Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (17 page)

evaluation to see if he’s competent to stand trial. But most

narcissists are obsessive-compulsive. He doesn’t stop to

consider what would happen to him if he actually kil ed

you. He sees you as a loose end to tie up, nothing more.”

Carlotta swal owed hard. “How can you say that? You’ve

never even met Michael.”

Maria turned back around, facing forward. “I don’t have to

meet him. I read his file and I’ve met a hundred men just

like him.”

“Do you think he’d hurt someone else, someone random?”

“If he thought the person was in his way, absolutely. He’d

do whatever he had to do to succeed.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to leave town,” she suggested.

“People do that all the time, just disappear and are never

heard from again.”

“Yeah, I know.” Maria made a rueful noise and turned her

head back toward Carlotta. “Jack told me about your

parents. I’m sorry.”

She sucked in a painful breath. Most of Atlanta, as wel as

anyone else in the country who happened to be watching

CNN at the time it had happened, knew about the Wrens

taking flight. Why did it sting so much that Maria Marquez

knew? Carlotta’s face burned as she imagined Jack and

Maria talking about her…feeling sorry for her.

“But Michael Lane isn’t going to just disappear,” Maria

continued without missing a beat. “What the narcissist

hates most is being exposed. In his mind, he can restore

his reputation if he gets rid of you.”

At a knock on the window, Carlotta nearly jumped off the

seat, but it was only Jack. He opened the door. “All clear.”

They walked her to the front door where Jack took her

keys and unlocked the door. “Stay here.” Then he walked

into the house that he knew so wel .

He’d searched it when he’d first arrested Wesley for

hacking into the city’s computer system. And he’d stayed

with her when she’d agreed to fake her own death for the

D.A. to try to lure her parents home.

She winced when she thought of the mess in her

bedroom…but then Jack was better acquainted with her

bedroom than any other room in the house, and he’d

contributed to that mess on an occasion…or three.

Jack reappeared at the door. “All’s clear. Come on in.”

Carlotta turned to Maria. “Thanks for the escort.”

Maria glanced at Jack pointedly.

“Uh, Carlotta,” Jack said. “Maria’s going to stay with you

for a few hours.”

Carlotta lifted her eyebrows. “Stay…here?”

“Just until we get a line on this guy,” he said. “Come on,

don’t fight me on this. I need to go take care of a couple of

things, then I’l come back and Maria and I wil trade

off…Okay?”

Carlotta turned back to Maria, who looked about as

excited about her assignment as Carlotta felt. But they

were both obligated to do what Jack said.

Resigned, Carlotta fabricated a smile. “Welcome to the

Wren house, Detective Marquez, where you never know

what’s going to happen. By the way, how do you feel

about snakes?”

12

When Carlotta realized that she and Maria were both

standing in the hall watching Jack drive away, she abruptly

closed the door.

To her credit, Maria didn’t ask about the pitiful aluminum

Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the living room—

although Jack might have already informed the woman of

the family, um, quirk.

Carlotta wondered if he’d also mentioned that when he

was staying at their house, he’d unwrapped and

rewrapped the gifts underneath the tree from their

parents that she and Wesley had never opened. She’d

discovered the betrayal when she’d noticed the brittle,

yel owed tape had been replaced with new. When

confronted, Jack had defended himself by saying the police

should’ve opened the gifts when her parents’

disappearance had first been investigated. But at the time,

his actions had stung.

Exacerbated by the fact that he wouldn’t tel her what was

in the gifts.

She gave Maria the nickel tour, pointing out her room,

then Wesley’s directly across the hallway from hers, and

referencing “an extra bedroom” at the end of the hall. She

didn’t find it necessary to add that it was her parents’

room and had been left intact since they’d vamoosed.

“The extra bedroom has a door that leads out onto the

back deck, but we don’t use it. It stays dead-bolted.”

