Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (25 page)

“Um…Wesley needs my help with something. I have to

leave.”

Peter’s face creased in disappointment. “Now?”

“I should be back before the movie ends,” she said, then

gave him a quick kiss.

She pushed to her feet and left without saying goodbye to

Tracey and Freddy, fol owing Wesley careful y through the

seated crowd, trying to avoid stepping on anyone. When

they finally broke free, he pointed toward the Park Tavern.

“Hannah’s going to pick us up on Monroe. She’s stopping

at Motherwel ’s on the way to get a gurney and a body bag

from Coop’s uncle.”

Carlotta pressed her lips together—Hannah would be in

her element. She only hoped her friend’s tattooed and

pierced appearance didn’t frighten the older Mr. Craft.

“Did Coop say why he couldn’t make the pickup himself?”

She’d left him several messages since yesterday, but he

hadn’t called her back.

“No…he just said he was busy and it would be better if we

did it.”

Worry ate at her stomach. Was Coop at a bar getting

hammered?

“Is Peter mad?” Wes asked.

“Probably,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail. “Did Coop

give you any details on the pickup?”

He turned over his hand and read off the notes he’d

scribbled there with a pen. “Woman fel and bled out in a

house on Argonne, near Ponce de Leon.”

“Wow, that is close.”

“Do you have your morgue ID with you?”

She nodded. “I keep it in my wallet.” She removed the

lanyard identifying her as a body hauler and looped it over

her neck.

Wesley pul ed out his own ID and lifted it over his neck.

She noticed his hand was shaking, but reasoned he had to

be nervous going on a body pickup without Coop. Her little

brother would be the senior body mover on the scene.

A few minutes later, a horn sounded and Hannah pul ed

up, her eyes wide with excitement. “Get in! This is great!

Who died?” She had replaced the magnetic catering sign

on her van with one she’d had made up herself that read

“Body Movers—You’re Going to Need Us Eventually.”

“Nice sign,” Carlotta said drily. “Better not let Coop see it.

Did you have room in the back for the gurney?”

“I had to offload a few frozen pies at the funeral home, but

Mr. Craft seemed happy to get them.”

“Please tell me there’s no food back there right now.”

“It’s all in coolers and happily contained, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, but the health department might have a

bone to pick with you.”

Carlotta spent the short drive stressing to Hannah how

important it was to be professional, for Coop’s sake.

Hannah nodded, but as they parked on the street behind a

squad car and an unmarked car, she accidentally leaned on

the horn and loudly announced their arrival.

“That’s one way to let them know we’re here,” Carlotta

muttered.

When they climbed out, Wesley handed them both gloves

matter-of-factly. Carlotta noticed he was sweating bul ets

again.

“Nice house,” Carlotta observed as they walked up the

front steps il uminated by the porch light. Even in the

darkness it was obvious that the bungalow and yard were

wel cared for. Wesley rang the doorbel . A uniformed

officer answered and when Wesley flashed his ID, he told

them to go back to the kitchen. The officer returned to the

living room where a baseball game was playing on the set.

They quietly traipsed through the house in the direction

the man had indicated. The scent of burnt popcorn

assailed Carlotta as she walked into the room. A thirty-

something Hispanic woman lay on the floor, dressed in

jeans and a striped top. One flip-flop lay near her body,

the other a few feet away, near a step stool. Blood was

pooled around her head and shoulders. A wil owy black

woman with cropped hair and a badge hooked to her belt

looked up as they walked in. “Who are you?”

Wesley showed her his ID. “We’re here to transport the

body to the morgue. I’m Wes—this is Carlotta and

Hannah.”

“I’m Detective Salyers.” The woman looked at the trio

dubiously. “You’ve done this before?”

“Yes, ma’am, all of us,” Wesley said. “I’ve been working

with Cooper Craft for a while. He sent us.”

The detective smiled. “I know Coop—great guy.”

“Are you ready for us to take the body?”

“Yeah, the M.E. already left, and I’m just finishing up my

report. Her name is Alicia Sil s, thirty-four years old.”

