3 Men and a Body (29 page)

drug overdose, not a strangulation.”

“Which means the dealer can be held liable. And if she

didn’t inject herself, the person who administered it to her

is guilty as wel ,” Coop added.

“Matt Pearson,” Carlotta said. That news would certainly

rock the industry.

“What were they planning to do with the body?” Jack

asked.

Wesley shook his head. “I was afraid to ask.”

Coop scowled at him. “That’s the only smart thing you

did.”

Carlotta tried not to feel any sympathy for her brother.

He’d done a terrible thing. But Wesley looked so

distraught, it was hard not to have compassion.

“What was in this for you?” Jack asked him.

Wesley averted his gaze, then looked back when Coop

bumped him from behind. “The Carver said he’d clear my

debt.”

Jack smiled wryly. “I take it since you weren’t able to pul it

off, The Carver reneged?”

Wesley nodded.

“So what does this have to do with Carlotta’s hit-and-run?

The girl’s already entombed, so The Carver’s kid is off the

hook unless the family changes their mind about the

autopsy and has the body exhumed.”

“You said what happened to Carlotta looked like a

professional job. I just thought it sounded like something

The Carver would do to get to me, maybe keep me quiet.”

Carlotta gasped and covered her mouth.

Jack pivoted his head. “What?”

“I might have inadvertently tipped off the publicist that

Kiki’s death is stil being investigated,” she mumbled.

Jack frowned. “But it isn’t.”

She shifted in her bed and glanced around. “Has anyone

seen the ice chips?”

“Carlotta…” Jack said, his tone a warning to come clean.

She winced. “I went to a private party last night at Kiki’s

sister’s restaurant, and I might have insinuated to her that

Kiki had been murdered.”

“You did what?” Coop and Jack shouted in unison.

“You said without more evidence, only the family could

request an autopsy. She had a right to know.”

“And the publicist was there?”

Carlotta nodded. “She’s close to Kayla. Kayla probably

confided to her what I said.”

“How did you get into a private party?” Jack asked. “Wait. I

don’t want to know. So last night the publicist, who’s in

cahoots with The Carver, found out that you’re stil poking

around, and today you almost get run down in the street.”

“Sounds like a connection,” Coop said.

Jack nodded, making a few notes in a pocket pad.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Wesley asked and

Carlotta felt a little proud that he at least seemed ready to

face his punishment.

Jack looked thoroughly disgusted. “I don’t know. The D.A.

sure as hel won’t cut you any slack. I’l get with your

attorney. If you agree to testify, maybe we can convince

one of the assistant D.A.s that you came forward on your

own and that you were extorted into going along with it.”

“Thanks,” Wesley said.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Jack said pointedly.

“There’s one more thing,” Wesley stated. “The tal , bald

guy at the morgue and in the green van definitely worked

for The Carver. I don’t know who the other guy was, the

beefy one.”

“Maybe The Carver was just covering his bets by sending

more than one team,” Coop said.

“Or maybe there’s another ring to this circus,” Jack

muttered. “I’l have Dil on Carver and Marquita White

brought in for questioning. We can at least book them on

conspiracy charges, and I’m going to push for attempted

murder charges for the hit-and-run.”

“Do you think the D.A. wil step in now to order an autopsy

on Kiki Deerling?” Carlotta asked.

“I doubt it. There’s stil no motive for murder. And unless

someone comes forward to say they saw the girl inject

herself, or someone else inject her, she stil could’ve died

from an asthma attack. I’l talk to her parents, but if I were

them, frankly, I’d leave it alone.”

Carlotta bit her lip. It was looking more and more as if Kiki

Deerling had overdosed on heroin, that the bruising

around her neck had occurred as a result of someone

trying to resuscitate her. The circle pendant could have

come off at any time, wound up in someone’s pocket as a

keepsake, or fallen down a street grate when the body was

loaded in and out of the ambulance. An autopsy wouldn’t

be necessary to charge Dil on Carver and Marquita White

for conspiring to steal a corpse. Jack was right. No good

could come from disturbing Kiki’s body now.

She wondered how long it would take for news of the

body-snatching conspiracy to hit the wires. The media

would be ecstatic for one more juicy chapter in the Kiki

Deerling story.

Coop drove them home from the hospital, but they were a

morose trio. The tension between Coop and Wesley was

so tangible, it was like having a fourth person in the car. As

they were pul ing into the driveway, Wesley attempted to

break the silence with perhaps the worst possible

question: “Wil you need me for any jobs this week,

Coop?”

Carlotta shook her head.

Coop squinted at him in the rearview mirror. “After the

stunt you pul ed, why should I ever trust you again? You

obviously have no concept of the sanctity of the dead.”

She wil ed Wesley not to say anything, to just listen, but

no, he couldn’t resist.

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Coop slammed the van into Park, then turned around to

face him. “Your lesson? Listen, chief, Kiki Deerling wasn’t

your lesson to learn. She was a person. A human being.

And we were entrusted with her body. You not only broke

the law, you broke a moral and ethical code.”

“I let you down.”

“You let yourself down. Get your issues worked out with

the D.A., then we’l talk—if you’re not sitting in jail. Or if

I’m not picking up your body for turning on The Carver. I’m

already on the ropes with Abrams at the morgue. Your

little stunt wil only make things worse. This makes me

look bad, Wesley, for trusting you.”

“Coop, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t tel me you’re sorry,” Coop interrupted. “Show me.

Get your shit together, grow the hel up and stop being

such a burden to your sister. Now get out of my sight.”

