3 Men and a Body (8 page)

she would recognize Randolph, but after her brush with

him at the fake funeral, she at least knew to be looking

past the obvious.

At the sound of Kiki Deerling’s name on the television, she

turned her head to listen. Knowing that they would be

bringing Kiki’s body back to Atlanta made her feel more

connected to the dead girl. Carlotta reached for the

remote control and turned up the volume.

“Fans of Kiki Deerling are stil reeling from the news of her

sudden death in Boca Raton, Florida. Details surrounding

the starlet’s final moments are stil sketchy, but initial

reports are that Deerling might have suffered a severe

asthma attack. Deerling’s publicist, Marquita White, issued

the fol owing statement, quote, ‘We are so saddened by

the horrific tragedy of Kiki Deerling’s passing. This is an

extremely difficult time for her loved ones and we ask the

media to please respect the family’s privacy,’ unquote.

“Meanwhile, members of the Deerling family are not

talking to the press. Here’s a clip showing Kiki’s ex-boy-

friend, Grammy award-winning singer Matt Pearson, being

turned away at the door of the Deerlings’ home in Boca

Raton by Kiki’s older sister, Kayla. You can clearly see that

Kayla has been crying. They appear to exchange angry

words, then Pearson leaves, stumbling twice on the way

back to his car. It’s widely known that she disapproved of

her sister’s al iance with Pearson.”

Kayla Deerling was an older, brunette version of her more

famous sister, except of a more normal weight, Carlotta

observed wryly. She ran a restaurant in Buckhead called

Diamonds, which was all the rage with the critics.

Reservations were hard to come by and the menu was way

out of Carlotta’s price range.

“Pearson has been arrested twice for al eged heroin use,

and has been in and out of rehab in the past few months.

Deerling and Pearson have not been linked romantically

for over a year, and Deerling has been photographed with

many other men since. Sources say that Matt Pearson

wasn’t on the Boca birthday party guest list, but showed

up unannounced, and Kiki herself let him in.”

Matt Pearson was portrayed in the media to be arrogant

and reckless, and Carlotta had heard enough reports of

him trashing hotel rooms and smashing sports cars that

she was inclined to believe it was true. What was it about

bad boys, she wondered, that made women overlook their

wayward behavior?

“No memorial arrangements have been announced, but

the Deerlings own a cemetery plot in their hometown of

Atlanta, where the family has many business investments,

including the flagship store for the Deerling jewelry

empire, and Diamonds restaurant. Experts tel us if there’s

an autopsy, it could be a week or more before Kiki is laid

to rest. Despite the initial reports linking her death to

asthma, rumors abound that drugs played a part in the

young woman’s col apse. Stay tuned for upcoming details

on the tragic death of Kiki Deerling.”

Carlotta turned down the volume, shaking her head at the

pointlessness. It was a very sad ending for a woman who

might have gone on to more noble pursuits, but instead

would be memorialized for her excessive partying and

personal humiliations played out in the tabloids.

At the sound of a car pul ing into the driveway, Carlotta

clicked off the TV and jumped up to look out the window.

Seeing Coop’s white van, she smiled. “Wesley, I’m

leaving!” she called. “See you in a few days!” She doubted

if he heard her, since the fan in his bedroom was stil

running, but she looked toward the hallway in case he

emerged. She had waited up until midnight last night

before giving in and going to bed, but had left a note on

his door tel ing him she was going on a road trip with

Coop. Wesley was clearly avoiding her because he didn’t

want to discuss what had happened. And she wasn’t ready

to pry the truth out of Peter. In fact, she hadn’t even told

him that she was going out of town.

Wesley was avoiding her; she was avoiding Peter. Round

and round we go.

Maybe by the time she returned to Atlanta, Wesley would

be wil ing to open up. Carlotta sighed in the direction of

his closed bedroom door. They seemed bound and yet

separated by old and new secrets. A few days away from

each other would probably do them both good.

The doorbel rang. She hurried to the door and opened it,

unable to suppress her smile. Coop looked handsome and

fit in a black T-shirt and jeans, dressed more casually than

usual, and wearing it wel . Her heart tripped ridiculously,

as if they were going to the prom.

“Hi,” he said with a grin, scanning her summer outfit of

white pants, pink buttoned-up shirt and sandals. “You look

great.”

She blushed and was struck with the sudden sensation

that this trip might be laced with more sexual tension than

she’d anticipated. “Thanks. But I’m so over this cast.”

He wagged his eyebrows. “I’m a doctor—I think it’s kind of

hot.”

Carlotta laughed at his foolishness and took one last look

into the hallway. Then she turned back with a shrug. “I

thought Wesley might come out to say goodbye.”

“Are you sure he’s in there?”

“Yeah, I heard him rol in about two this morning. And the

note I left on the door is gone.”

“He knows where we’re going?”

“You said it was hush-hush, so I said we were going on a

road trip for the morgue, but not where or why.” She

smiled. “I said that you felt sorry for me and were letting

me tag along.”

Coop grinned. “Somehow I doubt he’l buy that story.”

“I did.”

He grinned wider. “I know.”

She punched him on the arm and he faked pain, then

picked up her rather large suitcase and staggered. “Whoa!

You got a body in here?”

“Just a few necessities,” she sang as she closed the door

and locked it behind them.

“How much room does a bathing suit take up? I should’ve

been more explicit about our itinerary.” He stopped. “You

did bring a bathing suit, didn’t you?”

“Several,” she taunted.

Coop groaned. “I can’t wait to get there.”

Carlotta laughed, then squashed a pang of guilt and

pressed her advantage. “I was hoping we could stop for

the night in Daytona.”

