Body Movers Books 1-3

“After that drunken scene that she caused yesterday, I’m not surprised that she fell in. Sad, though.”

“Yes, it is.”

He leaned in close. “I have a friend who works in a Botox clinic on Piedmont. She said that Angela was a patient there and always showed up drunk on her ass. Guess it was only a matter of time before she hurt herself or someone else.”

Carlotta chewed on her lip. Everyone seemed eager to believe that Angela had brought her untimely death upon herself. It did seem like the simplest, neatest explanation…but was it true? She hadn’t particularly liked the woman, but it was starting to dawn on her that she was in a peculiar position to ensure that Angela’s death received more than a passing glance.

Michael frowned. “Are you okay?”

Carlotta managed a nod. “It’s just such a shame, to die that way. She was so young and so beautiful.”

“That’s pretty big of you considering that yesterday the woman tried to kill you.”

“You’re exaggerating, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I still think you should have filed an assault charge. Your neck is bruised where she tried to choke you.”

She covered her neck with her hand. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“No,” he agreed, then sighed dramatically. “She’s gone, along with her big fat commissions. Poor you.”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to mimic his light tone.

“Of course, there’s always her husband,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. “Not to be tacky, but any chance that you’ll hook up with the grieving widower, or are you two really just friends?”

I thought you were my friend, Peter had said. But what if he was playing her so that she would protect him instead of revealing that he might have had a motive for killing his wife?

But how could she report the facts without implicating herself?

“Hey, I was only joking,” Michael said.

She exhaled and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s not you. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Hmm. Guilty pleasure or guilty conscience?”

She flushed under his gaze and murmured, “I need to find an aspirin.”

“Don’t dawdle,” Michael said softly. “Lindy is watching your every move.”

With his threat ringing in her aching head, Carlotta moved through the rest of her shift fighting bouts of paralyzing paranoia. If she went to Detective Terry with details about Angela and Peter’s relationship, things were bound to get a lot worse for her, and she couldn’t afford to draw more negative attention to herself at work.

No, she decided as she clocked out and made her way toward the mall, she would leave Angela Ashford’s death to the professionals.

And for now, she’d try not to think about the fact that Peter, the love of her life, was now a single man, and what that might mean to her life.

She wove her way through the Saturday crowds, dodging packs of suburban kids and in-town kids making their rounds, young marrieds on their way to the cinema, and pathetic people like her who had convinced themselves that an evening of window-shopping was better than a date.

With her new autograph book in mind, she decided to cruise by the Sunglass Hut to see if anyone famous was trying on the new Maui Jim sunglasses. Next to Blue Pointe restaurant in Buckhead and the Fulton County Courthouse, it was the best place in Atlanta for celebrity sightings.

She had just sidestepped a teenage couple who only had eyes for each other when the back of her neck prickled and she was overcome with the feeling that someone was watching her. She swallowed hard and tried to shake the eerie feeling, chalking it up to the events of the previous day and her frayed nerves. But as she continued walking, the feeling grew stronger. Fighting panic, she turned into the sunglass shop. From the display case, she picked up a pair of retro Ray Ban aviators and jammed them on her face, then adjusted the mirror to see behind her.

There…a few feet back in the mall stood a man, his torso and face obscured by a newspaper—a cartoonish ruse. She could tell little from the jeans-clad legs other than that he was a big man. Her pulse spiked. One of Wesley’s thugs, following her? Maybe planning to jump her on her way to her car and take her cash?

Fear coalesced into anger. She punched 911 into her cell phone, then whipped off the sunglasses and charged out into the mall and up to the man, wielding the phone like a weapon, her thumb over the Send button. “I’m onto you, mister, and I’m going to call the police.”

The corner of the newspaper came down, revealing Detective Jack Terry wearing a dry smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Ms. Wren.”

17

At Detective Terry’s nonchalant declaration, Carlotta’s anger detonated. “How dare you follow me like I’m some kind of criminal!”

He folded the newspaper carefully and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. “I wasn’t following you. I just happened to be out shopping.” He lifted a ratty Dick’s Sporting Goods bag as proof.

“Really? That’s funny, because there’s no Dick’s in this mall.” Then she angled her head. “Of course, if you’re talking about just plain old dicks, I could probably point one out for you.”

“A muscle car and a sense of humor—wow, you’re just full of surprises.”

“And you’re full of crap. What the hell do you want?”

“Like I said, I’m off duty, just doing a little shopping. But since I ran into you, I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. How about we grab a cup of coffee?”

Instantly wary, she asked, “What do you want to talk about?”

He smiled again. “The weather, the Braves, your parents—there are so many things.”

Through clenched teeth, she said, “I told you, I don’t know where my parents are.”

He held up both hands, Dick’s bag swinging. “I’ve been reading the files, and I just want to clarify a few details, that’s all.” A cajoling smile transformed his big features into almost handsome, dammit. “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

She hesitated.

“Ms. Wren, you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later. Let’s try to keep this as informal as possible.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Peter Ashford?”

“Should it?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I just thought…after last night…”

“No, I got final word from the coroner’s office this morning. They stand by their accidental-death ruling. Case closed.”

“Oh.” So even the police had put the matter to rest.

“How about that coffee?”

She frowned. “Don’t you have something better to do on a Saturday night?”

“Apparently not. Did I interrupt some kind of sunglass-shopping emergency?”