His expression of angst made her heart pinch. No son should have to do what Wesley had done...only to be rejected again. Emotion welled in her throat over the fact that Wes’s life hadn’t turned out the way it should have. And now a baby on the way...
He looked concerned. “Are you okay, Sis?”
She blinked back moisture, then rubbed her aching arm. “I must have slept on my shoulder wrong.” She turned her back to rifle a cabinet for ibuprofen, then downed a couple of tablets with her coffee. It gave her time to gather herself. When she turned back, Wes had divided the heaped up food onto two plates.
He pushed one toward her, then licked his thumb. “You need protein to heal.”
She smiled, then joined him at the table. He handed her a fork, and she dug in. After a few bites, she was already feeling better. “Guess who was at the Wedding Expo yesterday?”
He shrugged. “Who?”
“Eldora Jones.”
He took his time swallowing. “Yeah, she’s engaged to a lughead.”
“I remember meeting him at the Fox. Do you know him?”
Another hesitation. “I think I met him through Chance once.”
“So he’s into something shady.”
“Not everything Chance does is illegal.”
But he didn’t correct her where the fiancé was concerned. So maybe the uncertainty she’d detected in Eldora Jones was warranted.
“Hey, are things okay with Hannah?”
She looked up from the eggs. “Why do you ask?”
“Chance said he thinks she’s...I don’t know—keeping something from him.”
Her identity, like she’d been keeping from all of them. Carlotta conceded she felt deceived, but it was Hannah’s secret to tell. “Maybe he should ask her.”
He frowned. “I don’t think they talk much.”
“Ew.”
“I know.”
She took a few more bites, noticing Wes’s ragged fingernails. He had started biting them when he was a little boy, after their parents had left, chewing them obsessively until they bled. At the time, she had resorted to all kinds of preventive remedies, from coating them with nasty-tasting solutions to putting Band-Aids around them, but nothing worked. Finally she realized the nail-biting was simply a way to keep his hands busy while his mind raced with problems no child should have to deal with. She’d given him a wad of Silly Putty to keep with him at all times, and the nail-biting had stopped. Eventually the putty had been set aside, too.
But under the stress of their dad returning and now the situation with Liz, apparently the old habit had resurfaced.
“You’ve been scarce,” she said lightly.
He took his time responding. “Just busy.”
“How is your community service job?”
Wes shifted in his seat. “Fine.”
“How are things with Meg?”
“She’s still on vacation with her folks.”
“Ah. When does she get back?”
He looked despondent. “Tomorrow.”
And he would have to tell her he’d gotten another woman pregnant. Carlotta felt like crying herself—or giving him a good shake for being so careless. “You’re not looking forward to seeing her?”
He dropped his fork with a clatter, then stood abruptly. “I gotta go.”
“What? Where?”
He gestured vaguely. “I have a...thing.”
Carlotta closed her eyes and opened her mouth to let the painful words spill out. “Wes...I know Liz is pregnant.” When she opened her eyes, Wes looked like a trapped animal.
“How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“Chance told Hannah and Hannah told you, didn’t she?”
“Wes, the point is I know. What’s going to happen?”
His arms flailed as if he were fighting the universe, his eyes wide. “It’s none of your business. It’s no one’s business but mine and Liz!”
“That’s not true,” she said as calmly as she could. “It’s going to affect my life, and Meg’s...and Dad’s. Does he know—has Liz told him?”
“No!” He pulled his hand down his face. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Then he made a chopping motion in the air. “Look, this is my problem and I’ll handle it.”
Carlotta wanted to throttle him. “Like you handled your gambling problem? Or your drug problem?”
When angry tears filled his eyes, she wanted the words back. Wes had developed all his bad habits under her watch—didn’t she share some of the blame?
“I shouldn’t have said that—”
“Shut up!” Wesley yelled. “And stay out of my life!”
He turned and strode through the living room and out the front door with a bang. Carlotta fought back tears. When would her world right itself? She leaned her head back and let out the pent up frustration in a therapeutic scream.