“Fine with me. But what’s the interest in Daytona? You’re

not going to look up an old boyfriend, are you?”

She gave a nervous laugh. “No. Um…there’s a Neiman’s

there I want to visit.”

“No problem,” he said. “Daytona is about a six-hour drive.

If traffic is decent, and figuring in time to stop for lunch,

we should be there by late afternoon.”

She glanced toward the garage and frowned. Wesley had

left the door up a few inches when he’d come home last

night. “Give me a minute to close the garage door, Coop.

The opener must be broken—it’s been making a grinding

noise.” She sighed. Another expense.

He looked over and held up his arm. “Let me check it out.”

She fol owed him. After he raised the garage door, she

peered into the dimly lit interior. Her blue Monte Carlo—

damnable car—sat where it had been since her accident.

And her beloved but broken-down white Miata convertible

sat next to it. Wesley’s bike stood between the two

vehicles.

“Everything looks fine,” she told Coop.

“I hope Wes doesn’t try to drive on his suspended license

while you’re gone.”

“He won’t.” She smiled widely. “I have the keys.”

“Does he have the key to the garage?” he asked, pointing

to the handle.

“Yes. You can lock it.”

Carlotta bit her lip, wondering where Wesley had been last

night, if he’d gone to see his mystery girlfriend. Or if he’d

been gambling again. Maybe he’d left the garage door up

because he’d been drinking. She sighed. He certainly didn’t

need another vice.

After securing the garage, Coop opened the middle door

of the van and set her suitcase behind the driver’s seat.

Behind the bench seat was a mesh screen separating the

passenger area from the gurney at the rear. It was hard to

imagine that on the way back, they would be carrying the

body of Kiki Deerling with them.

Coop opened the passenger side door and helped Carlotta

climb in, since she only had use of one arm. His body

language was gentle and protective. Despite Coop’s

flirting, she knew he’d never want to make her feel

uncomfortable. But his touch on her arm and waist wasn’t

unwelcome.

He helped her fasten the seat belt, his proximity sending a

whiff of aftershave into her lungs. Clean and natural—like

him.

“All set?” he asked with a smile, his light brown eyes

crinkling in merriment behind black horn-rimmed glasses.

The knowledge that he was happy being with her left her a

little breathless. She needed to tread lightly here…for both

their sakes.

“Yeah,” she said breezily. “Al set.”

He stepped back and closed her door. She watched him

stride in front of the van, his movements sure but relaxed,

a man who was comfortable with himself. Her pulse

quickened in response. She could see why her brother

admired Coop. His quiet confidence was compel ing…and

sexy. Coop had promised her separate hotel rooms for the

trip if she wanted, but at the moment, it was deliciously

entertaining to think about the alternative.

Of course, after six hours together in this van, they might

be ready to drown each other in the Atlantic Ocean.

9

“Great day,” Coop said happily, once he settled into the

driver’s seat and turned over the ignition.

It was, Carlotta conceded. Another warm summer day in

the South, with an intensely blue sky and one or two puffy

clouds bouncing around. She smiled up through the

windshield as they pul ed out of the driveway, and even

waved at crabby Mrs. Winningham in her yard. As they

drove away from the house, she could feel the stress

draining from her body. A sigh escaped her.

“You okay?” Coop asked.

She nodded, putting on white Gucci sunglasses. “It’s been

a long time since I’ve had a vacation.”

He grinned. “Then I’l have to make sure you have a good

time. But first, I need to make a few phone calls. Do you

mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Why don’t you sort through the CDs in the console and

pick out something you’d like to listen to?”

He turned on his blinker and merged the long van into the

traffic on the I-75/I-85 connector. The multiple lanes were

clogged with locals commuting to the airport and out-of-

towners fol owing I-75 to Florida. Beyond the airport,

traffic thinned, but it was stil a stressful stretch of road to

travel for most drivers. Coop, however, seemed perfectly

at ease behind the wheel of the large vehicle. He had nice

hands, with long, blunt-tipped fingers. She wondered idly

if he’d ever worn a wedding ring.

She opened the console between the seats and began

flipping through the eclectic mix of CDs—the Beatles,

Allison Kraus, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Evanescence, and some

blues singers and rock groups she’d never heard of. While

she loaded the CD player, she listened to Coop’s voice as

he talked to the microphone on his visor. He used an

economy of words, but stil managed to come across as

friendly and warm. The people on the other end of the line

all seemed happy to hear from him—especial y the

women. A handsome, single physician…he must have a lot

of opportunities for dates, she acknowledged.

He made sure that his pickups were covered while he was

gone, and handled some business for his uncle’s funeral

home that kept him on the phone for nearly an hour. He

kept throwing Carlotta apologetic glances, but she didn’t

mind. It gave her a chance to study him.

Cooper Craft had a nice profile, strong and interesting,

with kind eyes and a wel -formed nose. He had a habit of

stabbing at his glasses, and he was quick to smile. He had

nice teeth, the kind that came from drinking lots of milk.

She imagined him sitting at a table at home eating a gril ed

cheese sandwich and drinking a glass of milk…alone. For all

his amiability, Cooper seemed to hold himself aloof from

others, careful y guarding his privacy. Most of what she

knew about his past, she had heard from Jack and from

June Moody, a friend of hers who owned the cigar bar she

sometimes visited. They’d given her sketchy details about

Coop’s fall from grace as chief medical examiner because

of his drinking. Cooper seemed to have come through his

personal trial intact, but wary.

She certainly knew how that felt.

He reached up to disconnect a call. “That was the last

one,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

“No need to apologize. You’re stil working, after all—

unlike me.”

“How is your arm?”

“It’s itching like crazy,” she said, tapping the fiberglass