Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (15 page)

purse and headed to the food court on the lower level

where she settled in with a Diet Coke and a Snickers bar,

poring over the sheets she’d printed out. Since she didn’t

post on Internet bul etin boards, she had trouble fol owing

the discussions at first, but finally sorted through the

“threads” to pick up the gist of what was going on.

SWHITT had made only tentative postings at first, most of

them unpunctuated monosyl abic words of

encouragement and praise for items other women had

posted—pictures of a beloved pet, a recipe, a new

hairstyle. Gradually her postings had become more

frequent and friendly as she had obviously grown more

comfortable with other community members.

Her most significant posting was dated six days earlier and

surrounded a question that someone had posted asking if

and how the charm bracelet had changed lives. SWHITT

had posted that she was using her bracelet to overcome

her fear of trying new things.

One of the charms on my bracelet is of two hands

intertwined. I’m tired of living al alone in my house,

sleeping alone. I’m going to join one of those matchmaking

services—can anyone suggest a good one?

A flurry of suggestions fol owed, and SWHITT responding

with polite thanks, but not indicating which, if any, of the

services she might try. Stil , Carlotta’s heart pounded with

excitement—it was something.

“Carlotta?”

She looked up at the tall, dark-haired man approaching her

table. He was broad-shouldered, handsome, and wel -

dressed. Her mind raced to remember where she knew

him from. That perfect smile—

“Quinten Gallagher,” he supplied at her hesitation. “I’m

the receptionist at Mashburn & Tul y. You visited a few

weeks ago to meet Peter Ashford.”

“Of course. I’m sorry—my mind was a mil ion miles away.

It’s good to see you again.”

He gestured. “I’m sorry, I interrupted your reading.”

“I was finished,” she said, refolding the pages and putting

them in her purse. “Would you like to join me?”

“I only have a few minutes,” he said, holding up a takeout

bag. “I really just wanted to say hel o.”

“How are things at Mashburn & Tul y?”

“Unbelievably dul ,” he said cheerful y. “When are you

coming back?”

She angled her head. “Wel , if you hadn’t noticed, I’m not

exactly welcome around there.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Mr. Ashford seemed pretty happy to

see you.”

“Peter is a good friend.”

His eyebrows climbed. “He turned down the job in New

York because you’re such good friends?”

“You know about the job offer?”

“I know he was getting a lot of pressure from the partners

to take it, but he seems really happy to be staying.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured.

“Me, too. Mr. Ashford has always been good to me. So, do

you work nearby?”

“I work at Neiman’s.”

“My favorite place,” he quipped. “I’l look for you the next

time I’m in there, although considering how broke I am

these days, that could be a while.”

She laughed.

“Meanwhile, anytime you want to come by M&T, don’t let

Walt Tul y and Brody Jones keep you away.”

She cleared her throat. “My father used to be a partner at

the firm.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve seen his name on documents and

plaques around the office. I understand he had quite a

celebrity investment roster.”

She nodded. “He would sometimes let me bring my

autograph book to the office.” Then she smiled sheepishly.

“I was a teenager then. The office has changed a lot since

he…left. How long have you worked there?”

“About a year. I decided to go back to school to finish a

law degree. M&T pays pretty wel and they let me study

when the desk is slow. I can’t complain.”

“Ah, law school. So that’s why you’re broke.”

He winced and nodded. “Emory University isn’t cheap.”

“It’l be worth it,” she said, experiencing an unexpected

pang for the col ege degree she didn’t have. Coop had

once suggested that she could go back to school, but it had

never seemed possible. Or desirable. But maybe

someday…

“I’d better run,” he said, nodding toward the exit. “Nice to

see you again.”

“You, too.”

She waved, then disposed of her trash and headed back to

the store. She patted her bag, excited about finding

something that might prove helpful in the Shawna Whitt

case. After her shift ended, she’d take the information to

Jack. The autopsy results should be in soon. If the woman

was murdered, the chat information might lead to her

kil er.

She’d learned that the smallest detail could lead to

something big.

People packed the store in the afternoon, presumably

seeking shelter from the suffocating heat in the air-

conditioned mall. And at this time of year, everyone

seemed to have a reason to shop—summer events,

vacation travel, even early school shopping, especial y for

the people who sent their kids to boarding schools abroad.

After several of her regular clients commented on her arm

cast and her absence, Carlotta realized how many people

she knew and how much she’d missed her job. Not

everyone was cut out for retail, but she liked the activity,

the interaction…and the clothes.

Because when it came to clothes, nobody beat Neiman’s.

She stopped to finger an exquisite Zac Posen jade-colored

silk blouse with bishop sleeves. Her mouth literal y

watered from wanting it, but even with her employee

discount, she couldn’t afford the twelve-hundred-dol ar

price tag. The sensuous gray houndstooth wide-leg pants

displayed with the blouse were a cool thousand. But the

fabrics, the fit and the finishing details were superb.

Her mother had taught her an appreciation for fine

workmanship in clothes, that details like covered seams,

quality linings and bias-cut fabrics made for a beautiful fit

and a long-lasting garment.

“Remember that people who look good in this world get

noticed and command respect,” Valerie had told her over

and over.

She often wondered how her mother had fared over the

years without a fat bank account and no-limit credit cards

to buy all the things she needed to satisfy her expensive

taste in clothing and jewelry.

How ironic that Carlotta’s knowledge of luxury goods had

been her salvation when her parents had abandoned her

and Wesley. Knowing the difference between satin acetate

and silk charmeuse, between Jordache and J Brand jeans,

had served her wel . Despite having only a high school

education, she’d been able to make a decent living in high-

end retail.

