“Detective Salyers,” Coop greeted her. “This is Carlotta and Hannah—they’ll be assisting with the body removal.”
All business, she gave them a curt nod. “We’re ready for you. This needs to be as quick as possible so we can clear the area.”
They sprang into action, she and Hannah rolling a gurney past the crime scene tape, and Coop right behind them with body bags and a transport board. They followed Detective Salyers to the sheet-draped bodies.
The first victim was an Asian male, maybe mid-thirties, Carlotta guessed. Handsome in an exotic way. His casual clothes and shoes were of good quality, and he had a fifty-dollar haircut. He reeked of throw-up, and a bloodstain spread over his chest.
The second victim was a white male, about the same age. Also nice looking and well-dressed in slacks and a polo-style shirt, also reeking of puke, also bloodstained. She particularly noticed the perfect creases in his pants. All the little grooming details that mattered in life seemed incongruous in death.
“Were they at the strip club?” Carlotta asked the detective.
Detective Salyers raised one delicate eyebrow. “I don’t believe that’s relevant to your job.”
Coop threw Carlotta a warning glance, then pulled out the necessary tags to fill in. “Do you have names?”
Salyers shook her head. “We didn’t find their wallets or car keys.” She glanced at Carlotta, then back to Coop. “They were in the strip club, but they paid cash, so we don’t have a credit card receipt. We’re checking all the cars parked in the lot, but if they parked somewhere else, it could be a while before we find the right vehicle to run the tags. The M.E. took prints, so we’ll run those, too, in case one of them has a record.”
“Got it,” Coop said. “For now, two John Does.”
Carlotta and Hannah worked quickly to bag the first victim. In deference to her shoulder, she allowed Hannah and Coop to move him to the gurney. While they wheeled the body to the van, she knelt to carefully arrange the second victim for bagging, using gloved hands to position his hands close to his body. Something peeking below his sleeve caught her eye—a large flesh-colored adhesive bandage.
Curious, she looked around to make sure Salyers’s attention was elsewhere, then lifted the corner of the bandage to find a tattoo so new, it had oozed blood onto the bandage.
At first she thought the design was a set of handcuffs and wondered if the man had a job in law enforcement—perhaps he’d gotten the tattoo to celebrate a new position.
But when she revealed the entire image, she realized it was a ball and chain tattoo.
The kind a guy might get in anticipation of getting married?
It would make sense the men had been at the strip club for some sort of bachelor party.
Under the image was tattooed the name “Kim.” Carlotta’s pulse spiked. Another groom-to-be, murdered?
Even she recognized the connection as far-fetched. And if it were true, it could simply be a coincidence. Half the people in any given strip club were probably there for a bachelor party, so chances were good that anyone mugged in the parking lot of a strip club would be a member of a wedding party.
“Everything okay here?” Detective Salyers asked.
Carlotta furtively smoothed the bandage back in place. “Yes. I mean...this job never gets any easier.”
“I know what you mean.”
Carlotta stood. “Detective Salyers, you probably don’t remember me, but you and I have met before.”
“Yes, I remember you from another body recovery—it was for one of the victims of The Charmed Killer, I believe.”
“Yes. But you actually met me—and Hannah—on a previous occasion. Do you recall the Gary Hagan murder?”
Salyers frowned. “Remind me.”
“He was reported missing by his girlfriend Jolie Goodman. His car was found in the Chattahoochee River—”
“With a woman’s body inside,” Salyers finished. “Then later his body was found at a home in Buckhead, during a party.”
“That’s right.” Carlotta cleared her throat. “You arrested Jolie Goodman at the party...along with a couple of her friends.”
“You and your helper were the party-crashing friends?”
Carlotta winced and nodded.
“Now I remember,” Salyers said. “I seem to recall you were soaking wet when we took you in for questioning.”
“There was a pool incident,” Carlotta murmured nonsensically.
Salyers squinted. “I’m sorry—what’s your name again?”
“Carlotta...Wren.”
“Wait—you’re the one who was stabbed by The Charmed Killer before he was taken in.”