Which made her feel marginally better...good enough to drag herself to her feet and think about getting dressed to head to the Wedding Expo.
The sound of the doorbell startled her. She padded through the living room and checked the side window.
The man from next door—Johnson—stood on the stoop holding the glass vase she’d forced on him yesterday. He saw her and waved.
Carlotta jerked back. She didn’t trust the guy, and she was alone. Had he seen Wesley leave? Did he mean her harm?
She ran to the bedroom, grabbed her cell phone, and called Jack with one button. He answered on the second ring. “What’s up, Carlotta?” From the background noise, she could tell he was in his car.
“Jack...the guy next door with the camera I told you about? He’s ringing my bell.”
“Trying to make me jealous?”
She frowned. “I’m serious, he’s ringing my doorbell. And Wes isn’t here.”
“If you’re afraid, don’t answer the door.”
“But he knows I’m here.”
“So?”
“So...that’s rude.”
He sighed. “So what exactly do you want
me
to do?”
“Stay on the phone...I’ll put you on speaker so you can hear our conversation. That way, if anything happens, you can—”
“Come running? I get the picture.”
She walked back to the door, set the phone on a nearby table, then hit the speaker button. She glanced down at her robe and realized the yoga pants and tee shirt underneath were more presentable, so she peeled it off, wadded it into a ball and tossed it toward the hallway. Then she finger-combed her hair and pinched her cheeks.
“Are you primping?” Jack asked dryly.
“Shhh!” she hissed, then opened the door.
Her neighbor gave her a smile. “I thought you weren’t going to answer.”
“Why would I not answer the door?” Carlotta asked loudly to make sure Jack heard her.
The man shrugged. He was wearing jeans, a fitted tee shirt, and black athletic shoes. “It’s Carlotta, right?”
“Yes.” He was even more attractive than she’d first noticed, but she wasn’t going to let his Abercrombie good looks distract her. The man could be an assassin. “And you’re Johnson?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that your first name or your last name?” Jack would need some details to be able to check him out.
“It’s just a nickname,” he said with a laugh. “My dad’s name was John, and everyone called me John’s son, so...” He shrugged again, displacing lots of muscle.
“So what
is
your name?” she pressed, then realized she sounded like an interrogator. She gave a little laugh. “I mean, I like to know who’s living next door.”
“That’s funny,” he said with an amused expression. “The guy I rented the place from said he’d never met the people who live here.”
She felt herself blanch. “I...that is, we...are kind of private, I suppose. But we’re...trying to...be better. Better neighbors, I mean.”
He squinted, then extended the vase. “I just came to return this. Er, thanks for the flowers.”
Her face flamed as she took the glass vase. “You’re welcome.” But she steeled herself because now both his hands were free.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you around,” he said, backing down the steps.
“Wait!” Carlotta practically shouted. “What do you do for a living?” Then she tried to appear casual. “I’m interested in why you’re only renting the house for a few weeks.”
He stopped. “I’m a freelance photographer, and I’m in town on assignment.”
She deflated a little. “What kind of assignment?”
“Nothing too exciting—I’m here to shoot pictures for Google Maps.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I thought Google Maps used cameras on robots.” Wes had told her that once.
“They do. I’m shooting pictures of things the robots can’t get to, just to fill in the blanks.” He lifted his hands. “Like I said—nothing exciting.”
“Oh,” she said, mildly disappointed.
“Say, since I’m going to be in town for a while, would you like to get a drink sometime, maybe have dinner?”
She blinked in surprise. “Oh...thank you, but...I’m seeing someone.”
“Ah.” He inclined his head. “Okay, then, I’ll be going. Bye.”
“Goodbye,” she murmured, then watched him walk his really nice body from her unkempt mortgaged yard back to his neatly groomed rented one. She stepped back and closed the door.
“Gee,” Jack said from the speaker, “you’ve never given me flowers.”
“Shut up, Jack.” She turned the phone off speaker mode, then put it to her ear. “It was an excuse to see who lived there. Wes got it in his head that since Randolph was apparently monitoring us...”
“That he and your mother might be living next door?”
