious, so I called Jack, to tell him the case needs to be reopened.”

“And what was his reaction?”

Coop gave a little laugh. “He was pretty upset that you and I, as he put it, had gone behind his back. But he also admitted you were suspicious from the beginning, and he’d written it off.”

“So you’re going to take another look at Jeremy’s body?”

“Yes.”

“And Greg Pena’s?”

Coop frowned. “What does he have to do with it?”

“What if he was poisoned, too? He was having an affair with the neighbor, by the way, the lady who found his body.”

“The dog sitter?”

“Right. I found one of her fingernails in his bed.” She rummaged in her purse and came up with a tiny plastic bag that held the wayward fingernail.

Coop pursed his mouth and reached for the bag. “And when was this little fact-finding mission?”

Carlotta lifted her chin. “Sunday evening. Hannah’s interested in renting the apartment, so she and I went back to look around.”

“Uh-huh. I take it Jack doesn’t know about this?”

“Can it be our secret until you take another look at Greg Pena’s body?”

“Unfortunately not...because I identified another possible victim who died prior to Jeremy Atwater.”

“You did?”

He nodded, then reached for a clipboard and thumbed back a few pages. “Simon Markhall, African-American male age twenty-eight died suddenly in his home.” He pointed to a wall calendar and counted back. “Six days before Jeremy Atwater.”

“Was he poisoned, too?”

“Looks that way. The guy was overweight and had a big last meal, so I’m still going through the stomach contents.”

She made a face. “What made you suspicious?”

“Unexplained death in the young always bothers me, but there was something else on his profile that jumped out at me.”

“What was that?”

“He was engaged to be married.”

Carlotta’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

“But wait, there’s more,” he said in the voice of an infomercial spokesman. “Remember our shooting victims in front of the Clermont?”

“Of course.”

“We identified them as Grant Monk, and Timothy Chin, and you were right—one of the men, Grant Monk, was about to be married.”

“But they were shot, not poisoned.”

“Yes, they were shot, but maybe as a backup. Both men had vomited.”

“I remember the smell.”

“So I tested the throw-up.”

“And?”

“Grant Monk had been poisoned. Throwing up probably saved his life until he was shot.”

“But not the other victim?”

“Right, no poison. But I found defensive wounds on his hands, so he might have been shot simply because he put up a fight.”

She gasped. “So someone really is targeting grooms?”

“I didn’t say that. But it’s a strange coincidence shared by five victims that we know of that I’m willing to pursue further. So I’ll be reexamining Greg Pena’s body, too.”

“And Jack knows all of this?”

He nodded. “He mumbled something about “Groom Slayer” and now he’d never hear the end of it?”

The smile she swallowed went down like a happy little bubble. “Can you add another name to the list?”

He looked surprised. “Sure.”

“Jeffrey Oxblood. He died Sunday, collapsed while he was running.”

“That name sounds familiar. The body might be here. Another groom?”

“About to be.”

“Wow. Okay, I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you, Coop.” Impulsively, she reached up to kiss him on the mouth. He seemed surprised, but kissed her back.

It was a good kiss.

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, they parted to see Rainie Stephens standing there, giving them both an amused look.

“Rainie, hi,” Coop said. “Carlotta was just...”

“Wishing Coop happy birthday,” Carlotta supplied.

“Right,” Coop said, nodding.

Rainie looked dubious, but kept smiling. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Carlotta, but I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick report. “Obituaries of all the single men in the metro area who died in the past thirty days.”

Coop gave Carlotta an exasperated look, then turned back to Rainie. “I’ll take that.”

Rainie didn’t ask questions, just handed him the report. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” He walked to the coat rack, removed the fedora Carlotta had helped Rainie pick out and set it on his head. He wore it well. “Carlotta, we’re going out to get a bite to eat, want to join us?”

“Yes, join us,” Rainie added.

Carlotta could tell the pretty redhead didn’t mind if she tagged along, but Carlotta she didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to impede anything that might be developing between the couple. “Thanks, but I need to get home.”

