3 Men and a Body

STEPHANIE BOND

BODY MOVERS: 3 MEN AND A BODY

1

Carlotta Wren bumped her cast against the door frame

leading from the kitchen to the living room. “Son of a…”

She bit back tears as pain lit up her entire left arm.

Although she was lucky the fall from the balcony of the Fox

Theater hadn’t resulted in more serious physical injuries,

the prospect of another four weeks in this clumsy cast left

her frustrated and antsy.

It wasn’t enough that she couldn’t do her job at Neiman

Marcus at a time when she desperately needed the money

(short-term disability paid only partial wages). But

yesterday when Peter Ashford had brought her home from

the hospital, he’d shown her a ring he’d had made for

her—her Cartier engagement ring, which he’d recovered

from the shop where she’d pawned it, with two more

large diamonds mounted, on either side of the original

stone. The past, the present and the future. He would

keep it for her, he’d said, until she was ready to make a

decision.

And on top of everything else, her brother, Wesley, was

missing.

Wesley was supposed to have picked her up at the

hospital yesterday in a taxi, and when he hadn’t shown, his

boss, Cooper Craft, had offered to go look for him. As of

last night, Coop hadn’t found Wesley, but Carlotta was

hopeful that her brother would turn up this morning. He’d

come strol ing into the house, whistling, with a mouse in a

jar to feed his snake, Einstein, oblivious to the fact that

Carlotta had barely slept last night, worrying about him….

Worrying about Wesley seemed to be her fate in life.

She’d raised him since he was nine years old, when their

parents had skipped town so their father could elude

charges for investment fraud. Over the past decade, they’d

heard from their parents only through a handful of

postcards…until recently.

When a look-alike had stolen her identity and been

murdered, Carlotta had agreed to fake her own death. The

D.A. wanted to try to smoke out her parents and in

exchange, they’d offered to suspend Wesley’s probation

for hacking into the courthouse computer records. But

Kelvin Lucas, the D.A. who’d been denied the chance to

prosecute her father, Randolph Wren, had reneged on his

deal when her parents hadn’t shown.

After Carlotta had alienated Wesley for going along with

the plan.

After she’d put her friends and coworkers through the

traumatic ordeal of thinking her dead.

And after she’d slept with Detective Jack Terry, her

temporary live-in bodyguard.

What no one knew was that Carlotta’s father had shown

up, in disguise, and he’d recognized her, even though she

was also in disguise. She hadn’t known it was him until

later, when she’d found the note he’d slipped into her

pocket: “So proud of you both. See you soon. Dad”

The scrawled words left her conflicted. During her parents’

long absence, Carlotta had worked up a powerful

resentment. Sometimes, she even cheerful y hated them.

Leaving without saying goodbye. Leaving her to finish

raising Wesley when she was just a few months shy of

graduating high school and barely equipped to take care of

herself. Leaving no money, only a paid-for town house in a

transitional section of Atlanta that was a far cry from the

palatial home in Buckhead that they had lost.

Col ege had no longer been an option. The only real

expertise she’d had was…clothes. Her father had been a

wealthy investment broker; Carlotta had worn nothing but

the best since she could dress herself. Thankfully, she’d

been able to turn that dubious skil into a career in retail.

She’d been a top salesperson for most of her years at

Neiman’s…until lately, when her life had seemingly

exploded with complications and new relationships.

And old ones.

“Did shithead make it home yet?”

Carlotta turned to see her friend Hannah Kizer standing

there, hands on hips. Dressed in pink pj’s with white bunny

rabbits and without her severe goth makeup, Hannah

looked almost human—pretty, even.

“Not yet.”

“Have you heard from Coop?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t worry. Wesley can take care of himself, whether

you want to admit it or not.”

“I wish you were right, but history has taught me

otherwise.”

“How’s the arm?”

“Getting dressed is an aerobic workout. Thank heaven for

front-closure bras.”

“Yeah, I had a broken arm once. Men wanted to jump in

bed with me. I guess it made me seem vulnerable or

something.”

“Or less likely to eat your prey?”

Hannah gave her the finger, then dropped onto the couch,

picked up the remote control and turned on the small TV.

When the picture came on, it was warped. “What

happened to your big-screen TV?”

Carlotta sat next to her friend and pointed to the living

room window, stil covered with the boards the police had

tacked in place. “Taken out during the drive-by shooting.

I’m waiting for a new window to be delivered and

installed, but we can’t afford to replace the TV. Wesley

shouldn’t have bought it, anyway,” she grumbled. “We

could’ve used that money for other things.”

Like paying toward what he owed his odious loan sharks,

Father Thom and The Carver. Or paying down their credit

card debt, which had ballooned in size since her identity

had been stolen. Or catching up their loan payments, or

any one of a hundred other bil s they were late on.

Wesley said he’d sold his motorcycle to buy the TV, but

she knew the television had cost more than his bike was

worth. She figured he’d been gambling again, despite his

claims to her that he’d stopped.

