Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (9 page)

Jack opened the door and stuck his head inside. He was

familiar enough with her home.

“Carlotta?”

“Come in,” she said, walking into the living room.

He held up her keys and remote control, then looked her

up and down and gave her a wicked smile. “I remember

that robe—or rather, I remember what’s under it.”

Her bare toes curled in the pile of the carpet. Jack had that

effect on her. “Gee, Jack, I thought your tastes were

running toward a Spanish flavor these days.”

He came over to stand in front of her and lifted her chin.

“Are you jealous of Maria?”

“Of course not,” she said, trying to scoff. Too bad it came

out sounding like a cough.

“Oh, my good God,” he said, bringing his mouth close to

hers. “You are jealous.”

“I am not,” she insisted.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I think it’s kind of sexy. By the

way, you looked pretty tasty all covered in cake.”

She let him kiss her, a hot, probing kiss that pushed all her

worries from her mind…

Until her cel phone rang from her purse on the chair.

She reluctantly broke the kiss. “Sorry—I need to get it. I

haven’t heard from Wesley yet.” She pul ed the phone out

of her purse, but Peter’s name scrol ed across the cal er ID

screen. “It’s not him.” She sent the call to voice mail and

sighed in disappointment.

Jack scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, the D.A. reduced

the charges to a misdemeanor and added hours to

Wesley’s community service.”

She looked up, her mouth parting in elation. “He did?

That’s great! That’s wonderful! That’s…wait—how did you

know?”

“I, um, got a call.”

Her good mood dimmed. “Ah, from Liz. Of course.”

Jack reached forward to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

“We both have other people in our lives. It has to be that

way…for now at least.”

“You mean, until you arrest my father?”

“No, I mean until you make up your mind.”

The charm of three hearts came to mind. The doorbel

rang, startling her. She and Jack both turned and Carlotta

inhaled sharply to see Peter Ashford standing on the

stoop, holding his phone and peering inside. He looked

every inch the successful investment broker, impeccably

dressed, his blond hair cut in a sleek, precision style.

Jack looked back to her. “Perfect timing.”

“Peter and I have a dinner date,” she murmured, drawing

the tie on her robe tighter.

“Let me guess. Ashford is taking you to eat sushi?”

She flapped her eyelashes. “Who’s jealous now?”

“No comment.” He started toward the door, then turned

back. “If you need another jump after the Ken dol drops

you off, give me a call.” Jack grinned, then turned to go,

leaving her shaking her head.

Carlotta uncurled her toes and went to greet Peter.

6

Carlotta manufactured a wide smile to counter the frown

on Peter’s face that appeared when Jack emerged from

her house. The men exchanged wary looks and did an

awkward dance as they passed on the narrow stoop. There

wasn’t room enough for both of them.

“Hi, Peter,” she said. “Come in.”

“I know I’m early,” he said as he stepped over the

threshold. “The receptionist at the firm told me about a

disturbance at Neiman’s. I was worried about you.” He

jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The woman in the

driveway said you had a dead battery?” Then he noticed

what she was wearing and squinted. “What’s going on?”

“Eva McCoy had a speaking event in the store today.”

“The Olympic marathoner?”

“Right. Some guy used a cake as a ruse to get close to her

and I…” She lifted her arms. “I wound up in the cake.”

He gave a little laugh. “I’d like to have seen that.”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

“That’s impossible,” he said, then sighed. “I guess

superhero Jack Terry was on the scene?”

She let the jab pass. “He and his new partner were at the

store for security. When they found out I’d ridden the train

to work because my car battery was dead, they offered to

give me a ride home.”

“Ah. So that woman is Jack’s new partner?”

“Yes. Detective Maria Marquez.”

He pursed his mouth. “Pretty lady.”

Carlotta smiled and angled her head. “Are you

interested?”

“No, but I was hoping that Jack might be.” He gave her a

pointed look, then his expression softened. “You’re

rubbing your arm. Are you stil up to having dinner?”

Her arm was aching, but on the heels of getting such good

news about Wesley’s charges being downgraded, she felt

happy and expansive. “Of course. I’l pop some Advil—it’l

be fine.”

“You probably want time to get ready. I can come back to

pick you up later.”

“No—stay.” She gestured to the shabby living room,

suddenly noticing how yel owed the paint had become,

how dingy the baseboards. She’d tried so hard to shield

her dilapidated lifestyle from Peter—always meeting him

at the door or in the driveway, withholding details about

her and Wesley’s financial and legal problems as much as

possible. But if they were going to date, he needed to

know how she lived. “That is, if you don’t mind hanging

out on the couch and watching a broken TV while I dry my

hair and find something to wear.”

“Sounds good to me.” He seemed so pleased by the

modest offer that her heart gave a squeeze.

“Give me twenty minutes,” she said, then dashed back to

her bedroom where she leaned against the closed door

and exhaled.

She could do this. She needed to do this, to try to rekindle

the feelings she once had for Peter, both to give her father

a chance to prove his innocence, and to give her and Peter

a chance to…test the waters. At the very least, she owed it

to herself to investigate how she felt about Peter so she

could move on.

As she dried her hair and applied her makeup, Carlotta

admitted to herself that her reluctance to get involved

with Peter again might be rooted in fear that she’d fall for

him again, and then after he’d exorcised his guilt over

leaving her, he’d break her heart…again.

Which, come to think of it, was the way she felt about

trusting her father again.