The only problem was that it put her in direct contact with

the things she couldn’t afford. The buttery soft silk blouse

sighed under her touch. Not long ago she would’ve bought

it, used her tricks of the trade to wear it once to some

spectacular event that she and Hannah would crash

together, then return it, with tags intact and no one the

wiser.

But she’d been scared straight, so to speak, after crashing

an upscale pajama party only to find herself at the bottom

of a pool wearing several thousand dol ars’ worth of silk

loungewear she’d “borrowed,” using her store credit card.

Carlotta shook her head in self-recrimination. The reason

she couldn’t be too upset with Wesley over his gambling

debts to two loan sharks was because she hadn’t been the

best role model where money was concerned. She and

Wesley had been raised with everything they’d wanted—

the best of the best. Old habits had died hard and both

had learned the painful lesson that a few minutes of

pleasure wasn’t worth the months or years it would take

to pay it off.

She looked up and saw a woman in her section browsing.

Carlotta automatically smiled and offered assistance.

When the redhead looked up, however, she seemed

familiar.

“Hi, you’re Carlotta Wren, right?”

“And you are?”

“Rainie Stephens, Atlanta Journal-Constitution.”

Carlotta’s guard went up. “Yes, I remember you from

yesterday’s event.”

“Same here,” the woman said, then nodded to Carlotta’s

cast. “Did you injure your arm?”

“No. This was a previous injury.”

“From the fall over the balcony at the Fox Theatre?”

Carlotta’s cheeks warmed. “Oh. I guess you would know

about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. And you should know that if not for me, a picture of

you covered in cake and icing would’ve been in the paper

this morning.”

Carlotta winced. “Thank you.”

The woman smiled. She was pretty, with bright, intel igent

eyes. “I was hoping you’d be grateful enough to answer a

few questions.”

“About what?”

“I saw you talking to Eva, working next to her. Did she

share any information with you?”

Carlotta frowned. “Like?”

“Like that she was being stalked?”

“No, nothing like that. She just said that big events made

her uncomfortable.”

“She didn’t say why?”

“No. I sensed that she’s a private person.”

Rainie smiled and nodded. “Okay, fair enough. I

understand that you sometimes work as a body hauler for

the morgue?”

Carlotta looked all around to make sure none of her

coworkers were within earshot. “Occasionally.”

“Last night?”

Carlotta swallowed. “Yes.”

“What can you tel me about the woman’s body

discovered with a charm in her mouth?”

“How do you know—” Carlotta caught herself. “I mean, I

can’t tel you anything about anything. You should talk to

the police.”

Rainie made a face. “They’re not being very

communicative.”

“Perhaps with good reason.”

“Perhaps,” the woman conceded. “But if there’s some kind

of wacko kil er on the loose, don’t you think the people of

Atlanta deserve to know about it?”

“Wacko kil er on the loose?” Carlotta gave a little laugh. “I

think you’re exaggerating. If there was cause for alarm, I’m

sure the police would issue a statement.”

Rainie made a dubious noise and pul ed a business card

out of her bag. “Here’s my card. Just hang on to it. If

you’re privy to something that you think I should know

about, call me. My sources are protected.”

“I don’t think—”

“Just in case,” Rainie said, folding the card into her hand.

“As a favor to me for squashing the cake-face photo?”

Carlotta nodded uncomfortably and slid the card into her

pocket. A customer walked up with a question and

Carlotta gestured a goodbye to the reporter to attend to

the sale. But as she assisted the customer in finding an

outfit for a summer wedding, the conversation with Rainie

Stephens played over in her mind. Clearly she thought

there was some connection between Eva McCoy’s bracelet

being stolen and the charm left in the mouth of the Whitt

woman.

She wondered briefly who could’ve told the Stephens

woman about the charm, but there were lots of morgue

employees who had access to forms and photos. She

supposed it wasn’t unusual for a reporter to have an inside

source.

After she bagged the customer’s items and handed them

over with an appreciative smile, the phone at her counter

pealed an internal ringtone. She picked up the receiver.

“This is Carlotta, how may I be of service?”

“Carlotta, it’s Lindy. I need for you to come to my office,

please.”

Carlotta frowned. “Right now?”

“Yes. I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.”

11

Adrenaline pumped through Carlotta’s body as she hurried

to Lindy’s office. Obviously something was wrong.

Regarding the Eva McCoy event? Concerning her own

tardiness and general bad karma? Had her boss discovered

Carlotta was moonlighting as a body mover? Was her car

on fire in the parking lot?

Losing the Monte Carlo would be a bright spot, but the

other possibilities were both varied and disturbing. And

when she walked in to see Jack and Maria standing there,

her heart vaulted to her throat. “Is Wesley okay?”

“He’s fine,” Jack said, raising his hand in assurance.

She exhaled in relief. “Is this about Eva McCoy’s bracelet?

Did you find out anything from the surveil ance tapes?”

“No,” Maria said. “They were too blurry for the level of

detail we needed.”

Carlotta glanced at her boss, whose expression was stark.

“What’s going on?”

“Michael Lane escaped from the psych ward,” Lindy said.

Carlotta gasped. “When?”

Jack jammed his hands on his hips. “That’s not exactly

clear, but possibly as early as the day before yesterday.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

Jack shook his head. “Has he contacted you?”

“Of course not. I would’ve notified someone right away.”

“The police are afraid he’l try to see you,” Lindy said.

“According to Mr. Lane’s psychiatrist,” Maria offered, “he

harbors a great deal of resentment toward you.”

“He tried to kil you before,” Jack said. “If he has the