2 Bodies for the Price of 1 (16 page)

“She won’t be alone, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Coop shifted in his seat. “Do you think it’s wise to leave her—them—alone?”

Wesley shrugged, enjoying his boss’s discomfiture. “You were the one who said she was a full-grown woman who had the right to make her own decisions.”

Coop frowned. “Even bad ones?”

Wesley reached over to clap his hand on the shoulder of his lovesick boss. “Yeah dude, even bad ones.”

21

“I’
ll answer the door,” Carlotta said, pushing past Jack.

Jack snagged her arm. “You’re not supposed to be seen, remember? And for that matter, neither am I.”

“But Peter won’t leave,” she said, wondering suddenly if her father had been in touch with him again.

Jack gave her a wry look. “Yeah, I kind of noticed that he’s hard to get rid of.”

The doorbell rang and Jack cursed under his breath as he strode toward it. He unlocked the door, then quickly stood to the side and yelled, “Get in here, Ashford!”

The door opened and Peter walked in, pinning a glare on Jack. Then his gaze landed on her and his face softened.

“Close the door,” Jack ordered. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Peter scowled. “I came to see Carly.”

“You shouldn’t be here. This is an active investigation.”

Carlotta stepped forward, irritated with Jack. One kiss and the man was starting to act possessive.

“Detective, don’t you have cameras to install?”

Jack frowned in her direction, then picked up the huge black duffel bag and moved into the kitchen.

She waited until he was out of earshot before asking, “Is something wrong?”

Peter reached for her hand. “Only that I’m scared all over again every time I hear something on the news about you taking your own life. I had to see you.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

“Holed up in this house with that Neanderthal?”

“I heard that,” Jack called from the kitchen.

She sighed and pulled Peter farther away, toward the hallway. “Peter, he’s just doing his job. Besides, Wesley will be here with me.” She glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Jack wasn’t still listening and whispered, “Have you heard from my father?”

He shook his head. “No, but the thought crossed my mind that he might call again. I don’t suppose that you or Wesley have heard from him?”

“No.”

“What should I do if he does call me?”

Carlotta worried her lower lip. “Play along, try to get him to come to the house or to my memorial service.”

He grimaced. “They’re having a funeral for you?”

“If it comes to that.”

“So you’ve decided to turn him in.”

She nodded. “It’ll be the best thing for me and Wesley, I think. To put this mess behind us.”

“And start over?” Peter asked hopefully.

After an uncomfortable few seconds, she nodded again.

“Then why don’t you just tell the police that your father called us and let them trace the calls?”

“Because the D.A. is offering incentive if I go along with his plan. If I told him, he’d probably remove his offer from the table.”

“Does this have something to do with the reward money?”

She blinked. “You know about that?”

He lifted his hands. “It’s folklore within the company—that the partners were so furious when your father left town that they offered a reward for information that would lead to his capture.”

“I had no idea,” she murmured. “Jack told me about it only this morning.” Then Carlotta flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, the D.A. said if we went along and my father came forward, he would make sure we got the reward money.” She wet her lips. “I know it sounds…callous, but it would be enough to send Wesley to a good college.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said gently.

“Peter, you could have simply told someone about the phone call and maybe collected that reward money for yourself.”

His eyes clouded. “I could never do that.”

She smiled up at him, her heart expanding with affection.

“Excuse me,” Jack said, making a noisy entrance into the living room with a camera and yards of wiring.

Peter frowned in his direction. “Have you found out yet who was impersonating Carly?”

“Not yet, Ashford. There’s only one of me.”

“And for that we are eternally thankful,” Peter muttered. Then he looked at Carlotta. “I should go.”

“Yes, you should,” Jack said. “And don’t come back until this is over, got it?”

Peter’s mouth tightened, but he nodded curtly.

Carlotta touched his arm. “I’ll see you soon.”

He leaned down, brushed a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “Call me if you need me. Keep your bedroom door locked.” He inclined his head. “Detective.”