Her phone rang. Carlotta retrieved it to see Sammy Sanders was calling. “I need to get this. Do you mind if I stay and take it in here?”

“Close the door when you leave,” Coop said.

She gave them a little wave, and connected the call. “Hi, Sammy.”

“Hi, Carlotta. I have some information for you on the house next door, but I don’t know that it’s going to be helpful.”

She’d forgotten she’d asked Sammy for info on the owner. After talking to the photographer renting the house, her suspicions now seemed silly. But she felt obligated to feign interest since Sammy had gone to the trouble. “What did you find out?”

“The deed is recorded to a business called Property Group Holdings. The mailing address is Virginia, but that’s where the trail goes cold. I can’t locate a phone number or email address, and it’s not a registered corporation. But if you’re interested in making an offer, I can send a letter of inquiry to the address of record.”

“That’s okay, Sammy. Thanks anyway.”

“If you’re interested in looking at other properties, I’d be happy to show you some nice homes. Interest rates are terrific right now.”

Not for people with her credit rating. “I’ll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, where shall I send the Neiman’s coupon I mentioned?”

“You can send it to my house...I think you know the address.”

Carlotta smirked—a reminder of the time she’d crashed a pajama party at Sammy’s home which had ended with Carlotta being arrested for murder. “Um...yes, I remember.”

“Good. Sorry about the house next door, but if it’s any consolation, it’s probably not worth your trouble anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“In my experience, those generic property holding companies in Virginia are almost always government related and a real hassle to deal with. Bye, now.”

“Bye, Sammy.” Carlotta ended the call, her mind racing. Government related?

Minus ten points.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“HOW’S IT GOING at your community service job?” E. Jones asked.

Wes lifted his hand to his mouth and chewed on a straggly piece of skin. It was torture. For the past two days he’d had to endure Meg’s sunny optimism, snug jeans, and spontaneous declarations of affection. And now that she’d confessed her feelings for him, she didn’t care who knew. Ravi and Jeff sent daggers of loathing at him when Meg wasn’t looking.

He knew how they felt—he loathed himself, too. After receiving a full-body kiss goodbye from Meg Monday, he’d gone to Liz’s and cooked dinner for the two of them. He’d tried to put Meg out of his mind, but the dreamy look on Liz’s face when she talked about the baby made his stomach hurt and the goodbye kiss had been the place he’d escaped to in his mind. Yesterday he’d made vague excuses not to spend the evening with Meg, but in a weak moment today, he’d agreed to come by her dorm later, with the implied understanding he’d sneak into her room and they’d make out. Just the thought of it made his balls tingle.

He was in such deep shit.

“It’s going great,” he said.

“Good,” E. said, although she was staring at his hands.

He cracked his knuckles casually, then tucked his hands under his legs so he wouldn’t be tempted to bite his nails.

“Have you talked to your father?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about.”

Including the fact that he’d gotten his father’s mistress pregnant. He pulled his hand out from under his leg and found another jagged piece of nail to bite off.

“Have you been staying out of trouble? No drugs, no gambling?”

“Right. You can take my blood if you want.”

She studied him for a few seconds, then shook her head. “Not today. That’s all.”

He jumped to his feet and headed for the door.

“Wesley?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“Your father will be proud of you for taking responsibility for your actions.”

Wes swallowed hard and walked out the door. He had so many problems, his problems had problems.

And when he walked out of the building and unlocked his bike, one of his problems pulled up next to him in a black Town Car.

“Hey, Little Man.”

He bit back a groan. “I thought we weren’t going to collect today.”

“Change of plans,” Mouse said, then popped the trunk. “Get in. I got a surprise for you.”

Wes felt the sweat pop out of his pores as he walked his bike to the back of the car. Did Mouse know he was working undercover for the D.A.? Was he going to work him over, beat a confession out of him? Or worse?

“And grab the driver,” Mouse added.