Carlotta sighed. She and Jack seemed to be designed to rub each other the wrong way.
And the right way.
But Jack was right about the development with Walt Tully—it might have nothing to do with Randolph’s return.
But what if it did?
Carlotta thought about calling Tracey to say she was thinking of the family, but wasn’t sure her call would be welcome, and she didn’t want to add stress to an already upsetting situation. After all, Tracey didn’t know that if Randolph and Valerie hadn’t left, she and Carlotta would’ve been best friends.
Patricia walked across the booth, her expression bright and shiny. “Leo and Casey are coming by in an hour or so to take me to a late lunch—will you cover for me?”
“Sure.” Carlotta smiled. “It’ll be better this time, you’ll see.”
Patricia nodded, then turned back to a customer. The
Your Perfect Man
booth was hopping, and Carlotta was swept into sales mode as she explained the warrior, the king, the lover, and the magician archetypes over and over, and helped women decide which best matched the man they were shopping for. The sales spiel, she realized, was helping her to understand more about the men in her life. The confusion over her feelings for the men came from the fact that at different times in her life, she needed a warrior...and other times she needed a king, or a lover, or a magician.
It was much the same for men, she suspected, who consciously and unconsciously categorized women as the kind of woman to befriend or date or sleep with or take home to mother. With all the moving parts and bad timing, it was a miracle men and women got together in the first place...and as evidenced by the women featured in the “After the Dress” art exhibit, staying together seemed more like an endurance challenge rather than a labor of love.
Carlotta glanced over the throngs of brides-to-be, some arm in arm with their betrothed who seemed to be along for the ride. She admired how fearless they were in the face of the odds against them. And was it so wrong if a beautiful white dress was part of a bride’s emotional arsenal, to equip her with a strong dose of dopamine and oxytocin to carry her through some of the lows in a marriage?
Her phone vibrated and she glanced down to see Peter was calling. Eager for an update on Walt’s condition, she connected the call. “Hi.”
“Hi, there,” Peter said, his voice low. “Can you talk?”
“Briefly. How’s Walt?”
“He’s improving, thank goodness. If things go well for the next twelve hours, the doctors are going to bring him out of the coma tomorrow.”
Carlotta exhaled. “That’s good news.”
“Yes, it is. But he’s still not out of the woods.”
“Has anyone said why this might have happened?”
“His wife said he’s been really stressed lately and hasn’t been sleeping. She thinks he just didn’t realize how big of a dose he’d taken.”
Carlotta bit into her lip...just a few nights ago, an extra dose of the pain meds for her shoulder had triggered the fantastic trip across time. “I’ve heard that’s fairly common,” she murmured.
“I know. But...” The background became muffled, as if he’d covered the microphone with his hand. “But I heard his son say something about a note.”
“A suicide note?”
“I don’t know that for sure, but I did see his sister pull him aside and it looked to me as if they had some harsh words.”
“Tracey?”
“Right. Anyway, I’m going to stick around the hospital for a while. The partners are here.”
“Okay. Thanks for the update.”
“I miss you,” he said, his voice earnest.
“I miss you, too. Bye.” She ended the call and stowed her phone.
It wasn’t a lie—she missed the way she and Peter used to be. Carlotta glanced down at her bare left ring finger. Would it be so bad to be married to Peter now? She wasn’t getting any younger. And while she’d had passing fantasies about Jack...and some missed opportunities with Coop, neither of them was offering her a ring.
“You look deep in thought.”
Carlotta lifted her gaze to see Rainie Stephens standing there. She dropped her left hand, then crossed her arms. “I could be thinking about the interesting story regarding my father in this morning’s paper.”
Rainie nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to let you know it wasn’t my idea to run the piece.”
“Your byline was on it.”
“Yes. But I didn’t initiate the story. And I had your and Wesley’s names removed.”
“Thanks for that anyway. And I guess this isn’t the first time the information has been printed.”
“I know. But I like you, Carlotta, and I don’t want to see you hurt by this situation with your father any more than you probably already have been.”
Carlotta pressed her lips together. “I appreciate that.”