“Ashford.”

When Jack had closed the door behind the man, he arched his eyebrow at her. “A kiss on the cheek?”

She crossed her arms, rankled that he had her comparing their two kisses. “He’s being sweet. You’ve never kissed a girl on the cheek?”

“Yeah, my mother.” He carefully situated the camera on the window ledge and checked a small handheld monitor. “And what was all that whispering about?”

“Nothing,” she said casually. “Peter just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“You certainly have your share of watchdogs.”

Her cheeks flamed at the reference to them having been caught in the act by Wesley and Coop. To change the subject, she went to look over his shoulder. “How does this work?”

“Simple—the cameras send images to this monitor. I can watch all three camera views from the kitchen, if you don’t mind me setting up shop in there. That’ll give me the chance to make some phone calls.”

As if on cue, the phone rang and her heart hammered until the voice of a credit card employee came over the phone, telling her in a menacing voice that if she didn’t make the minimum payment on her balance, her account would be turned over to a collection agency.

When the message ended, she sighed, too tired to be embarrassed.

“I take it you get lots of those types of calls,” he said.

“Yes, Detective, I do.”

He kept working. “You know that makes you a good target for identity theft.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because you said yourself that you don’t check your statements, and that you’re always behind on your bills. Someone could’ve been using your credit cards and driver’s license for months and you wouldn’t have known it.’

“I don’t need a lecture, Jack.”

“I didn’t mean to lecture. I’m just pointing out how things like this happen.”

She snapped her fingers. “You thought you saw me at the ATM at my bank on Piedmont?”

“Right.”

“Maybe it was the woman who stole my identity.”

He pursed his mouth. “It’s a good place to start.”

“And Hannah said she thought she saw me jogging around here.”

“I take it, it wasn’t you?”

“No, I don’t like breaking a sweat.”

His eyebrows arched, causing her to squirm.

“But maybe it’s the same woman. If so, maybe she lives nearby.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded. “All possibilities.”

“The driver’s license, was it a fake?”

“No, it was a copy of your actual license, easy enough to obtain by mail with the right information. I have a call into the DMV to fax me a copy of the request.”

He picked up more equipment and carried it down the hall to her parents’ bedroom. Carlotta took the opportunity to slip into her bedroom and ferret out a pack of ultra-light cigarettes from her underwear drawer. She turned on her stereo and went into the bathroom and sat down on the lid of the commode to light up.

Her lighter was on the fritz, but she finally got a flame going. The first drag on the cigarette was like nirvana. She felt like a junkie pulling the smoke into her lungs and reveling in the first tickle as the nicotine rushed into her bloodstream. Instantly, her life seemed better—more tolerable, less complicated.

All she had to focus on at the moment was inhaling and exhaling. That was doable.

A screaming siren rent the air, sending her heart to her throat. It took her a few seconds to realize that the fire alarm above her was going off. “Dammit,” she muttered, standing on the commode to wave the air beneath the alarm frantically. The siren was deafening and relentless. She put the cigarette in her mouth so she could wave with both hands.

“It might help if you put out the cigarette,” Jack said dryly.

She looked down to see him standing in the open doorway. He calmly reached forward and plucked the cigarette from her mouth and extinguished it in a pool of water sitting in the sink. Then he used the door to fan the room clear of smoke, silencing the siren.

“What is this, high school?” he asked, extending his hand to help her down.

“No,” she said primly, accepting his hand to lower herself to the ground. “I don’t want Wesley to know that I smoke—occasionally. I don’t want to be a bad influence on him.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Admirable, but I’m sure if Wesley wanted to smoke, he’d smoke.”

She frowned. “Are you finished with the cameras?”

“Are you finished trying to set the house on fire?”

“Do you have to criticize everything I do? I’m doing the best I can.” To Carlotta’s mortification, tears welled in her eyes.