“Anything we need to know about the body?” Wesley

asked, impressing Carlotta with his mature demeanor.

“Just that there’s a lot of blood, as you see, all coming

from a wound on the back of the vic’s head.” The detective

made a thoughtful noise in her throat. “Looks like she

climbed onto the step stool, lost her balance and hit hard.

You want my opinion, those flip-flops probably tripped her

up. Those shoes cause all kinds of accidents.”

“That’s why I prefer these,” Hannah piped up, sticking out

her foot to show off the heavy tread lace-up boots she

always wore. “Talk about traction.”

The detective squinted at her.

Carlotta elbowed her friend. “Be. Quiet,” she said out of

the corner of her mouth.

“How long has she been lying here?” Wesley asked,

surveying the scene.

“The M.E. said maybe a couple of hours,” Salyers said.

“She was supposed to meet a friend. When she didn’t

show up, the woman came by to check on her.”

Carlotta winced, feeling sorry for the friend who’d come

upon the bloody scene.

“Would it be all right if I look for a sheet to wrap the

body?” Wes asked.

“Try the hall closet.”

“We’l get the gurney,” Carlotta offered. They left and

Hannah was practically skipping on the way back to the

van.

“This is so exciting!”

“Hannah, take it down a notch,” Carlotta chastised.

“Someone died. That poor lady climbed up on a stool to

get something stupid like a casserole dish she never uses,

and next thing she knows, she’s lying on the floor, mortal y

wounded.”

Hannah blanched. “Do you think she suffered before she

died?”

“I don’t know, but either way it’s terrible, so lose the

cheerfulness, okay?”

“Okay, you’re right. Sorry.”

They removed the gurney from the refrigerated

compartment. Carlotta was relieved to see three sets of

scrubs folded on top, because all that blood was going to

be a mess. They pul ed on the loose garments over their

clothing and headed back to the house, bumping the

rol ing gurney along the sidewalk.

“Get the door,” Hannah said.

Carlotta opened the storm door, but Hannah was

overeager and slammed the edge of the gurney into the

glass, breaking out a little chunk and sending a cobweb of

fractures through the entire panel.

“Fuck!” Hannah shouted.

“Shh!” Carlotta hissed. “Slow down. And good grief, try not

to break anything else.”

They made their way back to the kitchen, where Wesley

stood holding a sheet and talking with the detective.

Carlotta handed him a set of scrubs, which he pul ed on,

then he lowered the gurney to the floor. When he

snapped on latex gloves, she and Hannah fol owed suit.

“Carlotta, help me wrap the body,” Wesley said. “Hannah,

spread the body bag on the gurney and unzip it.”

They fol owed Wesley’s orders and Carlotta was amazed at

how competent her brother could be when it mattered.

He took the lower body, where most of the weight was

concentrated. She took the top, positioning her pale Fendi

loafers at the edge of the blood pool and leaning down to

clasp the woman’s arm. They rol ed her onto her side to

put one edge of the sheet underneath her. Carlotta tried

not to look at Alicia Sil s’s face, but she couldn’t help it.

Later, she would be thankful for her morbid curiosity.

Because if she hadn’t been looking down, she might have

missed the silver charm that rol ed out of the woman’s

mouth.

Carlotta gasped and dropped the woman’s shoulder. The

body fel back with a thud, splattering thick blood over her

loafers and everywhere else.

“What’s wrong?” Detective Salyers asked. She had finished

her paperwork and was putting the pen back into her

jacket pocket.

Carlotta’s mouth opened and closed as she backed away,

gesturing frantically for Wesley to do the same. “Call

Detective Jack Terry. Tel him to get here right away.

There’s a double-murderer on the loose.”

18

“The AJC is calling him The Charmed Kil er,” Hannah

announced from the breakfast table where she pored over

the Friday morning newspaper. Al three of them had had

a late night. Jack and Maria had arrived at Alicia Sil s’s

home, M.E. Pennyman had returned, and the scene had to

be rephotographed and reprocessed by the CSI unit before

the body could be removed.