She downed a couple of Advil tablets, then dressed in a

knee-length tan skirt and white long-sleeve linen shirt,

with a triple strand of long, faux pearls and red Donald J

Pliner strappy sandals. She desperately wanted a cigarette,

but knew Peter would frown on the scent that would

undoubtedly cling to her clothes. She glanced at the charm

bracelet lying on the dresser and, on impulse, decided to

put it back on. Eva McCoy had said her bracelet brought

her luck, and Carlotta certainly needed all the luck she

could get.

She left her hair down and as much as she hated to, she

donned the flexible cast to support her tender arm. And

because she was working on a blister from being on her

feet all day, she tucked a pair of black Cole Haan loafers

into her shoulder bag. The bottle of over-the-counter

painkil ers went in, too.

After checking her appearance, she put a hand over her

racing heart and acknowledged she was nervous over their

date. Just being near Peter always left her feeling caught

between the infatuation she’d had as an eighteen-year-old

and the uncertainty of the woman she was now. She took

a deep breath, then returned to the living room where

Peter stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the

tarnished Christmas tree.

“Now that Dad has made his presence known, I was

hoping that Wesley would let me take down the tree.”

Peter turned. “You told Wesley that you saw your dad

while you were in Florida?”

She nodded. “I decided he had a right to know. But he

doesn’t know that Dad called you.”

“That’s probably wise for now,” he agreed, then reached

for her hand. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her fingers. “I can’t tel you how much I’ve been

looking forward to tonight.”

Her pulse kicked up. She hadn’t considered that Peter

might want to…

“Let’s just take it slow and have fun,” she murmured.

“Ready to go?”

He nodded and they left the house. Peter’s low-slung

Porsche two-seater was a far cry from the beater cars in

her garage. She slid into the leather seat that cradled her

like a hand and allowed him to close her door. If one thing

led to another, she knew Peter would buy her any car she

wanted.

Any thing she wanted. Just for the asking. She studied him

as he settled into the driver’s seat.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes worried as if he

were expecting her to pul the plug on the date at any

moment.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I’m hungry.”

“Me, too. I thought we’d go to Ecco. Have you been?”

“No, but I’ve heard about their bar.” Her former coworker

Michael Lane had wanted her to go with him a couple of

times, but it hadn’t worked out with her schedule…or her

finances. She hadn’t known financial security since her

parents had left, but after having her identity stolen and

her already-compromised credit damaged further, she’d

cut up her plastic and put herself on a strict budget.

“They have a great wine list, and I think you’l like the

food.”

“Don’t we need reservations?”

He winked. “I got you covered.”

“Sounds good.” Good for someone else to make decisions,

good to be taken care of for a change. Just…good. Carlotta

closed her eyes and allowed the music on the stereo to

wrap around her during the short ride to Midtown.

For a muggy Monday night, the sidewalks were busy with

locals waiting out rush hour by indulging in happy hour,

and visitors looking for something to do after touring the

Margaret Mitchell House.

The restaurant was packed, but Peter maneuvered a place

at the oversize bar where they enjoyed a leisurely glass of

wine. Peter was a good conversationalist, thoughtful, yet

entertaining, and startlingly handsome. She felt a rush of

affection for him. Peter’s rejection ten years ago had

devastated her, but surely he’d suffered more than she

had with his unhappy marriage, then his wife’s betrayal

and subsequent murder only a few months ago. Peter had

even confessed to his wife’s murder to protect her

reputation, but in the end, her dirty laundry had been

aired.

Still, Carlotta thought as she smiled up at him, his actions

had been noble and selfless.

After their glasses were refil ed, the hostess appeared and

announced their table was ready. Their “table” was more

of an open-ended booth, which al owed them to sit close

and look out into the crowd, European café style. Peter’s

leg pressed against hers under the table while she studied

the menu. Lots of variety—especial y cheeses—and steep

prices.

But the service was impeccable, and the menu was

amazing.

When the waiter left after taking their order, Peter lifted

his wineglass. “Here’s hoping this meal ends better than

the last one we shared together.”

He was referring to the time she’d sneaked out for a

smoke and had been attacked by a kil er who was afraid

that Carlotta was on to them. To her utter astonishment,

Peter had saved her by showing up and whipping out a

gun. With bul ets and everything.

“Are you packing heat tonight?” she asked, clinking her

glass to his.

“No. Are you packing cigarettes?”

She pouted. “I’m trying to quit.” But even now she was

dying for one.

He twined her fingers in his. “I’m only asking because now

I have even more of a vested interest in your living a long,

long time.”

She pressed her lips together. Becoming part of someone

else’s life made even everyday choices more complicated.

“So what did your company think when you turned down

the position in New York?”

“The partners had encouraged me to take it, but they were

fine with my decision. Everyone at the office has given me

a wide berth since Angela died. And I wasn’t really eager

to go to Manhattan—I just needed a reason to stay.” He

squeezed her fingers. “I’m looking forward to us spending

more time together.”

She smiled. “Me, too.”

He gave a little laugh. “Sometimes I think we have so much

to talk about, I don’t know where to start.”

“How are your parents?” she ventured. When they’d

reunited a few months ago, he’d admitted his parents had

pressured him to end their engagement back when news

of her father’s scandal had broken.

“They’re fine. Dad plays golf every day at the club, and

mother spends hours in her rose garden.”

“Sounds idyl ic.” Perhaps her parents would have been

doing something similar had their life not taken such a

felonious trajectory.

“Has your father contacted you again?”

Carlotta shook her head. “I don’t suppose he’s been in

touch with you?”

“No. There’s only been that one phone call.”