Stephanie Bond - Body Movers - 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

Hannah glanced at her quiet cell-phone screen and slammed her palm against the steering wheel. “Why hasn’t he called?”

Carlotta lifted an eyebrow. “Which of your married lovers are we talking about?”

Hannah smirked. “I’m referring to Coop. I thought he would’ve called by now to have me help him move a body.”

Since Hannah had a huge crush on Wesley’s boss, Carlotta chose her words carefully. “Maybe he had a funeral today. Or maybe Wesley is out with him. I’m sure he’ll call you soon.”

“I hope so. I can’t wait for my first assignment.”

“Hannah, I’m not so sure that body moving is the kind of job that one should feel so enthusiastic about.”

Hannah waved off her concern. “Death fascinates me. I guess that’s why I’m so intrigued by Cooper—you have to be a special person to work around bodies all the time. Do you think he has a casket at home?”

“I certainly hope not.” Even though his job of running his uncle’s funeral home and moving bodies for the morgue was creepy, Cooper Craft was a surprisingly normal-looking guy. Attractive, even. He’d hinted, as Jack Terry had said, that he was interested in Carlotta, but Cooper was so intellectual, he intimidated her.

Of course, nothing earthbound intimidated Hannah.

“I’ve always wanted to lie down in a coffin, you know, just to see what it’s like.”

Carlotta grimaced. “We’ll all know soon enough, Hannah. You can let me out here,” she said, pointing to a mall entrance.

“Okay. Do you need a ride home after work?”

“No, thanks. I hope my car will be ready by this evening. But if not, I can take the train.”

“Okay. Are you sure you’re okay to work today?”

Carlotta managed a smile. “With a mortgage and loan sharks to pay, I don’t exactly have a choice.” Sudden tears welled in her eyes. Mortified, she tried to blink them away. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Hannah said, looking concerned—and panicked—at the sight of tears. “Promise me you’ll call later.”

“I promise,” she said, then jumped out before she completely broke down.

Maybe Hannah was right, she thought as she dabbed at her eyes. Maybe she needed to talk to someone with professional objectivity, someone who could give her advice on coping with disillusionment, on how to let go of the past.

But that would have to wait. For now she needed to decide whether to tell Jack Terry about her father’s phone calls.

She was hanging her clothes in a locker in the employee break room when a familiar male voice said, “I heard Lindy nailed you yesterday.”

Carlotta closed her locker door and smirked at Michael Lane, friend, coworker, and self-proclaimed queen of the shoe department. “She confiscated my phone. I have to go to her office and ask for it back like a good girl.”

“Yikes, good luck with that.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I was kidding. You’re one of her top salespersons. Lindy’s not going to fire you.”

“ Was one of her top salespersons,” Carlotta corrected, feeling dangerously close to tears again. “I’ve been toppled by Buckhead Barbie.”

“Oh, you’ve met Patricia.”

“She was following Lindy around yesterday like a shih tzu.”

“Funny you should say that. You know Patricia’s only doing so well because of the new line of doggie wear in accessories. Those little inflatable bathing suits are flying off the freaking shelves.”

“No, I could be doing more. I’ve lost my touch.”

“You’re just in a slump.” Michael gave a dismissive wave and glanced over a memo he was holding. “Hey, you’re in luck. Lindy’s off until Wednesday.”

Carlotta blinked rapidly. She wouldn’t be able to get her phone back, wouldn’t know if her father had called again. There was a way to check messages from another phone, but she had never set up a PIN to access the system remotely. She’d told herself she’d decide whether to tell Jack about the calls after retrieving her phone, but another forty-eight hours of torture loomed before her.

“There, there, it’s just a phone,” Michael soothed.

“It’s not just the phone,” she murmured. “It’s … personal.”

“With all this business of Angela Ashford’s murder behind you, I figured you’d be skipping and singing.”

“No skipping and—lucky for you—no singing.”

He angled his head. “Is your brother in trouble again?”

Poor Wesley. Everyone automatically assumed he was the root of all of her problems, even now when there were so many more potential culprits. “No, it isn’t Wesley.”

“Having financial problems?”

She gave him a flat smile. “Yeah, but what else is new?”

“Good grief, why don’t you file bankruptcy and get it over with?”

His advice rankled her. She didn’t like people knowing so much about her perpetual indebtedness. “I told you, I’m not that desperate … yet.”

“So if it’s not Wesley and it’s not money, what is it?”

“It’s … personal.”

Michael’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Want to talk about it?”

Carlotta hesitated. As chief grinder of the store’s gossip mill, Michael was always looking for grist. “Actually, I was wondering if you could recommend someone … professional … who I could talk to about … everything.”

“Oh. My therapist, Dr. Delray, is fabulous and he accepts our company insurance. He’s taking new patients only on referral but I’d be happy to put in a phone call.”

“That would be super. And if you don’t mind, Michael, I’d like to keep this quiet.”

He made a zipping motion across his lips and Carlotta hoped that she could trust him.

On the other hand, anyone who’d been privy to her recent goings-on might be relieved to know that she was seeking help.

She took her place on the sales floor and tried to push aside thoughts of her father. But as the day unfolded and customers blended together, her imagination began to spin wild scenarios.

If her father was aware of some of the details of her and Wesley’s lives, was he spying on them? The notion had her distracted, looking around, constantly scanning for someone hiding behind clothes racks. Would she even recognize her father? He was bound to have aged in ten years and no doubt had altered his appearance to avoid detection. Same for her mother.

She glanced around, suddenly claustrophobic as shoppers zigzagged by her. Either one of her parents could be within easy reach and she wouldn’t know it.

“Hello, Carlotta.”

Carlotta turned to see one of her best customers, Dixie Neilson, walking up wearing a cheery smile. The flamboyant, trim older woman with a dramatic shock of silver in her dark hair—and her impressive purchases—never failed to lift Carlotta’s spirits. “Hi, Dixie. What can I do for you today?”

“I need a new dress, darling, for a dinner party. I was thinking something red and slinky and ridiculously expensive.”

Carlotta laughed. “I think I have just the thing.” But while she was helping Dixie select a dress, she continued to scan the throng of shoppers. Later, while she rang up Dixie’s sale, a tall man by a rack of women’s cruise wear caught her eye. He seemed out of place as he flipped through the hangers of bright clothing. Who wore a long coat in the dead of summer? And he kept looking in her direction….

She handed Dixie the dress in a garment bag and said goodbye. The long-coated man was still there, still looking her way.

Carlotta wet her mouth and tasted perspiration on her upper lip. She could spot a disguise a mile away; she’d donned enough of them in her party-crashing days.

A touch to her arm startled her so badly, she cried out.