Stephanie Bond - 4 Bodies and a Funeral

“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.

But the service was impeccable, and the menu was amazing.

When the waiter left after taking their order, Peter lifted his wineglass. “Here’s hoping this meal ends better than the last one we shared together.”

He was referring to the time she’d sneaked out for a smoke and had been attacked by a killer who was afraid that Carlotta was on to them. To her utter astonishment, Peter had saved her by showing up and whipping out a gun. With bullets and everything.

“Are you packing heat tonight?” she asked, clinking her glass to his.

“No. Are you packing cigarettes?”

She pouted. “I’m trying to quit.” But even now she was dying for one.

He twined her fingers in his. “I’m only asking because now I have even more of a vested interest in your living a long, long time.”

She pressed her lips together. Becoming part of someone else’s life made even everyday choices more complicated. “So what did your company think when you turned down the position in New York?”

“The partners had encouraged me to take it, but they were fine with my decision. Everyone at the office has given me a wide berth since Angela died. And I wasn’t really eager to go to Manhattan—I just needed a reason to stay.” He squeezed her fingers. “I’m looking forward to us spending more time together.”

She smiled. “Me, too.”

He gave a little laugh. “Sometimes I think we have so much to talk about, I don’t know where to start.”

“How are your parents?” she ventured. When they’d reunited a few months ago, he’d admitted his parents had pressured him to end their engagement back when news of her father’s scandal had broken.

“They’re fine. Dad plays golf every day at the club, and mother spends hours in her rose garden.”

“Sounds idyllic.” Perhaps her parents would have been doing something similar had their life not taken such a felonious trajectory.

“Has your father contacted you again?”

Carlotta shook her head. “I don’t suppose he’s been in touch with you?”

“No. There’s only been that one phone call.”

“What do you think about my father’s claim about there being paperwork that can prove his innocence?”

Peter took a drink from his glass. “I asked around to see what happened to Randolph’s files.”