3 Men and a Body (27 page)

being so kind, helping Wesley, and giving her the space

that she’d asked for. Yet if she was going to “stay close” to

Peter, as her father had instructed, she needed to find

small ways to interact with him, small ways to help her

heart get used to the idea of loving him again.

She picked up her cel phone to call him, and instead it

rang in her hand. Hannah’s name came across the screen.

Carlotta answered, happy for the momentary diversion.

“Hey, I thought you were working tonight.”

“I am, but I just found out where—at Diamonds.”

“Kayla Deerling’s restaurant?”

“Yeah. She’s having a private party in her sister’s honor.

Didn’t you say that only the D.A. or the family could

request an autopsy?”

“Yes.”

“Wel , maybe her sister would like to know what you and

Coop suspect. If she hates Matt Pearson as much as the

tabloids say she does, she might be motivated to find out

what really happened to Kiki.”

“Can you get me in?”

“Be waiting by the Dumpster in an hour. Wear black.”

Carlotta wrinkled her nose. The smel of the rotting food in

the Dumpster was almost overwhelming in the summer

heat. Where the heck was Hannah? At the sound of

approaching voices, she sank into the shadows next to the

building. Her black clothing helped to conceal her from the

people walking by. The three men didn’t even notice

her…but she noticed them.

One of the guys was Matt Pearson, she was almost sure.

Had Kayla decided to invite him to the private party, after

al ?

The service door next to the Dumpster creaked open and

Hannah emerged, dressed in her culinary smock, wearing a

hairnet. “Whip-poor-wil , whip-poor-wil ,” she said dryly.

“I’m here,” Carlotta said, stepping into the light. “Took you

long enough.”

“Put this on, and let me have a quick smoke.” Hannah

handed over a smock identical to the one she was wearing,

then pul ed out a cigarette and lighter.

“I’l help you with that,” Carlotta offered, eyeing the

cigarette and shrugging into the smock, buttoning it over

the strap of the evening bag looped over her shoulder and

across her chest. “If I don’t get back to work soon, I’m

going to be hooked on these things again.”

“Uh-huh.” Hannah inhaled to light the cigarette, and took

a deep drag.

“What’s going on inside?” Carlotta asked, taking the

cigarette for a few quick puffs.

Hannah was stil exhaling. “The restaurant is closed to the

public. Kayla and her boyfriend are holding court in the

lounge. There are pictures of Kiki everywhere. It’s kind of

weird, if you ask me.”

“How many guests?”

“We put out food for a hundred.”

“Did you recognize anybody?”

Hannah pul ed two folded sheets of paper from her sleeve.

“The guest list.”

“Great—but I’l have to wait until I get inside to read it.”

A click sounded and a flashlight came on in Hannah’s hand.

“You rang?”

“You’re a genius.” Carlotta took the light and scanned the

paper. “Naomi Kane is invited, and the publicist, Marquita

White. I’d like to talk to both of them. Wow, Angela

Massey…Erin Russell…Cassie Valeo…”

“I don’t know who those people are.”

“American Idol finalist, the star of that new sitcom on NBC,

and shoe designer.”

“Which explains why I don’t know who any of them are.

Ready?” “Yeah.”

“If you want a ride home, let me know. But I have no idea

what time this thing wil shut down.”

“Okay, thanks. Oh, I almost forgot,” Hannah said, handing

over what looked like a wadded up knee-high. “Your

hairnet.”

Carlotta pul ed it on over her ponytail and fol owed

Hannah inside, through a storage room and office into the

kitchen. She made scant eye contact and took Hannah’s

cue, picking up a tray of sushi that was almost too

beautiful to eat. “What is this stuff?”

“Sea urchin caviar sushi,” Hannah said over her shoulder.

“Sounds expensive.”

“If you drop that tray, you’l have to sel a kidney to pay for

it.”

Carlotta wobbled. “I’m wearing a cast, you know. You

should have given me the less expensive food.”

“I did.”