“That said, I’d really like to keep my job. So what I’m about to say is for your ears only.”
Her interest was piqued. “I’m listening.”
“I got the impression that there was some pressure to run the piece on your father.”
“Pressure from whom?”
Rainie’s shoulders lifted in a slow shrug. “Who would benefit from making your father look bad?”
“Mashburn & Tully, of course...or any of the clients who lost money. Did you know one of the partners of the firm, Walt Tully, is in the hospital for a prescription drug overdose?”
Rainie blinked. “No. When did that happen?”
“This morning.” A thought burst into Carlotta’s head and she could tell Rainie was thinking the same thing—had something in the article triggered a self-destructive reaction from Walt Tully?
Carlotta hesitated, then said, “There might have been a note.”
“A suicide note?”
“I don’t know...and I’m not even sure there was a note. It’s...a rumor.”
“Who told you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Rainie angled her head. “Doesn’t your boyfriend work for Tully & Mashburn?”
Carlotta’s cheeks warmed. “Peter Ashford works there, yes...but I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend.”
Rainie smiled. “What would you call him?”
“A good friend. Now that my father is back, I don’t want anyone at the firm questioning Peter’s loyalty.”
“Ah,” Rainie said, although she looked...concerned? “Okay, well, I have some digging to do. I’ll let you know if I find out anything interesting.”
Carlotta nodded. “Same here.”
Before she dove back into sales, she checked her phone in case Wes had called. He hadn’t. She hated the way they’d left things this morning. She punched in his number and when it went straight to voicemail, she said, “Wes, it’s me. I’m really sorry about this morning. I know you have a lot on your mind right now with...everything. Just know I will support you any way I can. Just...don’t shut me out, okay?”
She ended the call and sighed. Wesley usually came around when she gave him time, but she was afraid this time he’d reached some sort of breaking-away point...that she’d gone too far, maybe pushed him out of their family duo and toward Liz—
ugh
—and his new family.
Brides shopping for their grooms kept her busy all afternoon—the women loved the certainty of matching a gift to their man’s archetype. The gift of choice for warriors appeared to be boots. For kings, golf bags ruled. For lovers, electronic gadgets held the most power. And for magicians, designer sunglasses were the perfect fit.
Carlotta looked over and saw Patricia on her phone, obviously distraught. She walked over and touched her arm, then whispered, “Is everything okay?”
Patricia shook her head, then covered the mouthpiece. “Leo can’t bring Casey to eat with me—a friend of his died suddenly. He’s so upset.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carlotta said. “If you need to leave early, I’ll cover the booth...and we’ll split the commissions.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
Patricia nodded gratefully, then uncovered the mouth piece to resume her conversation.
Carlotta tended to customers, thinking about what Patricia had said once about bodies turning up around her. The truth was, death had always been nearby—she’d just never noticed how indiscriminate it was until she’d started body-moving.
When Patricia ended the call, she walked over, dabbing at her eyes. “How awful. His name was Jeffrey Oxblood. He was so young—only thirty-eight.”
“How did he die?”
“He was out for a run and collapsed. They think it was a heart attack.”
“Very sad,” Carlotta agreed.
“He had just started a new job, and he was engaged. Leo said he was really stressed out.”
Carlotta pressed her lips together. “Engaged?”
Patricia nodded. “His fiancée is devastated. They were planning their wedding.”
“That can certainly be stressful.”
“If you don’t mind, I think I will take you up on your offer and go be with Leo. Would you like to take a bathroom break before I leave?”
“Yes,” Carlotta said. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
She walked in the direction of the restrooms, but detoured over to the HAL Properties booth, where she spotted an impeccably groomed Hannah talking to a young couple, handing them vacation brochures. Carlotta smiled to herself to see Hannah behaving almost—genteel. At the same time, she couldn’t help feeling she’d been deceived by this woman whom she’d allowed into her life.
“Can I help you?”
Carlotta turned to see a tall woman with honey-colored hair and Hannah’s eyes standing behind a counter. One of Hannah’s sisters, she presumed, and model pretty. “I’m waiting to talk to Hannah,” she said, then waved when Hannah looked in her direction.
