Six Killer Bodies by Stephanie Bond Page A

she
    felt. “I’m getting closer to pul ing Dad’s records from the
    city databases.”
    “Are you sure you won’t get caught?”
    “Why don’t you let me worry about something?”
    She smiled. “Deal.” From her purse her cel phone rang.
    She pul ed it out and checked the caller ID. It was June
    Moody, the owner of Moody’s Cigar Bar who had
    befriended Carlotta, and who had developed a soft spot
    for Coop. “I need to take this.”
    “I’m gonna take off,” Wes said, moving toward the door.
    “I’l lock up. Tel Hannah I’l be right out. Oh, and Wes?”
    He turned back.
    “Apologize to Meg.”
    He looked pained, but nodded.
    Watching him go, her heart gave a squeeze. She connected
    the ringing phone. “Hi, June. How are you?”
    “At the moment, I’m worried half to death about Coop and
    the things they’re saying on the news. Can you tel me
    what’s going on?”
    “I went to see Coop this morning. He’s in good spirits,”
    Carlotta lied, massaging her temple. “This is all a mistake. I
    think the GBI was pressured to make an arrest, and
    because Coop was so close to the crime scenes, he was a
    good candidate.”
    “And because he’s drinking again?”
    “That doesn’t help,” Carlotta agreed. “But Coop wouldn’t
    want you to worry about him, June. I’l keep you posted.”
    “Okay.” The woman sounded somewhat relieved.
    “Is Mitchel stil in town?” June’s son, a sergeant in the
    army, was in Atlanta on leave from his post in Hawaii.
    “For another week or so.” But from the sound of June’s
    voice, their relationship was stil strained—or maybe she
    was just concerned about her surrogate son, Coop.
    “Try to enjoy the time you have left with him,” Carlotta
    said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’l drop by the bar soon.”
    “Okay, dear. Bye.”
    Carlotta ended the call, but lying to June had taken its tol
    on her. The idea that she had to manufacture optimism
    sickened her. She leaned over to grasp her knees. A
    terrible storm of frustration and anger at the state of her
    life swirled in her stomach, spreading to her chest.
    Coop…Wesley…her father. A wall of tears pressed behind
    her eyes and cheeks. A sob rose in her throat, choking her.
    She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something.
    Possessed with a fierce need to vent, she ran into the
    kitchen and raised her voice in the direction of the
    listening device imbedded in the wall. “Randolph, you’re a
    coward!” she yel ed. “Do you hear me? You’re a coward,
    and I wil never forgive you for what you’ve done to me
    and Wesley!”
    She stopped and stared at the device, as if she half
    expected her father to answer. He didn’t, of course. Even if
    he were listening, why would he respond after all this
    time?
    She gripped the edge of the breakfast bar for support. A
    dark cloud threatened to engulf her. Was this what a
    nervous breakdown felt like?
    She shook her head to clear it. She couldn’t do that to
    Wesley, she had to get a grip. She had her job, and other
    people needed her.
    The front door opened and Hannah’s voice rang out.
    “Carlotta? You okay?”
    She swallowed hard to rally herself before she turned and
    walked into the living room. At the concern on her friend’s
    face, she smiled. “I’m fine, just checking on a couple of
    things. Let’s go.”
    But she felt Hannah’s gaze on her as they backed out of
    the driveway and drove toward the mall. “You sure you’re
    okay?”
    “I talked to Wes about the drugs.”
    “Oh. And?”
    “He promised he’d quit.”
    “And you believe him?”
    “Yeah. He was sincere.”
    Hannah looked back to the road. “I hope you’re right
    about Wes…and about Coop.”
    “I’m right about both of them,” Carlotta said. “You’l see.”
    Hannah nodded, but didn’t say anything.
    To change the subject, Carlotta said, “So…you and Chance
    looked cozy.”
    “Oh, stop.”
    “What? It’s kind of cute in a frat-boy-meets-Elvira kind