They passed a security guard and entered the main seating

area of the restaurant. She understood immediately why

Hannah described the atmosphere as “weird.” The crowd

was young and hip and loud, but the poster-size

photographs of Kiki all over were downright eerie.

Carlotta and Hannah set the trays on a large skirted buffet

table in the middle of the room. Carlotta looked up to scan

for Kayla Deerling, and spotted her sitting at a table in the

lounge with her boyfriend, her face drawn and puffy as she

stared blankly into the crowd.

Then the atmosphere in the room changed suddenly.

Heads turned toward the door, and the crowd parted.

Matt Pearson walked in unsteadily, looking heavy lidded

and high, carrying a long-stem yel ow rose. He must have

dosed himself just before he came in, Carlotta concluded,

since he hadn’t seemed so stoned when he’d walked by

her earlier.

Security guards stepped up on either side of him, but he

shook them off. They looked to Kayla and she shook her

head, obviously wanting to avoid a brawl. Matt stopped in

front of a picture of Kiki, lifted his hand to touch her face,

and teared up. Then he staggered up to Kayla’s table and

extended the rose to her.

Kayla looked as if she could barely tolerate the sight of

him. Carlotta held her breath, along with everyone else in

the room, to see if Kayla would throw her drink in his face.

Instead, she lifted a quaking hand and took the yel ow

rose, probably because when the confrontation inevitably

leaked to the tabloids, she didn’t want to come across

looking as unstable as Kiki and her groupies.

It was enough of a gesture for Matt, because he turned

around and strol ed out of the restaurant. Visibly

distraught, Kayla stood up and made a beeline for the

bathroom. Carlotta, now trayless, headed back to the

kitchen to the employees’ bathroom, snagging an empty

martini glass with an olive on the way.

Once inside a stall, she removed the white smock and

hung it on the door hook. Then she turned her black

sleeveless shell to the other side—taupe silk. From her

evening bag she pul ed glittery earrings and a necklace,

then stroked on red lipstick. She lost the hairnet and

released her hair from the ponytail, allowing it to fan over

her shoulders.

She stepped out of the stall and, when she was sure she

was alone, wiped the rim of the martini glass and fil ed it

with water from the sink. The olive gave it the appearance

of the real thing. With her heart pounding double time,

she left the employee bathroom. The security guard

standing between the serving area and the guest area gave

her the once-over.

Carlotta held up the martini glass with a little laugh. “I

think I’m turned around. Where is the ladies’ room for

guests?”

He pointed her in the right direction. She thanked him

profusely, hoping she hadn’t already missed Kayla. When

she pushed open the door, a woman she recognized as

Marquita White, formerly Kiki’s publicist, and currently

Matt Pearson’s, was standing outside a stall, as if talking to

the person inside.

She turned to look at Carlotta. “This is a private moment,

do you mind?”

“Sorry,” Carlotta said, patting her stomach. “I think the

sushi is bad.” She ran into the stall next to the one

occupied, lowered the commode lid and sat down to

listen.

“Honey, you can’t let him upset you,” Marquita said. “I’m

so sorry, he promised me he would stay away. I’ve decided

I’m going to let him go. He can find another publicist. I’m

tired of cleaning up his messes. Just remember that this

party is to honor Kiki. Come out, dearest, please.”

A sniffling noise sounded. “Give me a minute,” Kayla

murmured.

For her part, Carlotta groaned as if she were sick.

“Okay.” Marquita relented. “But don’t keep everyone

waiting too long.”

The woman’s high heels tapped across the floor, then the

door opened and closed.

“Kayla,” Carlotta said.

“Who’s there?”

“You don’t know me, but I have important information

about your sister that you need to hear.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No. I was one of the people who brought your sister’s

body here from Florida. And it’s possible that she didn’t

die of natural causes.”

“What? What are you saying? That she was m-murdered?”

“I don’t know. But there were track marks on her arm. And

bruising around her neck.”

