Body Movers (41 page)

“Your probation officer is a chick? And she fol owed you?

Ain’t that il egal or something?”

Wesley stared at Chance, incredulous. “Dude, what we

were doing was il egal.”

“No money changed hands.”

Wesley looked up and down the hallway to make sure no

one was in earshot, then leaned in. “Possession is a crime,

dude. I could’ve gone to prison!”

“Stil , her fol owing you don’t seem right. What did she

do?”

“She drove up in her car and told me she’d revoke my

probation unless I gave her the bag.”

Chance’s eyes rounded. “So you just gave it to her?”

“Yeah.” Wesley squirmed. “And then she…gave it back.

Said she wouldn’t look inside or report it if I brought it

back to you.”

“She knows where you got it?”

“She only knows the building. I didn’t mention your

name.”

Chance frowned. “It’s a good goddamn thing.”

Wesley lifted his hands. “I’m sorry. I know you were

counting on me, dude.” He waited for a beat, holding his

breath. Chance and his moods could be unpredictable.

Chance sighed, then slapped Wesley on the shoulder. “It’s

okay, not your fault.”

Wesley let the air out of his lungs. “I feel bad owing you so

much money.”

His buddy chewed on his lip, then snapped his fingers.

“Take my statistics exam in the morning, and I’l knock off

five hundred.”

Wesley weighed his options. “Okay. Tel me when and

where.”

Chance pul ed a business card out of his shirt pocket and

scribbled the info.

“Nobody wil question that I’m you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m never in that class—it’s at fucking

eight o’clock in the morning. I need a B on the exam. I

know you could ace it, but if I get an A, someone wil start

asking questions, got it?”

“Got it.”

“You need a textbook or something?”

“No, I’m cool,” Wesley said.

Chance shook his head. “Man, if you’re so damn smart,

why are you hanging around with me?”

Wesley frowned and jerked his thumb toward the

stairwel . “Gotta go, man. She’s waiting for me.”

“Is she hot?”

Wesley hesitated, thinking of E.’s long, wil owy shape and

her take-no-prisoners attitude. “Yeah.”

Chance chortled. “Enjoy.” E. Jones was waiting patiently in

her car when Wesley got back to his motorcycle. “Any

problems?” she asked.

He shook his head, afraid to say anything, stil sure that

this was some kind of setup, that a cop was waiting for

him around the corner.

“Good,” she said. “I’l fol ow you home.”

Wesley climbed on his bike with acid churning in his

stomach. Carlotta would be home by now and mad as hel

that he was out on his motorcycle. If he arrived home

escorted by his probation officer, she’d want an

explanation, and E. Jones was likely to give it to her. He

didn’t want Carlotta to think he was messed up in drugs,

and besides, she’d be happy to name Chance as the source

of the transaction. He drove careful y on the way home,

conscious of the woman in the red car behind him. At the

town house, he eased into the driveway and waited for

her to pul up beside him.

She zoomed down the passenger-side window. “Is this it?”

He nodded.

“Okay, I’l see you Wednesday.”

Her nonchalance caught him by surprise. The window was

halfway up when he said, “Hey, E., why didn’t you look in

the bag?”

She leaned down until she could see him. “Because if I’d

seen the contents, I would’ve had to report it.”

“So why did you ask me to give it to you?”

She gave him a little smile. “To see if you would trust me.

See you later.”

He nodded and watched her drive away, dazed and a little

confused. She could’ve had his ass thrown in jail and been

rid of him, not to mention scored points with the D.A.

He would never understand women in a thousand years.

Wesley pushed his motorcycle into the garage, frowning

when he saw the damage to the Monte Carlo’s bumper

and side. Had Carlotta been in an accident? He jogged to

the house in the waning daylight, breathing easier when

he saw lights and heard movement in the kitchen. Carlotta

stood at the stove wearing her fuzzy yel ow bathrobe,

stirring a pot. A box of macaroni and cheese stood open on

the counter. She had to have heard him, but she didn’t

turn around.

“Hey,” he ventured.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and tired.

“I saw your car. What happened?”

“Some jerk sideswiped me on the way home this evening.”

His heart jumped in his chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What kind of car was it? Did you see the other person?”

She sighed. “I already gave my statement to the police. I

don’t know who it was.” Then she turned. “Why? Do you

know something that I don’t know?”

He shook his head, but they were both probably thinking

the same thing—it could have been one of his creditors

leaving a message.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It was probably a run-of-

the-mil asshole Atlanta driver.” She put a lid on the pot,

then crossed her arms. “I was looking forward to those

lamb chops.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’l make them tomorrow.”

“Where have you been and why are you driving? You

know you’re not supposed to.”

“I know. But I had to meet with my probation officer today

and run some other errands. I swear it won’t happen

again.”

She leveled her gaze on him. “I’m going to have that

engraved on your tombstone.”

His throat convulsed, glad that she didn’t know just how

close he’d come to disaster today.

“Want some macaroni and cheese?” she asked.

He relaxed, relieved that she had let the matter go. “Sure.

I’l make us a salad.” He walked to the refrigerator and

began removing ingredients. “And you know, you can

dress up the boxed mac and cheese by adding real

cheddar cheese, sour cream, brown mustard and a dash of

Worcestershire sauce.”

She sat at the table, happy to let him take over the meal,

and he was happy to do it. “Is that why yours always tastes

better?”

“Yup.”

But as the small talk continued, Wesley had a feeling from

the pinched look around Carlotta’s dark eyes that she was

getting ready to drop a bombshel .

He was right. After her first bite of salad, she announced,

“I found the postcard from Mom and Dad that you were

hiding.”

