Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (31 page)

“No, can’t say that I have.” He swirled the liquid in his

glass, then took a drink.

He was lying, but why? “I heard she’s decided not to

compete in the World Championships after all.”

“Um, I heard that, too,” he said, nodding. “Damn shame.”

“So what brings you here?” Coop asked Carlotta.

“June has some pictures for me, and I was in the area,” she

said, improvising. “And I’m meeting Peter Ashford for a

drink.”

“Ah,” he said, then pul ed on his cigar.

Nathan, the bartender, came over. “Hi, Carlotta. What can

I get you?”

She looked at the guys. “What are you having?”

“Gin and tonic,” said Mitch.

“Just tonic,” Coop said, but his eyes said that he wished it

was something much stronger.

“Tonic water for me, too,” Carlotta said to Nathan.

“Put that on my tab,” Coop said. “And I’l have a beer.”

Alarm bolted through her. “Coop,” she whispered, “what

are you doing?”

“Having a beer,” he murmured, his brown eyes defiant. “A

man should be able to have a damn beer.”

She set her jaw and with her eyes she pleaded with him to

reconsider.

“Are you a smoker?” Mitch asked, gesturing to the unlit

cigar she held. Fortunately, he was oblivious to their quiet

exchange.

“Sometimes,” she said, nodding. “Your mom converted

me. She has a great place here.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, except that she’s sel ing cancer

to everyone who walks through the door.”

Carlotta blinked, surprised at his animosity. “That’s a little

harsh, don’t you think? Everyone is here because they

want to be.”

He shrugged his big shoulders. “Yeah, it’s a free country

and all that. I just don’t think it’s the kind of place my

mother should be spending all of her time.”

Once again, Carlotta recognized that there were issues

between Mitch and June. She swallowed the words she

wanted to say—that he didn’t know how lucky he was to

have such a great mom who actually gave a damn about

him. Instead Carlotta said, “I think your mother is

delightful, and she seems very happy.”

Mitch gave her a sweeping glance. “I bet your mother isn’t

running a smoky bar in a seedy part of town.”

“Hey, man,” Coop cut in, saving her from having to

respond, “your drink is turning to water.”

She gave Coop a grateful glance, and he nodded to

indicate that someone was behind her.

She turned to see Peter standing there, dressed in a

flawless black pinstriped suit, scanning the crowd. She

waved to get his attention. He smiled and moved toward

her, but his smile dimmed when he caught sight of Coop.

“Look who I ran into,” she said brightly. Peter and Coop

shook hands, albeit woodenly, then she introduced

Mitchel to Peter and picked up her drink. “Why don’t I

find someplace for us to sit while you get something from

the bar?”

He nodded, then signaled Nathan. “I’l have Crown and

Coke, and put the lady’s drink on my tab.”

“I already got it,” Coop said.

“No, I’ll get it,” Peter said, his tone harsher than necessary.

Coop lifted his hand in concession and reached for the

beer that Nathan set in front of him. He wrapped his hand

around it and looked up at Carlotta.

“Don’t,” she mouthed.

He looked away. She turned and wove her way through

the crowd, keeping an eye out for open seating. Jack had

warned her not to take ownership of Coop’s drinking

problem—it predated their relationship, after all. Stil , she

couldn’t help worrying about him. She regretted that Jack

had been at her house the night Coop had stopped by.

He’d seemed keen to share something with her, and once

again, their timing had been off.

She spotted someone leaving a couch and moved to claim

it. Unfortunately, the seat gave her a clear view of Cooper

at the bar, who sat staring into the beer in front of him.

“Don’t do it,” she whispered. “Be strong, Coop.”

She was distracted by Peter walking up, cradling a

caramel-colored drink in his hands. “Nice place,” he said,

settling down next to her and glancing all around.

“I like it,” she said, reaching for the cutter on the table in

front of them to snip the end of her cigar. She removed

the mother-of-pearl lighter from her purse and lit the cigar

the way that June had tutored her. Soon an ember glowed

at the tip and a ribbon of fragrant smoke floated toward

the ceiling. She sat back, expecting Peter to scold her for

smoking. Instead, he smiled and removed a cigar from his

inside jacket pocket and proceeded to do the same.

Carlotta gave a little laugh. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“If you can’t beat ’em,” he said, puffing, “then join ’em.”

She scoffed. “This isn’t your first cigar.”

He exhaled into the air. “Okay, you’re right, but I don’t

indulge often. And while I hate to see your pretty lungs

pol uted, I have to say that you look very sexy with that

cigar between your lips.”

She smiled at the erotic allusion and remembered what

her friend Pepper, the hooker, had told her about keeping

a man happy. Chocolate cake and blow jobs. She laughed

to herself—except for the odd diabetic priest, there wasn’t

a man alive who’d turn down both. And it reminded her of

the months of delicious heavy petting that she and Peter

used to engage in, in the spacious backseat of the Caddy

he drove in high school that led up to her losing her

virginity. Teenagers today who skipped the foreplay and

rushed headlong into sex were missing out.

“On the phone you said there was something you wanted

to tell me,” Peter prompted.

“I’m sorry again for bailing on you last night. I truly

thought I’d be back before the movie ended.”

“That’s al right—the Lowensteins kept me company.” He

rol ed his eyes and they both laughed. “I heard about this

guy on the news they’re calling The Charmed Kil er—was

that what you were doing with Wesley, picking up one of

the victims?”

“Um…I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

He seemed to measure his words. “I don’t like the idea of

you working around crime scenes. It puts you in too much

danger.”

“I understand how you feel, but by the time I get to the

scene, the danger is past.”

He drew on his cigar, then exhaled. “So you say.”

She drew on her cigar, then exhaled, too. “Yes, I do.”