“But there was an open casket. She wasn’t bruised.”

“It was covered with makeup.”

“Oh, my God. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I know this is terrible news, but only the family can

request an autopsy.”

“But…she’s already b-buried,” Kayla said, her voice

cracking.

“It’s not too late. A tox screen would stil reveal if she had

drugs in her system. If so, there would be a ful

investigation.”

“If Kiki did have drugs in her system, I think everyone can

guess who gave them to her,” Kayla said bitterly.

The door opened and, judging from the noise, a group of

women entered. Better to slip out now, Carlotta thought.

She stood and opened the stall door, then casually walked

toward the exit.

She felt a hand on her arm, and when she turned, Kayla

stood there.

“Thank you,” the woman said earnestly, her eyes

redrimmed. “I know everyone thought that Kiki was

nothing more than an overexposed, spoiled starlet. But

she was my little sister. Thank you for caring. I didn’t get

your name.”

“It’s…Carlotta.”

“Thank you, Carlotta.”

Kayla left the ladies’ lounge and Carlotta felt limp with

relief. She’d done what she felt was right. Now it was in

the hands of the family to decide.

“Are you a friend of Kayla’s?”

She turned her head to see Naomi Kane leaning on the

counter. From the glazed expression on her face, it looked

as if she needed the support.

“Um, no,” Carlotta said.

“Who are you?”

“Just a friend…of a friend.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes. “You look old. Are you a

reporter?”

Carlotta stuck her tongue into her cheek. “No—”

“Because if you are,” the young girl slurred, then leaned in,

“I have some good scoop.”

Carlotta’s eyebrows shot up. “What is it?”

“I don’t think that Kiki died of an asthma attack.”

Carlotta’s pulse picked up. “Why not?”

“I was there. I heard her arguing with someone just before

Matt found her unconscious.”

“Matt found her? I thought her publicist found her.”

“They lied,” Naomi whispered. “They do that a lot in this

business.”

“Was the argument with a man or a woman?”

“I couldn’t tel , I just heard voices.” Naomi laughed. “I was

stoned then, too.”

“Why didn’t you tel this to the police?”

“Because I was stoned?” the girl said as if Carlotta was an

idiot.

“Oh. Of course. Do you remember who else was at the

party?”

“The regulars. Matt wasn’t supposed to be there, but he

dropped in to surprise Kiki. She wasn’t too happy to see

him, though.”

“Do you think Matt could have hurt her?”

“I don’t know. He has a drug problem, you know.”

And you don’t? Carlotta thought. That white stuff under

the girl’s nose wasn’t a milk mustache.

“Marquita was there, Kiki’s publicist.” Naomi laughed.

“Oh, I keep forgetting—she’s my publicist now, too.”

“Could it have been Marquita arguing with Kiki?”

“Maybe. They argued a lot.”

“Do you know a guy named Wayne? Red hair, liked to

hang around Kiki?”

Naomi went blank for a few seconds, then she brightened.

“Oh, the stalker. Yeah, he was there, too, dressed like a

waiter. Kiki was pissed. She had him thrown out of the

party.”

Carlotta got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“But you didn’t hear any of this from me,” Naomi said,

then brought her finger to her lips in slow motion. “Shhh.”

“Right.” Carlotta watched the young woman totter away,

then shook her head, wondering if Naomi Kane would be

the next casualty of an unchecked celebrity lifestyle.

She touched up her lipstick, then left the lounge. A few

feet away from the door, Marquita White had Naomi Kane

by the arm. The publicist was wearing a rather stern

expression and whispering in her client’s ear. Naomi

looked like a repentant child.

When Marquita White nailed Carlotta with an icy stare,

she decided it was time to make her exit. She waved at

Hannah on her way by, then walked out the front door and

hailed a cab.

When the taxi pul ed away, Carlotta settled back in the

seat and suppressed a shudder. What she’d seen of the

inner workings of the entertainment industry made her

skin crawl. It was starting to look as if her suspicions about