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching out to tug on her arm. “I was teasing you. Don’t cry. It’s the only situation that the academy doesn’t prepare us for.”

She laughed and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry, I’m having a bad decade. The cigarettes, they give me something to do with my hands.”

He grinned. “Well, if that’s all you want, I could think of some alternatives.”

She pursed her mouth. “Jack, we can’t.”

He lifted his hands. “What? I just meant that I have my laptop and you can help me with the investigation into your twin.”

“That would be my
dead
twin.”

“Right.”

She sighed. “Give me a few minutes to clean up in here, then I’ll join you.”

“Okay.” Then he smiled a smile that made her breath catch and she had a crystal clear image of a dedicated man just doing his job, caught in the turbulence of Randolph Wren’s destructive wake, just like her. And she had information that could possibly bring an end to the turmoil more swiftly than this agonizing waiting game.

“Jack?” she said, struck with the urge to confess.

He turned back. “What?”

Then she remembered their earlier conversation. Being adults meant they didn’t have to act on every urge.

“Never mind.”

22

T
he rest of the day passed in relative quiet, considering the prior few weeks of Carlotta’s life. The best thing about being dead, she realized, was that for the most part no one expected much from you.

Except your creditors.

Four more collection agencies called, with ominous warnings that she would regret not making arrangements to get her account up-to-date. With those words ringing in her head, Carlotta dove into the basket of unopened bills and began to try to decipher just how bad things were.

Using a service available to law enforcement, Jack ordered credit reports on her social security number from all three reporting bureaus. “Might as well get your cell-phone records, too.”

“Is that necessary?” she asked, wondering if the call from her father would somehow stand out.

“Since we know that someone bought an unauthorized phone on your account, it’s one of our best leads.”

If someone else was using her phone number or account, it would be the perfect way to explain away a strange phone number. Or she could always say that she answered the call, but no one responded.

If the Wrens had one talent, it was telling a good lie.

Plus ten points.

“What was the name of the florist who delivered the roses?”

“I don’t remember,” she said.

“Would you know it if you saw it again?”

“Maybe.”

He handed her the four-inch thick A to K volume of the Atlanta yellow pages and she begrudgingly turned to florists.

An hour later, to take a break from the yellow pages, she decided to clean the house. Armed with a vacuum and a can of Pledge, she gave the place a once-over to remove the worst of the accumulated dust and grime. From multiple surfaces in her bedroom, she gathered enough clothing for two loads of laundry—including Jack’s handkerchief that he’d wrapped around her thorn-bitten finger—and found a missing shoe.

All the while, Jack sat at the kitchen counter like an automaton and monitored the surveillance cameras, but only a kid selling magazines stopped by, and later Hannah to put a black wreath on the door.

Carlotta wanted to go to her, but Jack was adamant. So with a heavy heart she watched her Goth-garbed friend trudge back to her refrigerated van, grimacing at making her cry off her black eyeliner and blow her pierced nose.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Jack said, wincing at the monitor, “how on earth did the two of you become friends?”

“Uh…I don’t think I want to tell you.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “At the risk of incriminating yourself?”

“It’s not like we did anything illegal…really.”

“You talking about the party-crashing?”

“Yeah. She was catering a big party and let me in through the kitchen. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Charming.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m just not into parties and fancy events. I look for excuses to get out of those kinds of things.”

“Like your awards dinner?” she asked, wondering if he’d go alone.

He pursed his lips, then nodded.

“So you never did tell me what the award is for.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s not for anything in particular I did.”

“Does this have something to do with the comment the D.A. made when he reopened my father’s case that you always get your man?”

The color rose in his cheeks. “I guess I have a pretty good success rate in the department.”

And bringing in Randolph Wren would be another feather in his cap. Pushing aside the disturbing thought, she asked, “So Jack, what’s your idea of a fun night out?”

“You mean on a date?”

“It’s hard to imagine you on a date. I’m being hypothetical.”