Carlotta sat stock-stil while Wesley climbed out wordlessly

and closed the door. He walked to the house as if he had

the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Sorry I came down so hard on him,” Coop said.

“No, you were right to say those things. He does need to

grow up and start thinking about the repercussions of his

actions.” She sighed. “I haven’t been the best mom.”

“You’re not his mom,” Coop said. “And even if you were,

he’s old enough to start taking responsibility for his own

life.”

“I know. You’re right. This thing with our parents…it’s like

a cancer. It affects everything we do and everything we

don’t do.”

“So have you told him yet that your father’s fingerprints

were at a hotel in Daytona?”

“Not yet.” Nor had she told Wesley that she’d actually

talked to Randolph. “I’m not sure now’s the time.”

“When is the time? When he’s behind bars because his

anger at your parents has caused him to let his life spin out

of control?”

She looked up at Coop. “You’re so smart.”

He smiled for the first time in hours. “Don’t forget sexy.”

She laughed. “How could I?”

“I’l walk you to the door,” he offered.

“I’m fine—”

“I insist.”

She smiled as he came around to help her out of the van.

She was moving pretty gingerly, but it felt good to have his

arm to hold on to. The feel of his muscles under his warm

skin and the scent of his aftershave brought back strong

images of their night in her hotel room, stirring her senses.

When they reached the door, she was hoping he would

kiss her passionately, like he had the night in the hot tub.

Instead he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek,

closer to her ear than to her mouth.

Minus ten.

“Good night, Carlotta.”

“Good night,” she murmured, her lips left wondering. And

waiting.

She frowned and went inside. Wesley was in his bedroom

with the door closed, the fan running. She knocked, but he

ignored her. She left him alone, thinking there wasn’t

anything she could say, anyway. He needed to think

through what he’d done, and come to terms with it

himself.

She took a hot shower to stave off some of the soreness

she’d surely feel tomorrow, then climbed into bed to

watch TV and relax. A few minutes later, the phone rang.

When it became apparent that Wesley wasn’t going to

answer, Carlotta picked up the cordless handset by her

bed.

“Hel o?”

“Is this Carlotta Wren?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Kayla Deerling. We met briefly last night at

Diamonds.”

Carlotta’s pulse picked up. “Yes, of course I remember.”

“Detective Terry just notified my family of the conspiracy

between my sister’s publicist and that drug dealer to steal

Kiki’s body. It’s just…too awful to comprehend. He said

that you were instrumental in helping the police. I can’t

tel you how grateful we are to you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Please say you’l come to the restaurant tomorrow night

and allow us to prepare a meal for you and a guest, all on

us, of course. It’s the least I can do to thank you for all that

you’ve done for Kiki.”

She could think of worse ways to spend the evening than

being comped at a four-star restaurant. “That’s very

generous of you. Thank you, I’d love to come. What time?”

“Around seven?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Carlotta hung up the receiver and pursed her lips. What a

nice gesture. Now, the real dilemma—who to ask? She

mul ed over her choices and how that choice might impact

the future…or not. After an hour of changing her mind, she

picked up the phone and punched in a number.

“Hi, it’s Carlotta. I was wondering, are you free for dinner

tomorrow night?”

32

Carlotta opened the door and smiled at her dinner date.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Peter said, his eyes devouring her. She was wearing a

short red baby-dol dress and the highest heels she could

walk in, considering she was stil sore from yesterday. “You

look…amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said, grateful for the body makeup that

concealed her scrapes and bruises. She straightened his

Pucci tie, which so did not need to be straightened.

“You’re looking pretty great yourself.”

“I’m glad you called.”

She nodded. “Me, too.” And she meant it. Dinner at

Diamonds was the perfect opportunity to spend time with

Peter, to try to recapture the feelings they had once

shared. “Let me grab my wrap. It’s the best I can do to

camouflage this horrible cast.”

“Which reminds me,” Peter said as she locked the door,

“the last time we went out, you wound up dangling from

the balcony of the Fox Theater.”

She winced. “I know.”

They walked down the steps and over to his dark blue

Porsche two-seater. He held open the door for her. “I hope

it’s safe to assume that we’re not going to have that much

drama tonight.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, then swallowed a grunt when her

aching back twinged from swinging into the low-slung car.

“No drama tonight.”

He smiled. “Good.” Peter closed her door and she nursed a

pang of guilt for not sharing more with him. But he would

be appalled if he knew she went on stakeouts at the

cemetery, crashed upscale parties and was the target of

hit-and-runs.

After all, this was a man who would be appalled if he knew

she occasionally smoked a cigarette.

When he sank behind the wheel and flashed that sexy grin,

though, she decided that if she and Peter became more

seriously involved, he didn’t have to know every move she

made. There was something irresistible about maintaining

a certain amount of mystery.

Entering through the front door of Diamonds was certainly

more of a pleasurable sensory experience than entering

through the door by the Dumpster. A dozen chandeliers

reflected like diamonds on the polished black floor. Red

carpets ran between tables, creating a vivid Mondrian

effect. Live piano music played. Aromas of braised meats

and rich wines saturated the air.

When Peter gave their name at the hostess station, the

staff seemed to come alive. “Ms. Deerling instructed us to

tend to your every need this evening,” said the maître d’.

“Right this way to your table.”

It was the best table in the house, private, but with a

stunning view of midtown and downtown. A bottle of

Cristal champagne chil ed tableside. The linens were

exquisite, the flatware was silver and the lighting was

romantic. Peter held out her chair, and when he took his,

she couldn’t help but sigh. It was going to be a perfect

night.

The headwaiter removed their napkins from blown-glass