3 Men and a Body (20 page)

I was thrown.”

“Fascinating.”

At the sound of footsteps, she turned. Peter’s smile was so

wide, she instantly felt guilty for not wanting to come. He

looked striking and crisp in a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt

and yel ow tie—the best that money could buy. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, picking up her hand. “What a wonderful

surprise.”

“I was in the area and was hoping you were free for

lunch.”

He grinned. “I can move some things around. Give me five

minutes?”

She nodded and watched him stride away.

Quentin made a noise in his throat. “I haven’t seen that

man so happy in…never.”

“Peter’s been through a lot. I knew his wife.”

“Yes, such a shame.” Then his eyes twinkled. “But you

seem to put a spring in his step.”

“He and I are old friends,” she murmured. She moved

aside as employees began to leave in clumps for their

lunch break, then turned her head at a familiar voice.

Walt Tul y, her father’s former partner and her godfather,

and Brody Jones, chief legal counsel for the firm, were

walking toward the door. Walt saw her and did a double

take.

“Hel o, Walt.”

He seemed flustered. “Carlotta, dear. What brings you

here?”

“Peter and I are having lunch.”

A little frown appeared between his eyes. “Brody, this is

Randolph’s daughter, Carlotta.”

The other man seemed dubious. “Wel , this is a little

awkward. I attended your memorial service, young lady.”

“A big misunderstanding, thank goodness.” She smiled.

“Stil , it was good of you to come.”

“We were all very happy to hear that you were okay,”

Walt said, although surely even he could hear the note of

insincerity in his voice?

Not that she thought Walt wanted her dead. He merely

wanted her out of his line of vision. Every time he saw her,

he was probably thinking the same thing she was

thinking—that after her father had walked out, Walt

hadn’t done right by his godchildren, hadn’t cared enough

to send them twenty bucks or even call to check on them.

“How’s Tracey?” she asked.

Tracey Tul y Lowenstein. Walt’s daughter, who had gone

to private school with her, had had made sure Carlotta

was ostracized after Randolph had been fired from

Mashburn, Tul y & Wren.

“She’s fine. She married a doctor, you know.”

“Oh, yes. Tracey reminds me every time she sees me.”

“Yes…well, we’d better be going. It was nice to see you

again.”

Brody Jones nodded, and she returned their friendly

gestures. After they walked through the door, though,

Quentin shuddered. “Brrr, it just got chil y in here.”

“Old wounds,” she said, then brightened when Peter

reappeared. “Excuse me. It was nice to meet you.”

“Best part of my day so far,” Quentin said with a salute.

“Come back sometime.”

“I’m yours for a ful hour,” Peter said, then lowered his

mouth to her ear. “And for as long as you want me.”

She laughed, catching his good mood. “Where shall we

eat?”

“There’s a nice place just around the corner—great sushi.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They chatted about the weather and his trip to Manhattan

until they were seated at a table for two inside.

“You got some sun,” Peter said, opening his menu. “It suits

you.”

“Thanks. Although when I get this cast removed, I’m going

to have one white arm and one brown one.” She opened

her menu with a clammy hand. She was antsy to unburden

herself.

“See something you like?”

She closed her menu and wiped her palms on her napkin.

“Whatever you like, I’m sure I wil , too. But maybe we

could go ahead and order?”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He flagged the waitress and asked for drinks and a couple

of rol s of sushi, then turned back to Carlotta with a small

smile. “I had a feeling this wasn’t just a social call.”

“No, it is,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. “I just

wanted to tel you that…I saw my father.”

His eyes widened. “You saw Randolph? Where? When?”

“While I was in Florida. I went with Coop and Wesley on a

job, but what I couldn’t tel you on the phone was that my

father’s fingerprints were found at the scene of a hotel

robbery in Daytona. I went down so I could see for myself

if he was there, maybe working at the hotel.”

“What did you find?”

“No sign of him or my mother.”

“Do the police think he committed the robbery?”

“They don’t know. Jack is stil investigating.”

His jaw hardened. “Jack Terry?”

“Yes. The D.A. assigned him to my father’s case. I don’t like

it, either, but at least he’s keeping me in the loop.”

“So when did you see your father?”

“On the way back, we stopped at a rest area. I was getting

coffee out of a vending machine, and my father just

walked up and started talking to me.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. I didn’t recognize him. He was wearing sunglasses

and had a beard. He said he’d been fol owing us and

waiting for an opportunity to talk to me alone.”

“But you’re sure it was him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say where he’s been, what he’s been doing?”

She told him all the details she could remember, including

what Randolph had said about gathering evidence to clear

his name. “He said he was going to lie low for a while, but

that I would hear from him again.”

“But how did he know where you would be?”

“I don’t know. He just said that he’s keeping tabs on us.”

She left out the part about Randolph saying that Peter was

in the best position at the firm to help him, and would do

it because of her. “He says that our home phone is stil

tapped from when the police were doing surveil ance, so if

you call me at home, please don’t mention this.”

“No one else knows you talked to him?”

She shook her head. “Not even Wesley. Dad wants it that

way, and I agree.”

Peter smiled. “I’m happy you confided in me.”

“I’m so sorry that Dad involved you by calling you at the

office that one time. I know it put you in an awkward

position. I don’t want you to lose your job.” Because my

father needs you at the firm to help him clear his name.

“Don’t worry about me,” Peter said. “I’m worried about

you, about what this uncertainty with your father is doing

to you…and to Wesley.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Wesley showed me his arm.

He told me what you did for him.”