She led Maria to the kitchen, gesturing to another back

door. “We have a small yard in the back. It’s not much,”

she said with a sigh, “but the good news is that it’l be paid

for in twenty or thirty years.”

Maria smiled. “I like it. It’s very homey.”

“Sorry about the mess,” Carlotta said, gesturing to the

table. The remnants from this morning’s quiche breakfast

stil lingered. She chastised herself for not taking fifteen

minutes to clean up before she and Hannah had left.

“Coffee?” she asked, crossing to the coffeemaker. “I’m

afraid I don’t have any cream.”

“Yes, thank you. And black is fine.”

She busied herself making coffee, trying not to worry

about what the woman would think of the shabby town

house. It gave her more incentive to get serious about

doing some remodeling. She and Wesley could both use a

change of scenery.

“Do you mind if I work here?” Maria asked, nodding to the

breakfast bar. “I brought my laptop to catch up on

paperwork.”

“No, go ahead.” From beneath her lashes, she watched the

woman unpack her Hartmann computer bag with sure,

deft movements. She was so polished, so accomplished.

Smart and tough, but beautiful, too. Envy stabbed

Carlotta’s chest, along with dismay. Jack was bound to fall

for Maria, if he hadn’t already.

Carlotta was half in love with her herself, and she was

straight.

She fil ed two mugs with coffee and carried them to the

breakfast bar, setting one within Maria’s reach.

“Thanks,” the detective said. “And don’t mind me—do

whatever you need to do.”

Carlotta took a drink from her cup, then opened the

dishwasher and began clearing the table. Her arm twinkled

with occasional pangs, but it wasn’t too bad.

“I like your skirt,” Maria said.

Carlotta smoothed a hand over the cream-colored

jacquard fabric of the tulip-style skirt. “Thanks.”

“I worked at Neiman’s when I was in col ege,” Maria

offered, then grinned. “Although most of my salary went

toward clothes instead of tuition.”

“I know what you mean,” Carlotta murmured, wondering

if the woman realized how the offhand comment that

she’d worked retail as a part-time job in her youth was a

barb to Carlotta’s ego.

“So,” Maria said. “You and Jack.”

Carlotta dropped a plate on the floor and winced when it

broke into three neat pieces. She picked them up and

carried them to the trash can. “Me and Jack what?”

Maria shrugged. “That’s just it. I can’t figure out your

relationship.”

Carlotta shook her head. “Nothing to figure out—we’re

friends. Maybe not even friends. More like…good

acquaintances. He arrested my brother, Wesley, for

computer hacking, so we didn’t exactly meet under the

best of circumstances.”

“But he seems very protective of you.”

“Jack’s from Alabama—that’s how boys are raised over

there. And if you hadn’t noticed, I seem to attract more

than my fair share of trouble.”

“And he’s also working on your father’s case?”

Carlotta nodded slowly. “When he has time, and whenever

there are leads.”

“That must be a bone of contention between the two of

you.”

“Not really,” she lied. “Jack does his thing, I do mine.”

“He said you have a boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t call Peter my boyfriend, but okay.” Carlotta

closed the dishwasher door and rol ed her arm to ease the

ache. “So, what’s your story?”

Maria smiled. “I don’t have a story.”

“Really?” Carlotta nodded toward the woman’s hand.

“Since when can a cop afford a ten-thousand-dol ar

watch?”

Her smile deepened. “You have a good eye.” But she didn’t

seem inclined to offer an explanation.

“Are you married?”

“No. But then surely you noticed that I’m not wearing a

ring.”

“That doesn’t mean anything these days.” When Maria

didn’t respond, Carlotta assumed the woman had run out

of conversation, and turned to leave the room.

“I was married,” Maria said in a strained voice. “But that’s

over.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlotta murmured.

The woman shook her head. “Don’t be. I came here for a

fresh start. Smaller city, better weather. And the APD

didn’t have a ful -time profiler, so it was a good fit al

around.”