“That’s me.”
Salyers put her finger to her mouth, and Carlotta could see her mind racing to put details together. “Your father is Randolph Wren, the federal fugitive.”
“Yes. Small world, huh?”
Salyers looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, but was interrupted as Coop and Hannah returned for the second body.
The three of them worked in practiced choreography to get the body tagged and bagged, then wheeled to the van where he was deposited next to his buddy. A pang of sympathy barbed through Carlotta’s chest as she removed the scrubs and gloves and deposited them in a cloth bag in the van. Not long ago, the two men had been enjoying themselves, feeling invincible. Death could be so random...which accounted for why everyone feared it, she supposed.
Salyers bade them goodbye and strode away to help clear the scene.
When she was out of earshot, Carlotta said, “Coop, the second John Doe has an interesting tattoo.”
Coop looked amused. “So do I.”
“What is it?” Hannah asked, mesmerized.
Carlotta ignored her. “I think he was about to be married.”
“Okay. I’ll let Salyers know in case there’s a fiancée to contact.”
“But this is the third dead groom we’ve recovered in a matter of days. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Coop pursed his mouth. “I’d call it an unfortunate coincidence.”
She set her jaw in frustration, then a thought occurred to her and she snapped her fingers. “I might have proof.”
Coop looked wary. “What kind of proof?”
She retrieved her purse from the van and rifled through the outside pockets until she came up with a dark, unrecognizable lump which she triumphantly deposited into Coop’s hand.
He frowned. “What’s this?”
“The gum Jeremy Atwater was chewing when he collapsed on the runway at the Wedding Expo.”
“Ew.” Hannah wrinkled her nose.
Coop’s eyebrows rose. “And why do you have it?”
“I was just tidying up the scene,” Carlotta said with a shrug. “I wrapped it in a rose petal, so it’s been protected. Maybe you could test it, see if he was poisoned or something.”
Hand still outstretched, Coop looked at her as if she’d gone mad.
A shrill whistle sounded, and across the parking lot, Salyers gestured for Coop to move the van.
He secured the van doors then gave Carlotta and Hannah a little wave. “I can take it from here. Thanks, ladies.”
“Happy to help anytime someone gets themselves killed,” Hannah said cheerfully, staring up at Coop with adoring eyes.
Carlotta stepped up to break Hannah from her trance and propel her toward the car. “Bye, Coop.”
The crowd had started to disperse, but it still took a while to wend their way back to the Audi. Hannah shooed a couple of too-interested guys away from the convertible with a promise to “mace their ass” if they didn’t relocate. They relocated—proof that Hannah didn’t need the Goth garb to incite fear.
“What was all that about back there?” Hannah asked as she started the car.
Carlotta worked her mouth from side to side. “I think someone is murdering grooms.”
“Okay, that’s insane.”
“First there was Jeremy who collapsed at the runway show, then there was Greg Pena, both of whom were engaged to be married. And one of these guys was going to be married.”
Hannah gave her a dubious look. “How are things with you and Richie Rich?”
Carlotta frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I think you’re so freaked out over Peter wanting to marry you, you’re projecting murder onto these other poor men.”
She scoffed. “Peter and I are pretending to be on the outs, so the people in his office don’t think there’s a conflict of interest now that Randolph is back.”
“You mean Peter’s pretending, and for you, it’s business as usual.”
“
Nooooo.
In fact, I told Peter I’d take this time that we’re apart to consider wearing his engagement ring.”
“And are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Exactly,” Hannah said, putting the car in gear. “Detective, detect thyself.”
Carlotta frowned and sat back in the seat, happy for the summer air whipping around them that made conversation difficult.
Because she didn’t want to waste her breath trying to convince Hannah how wrong she was...about the mysterious deaths
and
about her and Peter.
Dead wrong.
Probably.
