3 Men and a Body (2 page)

you when his wife has only been dead for a few weeks?

Yeah, he’s a real stand-up guy.”

“It’s complicated.” No one knew that her father had also

called Peter, who now worked for Mashburn & Tul y, the

investment firm where her father had been accused of

stealing from customers’ accounts. Randolph Wren had

asked Peter for his help in finding an alleged file that could

prove his innocence. It was a secret that bound her and

Peter together.

Then there was the ring….

The sound of a car pul ing into the driveway made Carlotta

leap off the couch. “It’s Coop,” she said when she saw the

white van. She watched until he got out of the van—alone.

“But Wesley isn’t with him.”

She opened the front door and stepped out on the stoop

in the early morning heat, eager for news. “Did you find

him?”

Cooper Craft was tall and lean, with light brown hair and

long, neat sideburns. He lifted his gaze to hers and shook

his head. “No. You haven’t heard from him?”

“No,” Carlotta said, feeling the stirrings of true panic. “I’ve

been cal ing his cel phone every hour. How far could he

get on a bicycle?”

He gave her a little smile. “He’ll turn up.”

But she could tel by his haggard expression that Wesley’s

body-moving boss was worried, too. It made her sick with

fear. “Come in. I’l make coffee.”

2

When Coop entered the house Carlotta noticed that he

was wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. His

hair was disheveled; his sideburns merged with an

unshaved jaw. Her heart tugged when she realized he

hadn’t been to bed. “Did you drive around all night?”

“I checked the hospital emergency rooms and a few places

I thought he might be, but no one had seen him.”

“Hi, Coop.”

He looked up and did a double take at Carlotta’s stripe-

haired friend standing barefoot and fresh-faced in her

unexpectedly cuddly pj’s. “Hannah?”

She flapped her eyelashes. Hannah had a huge crush on

Coop. “In the flesh. Um, this isn’t what I normally sleep in,

in case you’re interested.”

Carlotta rol ed her eyes as Coop smothered a smile. “Okay.

Did you keep Carlotta company last night?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” He glanced at Carlotta, his gaze softening. “I was

worried about you. How’s your arm?”

She squirmed. “It’s fine, thanks. How about that coffee?”

“I’l make a pot,” Hannah said with a frown. “Yours is

sludge.” When she disappeared into the kitchen, Carlotta

motioned for Coop to sit down.

He lowered his long frame into a chair, then removed his

glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to throttle Wesley

for making you worry so much.”

Carlotta smiled to herself—for making her worry so much?

Since Coop had hired Wesley to help him move bodies for

the county morgue, he’d become a mentor to her brother.

Whether Wes realized it or not, he looked up to his boss.

And it appeared Coop was equally fond of him. Her heart

swel ed with gratitude. Wesley needed a positive male

influence in his life.

Heaven knew their father had fallen down on the job.

The phone rang and Carlotta dived for it. “Hel o?”

“Yeah…is Wesley there?”

Carlotta pursed her mouth, recognizing the guttural voice

of a person who’d lost more than a few brain cel s. “He’s

not here, Chance. Didn’t you get any of the messages I left

for you, asking if you’d seen him?”

“No.”

She touched her forehead. “No, you didn’t get the

messages, or no, you haven’t seen him?”

“I ain’t seen him since the day before yesterday.”

She exhaled. “Do you know where he could be?”

“Uh…no.”

“With his girlfriend maybe?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Come on, Chance, he’s been coming home smel ing like

women’s perfume. Unless you’ve suddenly started

wearing Chanel No. 5, he’s been spending time with

someone else.”

“I would not know anything about that,” Chance said

woodenly.

Carlotta wanted to scream. “Chance, this is serious. He

could be in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, my boy can take care of himself.”

She gritted her teeth at the implication that Wesley was

part of Chance’s “posse.” “If you see him, wil you tel him

to call me as soon as possible?”

“Sure thing,” Chance said, then disconnected the call.

Carlotta sighed. “His friend Chance Hol ander hasn’t seen

him.”

“What’s this about a girlfriend?” Coop asked.

“I thought you might know.”

“I know he’s got a thing for his probation officer.”

“But she has a boyfriend—remember, we met him at the

Elton John concert.”

Coop gave her an amused smile. “Some women have more

than one guy on the line.”

A flush climbed her face. Coop and Wesley had walked in

on her and Jack Terry kissing, and there had been no

mistletoe—or even December—in sight. She didn’t know if

Wesley had told Coop that Jack had spent at least one

night in her bedroom, but Coop probably suspected as

much. Coop had also met Peter and was aware of their

history. All of which would have to be sorted out at

another time…. At the moment she couldn’t think past

Wesley being gone.

Luckily, Hannah arrived with three cups of coffee, and a

box of sweet rol s left over from one of her catering gigs

the previous day. Carlotta took the food grateful y, her

stomach rumbling from hunger.

“Wesley has to come back,” Hannah said dryly. “Or you’l

starve.”

Carlotta stuck out her tongue, but she appreciated her

friend’s attempt at humor. And it was true. Wesley did all

the cooking, and had done so for years. He was pretty

good, too, darn his infuriating, scrawny little ass. Her eyes

watered.

“Hey,” Coop said quietly, putting his large hand over hers.

“Wesley is a smart kid. If he’s in trouble, he’l figure out

something.”

Carlotta nodded and inhaled a cleansing breath. If their

parents’ leaving had taught her anything, it was that tears

didn’t solve a thing. Action did.

“What now?” she asked Coop.

“I know he has an appointment to see his probation officer

at eleven. I’d say if he doesn’t show, then you should call

the police. Considering that thug’s comment to you about

Wesley having done something stupid, this might have to

do with the loan sharks he owes.”

