Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body

Carlotta nodded and inhaled a cleansing breath. If their parents’ leaving had taught her anything, it was that tears didn’t solve a thing. Action did.

“What now?” she asked Coop.

“I know he has an appointment to see his probation officer at eleven. I’d say if he doesn’t show, then you should call the police. Considering that thug’s comment to you about Wesley having done something stupid, this might have to do with the loan sharks he owes.”

Her heart squeezed, but she had to consider worst-case scenarios. “You’re right. He wouldn’t miss his appointment with Eldora. Not voluntarily.”

“Meanwhile,” Coop said, pushing himself to his feet, “try to think of somewhere he might’ve gone, or someone who might know where he is. I’ll keep making inquiries.”

“Okay,” she said, following him to the door. “And Coop.” She squared her shoulders, but that only caused pain to shoot down her arm. “I hate to ask this, but have you checked the … morgue?”

His brown eyes filled with sympathy, and he nodded. “I did. He’s not there.”

Tears of relief filled her eyes. “Thank you for caring.”

He gave her a little smile. “I can’t seem to help myself.” Then he turned and walked to the bottom of the steps. “You have my cell phone number if you need me.”

“Yes,” she called after him, waving with her good hand until he drove away.

Carlotta looked to her left and saw their neighbor Mrs. Winningham working in her yard. They weren’t the best of friends, but the woman had called 911 a few days ago when two of The Carver’s thugs had tried to drag Carlotta into their van. So she went down the steps and crossed to the fence that separated the yards of their respective town houses. “Hi, Mrs. Winningham.”

“Hello,” the woman chirped. “And you’re welcome.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said you’re welcome for the get well card I sent to you through your brother. He said you managed to only break your arm.” The woman sniffed. “Although I must say you made a spectacle of yourself, dangling half-naked from the balcony of the Fox Theater.”

“Yes, I’m good at that,” Carlotta said cheerfully. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen Wesley yet to get your thoughtful card. May I ask when you gave it to him?”

The woman looked perturbed. “I gave it to him yesterday morning. He said he was going to meet you at the hospital and bring you home in a taxi. Then he rode off on his bike.”

“And did he seem okay to you?”

“‘Okay’ is a relative term where your family is concerned, but yes, reasonably so.”

“Thank you,” Carlotta said as pleasantly as she could manage. “I’ll let you know when I get your card, Mrs. Winningham.” Her stomach rolled as she went back to her house.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.

Carlotta told her about her conversation with the neighbor. “So Wesley didn’t just get wrapped up in some marathon poker tournament and forget. He was planning to meet me at the hospital like he said. Something bad has happened, I know it now.”

“Shh, you don’t know that for sure,” Hannah said. “Wait to see if he shows up at his P.O.’s office. Do you have the phone number?”

“There’s a business card on the bulletin board in his room.”

“Want me to get it?”

“Would you?”

“Want me to feed Einstein while I’m in there?”

“Please,” she said. The last time the massive python had gone unfed for too long, it had found its way out of Wesley’s room and into Carlotta’s bed.

When she returned, Hannah tried to entertain Carlotta by coaxing her to the back deck to stick her feet in the kiddie pool Wesley had bought for her—to make up, he’d said, for the lavish life she’d given up with Peter in order to raise him. The cool water felt good between her toes, but it only made her miss Wesley more.

“I’m sorry I have to leave,” Hannah said later, standing with her hands on her hips, back in full goth garb and makeup, the barbell in her tongue clicking against her teeth. “But I can’t get anyone to cover me on this corporate luncheon.”

“Go,” Carlotta urged, shin-deep in the pool and clutching the phone. “You’ve done enough handholding for a lifetime.”

“Call me to let me know what you find out. I should be finished in a couple of hours or so.”

Carlotta waved her off, and attempted to relax, trying to find some solace in the beautiful sunny day and the fact that the neighborhood that she’d hated living in was looking quite pretty today. When the trees were leafed out, they hid the shabbiness of most of the homes, their’s included. The gay couple that lived on the other side of them, whom they’d only seen and not met, had made upgrades to their house. Now that she thought about it, she decided her neighbors probably didn’t extend themselves because the Wren place was, as Mrs. Winningham had so often reminded her, “a blight on our good street.”

Ironically, Carlotta had vowed to update their place and make some badly needed repairs just before she’d broken her arm. For extra money, she had even contemplated joining forces with Hannah to go on some body-moving jobs for Coop—much to Hannah’s great delight. But that, too, would have to wait until after Carlotta’s arm healed.

“Come home safe, Wesley,” she whispered. “I have plans for us. You can’t leave me, too.”

In that moment, her hatred for her parents was a palpable black mass in the air around her. She shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. What if something happened to Wesley? Life without her brother was just too impossible to comprehend. She realized with a start how he must have felt when he thought she’d taken a dive off that bridge, before they had learned it was someone pretending to be her.

Their parents’ abandonment had forced them into a closeness that probably wasn’t healthy. She wondered if they would forever be emotionally dependent on each other, or if either would someday make room in their life for someone special. Wesley was particularly resistant to change—he still refused to allow her to take down the aluminum Christmas tree in the living room that their mother had put up mere days before she’d skipped town with their father. So it sat there in the corner, a sagging, tarnished emblem of their family, complete with little gifts underneath that had never been opened.

Except by Jack Terry, when he’d stayed at their house doing “surveillance” in case her parents showed up for the fake funeral. He’d thought he might find clues in them as to their parents’ whereabouts. He’d rewrapped the gifts, but Carlotta had been furious when she discovered what he’d done. Had been hurt. Confused. Torn.

With Jack, everything was muddy.

Meanwhile, the hands on the clock seemed to crawl. The phone didn’t ring. Wesley didn’t materialize. When she called the number on his probation officer’s business card at five minutes after eleven, she was nauseous.

“Eldora Jones speaking.”

“Eldora, this is Carlotta Wren, Wesley’s sister. We met a couple of nights ago at the Elton John concert.”

“How could I forget? Are you out of the hospital?”

“Yes, thanks, and feeling much better. I’m calling about Wesley. Did he make his appointment today?”

“As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”

Carlotta’s heart sank to her ankles. “Did he call to say he wouldn’t be there?”

“No, he didn’t. May I ask what this is about?”

“I hope it’s nothing, but my brother seems to be missing.”

“Missing?”

“He hasn’t been home, no one’s heard from him since yesterday, and he isn’t answering his cell phone.”

The woman paused, then said thoughtfully, “I did receive a call from a Richard McCormick saying that Wesley had impressed him in his interview yesterday morning. He’s set to start his community service with the city computer-security department next Monday.”