5 Bodies To Die For. Stephanie Bond
nodding to the two colorful masks lying on the floor—a dog and a cat.
Carlotta stooped to retrieve them. “Peter brought them. He was wearing the dog mask when he came up behind me. That’s why I used the stun baton—I didn’t realize it was him.”
Jack frowned. “Why the hell was he wearing a dog mask?”
“It’s a scene in a movie,” Maria said, snapping her fingers.
“Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” Carlotta murmured, fingering the masks. The scene where Paul and Holly steal masks from a toy shop during their day-long love splurge. Her favorite scene, and Peter had remembered.
Jack looked utterly lost. “Does this have anything to do with our crime scene?”
Carlotta shook her head and backed away. “I think I’ll let you two do your job. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”
She turned and walked back down the hall to her bedroom, thinking of what she needed to pack. Her skin crawled anew at the thought of Michael strolling through their house, ransacking drawers, eating snacks and watching TV. Had he stood over her while she slept and considered finishing her off?
She walked into the girlish room that hadn’t changed much since they’d moved in after her parents had lost their big home in the exclusive area of Buckhead, after her father had been fired from his job at an investments firm where he’d been accused of bilking clients. She hung the masks on the corner of her dresser mirror, then went over to the white four-poster bed to pull out a suitcase from underneath it, then set the bag on top of the coverlet. She’d be glad to get away from this room, away from this town house for a while. Staying with Peter would be like going on vacation…as long as she could keep things between them from moving along too quickly.
Carlotta removed clothes and shoes from her closet, packing the suitcase as tightly as she could, wondering how long she would be away and how this one decision might change her life forever.
At a rap on the door, she turned to see Jack stick his head inside. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She turned back to her task of removing underwear from her dresser drawer.
“Going somewhere?” Jack asked.
She folded a pair of red lace panties and set them on top of the pile of clothes. “Peter invited me to stay with him for a while, and I accepted.”
Jack picked up the red panties between thumb and finger to study them. “You’re moving in with Ashford?”
“No,” she corrected, still folding underwear. “I’m staying with Peter until things settle down around here.”
“Until I catch The Charmed Killer?”
She nodded and instinctively wrapped her hand over the charm bracelet she wore. The charms were supposedly prophetic, but so far, they’d only proved to be disconcerting. After all, a killer was on the loose using the trinkets as his signature.
Jack pursed his mouth. “I think it’s a good idea.”
She gave a little laugh. “I thought you might since you said I should marry Peter.”
“That’s not why I think it’s a good idea.” He brought the panties to his face.
Carlotta snatched them away. “Then why?”
He shrugged, unfazed. “Because I’m sure that palace of his is a fortress. You’ll be safe there. Which means I can investigate The Charmed Killer without worrying about your pretty ass being in harm’s way. I’m sure Ashford will keep you busy with polo matches and dinners at the country club.”
“Does this mean I won’t be seeing you?”
“You’ll miss me, huh?” Then he was suddenly serious. “Carlotta, I’m liaising with the GBI and your name keeps popping up in the investigation. We’re going to have to get you cleared, although this new development with Lane is a big step forward.”
“You think Michael is The Charmed Killer?”
“We’ll have to double-check the time line, but right now, he’s the best suspect we have.”
“But Shawna Whitt was murdered before he escaped from the hospital.”
“We don’t know exactly when Lane escaped, and we still don’t know if the Whitt woman was murdered. Since she was cremated, we may never know.”
“But the charm in her mouth—”
“Could’ve been placed there postmortem. Maybe Lane broke into her place and scared her so badly she had a heart attack, then he placed the charm in her mouth. Or maybe he heard about the death and the charm after he escaped from the hospital and decided to adopt it as his signature. Who knows how a crazy man thinks?” Jack wet his lips. “All I know is that thinking about Lane being here in this house when you were asleep makes me a little insane.”
“But he didn’t kill me, Jack. He had the chance, and he didn’t kill me.”
“Maybe he tried. We still don’t have a line on who planted that bomb under your car. You said yourself that the Monte Carlo was only here, at Coop’s, and at the mall. Michael was here and he’s certainly familiar with the mall parking lot.”
She bit her lip. “Michael isn’t the type to plant a car bomb. He isn’t technical, or gadgety.”
“You can buy ready-made explosives if you know where to go.”
She sighed. “Michael is the one person we know wanted me dead, so maybe he did plant the bomb. But it just seems like a lot of trouble to go to when he had the opportunity to off me in my own bed.”
“Can’t argue there,” Jack said, then averted his gaze. She could tell he had his doubts about Michael being their man. He pulled a small notebook from an inside jacket pocket. “When do you think Lane got in the house?”
“I’m thinking Friday, after you removed the motion detectors. And I believe he left sometime Sunday or yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
She didn’t want to tell him about the money that Wesley had won in a card game. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing her brother was supposed to be doing while on probation.
“Come on, you said on the phone something about Lane having ten thousand reasons to leave?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Wesley had ten thousand dollars hidden in his room and realized this morning it was missing.”
Jack frowned. “Go on.”
“Wes last saw the money Sunday morning, so Michael must have taken it sometime Sunday or yesterday.”
“So Lane might’ve been gone before you and I came back here Sunday?”
When Jack had spent the night. She nodded, knowing the information would ease his conscience—and his ego.
“Have you noticed anything else missing?”
She shook her head, then glanced around her bedroom, comparing what she saw to the images a person’s subconscious picks up from of their surroundings every day. When her gaze landed on her bulletin board, she stopped and walked closer to study the random mementos she’d tacked onto the mesh surface—tickets stubs to shows, things she’d cut out of magazines, and photos, some of the items so old they were curled around the edges.
“What?” Jack asked, coming to stand behind her.
“Something is missing.” She stared at the empty spot, trying to remember what had once been there, then the answer slid into her mind. “A photo.”
“A photo of who?”
“Of me,” she murmured. “Michael had taken it during a holiday party at work. He gave it to me.”
“Must’ve wanted a souvenir.