Peter looked panicked. “He did?”

“Yes.” Humiliation washed over her, fol owed by gratitude.

“Thank you for picking him up from that awful place and

cleaning his wounds before bringing him home. He must

have looked horrible.”

Peter relaxed and nodded. “He did. And you’re welcome.”

“He keeps getting into trouble with these loan shark

characters. I’m worried half to death when he’s not at

home.” She sighed. “I keep hoping he’l grow up. But not

having parents around has affected him more deeply than

it’s affected me.”

“I’m just glad Wesley felt he could turn to me for help.”

Carlotta smiled. “Me, too.”

The waitress brought their sushi, and while Carlotta ate,

she studied Peter. He was the perfect specimen—

handsome, wealthy, with a pedigree. He had certainly

grown into the man she had envisioned he’d be. Even

though he had married Angela, and their marriage had

deteriorated before her untimely death, he had stil

fol owed the road that he and Carlotta had mapped out for

themselves when they were engaged. It was her path that

had been detoured.

They said goodbye in front of the café. Peter kissed her on

the mouth—a surprisingly nice kiss that made her stare

after him as he walked away. They had once been electric

together and she couldn’t have imagined her life without

him. When he’d left, she’d trained her heart to stop

thinking about him. But maybe with a little

reconditioning…

No. She had one man to get out of her system—her

father—before she could let another man—any man—in.

She took the long way back to the train station, enjoying

the beautiful summer day. Unwittingly, her thoughts

turned to Kiki Deerling and how she would never again

enjoy the sun on her face.

The return trip took her past the Buckhead branch of the

public library. She hadn’t been to the library since Wesley

was little, but her library card was one of the few cards in

her wallet she hadn’t cut up.

When Carlotta walked inside, a graying black woman,

plump and pleasing, smiled at her from behind one of

several occupied desks. The lanyard she wore read

Lorraine. “May I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m looking for books on strangulation and

postmortem bruising.”

Lorraine didn’t miss a beat. “Right this way.”

22

The parking lot outside Motherwel Funeral Home was a

three-ring circus, packed with television crews, fans with

signs and mourners with candles—which necessitated a

fire truck to be sitting nearby. The mound of fresh flower

bouquets had grown into a small mountain, wilting under

the scorching rays of the sun. Bursts of lyrics ranging from

“Amazing Grace” to Kiki’s one and only hit, “Running Too

Fast,” swel ed and faded as different factions of the crowd

maneuvered for visibility and control. There were

countless look-alikes, including a group of drag queens,

many with pugs on leashes. The pugs were not particularly

friendly, which necessitated an ASPCA van to be sitting

nearby. Motivated vendors (without permits) sold Kiki T-

shirts, dol s and hairpieces spread out on blankets that

could be quickly folded up and carried to another corner if

the police came around.

But the police had their hands ful trying to enforce the

temporary perimeter that had been installed. The waist-

high railed sections provided little resistance to the

boisterous mob.

The “private” memorial service in the chapel of the funeral

home had grown to include a few hundred of Kiki’s closest

friends, and was being televised live on at least two cable

entertainment channels. The crowded walkway leading

into the funeral home looked like a Who’s Who in

Hol ywood under the Age of 25. The paparazzi were having

a field day.

Naomi Kane, Kiki’s closest gal-pal, arrived with her own

entourage, looking tearful and fluttery. But since she

stopped to give a comment in front of every camera,

Carlotta wondered how much of the girl’s grief came from

Kiki’s demise and how much came from the seemingly

imminent demise of her own career without Kiki to front

her.

Kiki’s ex-boyfriend, Matt Pearson, arrived with members of

his former boy band in tow and the crowd went berserk.

Although Matt was dressed in black and seemed somber

as he approached the entrance of the funeral home, most

of the guests appeared positively perky and wore outfits

that were more suitable for a rock concert than a funeral.

Carlotta had opted for black slacks, a short-sleeved off-

white jacket, and a turquoise Prada cross-body bag just

large enough to hold her wallet, cel phone, a pair of

binoculars and a protein bar, in case it turned into an all

day affair. The humidity was high and the sun relentless.

She fanned herself with a “Kiki Is With Jesus, And You Can

Be Too” flyer that someone had given her. Behind big

white sunglasses, she surveyed the pandemonium,

awestruck at the spectacle and feeling more than a little

sordid for participating.

She’d always been in love with the celebrity lifestyle,

adored watching glamorous people on TV wearing

glamorous clothes and doing glamorous things. It was an

escape from her own life, especially after her parents had

left. But she had to admit that being this close to the

action took some of the shine off the fantasy. The made-

up actors and actresses parading on the walkway looked

garish under the glare of the sun, their actions

choreographed. Most of them were using Kiki Deerling’s

death as an opportunity to boost their own personal

profile, knowing that the clips and sound-bite interviews

would be broadcast all over the world. The paparazzi, the

TV shows, the Web sites, the celebrity guests—all of them

would profit from the death of the young woman.

Admittedly, Kiki herself shared some of the blame because

she had so aggressively courted the press when she was

alive. In fact, some might say that she’d be the first person

who would want her funeral to be sensationalized. But it

stil didn’t seem appropriate.

“I thought that was you.”

Carlotta turned around to see Coop standing outside the

mock fence, handsome in a slate-blue suit, white shirt and

navy tie.

Her heart lifted. She’d missed him in the three days since

their road trip, but had tried not to think about him too

much. “How did you spot me in this swarm?”

“You’re hard to miss,” he said with a wink, then nodded