She sighed. “It sounded plausible at the time.”
He made a thoughtful noise. “I guess you haven’t heard from Randolph?”
“No...and it’s wearing on us.”
“I know, but hang in there a little longer. Are you still meeting with Lucas tomorrow?”
“Yes. And I took your advice—Liz will be there, too. I’m hoping she’ll have some news.” She thought about the other news Liz was sitting on, then added, “From Dad.”
The chime of the doorbell filled the room.
“Is your neighbor back?” Jack asked.
Carlotta peeked out the side window and swallowed a groan. “No...it’s Peter.”
“Put me on speaker again, would you? This might be more interesting.”
“Goodbye, Jack.” She stabbed a button to end the call, then opened the door.
Peter, dressed in business casual clothes, had a ready smile for her. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said, and met his lips in a quick kiss. “But I’m so sorry I don’t have time to talk—I need to get ready for work.”
He nodded. “But I have some news and I thought I’d tell you in person. I don’t know if it’s related at all to Randolph, but I thought you’d want to know.”
She frowned. “What happened?”
“Walt Tully was rushed to the hospital this morning.”
Randolph’s former partner wasn’t her favorite person, but she didn’t wish him ill. “Is he okay?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s in a medically induced coma after an accidental drug overdose.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“DON’T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS,” Jack said.
Carlotta glanced over his shoulder to make sure Patricia was out of earshot in the booth. “You don’t think it’s a pretty big coincidence that Walt Tully takes an overdose of prescription pills a few days after my father returns?”
“Accidental overdose,” he corrected. “I had a friend pull the medical report.”
“So you
are
interested.”
“It’s an interesting development. But even if there’s a connection, it doesn’t have to be menacing. You said yourself that Walt Tully and your dad were more than coworkers.”
“Yes, they were best friends. Walt is our godfather.”
“He didn’t exactly fulfill his duties after your parents left you.”
“No,” she admitted. “But it speaks to how much my father trusted him.”
“So...maybe now that Randolph is back, Walt Tully feels bad about not doing right by you and Wesley. A couple of sleeping pills...a couple more...an alcohol chaser, and suddenly he’s in the hospital.”
“There’s another possibility,” she said.
He sighed. “There are about a hundred possibilities, but because I need to go powder Jarold Jett’s ass, I’m going to let you tell me the one you have in mind.”
She smirked. “Thank you. What if Walt is so guilt-ridden about the firm railroading my dad, he couldn’t take it anymore?”
Jack nodded. “That is definitely one possibility.”
“Are you going to look into it?”
“You forget I’m technically on vacation for a few more days. Besides, there’s no criminal investigation here. The man had a legitimate prescription for the pills. He took too many, and now he’s suffering for it.”
Carlotta bit into her lip. “Did the medical report mention the prognosis?”
His mouth twitched downward. “Fair to good.”
“Peter is going by the hospital. He’s going to call me later with an update.”
“I thought you and Peter had split.”
She squirmed. “That’s right.”
“You told your neighbor you were seeing someone.”
“Maybe I just didn’t want to go out with my neighbor.”
“Ugly, huh?”
She laughed. “Sure, Jack, whatever you want to think.” Then she sobered. “So Jack...why would Randolph be in solitary confinement?”
He frowned. “There could be lots of reasons. But how do you know that?”
“I...heard.”
“From Liz?”
“Not exactly.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who, exactly?”
“From a friend of a friend of Wesley’s who’s on the inside.”
His eyebrows flew up like two angry birds. “You two are trying to communicate with your father through another criminal?”
“It didn’t work—Randolph wouldn’t talk.”
If she thought the pronouncement that the scheme had failed would take the wind out of Jack’s sails, it didn’t. He leaned in, his face almost purple. “Godammit, Carlotta, stop playing detective before someone gets hurt.”
She frowned. “I think you’re angry because I found out information about Randolph that you can’t.”
Her words found their mark. He drew back, as if to reaffirm their pact to maintain a safe distance from each other. “I’m late.” Then he spun on his heel and stalked away, disappearing into the crowd that had swelled since church services had ended.