Her heart squeezed, but she had to consider worst-case

scenarios. “You’re right. He wouldn’t miss his appointment

with Eldora. Not voluntarily.”

“Meanwhile,” Coop said, pushing himself to his feet, “try

to think of somewhere he might’ve gone, or someone who

might know where he is. I’l keep making inquiries.”

“Okay,” she said, fol owing him to the door. “And Coop…”

She squared her shoulders, but that only caused pain to

shoot down her arm. “I hate to ask this, but have you

checked the…morgue?”

His brown eyes fil ed with sympathy, and he nodded. “I

did. He’s not there.”

Tears of relief fil ed her eyes. “Thank you for caring.”

He gave her a little smile. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

Then he turned and walked to the bottom of the steps.

“You have my cel phone number if you need me.”

“Yes,” she called after him, waving with her good hand

until he drove away.

Carlotta looked to her left and saw their neighbor Mrs.

Winningham working in her yard. They weren’t the best of

friends, but the woman had called 911 a few days ago

when two of The Carver’s thugs had tried to drag Carlotta

into their van. So she went down the steps and crossed to

the fence that separated the yards of their respective

town houses. “Hi, Mrs. Winningham.”

“Hel o,” the woman chirped. “And you’re welcome.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said you’re welcome for the get wel card I sent to you

through your brother. He said you managed to only break

your arm.” The woman sniffed. “Although I must say you

made a spectacle of yourself, dangling half-naked from the

balcony of the Fox Theater.”

“Yes, I’m good at that,” Carlotta said cheerful y. “I’m sorry,

but I haven’t seen Wesley yet to get your thoughtful card.

May I ask when you gave it to him?”

The woman looked perturbed. “I gave it to him yesterday

morning. He said he was going to meet you at the hospital

and bring you home in a taxi. Then he rode off on his

bike.”

“And did he seem okay to you?”

“‘Okay’ is a relative term where your family is concerned,

but yes, reasonably so.”

“Thank you,” Carlotta said as pleasantly as she could

manage. “I’l let you know when I get your card, Mrs.

Winningham.” Her stomach rol ed as she went back to her

house.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.

Carlotta told her about her conversation with the

neighbor. “So Wesley didn’t just get wrapped up in some

marathon poker tournament and forget. He was planning

to meet me at the hospital like he said. Something bad has

happened, I know it now.”

“Shh, you don’t know that for sure,” Hannah said. “Wait to

see if he shows up at his P.O.’s office. Do you have the

phone number?”

“There’s a business card on the bul etin board in his

room.”

“Want me to get it?”

“Would you?”

“Want me to feed Einstein while I’m in there?”

“Please,” she said. The last time the massive python had

gone unfed for too long, it had found its way out of

Wesley’s room and into Carlotta’s bed.

When she returned, Hannah tried to entertain Carlotta by

coaxing her to the back deck to stick her feet in the kiddie

pool Wesley had bought for her—to make up, he’d said,

for the lavish life she’d given up with Peter in order to

raise him. The cool water felt good between her toes, but

it only made her miss Wesley more.

“I’m sorry I have to leave,” Hannah said later, standing

with her hands on her hips, back in ful goth garb and

makeup, the barbel in her tongue clicking against her

teeth. “But I can’t get anyone to cover me on this

corporate luncheon.”

“Go,” Carlotta urged, shin-deep in the pool and clutching

the phone. “You’ve done enough hand-holding for a

lifetime.”

“Call me to let me know what you find out. I should be

finished in a couple of hours or so.”

Carlotta waved her off, and attempted to relax, trying to

find some solace in the beautiful sunny day and the fact

that the neighborhood that she’d hated living in was

looking quite pretty today. When the trees were leafed

out, they hid the shabbiness of most of the homes, their’s

included. The gay couple that lived on the other side of

them, whom they’d only seen and not met, had made

upgrades to their house. Now that she thought about it,

she decided her neighbors probably didn’t extend

themselves because the Wren place was, as Mrs.

Winningham had so often reminded her, “a blight on our

good street.”

Ironically, Carlotta had vowed to update their place and

make some badly needed repairs just before she’d broken

her arm. For extra money, she had even contemplated

joining forces with Hannah to go on some body-moving

jobs for Coop—much to Hannah’s great delight. But that,

too, would have to wait until after Carlotta’s arm healed.

“Come home safe, Wesley,” she whispered. “I have plans

for us. You can’t leave me, too.”

In that moment, her hatred for her parents was a palpable

black mass in the air around her. She shouldn’t have to

deal with this alone. What if something happened to

Wesley? Life without her brother was just too impossible

to comprehend. She realized with a start how he must

have felt when he thought she’d taken a dive off that

bridge, before they had learned it was someone

pretending to be her.

Their parents’ abandonment had forced them into a

closeness that probably wasn’t healthy. She wondered if

they would forever be emotionally dependent on each

other, or if either would someday make room in their life

for someone special. Wesley was particularly resistant to

change—he stil refused to al ow her to take down the

aluminum Christmas tree in the living room that their

mother had put up mere days before she’d skipped town

with their father. So it sat there in the corner, a sagging,

tarnished emblem of their family, complete with little gifts

underneath that had never been opened.

Except by Jack Terry, when he’d stayed at their house

doing “surveil ance” in case her parents showed up for the

fake funeral. He’d thought he might find clues in them as

to their parents’ whereabouts. He’d rewrapped the gifts,

but Carlotta had been furious when she discovered what

he’d done. Had been hurt. Confused. Torn.

With Jack, everything was muddy.

Meanwhile, the hands on the clock seemed to crawl. The

phone didn’t ring. Wesley didn’t materialize. When she

called the number on his probation officer’s business card

at five minutes after eleven, she was nauseous.