Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (24 page)

His face flamed red and he was perspiring—more than was

warranted by the heat.

“What a surprise running into you,” she said brightly,

sweeping a curious glance over his companions. “And your

friends.”

His expression reminded her of the time she’d found out

he’d asked Britney Jansen to the eighth-grade dance.

“That’s Jeff and Ravi and Meg. Yo, everyone, this is my

sister, Carlotta.”

They all chorused hel o, and Meg pushed to her feet. “Nice

to meet you,” she said, sounding more mature than her

probable age.

“Same here,” Carlotta said, sizing her up as a rich kid. If

she wasn’t, she’d be better dressed. Her mismatched

vintage-grunge look was careful y constructed to appear

nonconformist and under-the-radar. But the girl’s teeth

were an orthodontic masterpiece and her glasses were

pure Prada.

“Would you like to join us?” Meg asked.

Carlotta glanced at Wesley simply to torment him. His eyes

bulged and he shook his head in an almost imperceptible

“no.”

Carlotta turned back to Meg. “Thanks, anyway, but I’m

with a friend over there.” She pointed and Peter lifted his

hand.

She looked back to Wesley and smiled. “I just wanted to

say hi. Enjoy the movie.”

He gave an eye rol . She turned and picked her way back

across the lawn between blankets and low-slung chairs to

lower herself next to Peter, who was smirking as he

popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Did you humiliate

him sufficiently?”

“I think so,” she said with a grin.

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“I noticed something between them, but I think he’s stil

proving himself to her.”

Peter’s mouth curved into a rueful smile. “I know that

feeling.” He lifted a deep-red strawberry to her mouth and

she bit into it, but was disappointed that it wasn’t quite as

sweet as it appeared. Then she reminded herself that what

mattered most was they were here together, their own

little oasis in the middle of a big, anonymous crowd as the

sun slipped below the horizon on a gorgeous summer day.

Peter leaned forward to kiss her and she pushed

everything else out of her mind. The evening stretched

before them, with no intrusions—

“Wel , isn’t this cozy?”

Carlotta pul ed back from Peter and looked up to see

Tracey Tul y Lowenstein and her smarmy doctor husband,

Frederick, standing there, holding a blanket and take-out

bags from Star Provisions, an exclusive deli.

“Hi…Tracey,” Carlotta said, managing a smile. “And

Frederick.”

The way he raked his gaze over her made her glad she

wasn’t a patient of his—ew.

“We can’t find a place to spread our blanket,” Tracey said.

“Do you mind if we share yours?”

Carlotta and Peter exchanged a regretful glance, then

Peter moved his long legs to make room for them. “Please,

sit down. The movie should be starting soon.”

Carlotta felt a rush of affection toward Peter. He didn’t

want them around any more than she did, but he was too

wel -bred to be impolite. He probably also suspected that

Tracey’s gossip about them would be even more malicious

if they turned her away.

“We’re running a little late,” Tracey said, setting their food

everywhere and nearly pushing Carlotta and Peter off the

blanket in the process. “Freddy had an emergency C-

section to perform.” Then the horsey woman poked

Carlotta hard with her elbow. “But don’t worry—he

washed his hands.” She and Freddy laughed uproariously

while Carlotta and Peter forced smiles.

Tracey leaned closer to Carlotta as she pul ed food

containers out of the bags. “We didn’t interrupt anything,

did we? I mean, Patricia said you told her that you and

Peter are just friends.”

“That’s right,” Carlotta said.

“So that was a friendly kiss you were sharing when we

walked up?”

She gritted her teeth. “Something like that.”

Tracey returned a sly smile and extended a thin cracker

topped with a glistening black blob. “Russian caviar?”

Her mother’s favorite, Carlotta recalled with a start. She’d

found two tins of it after her parents had left, when she’d

been forced to go through the kitchen and use everything

on hand to feed herself and Wesley. They had spread it on

toast for breakfast, and Wesley had gagged.

“No, thank you,” she said. “We’ve already eaten.”

“I’ll bet Peter won’t pass this up.” Tracey leaned toward

him. “Caviar, Peter?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, accepting the delicacy.

Carlotta wet her lips. The shrimp salad she’d picked up at a

chain grocery deli paled a little in comparison. Her palate

was more sophisticated now, but the only caviar she’d had

recently were the bits of garnish she’d scooped off the

edge of a plate at events she’d crashed with Hannah. And

after all, Tracey owed them for barging in.

“Maybe I’l have just a taste,” she said.

Tracey smiled, heaped a spoonful from a small tin onto

another cracker and passed it to Carlotta.

A pungent, salty aroma tickled her nostrils just as she bit

into the dol op of dark fish eggs. The texture was firmer

than she’d remembered, almost crunchy, releasing a fresh

burst of tangy flavor on her tongue. Her eyes closed

involuntarily as a moan of pleasure erupted in her throat.

“Divine, isn’t it?” Tracey asked with a giggle.

Carlotta nodded, stil savoring the morsel.

“Two hundred sixty dol ars an ounce,” Tracey sang, “and

worth every penny.”

At the realization of how much money she had in her

mouth, Carlotta was hesitant to swallow. She overchewed

the food until it practically disintegrated, and refused

another bite, even though her mouth watered for more.

Paying that kind of money for shoes or clothes was one

thing—you could wear them again, stroke them while they

hung in your closet…even spread them on the bed and rol

around on top of them if the mood struck. But paying that

much for something that lasted thirty seconds, tops, was a

little scary. When she and Wesley had forced themselves

to eat it, the luxury of the dark roe had escaped her. In

hindsight, she probably could’ve returned the caviar to the

store and fed them for a month.

“Good, huh?” Peter said, brushing crumbs off his neat

navy chino shorts.