“What does a profiler do exactly?”

The tall woman picked up the coffee cup and sat back on

the stool she occupied. She seemed more relaxed with the

topic focused on her work. “If there’s an unsolved crime

and the police don’t have any leads, I study the crime and

the victim and come up with a general profile of the perp

that might help lead the investigation in a new direction,

or help the officers ask the right types of questions of

witnesses and suspects. A profile also gives them a better

idea of how to handle the suspect once an arrest has been

made.”

“Sounds complex,” Carlotta offered, unabashedly in awe

of the woman.

“It is. Profiling is equal parts case experience, psychology

and intuition. But I enjoy the challenge.”

“And you’re good at it?”

Maria smiled. “Yes, I’m good at it.”

Another pang of envy zigzagged through Carlotta. “I guess

that means you can tel a lot about a person just from

meeting them.”

“Usually.”

“I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Honestly?”

“Sure—why not?”

“Okay.” Maria studied Carlotta head to toe while she

sipped from her cup. Just when Carlotta started to get

uncomfortable, Maria leaned forward into the bar.

“You have a good work ethic, but you aren’t challenged

enough on your job, which is why you like to get involved

in police work. You don’t trust easily, you live above your

means and you’re impulsive. You’re also loyal, kind and

you have a strong sense of justice. And when you give your

heart to a man, it’l be all or nothing.” The woman angled

her head. “You’re also dying for a cigarette right now. How

did I do?”

Carlotta swal owed the coffee she’d been holding in her

mouth. “You’re better than a Cosmo quiz. How did you

know about the cigarette? Do I have a hand tic? Shallow

breathing?”

“No.” The woman laughed. “Because I’m dying for one,

too.”

Carlotta was already on her feet. “Is it okay if we step out

on the deck? I don’t like to smoke inside.”

“As long as we’re careful and keep an eye out.”

“Menthol okay?”

“I’ve got my own, but thanks.”

They stepped out the kitchen door that led to the small

deck that squatted on their weedy little patch of backyard.

Maria looked all around and positioned herself so that she

was closer to the edge and Carlotta was closer to the door.

As they lit their cigarettes, Carlotta felt a grudging sense of

liking for the woman beginning to bloom.

Maria nodded to the colorful children’s wading pool that

took up most of one end of the deck.

“Do you or your brother have children?”

“No, thank God,” Carlotta said with a laugh. “Wesley got

the pool for me. It’s kind of an inside joke.” He’d said it

was to make up for the pool she might have had if she

hadn’t been saddled with him to raise—if she’d married

Peter, who had a big house, with a pool. And a pool house.

“That’s nice. I’m not close to my siblings,” Maria said.

Carlotta drew on her cigarette, then exhaled. “Wesley’s

done some stupid things, but he’s basically a good guy.

He’s so smart, it’s scary. I just hope he finds a way to

channel it. I’d love to go back to school.” She caught

herself. “I mean, I’d love for Wesley to go back to school.”

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

Maria exhaled a thin stream of white smoke. “Is there

anything dumber than a nineteen-year-old man?”

“A twenty-year-old man?”

The detective laughed. “Or a forty-year-old man?”

Carlotta took another drag on her cigarette and exhaled.

“So…you and Jack.”

Maria arched beautiful eyebrows that were several shades

darker than her light brown hair. “Me and Jack what?”

“Come on, you’re both single and…not ugly.”

The detective tapped her ash over the side into the grass.

“I don’t need that kind of grief. Besides…it’s obvious where

Jack’s arrow points.”

Before Carlotta could respond, Maria’s phone rang. She

removed it from her belt, but when she glanced at the

display, her lips parted and something akin to fear crossed

her face. She stabbed a button to silence the ring, then

jammed the phone back into its holder.

“Your phone must ring constantly,” Carlotta said breezily.

“Yes.” Maria sucked on her cigarette as if it were a lifeline.