“The Charmed Kil er, huh?” Carlotta said from the

refrigerator, where she rooted for the milk jug.

“They all have to have a name, you know, for posterity.”

“And for sensationalizing.”

“Leaving a charm in the mouth is his signature,” Wesley

offered from the stove where he flipped pancakes. He

pushed up his glasses. “I heard Detective Marquez say that

last night. Jack’s new partner is smoking hot.”

Carlotta slammed the refrigerator door. “Go ahead,

Hannah. I’m listening.”

“The APD,” Hannah read, “is downplaying the similarities

between the two women’s deaths. Shawna Whitt was

found deceased in her west Atlanta home Monday night,

presumably of natural causes, and Alicia Sil s was found

dead in her Midtown home Thursday evening, presumably

from an accidental fall. There is no obvious connection

between the victims. But a source in the county morgue

admitted that in the mouths of both women was a charm,

the kind that one might find on a bracelet.”

“Do they identify the charms as a chicken and a cigar?”

“No.”

“Are you sure the charm you saw last night was a cigar?”

Wesley asked.

“I’m sure,” Carlotta said. “When Jack picked it up with

tweezers, it was coated with blood, but I saw it for a few

seconds when it first fell out of her mouth. I wonder if the

chicken and the cigar mean something.”

“They both start with the letter C,” Hannah offered.

“Or a smoking bird?” Carlotta asked with a frown.

“The cigar could be sexual,” Wesley said.

Both girls stared at him.

“What? There was that little incident between an intern

and the leader of the free world, remember?”

“Do you want to hear the rest of the article?” Hannah

asked.

“Go ahead,” Carlotta said.

“In a bizarre coincidence, Atlanta native and Olympian Eva

McCoy, who almost single-handedly triggered a

nationwide craze for charm bracelets after attributing her

miracle marathon run to the charm bracelet she wore

during the grueling foot race, was involved in an incident

at Lenox Square mall earlier this week during which her

infamous lucky charm bracelet was stolen.”

“At least the store wasn’t mentioned,” Carlotta muttered.

Hannah looked up. “There’s a picture.”

“Crap.”

“What? It’s good advertising!”

“Maybe, although I don’t think Lindy would mind if things

calmed down a little. What’s the name of the reporter

who wrote the article?”

“Rainie Stephens.”

Carlotta’s thoughts went to the woman’s business card on

her dresser. “So she does have a source in the morgue.”

Wesley turned. “You think there’s a leak in the morgue?”

“It’s probably a quid pro quo arrangement,” Hannah

offered. “Off the record, but a way to make sure that

what’s reported is accurate.”

Carlotta’s eyebrows rose. “You seem to know a lot about

it.”

Hannah squirmed, which was unusual for her. “I read the

paper, I watch the news…and courtroom TV. By the way,

there’s an update on Michael Lane on page three. They’ve

dragged the river, but still zip.”

“At least the story moved off the front page.” Carlotta

nudged Wesley from behind. “You’re awful y quiet—

thinking of Meg?”

“Who’s Meg?” Hannah asked.

“Nobody,” Wesley said with a frown.

Hannah gave a little laugh. “Wesley, do you have a

girlfriend?”

“No, I do not have a girlfriend.”

Carlotta poured three glasses of milk and carried them to

the table. “He was at Screen on the Green watching

Breakfast at Tiffany’s, just for the hel of it.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” Hannah said. “Boy, you got it

bad.”

“Meg’s just someone I work with,” Wesley said. But his

face was so scarlet, affection rushed Carlotta’s chest.

“I thought she was cute. And she seemed very mature.”

“She’s smart, too,” he added eagerly, as if he was trying to

sel his sister on a puppy.

Hannah scoffed. “So what’s she doing with you, shithead?”

“Very funny. It’s not wise to insult the chef.”

“You’re a cook,” Hannah corrected, and extended her

plate. He deposited a pancake onto it with a slap, but she