“Delicious.”

“I’l feed you caviar every meal if you’l let me,” he

murmured out of Tracey’s earshot.

Jack’s words came back to her—that she was better suited

to Peter’s world, a world she had been born into, only to

have it yanked away when her parents had fled. She knew

that Peter couldn’t possibly know how much his teasing

comment affected her, but it drove home the point that

he would lavish her with everything—including love—

when she was ready. His patience was endearing. He made

her feel safe, but in a different way than Jack made her

feel. Jack would pluck her out of danger in an instant, but

Peter would leverage his connections and his wealth to

make sure she had everything she needed every day to be

happy and to feel secure. It was a promise she could build

a life on.

She smiled, but was saved from answering by the booming

start of the soundtrack and the flicker of frames on the

gigantic screen that had been set up for the weekly

summer event. It was almost completely dark now, but the

light from the projector reflected on the crowd, who

turned excited faces toward the opening credits.

Carlotta sighed, instantly transported to New York in the

early sixties, where the men and women dressed in chic

clothes, and an entire generation seemed to be caught

between a proper upbringing and improper urges. She’d

seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s a half-dozen times and never

tired of it. Audrey Hepburn was luminous as Hol y Go-

lightly, a charming gamine who allowed men to shower

her with gifts and attention in return for the pleasure of

her company. She was the life of every party, managing to

slip in and out with a drink in one hand and a long

cigarette holder in the other, quipping one-liners and

leaving admirers in her wake.

Including George Peppard’s Paul, who was mesmerized by

Hol y, convinced that she’d cured his writer’s block. But

both Hol y and Paul were constrained by their desire for a

lifestyle they couldn’t afford on their own. She had a

stream of sugar daddies, and he had one loyal

“patroness,” who was more interested in his manhood

than his manuscripts.

Meanwhile, Tracey and Frederick talked nonstop during

the movie. “Did you see the spread in the AJC this morning

about the Michael Lane police chase?” Tracey asked.

“Yes. It was…thorough.”

“And the local stations keep playing the footage of him

jumping off the bridge over and over. You must be relieved

that he’s dead.”

Carlotta squirmed, then nodded.

“They haven’t found his body yet?” Freddy asked.

“No.”

“After this amount of time, it’s not going to be pretty

when they do.”

“It’s such a nice night,” Peter cut in with an easy smile.

“Why don’t we talk about something more pleasant?”

She gave his hand a grateful squeeze, and he squeezed

back.

“So, Carlotta,” Tracey said, licking her fingers, “Patricia said

you went face-first into a sheet cake the day Eva McCoy’s

charm bracelet was stolen. Too bad the AJC didn’t have a

picture of that.” She laughed.

Carlotta made herself smile and silently thanked Rainie

Stephens for arranging to squash the photo. She owed the

woman.

“Have the police recovered the charm bracelet?” Freddy

asked.

“Not yet,” Carlotta said, deciding not to mention that the

lead detective didn’t consider it to be a priority crime.

“Has there been a ransom request?” he pressed.

“Not that I know of, but I suppose it’s not out of the

question. I’ve heard that Eva is devastated over the loss.”

“Why doesn’t she just buy a new bracelet with all her

Olympic money?” Tracey asked.

“I believe it’s sentimental to her,” Carlotta offered, then

turned her attention back to the movie, mentally shaking

her head. Thankful y the Lowensteins had lapsed into a

discussion between themselves about their gardener.

Carlotta immersed herself in the romance building on-

screen between Hol y and Paul.

“What’s your favorite part?” Peter whispered.

“Where they steal the cat and dog masks. Do you have a

favorite part?”

“The end, of course,” he said with a wink. “Where they

both realize that even though they’l face obstacles if

they’re together, they know it’ll be worth it.”

Peter had always been a romantic, even when they were

young. He’d had the physique of a graceful athlete, had

played quarterback for his high school team and had been

an accomplished rower, too. She had been dazzled by his

golden good looks and tall, muscular build, but it was his

romantic side that had won her over. He’d always known

her favorite color, favorite flower, favorite song.

When he looked back to the screen, she studied the

chiseled profile that was so familiar to her. Peter had been

her first lover, and they had been good together. She bit

her lip and entertained the thought of going back to his

place tonight. Maybe this was why the timing had been off

for her and Coop, and why things continued to be rocky

between her and Jack. Because deep down, she knew she

would have to reconcile her feelings for Peter before she

could commit to anyone else.

Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she should turn her mind

toward the thought of marrying Peter. She wasn’t getting

any younger.

Tracey leaned toward Carlotta. “It’s a good thing the two

of you are just friends,” she whispered. “Because you’d

have a lot of competition from women in my and Peter’s

circle. I’d hate to see you get hurt…again.”

Carlotta shrank back, stunned by the woman’s blatant

attempt to put Carlotta in her place. Tracey was

determined to keep reminding her that the Wren family’s

fall from grace had been neither forgiven nor forgotten.

The weight of a hand fel on Carlotta’s shoulder, startling

her. “Sis?” Wesley crouched next to her, his face near her

ear. “Coop just called me. He needs our help.”

Her pulse rocketed. “What’s wrong?”

“He needs us to make a pickup for him. It’s not too far, so

it shouldn’t take long.”

“We don’t have a vehicle,” she whispered.

“I called Hannah and she said she’d pick us up. Hannah and

I could handle it, but Coop said you had to be there.”

Because he stil didn’t completely trust Wesley. And

because Hannah was a loose cannon, with an exuberance

for body moving that bordered on Hitchcockian.

“Can you leave?” Wesley asked, his eyes pleading.

He wanted so much to get back into Coop’s good graces.

She hesitated, torn.

Peter leaned forward. “Is something wrong?”