“You could’ve said you were sorry on the phone,” he said,

picking up her hand. “Not that I’m complaining about

seeing you two nights in a row.” He leaned in and kissed

her. She returned the kiss, but wondered, in the back of

her mind, if Coop was watching. She hadn’t meant to bring

Peter there to flaunt their relationship.

Carlotta pul ed back and smiled. “I wanted to tel you that I

went to the doctor today for one last X-ray and guess

what? He knew Randolph.”

“Sweetie, lots of people knew Randolph.”

“But they were tennis partners. Dr. Eames said that just

before my dad was arrested, he told him that someone in

his firm was trying to frame him. Randolph asked him if

he’d hang on to something for him.”

“What was it?”

“That’s just it—they never had the chance to talk again.

But Dr. Eames said it was some kind of papers.”

Peter wiped his hand over his mouth and nodded. “Okay,

wel , that’s something, I guess. Did he say who Randolph

suspected of framing him?”

“No.”

Peter sighed. “But it corresponds with what your father

told me when he called.”

“So why didn’t he just come out and tel you who it was?

And why didn’t he tel the D.A. when it first happened?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I wish he’d stop being a coward and come back to defend

himself.” She drew on the cigar too deeply and her lungs

rebel ed in a coughing spasm.

Peter rubbed small circles on her lower back until she

caught her breath. “I could start by getting a list of

everyone who worked for the firm during that time

period,” he said, “and start eliminating people. Maybe if

we do some detective work on this end, we’l have

something figured out before your dad gets back in touch

with us.”

“But why work blindly when he doesn’t seem so eager to

help himself?”

Peter took a hearty drink from his glass.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “If we start poking around on

our own, we can be more objective.”

“Right,” he said slowly. “Meaning…this could go either

way.”

“We might find something to further incriminate

Randolph.”

“Or we might find nothing,” Peter said. “But if we do this,

you have to be prepared for whatever happens.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You

could lose your job, Peter.”

“And I’d get another one.”

But she wasn’t so blasé when it came to his career.

“Mashburn & Tul y is the only place you’ve ever worked—

it’s your home.”

“Let me worry about that. Don’t you want to know the

truth?”

She nodded.

“Then let me help you do this. Please?”

She looked into his eyes and was swept back to a time

when the two of them had planned their future. Together

they had been optimistic and unstoppable. She sighed and

nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He folded her hand in his. “Are you going to include

Wesley?”

She bit her lip, thinking of the OxyContin pil in her purse.

“Eventually. Right now Wesley has a lot on his plate.”

“Okay.” Peter took another drink from his glass. “I might

have to find someone at the office to help, someone I can

trust.”

“What do you know about Quinten Gallagher?”

“The receptionist? Seems like a decent guy.” He nodded

thoughtful y. “He’s a possibility.”

“I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

“I’l make sure that doesn’t happen,” Peter said. “I’l talk to

him when the time’s right.”

“Okay,” she said, happy to turn it all over to someone else

for the time being.

“Peter, fancy meeting you here.”

They looked up to see Brody Jones, chief legal counsel for

Mashburn & Tul y.

“Hel o, Brody,” Peter said. “I think you know Carlotta

Wren.”

“I do indeed.” The man spoke with a thick Southern accent

that she supposed some people found pleasing.

“Hel o, Mr. Jones.”

“Carlotta, you look astonishingly like your mother. I don’t

suppose you’ve heard from Valerie lately?”

“Not since she left town with my father,” Carlotta said

stiffly. From her purse, her phone rang and she gladly

murmured, “Excuse me,” to remove herself from the

conversation. Peter stood to talk with Brody, il at ease

himself, if the way he jingled change in his pocket was any

indication. No doubt because they’d been discussing

snooping through the company’s records just before the

man appeared.

Carlotta pul ed out her phone to see Jack’s name on the

screen. He could be calling about so many things—Wesley,

Michael, her father. She put her hand over one ear and

answered. “Hi, Jack. What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Moody’s. Why?”

“Stay there. I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, I’l meet you downstairs.” She ended the call and

glanced up at Peter, who was stil talking to Brody. She

touched Peter’s arm. “I have to go.”

“I’l walk you out,” he said.

“No, stay and enjoy your cigar. I’l call you tomorrow.” Her

glance told him that it was probably a good idea if Brody

saw them leaving separately, and he conceded with a nod.

She left her drink, but took her cigar. Sneaking a peek at

the bar as she passed by, she noticed that Coop and

Mitchel both were gone…and that the beer sitting at

Coop’s place appeared to be untouched.

Plus ten points.

Coop had resisted, and that was enough for today.

Carlotta smiled in relief as she descended to the first floor.

June was stacking cigar boxes in Coop’s arms. Carlotta

climbed on a stool nearby and relit the cigar that she’d

allowed to go out, enjoying their interplay. June and Coop

behaved more like mother and son than June and Mitchel

did. She glanced around, but didn’t see him.

“Did Mitchell leave?” she asked when they came closer.

Coop shot her a warning look and nodded. When she

noticed the pinched expression on June’s face, Carlotta

abruptly changed the subject.

“You said you had some pictures for me?”

June smiled and reached under the counter, then handed

over a photo-processing envelope.

“What are these from?” Coop asked, craning to see.

“Eva McCoy’s appearance at Neiman’s earlier this week,”

Carlotta said, hurrying to shove the envelope in her purse.

“Mitch took some great photos of Carlotta,” June said.

“Let’s see,” Coop encouraged.

She sighed, wondering if “great” was code for “plastered

with cake.” She handed over the pictures and looked over

Coop’s shoulder as he flipped through them. There were

photos of the crowd, of the empty dais, of Eva McCoy

arriving and talking, and several of the line of people