She turned her head to look at her friend. “Where could

he be?”

“A thousand safe places,” Hannah assured her.

“Or a thousand unsafe places. Those thugs for The Carver

who tried to force me into their van the other day said

that Wesley had pul ed a stupid stunt and was in big

trouble. What if they kidnapped him?”

“Look on the bright side—his loan sharks probably won’t

kil him because they want to col ect their money.”

Carlotta glared at her.

Hannah’s smile fel . “Sorry. Just trying to lift the mood.”

She flipped channels past the midmorning game shows,

and stopped on a local talk show, Atlanta & Company,

where local celebutante KiKi Deerling was being

interviewed in al her silky blond, micro-mini glory,

snuggling her pet pug on her lap. It was the guilty pleasure

that Carlotta needed to take her mind off Wesley.

But a minute into the interview, Hannah scoffed, “Give me

a break. This girl is only famous for being famous. She’s a

total poser.”

Carlotta nodded, but nursed a little pang of envy toward

the young woman who had inherited beauty, money and a

last name that adorned a jewelry empire headquartered in

Atlanta. “It would be fun to live her life for a day, though.

No worries, just party after party.” She gave Hannah a

pointed look. “For once, we wouldn’t have to crash.”

“That girl is a waste of human skin. You’d think with all

that cash she’d buy some underwear. I’ve seen her twat

more than my own.”

“Thanks for the wholesome image.”

“And you’d think she’d learn by now that if she’s going to

have sex with someone, she should sweep the room first

for hidden cameras. I always do.”

“Really?” Carlotta said. “What married man are you dating

this week?”

“His name is Troy and he’s a col ege professor.”

“What does he teach?”

“Ethics.”

“Oh, wel then, plus ten points.”

On television the starlet held up her pet pug, which she’d

dressed in a T-shirt bearing the name of the camp she was

promoting.

“Camp Kiki?” Hannah said. “Is that where kids go to

breathe fresh air, learn to snort coke and become

anorexic?”

“Cut her some slack,” Carlotta said with a little laugh. “I’ve

heard of this camp. It looks like she’s at least trying to do

something good for underprivileged kids.”

“Underprivileged to her probably means anyone who

doesn’t have a driver.” Hannah gave Carlotta a sideways

look. “Sorry. I forgot that you used to be rich.”

“Not that kind of rich.”

“Are there classifications for how rich you are?”

“Sure.” Carlotta used the fingers on her good hand to

count them off. “There’s inherited wealth, the kind that’s

so massive the heirs live off the interest. Then there’s

inherited wealth that has to be maintained, like taking

over the reins of a family business. There are ranks within

inherited wealth, depending on how prestigious the

business—jewelry is near the top of the list. Then there’s

aristocratic wealth, meaning there’s no cash flow,

everyone just kind of exists off their family name and

estate. My parents were farther down in the pecking

order—they were bourgeois rich. My dad worked for his

money.”

Hannah lifted an eyebrow.

“Or stole it, depending on who you believe.”

“And who do you believe?”

The note her father had slipped to her scratched the skin

of her chest where she was keeping it in her bra. She was

afraid that Wesley might find it if she left it in her

bedroom. And truthful y, she just wanted to keep it close.

“I honestly don’t know. He was indicted for fraud, so the

D.A. must have had a case, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe it was personal. What do you really know

about the D.A.?”

“Just that he’s a lying asshole for reneging on our deal.”

“Wel , there you go. Maybe he had some other motivation

for charging your dad.”

“So why didn’t Dad stay and fight it? Why skip town and

abandon his own kids?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would your parents do something like that?”

Hannah shifted on the couch, and it occurred to Carlotta

that she had never talked about her parents. And frankly,

Carlotta couldn’t picture the people who had spawned her

bizarre friend.

“Has your father called you again?” Hannah asked, neatly

sidestepping Carlotta’s question.

“No.”

Not that it had been much of a conversation. He’d phoned

her at work a few weeks ago and said, “It’s Daddy.” She’d

been so startled, she’d dropped her cel phone—and the

connection.

“And I broke my cel phone, so I couldn’t even call back.”

Hannah frowned and pointed to the end table. “Whose

cel phone is that?”

“Mine, but…it’s a new one.”

“How did you afford a new phone?” Hannah asked

suspiciously.

“Peter gave me an extra one that he had lying around.”

Hannah picked up the sleek, razor-thin phone. “Right. This

state-of-the-art gadget was just lying around. Did it belong

to his murdered wife?”

“No!” At least Carlotta didn’t think so.

“Is he paying for your service, too?”

“It didn’t cost anything to add me to his plan,” she said

defensively.

“Yet. Don’t kid yourself—the man plans to col ect.”

“Peter’s been very good to me,” Carlotta murmured.

“You mean the man who dumped you years ago when

your parents left town? The man who’s suddenly all over