Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (6 page)

based on the force of the col ision, she was pretty sure

she’d taken out at least a couple of people. Then the cart

tipped over, dumping her and the cake onto the floor.

Exclamations and screams sounded. Carlotta felt the crush

of bodies around her and was afraid she was going to be

trampled. She clawed at the gooey cake on her face and

tried to blink the scene into focus, but her eyes stung and

watered. Someone grabbed her by the arm and pul ed her

up, then shoved her against a display counter.

“Stay here,” said a woman with a curling voice. Maria.

“Clear the area!” a man bel owed. “Clear the area!” A shril

noise pierced the air, which Carlotta recognized as a

display-case alarm. Had someone broken into one of the

jewelry cases?

When she finally blinked the surroundings into focus, she

gasped. It was a mob scene. Because of Eva’s white

tracksuit, Carlotta was able to spot her at the bottom of a

pile of people who had presumably been knocked down by

the flying Carlotta-cake-cart, Patricia Alexander for one.

Maria Marquez was hauling people off one at a time and

finally reached the athlete, who looked dazed.

“Let’s get you out of here,” a man said near Carlotta’s ear.

She recognized the voice—and the muscular arm—as

belonging to Mitchel Moody. Grateful for the assistance,

she leaned on him as she slipped and slid on cake and icing

that had been mashed under many feet.

He led her to the mall entrance, where clumps of

customers had congregated.

“Thank you,” Carlotta said, trying to catch her breath. “Did

you see what happened?”

“Hard to say. It looked to me as if the guy with the cake

was trying to get close to Eva.”

“Did he get away?”

“I don’t know. I got Mom out of there and went back to

get you.”

“There you are,” June said, hurrying up to them. “Carlotta,

are you okay?”

She nodded, then lifted her arms and stared down at her

cake-matted dress. “But I can’t imagine what I must look

like.”

Mitch gave a little laugh. “Mom said you were always into

something.”

Patricia Alexander emerged from the store and came

stomping over, her pearls askew and her bob disheveled.

“I should’ve known something like this would happen on

your first day back.”

Carlotta gaped. “Are you saying this was my fault?”

“Lindy wants all employees back in the store ASAP, and the

police are asking for you. Big surprise.” The woman turned

and marched back into the store.

Carlotta sighed and turned to June and Mitchel . “I’m sorry

the event turned out this way. It was nice to meet you,

Mitch.”

“You, too,” he said. “I hope I’l see you again before I leave

town.”

“That would be nice,” she said, pul ing a piece of cake out

of her ear. She said goodbye to June, and retreated to the

entrance of the store with as much dignity as she could

muster.

This was not how her life was supposed to be. Mired in

drama. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Remember this when you’re having dinner with Peter

tonight, she told herself. If she married him, she’d never

have to work another day in her life. She could spend her

days having her purchases rung up at Neiman’s instead of

being the one doing the ringing up. She could buy a new

car when her battery died. And she could make bail no

matter how many times Wesley got into trouble.

The area around the event had been cleared of customers.

A cleaning crew was mopping up cake that seemed to be

everywhere. Carlotta realized she was tracking icing on the

floor from her shoes, but it couldn’t be helped. A knot of

people had gathered to the side. Lindy wore a worried

expression. Maria Marquez was talking to Eva McCoy, who

was being comforted by her boyfriend, Ben. Eva’s

bodyguard and publicist were nearby, as wel as the head

of store security. Jack stood back a few steps, observing.

When he saw Carlotta, he wiped his hand over his mouth

to smother a smile.

“Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” he murmured when

she walked up.

“Don’t start. What happened?”

“Not sure. I’m just getting back from handing off the

drunk-and-disorderly character, so I’m hearing everything

secondhand. The cake was definitely some kind of ruse. No

one in McCoy’s camp or with Neiman’s knew about it. But

the guy got away. His smock was found in a trash can

inside the mall.”

“Did he attack Eva?”

“No. Apparently you got the worst of it.”

Carlotta gave him a withering look.

Jack pul ed out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Can

you describe him?”

She inhaled the scent of his aftershave on the

handkerchief before she wiped her face. But the suspicion

that she was only making things worse was confirmed by

Jack’s wince, so she gave up. “He was about five-ten.

Caucasian. Wearing a fake mustache, I think.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“Then look for a guy wearing rol er skates,” she said drily.

“That should be pretty easy to spot.”

He pursed his mouth, then made a few notes on a little

notepad. He pul ed out his phone and made a cal , relaying

the description to someone on the other end. When he

flipped the phone closed, he shook his head and muttered,

“Why do I get all the crazies?” When she raised her

eyebrows, he added, “I don’t mean you…this time.”

She frowned and crossed her arms. “Do you think he

meant to hurt Eva?” Carlotta realized everyone else had

stopped talking and her voice suddenly sounded very loud.

Jack gave her a look that asked her to lower her voice. “He

might have meant to harm Ms. McCoy, or he might have

simply wanted to give her cake,” Jack said to the entire

group.

“But he could’ve kil ed her,” Eva’s boyfriend said. His face

was red, his body language vibrating with anger. “Is

anyone looking for this guy?”

“Yes, Mr. Newsome. The perp’s description has been

broadcast, and we have units circling the area. But let’s try

to keep this in perspective. As of now, the man’s only

crime is attempted delivery of a cake.”

“I heard a case alarm go off,” Carlotta said. “Was anything

stolen?”

“We think it was triggered when the cart hit a glass case,”

Maria offered.

“Thank goodness nothing was stolen,” Lindy added.

Suddenly Eva gasped and grabbed her wrist. “My charm

bracelet—it’s gone!”