The tennis-ball can in the garage—he’d tipped his hand to

that particular hiding place when she’d visited him in jail.

“I didn’t think you’d want to know,” he said careful y.

“Detective Terry has it now.”

Anger sparked in his stomach. “You gave it to him? Why?”

“I didn’t mean to. It fel out of my purse while he was

here.”

“What was he doing at the house?”

She sighed. “I had some information regarding the deaths

of Angela Ashford and Lisa Bolton. Unfortunately, I may

have also implicated myself.”

He gaped. “How? Because you have history with that

Ashford jerk?”

“Yes. And as you’l recall, that ‘Ashford jerk’ saved me

from one of your thugs the other night, plus used his own

money to get you off the hook.”

Wesley looked down at his plate. “I know, but Jesus, sis,

he’s dragging you into a murder investigation.”

“I’l be okay,” she insisted. “They’re only leaning on me to

put pressure on Peter.”

“Are you stil in love with this guy, after all he did to you?”

She took her time answering. “Wesley, our breakup wasn’t

entirely Peter’s fault. He was young, and he wasn’t ready

to deal with everything that Mom and Dad heaped onto

me when they left.”

“Meaning me,” he said.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “That was part of it.

But it was mostly the scandal that Dad created. Peter’s

family didn’t want him to be associated with the

headlines…and I don’t blame them. Did you know that

Peter is working for the firm where Dad used to be a

partner?”

“No.”

“That would never have happened if he’d married me.

Breaking our engagement was the smart thing for him to

do.”

“If you ask me, it was the easy thing for him to do. He left

you high and dry.”

“No,” she said through clenched teeth, “Mom and Dad left

me high and dry. And you too.”

He sighed—they could talk in circles al evening. “You stil

didn’t answer my question—are you in love with him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, toying with her food. “The whole

situation is so confusing.”

“Do you think he kil ed his wife or that other woman?”

“No. The man I know couldn’t have done it.”

“But people change.”

She nodded and went back to eating.

“Do you ever think about what your life would have been

like if you’d married Peter?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. I guess I got a glimpse the

other night when we were at their house. A mansion, a

pool.” She gestured to the dated, cramped kitchen and

laughed. “Compared to this, that life seems pretty

glamorous.”

“And dangerous,” he added quietly.

Carlotta squirmed in her seat. “So—the postcard. Is it the

only contact you’ve had with Mom and Dad?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but I was afraid you’d

destroy it.”

“Fair enough. But from now on, I want to know, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you on call this evening?”

He lifted his eyebrows at the note of interest in her voice.

“Yeah. And I have to be somewhere at eight o’clock in the

morning, so I’l be leaving early.”

She gave him a stern look. “As long as you don’t drive your

motorcycle.”

“I won’t.”

He resumed eating, casting worried glances at Carlotta

when she wasn’t looking. In love with a murderer and

possibly implicated in his crimes.

Between the two of them, man, they had trouble to spare.

34

Carlotta knew it was a dream, but she wil ed it to go on.

He stroked her skin exposed by the pale blue see-through

chemise, caressing her foot, ankle, knee. But his touch was

unexpectedly cool, and she shrank from it, confused. Was

it a sign, she wondered in her half-conscious state, that

she had misjudged him, expecting him to be one thing,

when he was something else altogether?

The coldness slid against her thigh and her eyes popped

open in panic as she realized that something was very,

very wrong. Someone was in bed with her.

No, not someone…something.

She froze, but the thing kept moving…sliding against her.

Then the large black-and-white-spotted head of Wesley’s

snake emerged from the covers.

Pure terror seized her, paralyzing her for a few blood-

curdling seconds. Then she let loose a paint-peeling

scream and levitated out of the bed, barely touching the

floor as she flung herself across the room to climb on top

of her dresser. There she scrambled to her feet and stood

with her back to the corner, gasping for breath as all six

feet of the massive snake slid from her bed to the floor.

And stayed there.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod,” she murmured, running her

hands up and down her arms. “Ew, ew, ew.” How long had

that thing been in bed with her? A ful body shiver

overtook her and she stared at the python, its exotically

spotted body ridiculously out of place against her plain

beige carpet. “Wesley!” she screamed. “Wesley, your

damn snake is loose!”

No response.

“Wesley! Come and get your snake before I make a pair of

shoes out of it!”

Nothing.

She glanced at the clock—seven thirty. He’d said he had to

be somewhere at eight and was leaving early. Oh, God, she

was here alone with a snake that could swallow her whole.

And she’d taken Wesley to the emergency room more

than once when he’d first gotten the thing to get stitches

for bite marks to his hands and face.

He’s just getting used to me, Wesley had said. Besides, his

bites aren’t poisonous.

But the bites bled, and they maimed. And were very likely

meant to distract while the snake snapped itself around its

prey and contracted like a giant spring.

“Shoo,” she yelled at it. “Get out of here!” She threw a

tissue box at it, but the mammoth reptile didn’t budge,

apparently liking where it had landed, between her and

her bedroom door. Only his head moved back and forth,

his tongue slithering in and out. Her skin crawled and she

had decided that a crying jag was the best way to go, when

she spotted her cel phone lying on the dresser near her

feet.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, and bent over to get it.

She tried Wesley’s cel -phone number, but he didn’t

answer and it didn’t rol over to voice mail. She cursed and

tried twice more before giving up. Thinking he was

probably on a job with Coop, she called Coop’s number

and prayed while it rang.

“This is Coop,” he answered on the third ring.

“Coop!” she yelped. “This is Carlotta.”

“Hi, there. Are you okay? You don’t sound so good.”