Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (35 page)

was sizing her up.

“I think they’re ready for us,” Coop said, handing them

scrubs.

Carlotta looked up sharply because she smel ed something

that brought back a long-lost memory—antiseptic

mouthwash. Her mother used to swish it constantly, even

though it was difficult to smel vodka on someone’s

breath. “You doing okay?” she asked him.

He hesitated, then nodded, pushing his hand into his hair.

“What do we have in there?” she asked, nodding to the

open door.

“Unidentified Caucasian female, forties, stabbed to

death.”

She pul ed on the scrubs and snapped on the latex gloves

just as Jack walked up. “What kind of charm this time?”

she whispered.

Jack frowned. “You know I can’t tel you that.”

“I’m going to find out anyway. You might as wel tel me

and save yourself a lot of grief.”

His mouth tightened. “It’s a car.”

“What kind?”

“Generic.”

“So your kil er drives a car?”

“Or my victim,” Jack groused. “Along with four mil ion

other people in this city.”

“Not always. Some of them drive trucks, motorcycles and

vans.”

“Sorry if I can’t get excited about this clue—if it even is a

clue.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Wel , at least I have witnesses

that I had nothing to do with this crime scene. I’ve been

with Hannah all afternoon.”

“Do I want to know what doing?”

“Uh…in due time.”

She fol owed Coop into the motel room and winced at the

partially nude woman on the bed who stil had a knife in

her chest. Blood pooled around her on the bed in the

shape of wings. But when Carlotta looked at the woman’s

face, she gasped.

“I know her.”

Jack’s eyes flew wide and Maria stepped into the room.

“You know the victim?”

“I met her once,” Carlotta said, taking in the dark red hair

and the harsh eyeliner. “Her name is Pepper. She’s a

prostitute who hangs out on Third and West Peachtree.”

Jack gaped. “How do you know a prostitute?” Then he

raised his hands. “Never mind. But you can’t work the

scene if you know the victim, not in this case anyway.”

Carlotta swallowed nervously. Not in a case where she’d

been on the crime scene of two of the victims of The

Charmed Kil er, and was acquainted with the third.

Minus ten points.

24

Wesley climbed into the Town Car and closed the door

with a thunk.

“Took you long enough,” Mouse grumbled.

Wesley handed over a fat rol of cash. “Happy?”

“How much did you get?”

“Twelve hundred from Jennings, eight hundred from

Greene, a thousand from Rivera.” Plus the hundred he’d

crammed into his shoe.

Mouse gestured to the Georgia State residence hal . “Was

it hard to get in?”

“Not for me.”

Mouse was counting the money. “You keep this up and

you’re going to make a career for yourself.”

Wesley thought not. “Listen, Mouse, I know you said I

could pay down what I owe The Carver this way, but I need

some cash, too. Father Thom’s leaning on me. He wants a

grand by Wednesday, and I’m not going to have it.”

“Why am I supposed to care?”

“Because if I’m in a body cast, it’s going to be hard for me

to col ect for you, man.”

Mouse considered his request. “I’l take care of Father

Thom’s guy.”

Wesley’s throat convulsed. “What do you mean, you’l

take care of him?”

“I mean I’l pay him off. It’s better if you owe just The

Carver anyway.”

“Oh.” Wesley’s shoulders fell in relief. “I guess that’s okay.

Are we through? I need to be somewhere the rest of this

evening.”

“Yeah, just keep your phone on, Little Man.”

Mouse dropped him off at Chance’s building and Wes got

his bike out of the trunk, relieved to see that his jacket,

covered in the blood of the severed finger, was gone,

replaced by a cardboard evergreen air freshener. He

slammed the trunk closed and after the car drove away, he

locked his bike on a rack, then called his friend.

“Dude, you’re late,” Chance said, breathless.

“I’m downstairs. Come on, we’l make the game in plenty

of time.”

While he waited for Chance, Wesley popped an Oxy pil

and soon was feeling as if he could take on the world. He

high-fived Chance when he emerged.

“Ready to win, dude?” his friend asked.

“Feeling good,” Wesley replied, cracking his knuckles. “And

feeling lucky.”

It was a magical night of poker-playing—he’d never felt

more relaxed or more happy. And it was as if he wil ed the

cards to fall his way. Out of twenty-five players in the

tournament, he beat everyone playing at his five-top table

in record fashion to win a place at the final table to

compete for the winning pot of twenty grand. Since

Chance always footed the entry fee, they would split the

winnings down the middle.

When play kicked off at the final table, Wes sat back and

let the cards come to him. He was dealt two superb

facedown pocket cards at the beginning of every hand,

then watched as the five face-up community cards, divided

into three reveals of the flop, the turn and the river, all

conspired to give him some of the most gorgeous hands

he’d ever played. They were so good that the five table

bosses gathered around to make sure he wasn’t cheating.

But Wesley didn’t mind—it only added to the drama. After

promptly losing early in the tournament, Chance stood

near his table and cheered him on with lots of fist-

pumping and primal screams.

Wesley didn’t have to bluff, didn’t have to decipher tel s—

he merely consistently had the best hands. It was as if the

cards were alive in his grasp. He could sense the colors

bleeding into his fingertips, could feel the curves and the

points of the four suits, noticed the winks and smiles of

the face cards. The Oxy helped him to stay relaxed and

focused, and he parlayed it into a spectacular finish with a

straight heart flush, queen high.

He thought Chance was going to have a stroke. His friend

dry-humped him in jubilation, then poured a beer over

Wesley’s head. He didn’t care—it felt so damn good to win

without the panic attacks of previous tournaments.

The Oxy, as it turned out, was his good luck charm. And he

never intended to play without her again.

