4 Bodies and a Funeral

Carlotta uncurled her toes and went to greet Peter.

6

Carlotta manufactured a wide smile to counter the frown on Peter’s face that appeared when Jack emerged from her house. The men exchanged wary looks and did an awkward dance as they passed on the narrow stoop. There wasn’t room enough for both of them.

“Hi, Peter,” she said. “Come in.”

“I know I’m early,” he said as he stepped over the threshold. “The receptionist at the firm told me about a disturbance at Neiman’s. I was worried about you.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The woman in the driveway said you had a dead battery?” Then he noticed what she was wearing and squinted. “What’s going on?”

“Eva McCoy had a speaking event in the store today.”

“The Olympic marathoner?”

“Right. Some guy used a cake as a ruse to get close to her and I …” She lifted her arms. “I wound up in the cake.”

He gave a little laugh. “I’d like to have seen that.”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

“That’s impossible,” he said, then sighed. “I guess superhero Jack Terry was on the scene?”

She let the jab pass. “He and his new partner were at the store for security. When they found out I’d ridden the train to work because my car battery was dead, they offered to give me a ride home.”

“Ah. So that woman is Jack’s new partner?”

“Yes. Detective Maria Marquez.”

He pursed his mouth. “Pretty lady.”

Carlotta smiled and angled her head. “Are you interested?”

“No, but I was hoping that Jack might be.” He gave her a pointed look, then his expression softened. “You’re rubbing your arm. Are you still up to having dinner?”

Her arm was aching, but on the heels of getting such good news about Wesley’s charges being downgraded, she felt happy and expansive. “Of course. I’ll pop some Advil—it’ll be fine.”

“You probably want time to get ready. I can come back to pick you up later.”

“No—stay.” She gestured to the shabby living room, suddenly noticing how yellowed the paint had become, how dingy the baseboards. She’d tried so hard to shield her dilapidated lifestyle from Peter—always meeting him at the door or in the driveway, withholding details about her and Wesley’s financial and legal problems as much as possible. But if they were going to date, he needed to know how she lived. “That is, if you don’t mind hanging out on the couch and watching a broken TV while I dry my hair and find something to wear.”

“Sounds good to me.” He seemed so pleased by the modest offer that her heart gave a squeeze.

“Give me twenty minutes,” she said, then dashed back to her bedroom where she leaned against the closed door and exhaled.

She could do this. She needed to do this, to try to rekindle the feelings she once had for Peter, both to give her father a chance to prove his innocence, and to give her and Peter a chance to … test the waters. At the very least, she owed it to herself to investigate how she felt about Peter so she could move on.

As she dried her hair and applied her makeup, Carlotta admitted to herself that her reluctance to get involved with Peter again might be rooted in fear that she’d fall for him again, and then after he’d exorcised his guilt over leaving her, he’d break her heart … again.

Which, come to think of it, was the way she felt about trusting her father again.

She downed a couple of Advil tablets, then dressed in a knee-length tan skirt and white long-sleeve linen shirt, with a triple strand of long, faux pearls and red Donald J Pliner strappy sandals. She desperately wanted a cigarette, but knew Peter would frown on the scent that would undoubtedly cling to her clothes. She glanced at the charm bracelet lying on the dresser and, on impulse, decided to put it back on. Eva McCoy had said her bracelet brought her luck, and Carlotta certainly needed all the luck she could get.

She left her hair down and as much as she hated to, she donned the flexible cast to support her tender arm. And because she was working on a blister from being on her feet all day, she tucked a pair of black Cole Haan loafers into her shoulder bag. The bottle of over-the-counter painkillers went in, too.

After checking her appearance, she put a hand over her racing heart and acknowledged she was nervous over their date. Just being near Peter always left her feeling caught between the infatuation she’d had as an eighteen-year-old and the uncertainty of the woman she was now. She took a deep breath, then returned to the living room where Peter stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the tarnished Christmas tree.

“Now that Dad has made his presence known, I was hoping that Wesley would let me take down the tree.”

Peter turned. “You told Wesley that you saw your dad while you were in Florida?”

She nodded. “I decided he had a right to know. But he doesn’t know that Dad called you.”

“That’s probably wise for now,” he agreed, then reached for her hand. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her fingers. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

Her pulse kicked up. She hadn’t considered that Peter might want to …

“Let’s just take it slow and have fun,” she murmured. “Ready to go?”

He nodded and they left the house. Peter’s low-slung Porsche two-seater was a far cry from the beater cars in her garage. She slid into the leather seat that cradled her like a hand and allowed him to close her door. If one thing led to another, she knew Peter would buy her any car she wanted.

Any thing she wanted. Just for the asking. She studied him as he settled into the driver’s seat.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes worried as if he were expecting her to pull the plug on the date at any moment.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I’m hungry.”

“Me, too. I thought we’d go to Ecco. Have you been?”

“No, but I’ve heard about their bar.” Her former coworker Michael Lane had wanted her to go with him a couple of times, but it hadn’t worked out with her schedule … or her finances. She hadn’t known financial security since her parents had left, but after having her identity stolen and her already-compromised credit damaged further, she’d cut up her plastic and put herself on a strict budget.

“They have a great wine list, and I think you’ll like the food.”

“Don’t we need reservations?”

He winked. “I got you covered.”

“Sounds good.” Good for someone else to make decisions, good to be taken care of for a change. Just … good. Carlotta closed her eyes and allowed the music on the stereo to wrap around her during the short ride to Midtown.

For a muggy Monday night, the sidewalks were busy with locals waiting out rush hour by indulging in happy hour, and visitors looking for something to do after touring the Margaret Mitchell House.

The restaurant was packed, but Peter maneuvered a place at the oversize bar where they enjoyed a leisurely glass of wine. Peter was a good conversationalist, thoughtful, yet entertaining, and startlingly handsome. She felt a rush of affection for him. Peter’s rejection ten years ago had devastated her, but surely he’d suffered more than she had with his unhappy marriage, then his wife’s betrayal and subsequent murder only a few months ago. Peter had even confessed to his wife’s murder to protect her reputation, but in the end, her dirty laundry had been aired.

Still, Carlotta thought as she smiled up at him, his actions had been noble and selfless.

After their glasses were refilled, the hostess appeared and announced their table was ready. Their “table” was more of an open-ended booth, which allowed them to sit close and look out into the crowd, European café style. Peter’s leg pressed against hers under the table while she studied the menu. Lots of variety—especially cheeses—and steep prices.