Carlotta inhaled sharply at the loss of the iconic piece of

jewelry. And from the blank expressions of the group,

everyone was equally stunned.

“Did the man take it?” Maria asked.

Eva touched her forehead. “I don’t know…it’s possible.

There were just so many people grabbing at me.”

“I just remembered something,” Carlotta said to Jack.

“There was some kind of tool on the cart. I don’t know

what it was.”

“Can you sketch it?” He handed her his little notebook and

pen and she drew the outline as best she could remember.

“It was maybe six or eight inches long.”

Jack squinted at the drawing. “Looks like tin snips, maybe.

Probably to cut the charm bracelet from Ms. McCoy’s

wrist.”

“I thought you people were here so this kind of thing

wouldn’t happen,” Ben Newsome said, his voice

accusatory.

A muscle ticked in Jack’s jaw. “We can’t anticipate

everything, sir.”

“We’re pulling surveil ance tapes from the store cameras,”

Maria added. “Hopeful y those wil tel us more.”

“Of course the most important thing is that Eva’s all right,”

Ben said, squeezing her shoulders. “But that bracelet

means everything to her, and it represents a lot to the

American people, too.”

Eva’s eyes were glazed, her expression stricken. “Take me

home, Ben.”

“Perhaps I should stay and work with the police,” he said

gently.

“That’s not necessary,” Jack said. “Do you have a photo of

the bracelet you can let me have?”

Newsome scoffed. “It’s only one of the most

photographed pieces of jewelry in the world, Detective.”

Jack handed the man a card. “That should make it easy for

you to send a close-up to this address. We’l contact you as

soon as we have news.”

The woman’s boyfriend scowled, but he nodded curtly and

led Eva away.

Carlotta noticed a redhead loitering on the periphery of

the shoe department, within earshot of the group—the

reporter from the AJC. She looked up and caught Carlotta’s

eye, then replaced the shoe she’d been studying, did an

about-face, and headed toward the nearest exit. Carlotta

frowned, wondering how long it would be before news of

the stolen bracelet would be broadcast.

Lindy stepped up to Carlotta. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I’d like to clean up.”

“Absolutely, you should go home. I’l see you tomorrow.”

Carlotta nodded wordlessly. So much for not drawing

attention to herself. She glanced at her watch and used

her nail to scrape off the white icing dried on the face.

Three o’clock. Wesley’s meeting with the D.A. should be

over by now—he’d probably left her a message.

Please let it be good news, she prayed. Please let him be

safe.

“Did you drive to work?” Jack asked.

She shook her head. “I took the train.”

“Get your things. We’l take you home.”

4

Wesley had counted on walking out with Liz, knowing that

Mouse wouldn’t come near him if he was with his

attorney. But as luck would have it, she had appointments

in the government office building the rest of the day.

“I don’t like the idea of you working for Hol is Carver,” she

said with a concerned frown as they rode the elevator

down to the first floor. “But give Lucas what he wants and

maybe he’l ease up on you.”

Wesley gave a little laugh. “You know as wel as I do that

Lucas would be thril ed if something happened to me on

the job.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Liz said, but without her

normal brass-tits attitude. “I’m going to request that Jack

Terry be your undercover police contact.”

Wesley rol ed his eyes. “Anyone but him.”

“I know you don’t like Jack, but he’s the best man for the

job. I want you to be safe.”

Resigned, Wesley stepped off the elevator and dragged a

shaking hand through his hair. He needed a hit of

something, bad.

“I’l cal you,” Liz said from the elevator. “Get some rest—

you look like hel .” The doors slid closed.

Wesley glanced in the direction of the lobby where Mouse

had probably parked his fat ass, pretending to know how

to read. Which meant Wesley needed another way out of

the building.

He walked up to a janitor who was pushing a dust mop.

“Man, is there someplace I can step out to grab a smoke

without setting off an alarm?”

The guy jerked his thumb toward a Stairs-Emergency Exit

sign. “The door’s left propped open for smokers and the

alarm turned off. Don’t tel Homeland Security.”

Wesley made a zipping motion across his mouth, then

headed for the stairwel . A folded empty cigarette pack

was wedged between the door latch and the strike plate.

He slipped outside, then careful y repositioned the

cigarette pack as he closed the door behind him. A small

concrete pad littered with cigarette butts was isolated by

tall bushes and a whirring HVAC unit. He looked around to

get his bearings, then stepped through the bushes and

headed toward the parking lot where he’d left his bike,

scanning for Mouse.

He merged with a group of employees who appeared to be

leaving for a lunch break, then veered off when they

walked past the bike racks. He stooped to spin the

combination lock securing his bike, but his vision blurred

and his hands fumbled. Sweat dripped off his nose. He

shook his head to focus, and final y the lock sprang open.

He stood too quickly and got a head rush, but stabilized

himself on the bike and pushed off, feeling smug for

outmaneuvering Mouse. He’d have to face the man soon

enough if he infiltrated The Carver’s organization, but he’d

rather get the details of what was expected of him first.

As he rode out of the parking lot, he heard a car pul up

behind him—close.

Too close.

Hoping it was the standard asshole Atlanta driver who had

no respect for sharing the road with cyclists, he looked

over his shoulder, only to confirm his worst fear.

Mouse was driving a dark Town Car with a big, impressive

gril that was closing in fast on his back tire. Panicked,

Wesley stood to apply extra pressure to the pedals, but his

reaction time was slow. The impact of the car knocked his

bike forward, his body up and back. He landed on the big

hood of the Town Car with a thunk and slid to the

windshield as Mouse brought the car to a halt.

Mouse opened the door and stepped out, then dragged

Wesley off the hood by his tie and pul ed his face close.

“Trying to avoid me, Wren?”