Body Movers by Stephanie Bond Page A

escaped
    from her throat.
    “Are you okay?”
    She jumped, then turned to see Detective Jack Terry
    standing next to her, his gaze curious…and concerned.
    She straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine.”
    “You don’t look fine. You look like you just got an
    upsetting phone call.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest. “I said I’m fine.” Then
    she narrowed her eyes. “You leaked Wesley’s arrest to the
    newspaper.”
    He frowned. “No, I didn’t.”
    “Liar.”
    His eyebrows went up, then he laughed. “Yeah, I’ve told a
    few whoppers in my time, but I’m not lying now. Besides,
    arrest reports are a matter of public record.”
    “This article quoted a spokesperson.”
    “Which is whoever answers the precinct phone. Look, Ms.
    Wren, I’m glad we caught your brother before he was able
    to do more harm, but I’m not out for his blood. The D.A.’s
    office, on the other hand, might be. They’re probably the
    ones who called the newspaper, maybe thinking it would
    draw out your father.”
    She bit down on the inside of her cheek, irritated that he
    seemed to have a pat answer for everything.
    He squinted. “Weren’t your eyes brown yesterday?”
    She frowned. “I should get back to the staff meeting.”
    “Okay.” He nodded toward her cel phone. “But are you
    sure I can’t help you with whatever is bothering you?”
    He’d probably love to hear that on top of Wesley’s legal
    trouble, he was in debt to two unsavory characters. That
    would seal his opinion that Wesley was no good, just like
    their father.
    “I’m sure,” she said evenly. “Goodbye, Detective Terry.
    Have a nice life.”
    He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Wren, but I have
    a feeling that our paths wil cross again.”
    Carlotta watched him stride away, ugly tie flapping, and
    muttered, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
    5
    By Friday morning, Carlotta thought she might be having a
    nervous breakdown—four nights of stress-induced
    insomnia were taking their tol . “We have four days,
    Wesley. Where are we going to get the rest of the money
    to pay this Father Thom character?”
    Wesley frowned and popped the top of a can of Red Bul ,
    his standard breakfast drink. “Don’t worry, sis. I’l think of
    something.”
    Her blood pressure ballooned. “Think of something?
    Wesley, your arraignment is Monday and you might be in
    jail Tuesday! How are you going to pay off these thugs if
    you’re in jail?”
    “Liz isn’t going to let me go to jail.”
    She arched an eyebrow. “Liz?”
    His cheeks colored. “She told me to cal her Liz.”
    Weighing her words, she said, “I don’t like the idea of you
    becoming chummy with that woman.”
    “We’re not chummy,” he said in a teenage-weary tone.
    “She’s a good lawyer, and she’s handling my case pro
    bono.”
    Carlotta’s mouth puckered. “As if we’re some charity case.
    And what makes you think she’s a good lawyer?”
    “Dad hired her, didn’t he?”
    She swallowed her words about what services her father
    actually had been paying for. “If he had so much faith in Liz
    Fischer, then why did he skip town?”
    Wesley blanched, and immediately she was sorry. She had
    promised herself over the years that she would refrain
    from badmouthing her parents in front of her brother,
    thinking that when he became an adult, he would
    naturally reach the same conclusion that she had: that
    their mother was an unfeeling coward and their father an
    unfeeling, unlawful coward. But apparently he wasn’t yet
    ready to let go of his childhood fantasies.
    “Okay, time out,” she said, sinking into a chair at the
    kitchen table and lowering her head into her hands. “I’m
    scared for you, Wesley. You’re in big trouble here.”
    He downed the drink. “And Liz Fischer is the best chance I
    have to make things right and get back on track.”
    She sighed and looked up. “I stil think I should go with you
    today to talk about your case. I don’t trust Liz Fischer