25

Carlotta woke up suddenly, sitting straight up in bed, her

heart pounding. From the moment she closed her eyes,

nightmares had chased her nonstop—the sheets tangled

in her legs were proof of that. She lay back down on her

pil ow but the sense of being pursued, of being watched,

clung to her until her breathing slowed. Her clock read

8:15 a.m., but she didn’t feel rested. Coming home last

night to a dark, empty house after seeing Pepper, who had

been so alive only a few days ago, murdered, with a knife

stuck in her thin body, had saddened and disturbed her.

Wesley hadn’t been home and Hannah couldn’t spend the

night because of something she had to get up early for. So

Carlotta had huddled in bed with her lamp light on, tel ing

herself there was no reason to be scared. The doors and

windows were locked. She was simply letting her

imagination run away with her. But she couldn’t get the

image of that knife out of her head, wondering when

Pepper had realized she might be in danger, and how

much pain the woman had endured before she’d died.

Three bodies in one week—The Charmed Kil er was

wasting no time in racking up impressive numbers. He was

out to get everyone’s attention, and it appeared that the

violence of his methods was escalating.

She shuddered in the warm air and laid there, her mind

whirling, folding in new thoughts with every revolution.

For example, who had hired James Canary to steal Eva

McCoy’s bracelet. Was it Eva herself, who was tired of the

publicity and the danger? Or was someone else involved?

When it was clear she wouldn’t be going back to sleep,

Carlotta swung her feet over the edge of the bed, found

her slippers and put on her robe. She was relieved to hear

the drone of the fan behind Wesley’s closed door, but

after last night’s ghastly experience, she felt compelled to

look in on him, just to reassure herself that he was okay.

She turned the doorknob and eased open the door. Then

squinted. And gasped.

Wesley lay in his bed in a pool of money.

She blinked to make sure that all the green papers around

him being ruffled by the air of the fan were indeed dol ar

bil s. While she watched, a twenty was dislodged and

floated to the floor. There must be thousands of dol ars.

Her heart lodged in her throat. Where would her brother

get that kind of money? Drugs?

Wesley must have heard her or sensed she was in the

room because he stirred and rubbed his eyes. When he

moved on the money, it crackled, which seemed to further

rouse him. He looked around and blinked her into focus.

“What time is it?”

She opened the door wider and crossed her arms. “Time

for you to tel me where you got all this money.”

He lifted his head and looked all around him. When he

raised his arms, dol ar bil s stuck to them. Then he

propped himself up on his elbow and grinned. “I won it.”

“In a bet?” she asked. “Because you promised me you

wouldn’t play cards.”

He blanched. “But I won. For you…for us. We can do some

of the things around the house you’ve been wanting to

do.”

Carlotta bit her lip. “How much is it?”

“Ten grand, give or take.”

She inhaled sharply. “Ten thousand dol ars?”

“Yeah.”

Carlotta clasped her hands in front of her face like a child.

“Cool, huh?” he said.

“I’m not condoning how you got it, but I admit that, yes,

it’l be nice to have some extra cash to fix things up around

here.” Then she remembered the pil she’d found in his

room and sobered. “Get dressed, okay? I need to talk to

you about something else.”

She col ected the Sunday paper from the stoop and

glanced around for the mysterious SUV, but didn’t see

anything amiss.

Predictably, The Charmed Kil er was front-page news.

Rainie Stephens’s source in the morgue was thorough—

she knew the victim’s name and presumed occupation, as

well as the fact that there was no question that the victim

had been murdered this time, and violently.

The reporter also described the charm as a “miniature

car,” and added that police were stil perplexed about the

actual meaning of the charms. Finally, she took advantage

of the Eva McCoy missing charm bracelet connection,

leaving the reader to believe that the charms found in the

mouths of the victims might be from the McCoy charm

bracelet.

Carlotta carried the paper to the kitchen and made coffee,

peering through the window over the sink up into an

overcast sky. She had to work this afternoon, and tel Jack

about James Canary…and confess what she and Hannah

had done…and hope the perp hadn’t left town.

And all the while, thoughts of Coop kept popping into her

mind. He’d looked so haggard last night, as if he hadn’t

been sleeping…or had been drinking.

“Hey.” Wesley walked into the kitchen and poured himself

a cup of coffee. “What’s up?”

She walked over to her purse that she’d left on the

breakfast bar, reached in, and removed the little baggie

holding the OxyContin pil she’d found. “This is what’s up.”

He picked up the baggie and scratched his head. “What is

it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I found it on your bathroom

floor.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“I looked it up. It’s generic OxyContin.”

He stil looked perplexed. “Okay.”

“I read up on it. It’s highly addictive. What are you doing

with it?”

He put his hand on his scarred arm. “Chance gave it to me

when my arm was hurting.”

“I thought you took my Percocet refil s for your pain.”

“This was before the Percocet.” He frowned. “What were

you doing in my bathroom?”

“Cleaning it.”

“Wel , don’t.”

She held up her hands. “So you’re tel ing me that you’re

not taking this OxyContin stuff?”

“Right. I have to give urine samples when I meet with my

probation officer. Why would I risk it?”

Carlotta’s shoulders fel in relief. She hadn’t thought about

the drug screening. All this time, she’d been worried for

nothing…fretting, doubting her brother, thinking the

worst. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known you wouldn’t get

mixed up in something like that.”

He nodded. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“There is one more thing. I called Liz Fischer to ask about

Randolph’s case file, and she said that you’d stolen it?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly.

“Cool. Did you photocopy everything?”

“The things that looked important.”

Carlotta’s eyes widened in understanding. “That’s why you

were seeing Liz? So you could steal Dad’s file?”