Chapter Twenty
WHEN CARLOTTA OPENED her eyes the next morning, she heard a drumbeat. A few seconds later, she realized the pounding was in her head, keeping time to the throb of her shoulder. Bits of troubled dreams lingered in the corners of her brain. Snatches of the current state of her life assaulted her—Randolph’s stoic silence...her tedious stint at the Wedding Expo...Wes’s pregnancy predicament.
From the nightstand, her cell phone vibrated. She reached for it in time to see Peter’s text scroll across the screen.
I woke up thinking about you.
Carlotta squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to go back to sleep for a few days. Maybe she’d get transported to the alternate universe she’d visited before, where she was happily married to Peter, and her parents were walking around living relatively normal lives.
She toyed with her phone, weighing a response to Peter. The man had demonstrated his love for her—he’d passed up a nice promotion to go to New York to stay in Atlanta to be with her. He’d showered her with gifts, including this phone. He’d let her live in his extravagant home while The Charmed Killer was on the loose. He’d once paid a hefty sum to get Wesley out of a scrape. He’d even risked his job by not revealing that Randolph had once called him. And now he’d agreed to be her lookout in case someone in Mashburn & Tully did or said something that might help Randolph.
And all he’d asked in return was for her to think about wearing his ring...to think about becoming his wife...to think about realizing the dream she’d fostered most of her adult life.
She was being a brat, as Hannah had implied. Making Peter jump through hoops to make up for his actions as a scared young man faced with an impossible choice.
Why couldn’t she let him off the hook? Because the power felt good...or because deep down she was afraid her and Peter’s window had closed, and their relationship was best left to play out in the other place, where their lives had taken the expected path.
Carlotta pursed her mouth, then texted
I am thinking about you, too. Any news?
Yes. I miss you...but I guess that’s not news.
At a loss, she texted back a smiley face.
Have you or Wesley talked to Randolph?
Suspicion stirred in her chest. It occurred to her that texting left a paper trail. And on the heels of that revelation came the realization that Peter owned her phone—he could have her account records pulled any time he wanted to.
When the scent of bacon wafted under her door, her stomach growled and she grasped at the diversion.
Talk later...Wes made breakfast.
She set down the phone, then climbed out of bed and grabbed her fuzzy chenille robe on her way out of the room. Wes sat at the table behind a section of the Sunday
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
. His plate was piled high with bacon and eggs.
“Did you make enough for me?” she asked.
The paper didn’t move. “Nope.”
Carlotta bit her lower lip, then tried again. “You were out late last night.”
“Yep.”
She walked to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup. “Hannah and I helped Coop on a body pickup. He said he called you first.”
“Uh-huh.”
She took a sip, then leaned against the counter, knowing Wesley must be tied in knots over his impending fatherhood, maybe wondering how to tell her. “Is something wrong?”
She realized the absurdity of the question as soon as the words left her mouth.
What
wasn’t
wrong?
Wes snorted, then tossed down the paper and gestured to a story. “Your gal pal Rainie Stephens wrote a fabricated story about Dad.”
Carlotta frowned and glanced at the headline.
Infamous Fugitive Faces Fraud Charges.
She skimmed the story, which focused on how many investors’ lives Randolph had destroyed—dozens—and hinted he’d lived a life of luxury on the lam with the stolen money while his own children had been left behind to fend for themselves.
The last half of the report was certainly accurate. “At least they didn’t mention our names.”
“It’s total bullshit. I wonder who her source is?” His voice was accusatory.
“It’s not me, if that’s what you’re implying.”
He studied her, his face sullen. “Promise?”
“
Yes.
Rainie came to the Expo and asked for an interview, but when I declined, she didn’t press.”
He didn’t say anything, but his gaze strayed to the pile of mail on the counter.
“Dad hasn’t sent the visitation forms,” she murmured. “Yet.”
His mouth tightened. “He will.”
She pulled a smile out of thin air, then nodded. “Of course he will. Have you heard any news from your friend inside the facility?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
She lunged forward. “And?”
“And he’s in solitary confinement, only comes out for meals.”
“Why is he in solitary confinement?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy said he tried to talk to him, told him he was asking for me, but Dad wouldn’t respond.”