“You know my sister?” the woman asked.
“Yes.”
She put out a beautifully manicured hand. “I’m Anna Kizer.”
Carlotta shook her hand. “Carlotta Wren.”
The woman’s brow furrowed. “Wren?”
Apparently the woman read the newspapers.
Hannah appeared suddenly and grabbed Carlotta’s elbow to shepherd her away from the booth.
“Hello to you, too,” Carlotta said, trotting to keep up with Hannah’s long stride.
“I asked you to stay away from my family,” Hannah said, her tone irritated.
“They seem normal to me. Besides, I needed to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Were you serious about renting Greg Pena’s apartment?”
“The guy who slipped in the mouthwash? Yeah. I even called, but the manager said he wanted to wait to show it until the guy’s stuff is out of there.”
“Perfect. Can you call him back and get him to show it to you anyway, like this evening?”
“Let’s see.”
Hannah pulled out her phone and searched her call log until she found the number, then connected the call. She reminded the manager who she was, then said she needed to see the apartment that night because she was getting ready to go out of town...and no, she didn’t mind that the previous renter’s stuff was still there...and did she mention she was willing to pay the deposit and six months’ rent in advance—in cash? “Great,” she said, giving Carlotta a nod. “I’ll be there.” She ended the call. “We’re in.”
“Great. Meet you at the entrance when the show closes?”
“I’m counting the minutes.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“THANK YOU,” Hannah said as the manager pushed open the apartment door.
“We’ll lock up when we leave,” Carlotta added.
The man looked back and forth between her and Hannah. “Since I’m not supposed to let you in, I probably should stay.”
Hannah leaned in and gave him a flirtatious smile. “But that’s the very reason you shouldn’t stay. We don’t want to see you get into trouble.”
“Right,” Carlotta added with her own smile.
“Besides,” Hannah said, “do we look like the kind of women who would talk our way into a place just to do something underhanded?”
The guy looked them up and down. Hannah preened in her Kate Spade colorblock dress that emphasized her knockout figure. Carlotta felt less dazzling in a red pleated mini-skirt and white silk tank, but it seemed to suffice.
“Er...no,” he murmured, a flush tinging his ears.
“We won’t be long,” Carlotta said.
“Meanwhile,” Hannah said, angling herself between him and the door, “why don’t you go ahead and draw up the lease agreement? I’d really like to get this wrapped up tonight.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be in the office.”
As they walked inside, Hannah shook her head. “I mean, it’s scary how easy this is sometimes. We could loot this entire place.”
Carlotta flipped on light switches. “Well, he does have your phone number.”
“Hello? If I were going to commit a burglary, I obviously would use a burner cell phone. After I move in, I’m going to complain about the lax security.” Hands on hips, she glanced around to take in the high ceilings, large windows, and aged wood floors. “Yeah, I think I’m going to like this place.”
“I didn’t mean to force you into making a decision today,” Carlotta said.
“No, it’s better that I do this while I’m working at the Wedding Expo—if I came dressed as myself, the manager probably wouldn’t have shown it to me.”
“You think?”
She shrugged. “Hey, it comes with the territory. People see tats and leather and they think I’m a criminal. Like your buds at the country club.”
“What country club does your family belong to?” Carlotta asked lightly.
Hannah ignored her and walked into the tiny kitchen to the right. “Nice appliances...gas stove—that’s a plus.”
“Have you told Chance you’re moving out?”
“I never really moved in. But no, I haven’t told him...yet.”
Carlotta walked through the living room, set down her purse, then began opening drawers and peeking under magazines. “It doesn’t bother you that a man died here?”
Her friend scoffed. “Something tragic has happened or will happen in just about every apartment, condo, and house that’s ever existed—a terrible accident, a fire, flood, or tornado, or yes—a silly, senseless, needless death.”
“Or a murder,” Carlotta said, moving through the hall and into the bedroom. She glanced over the neat room, which was much the same as when they’d been here, the covers folded down at an inviting angle.