Authors: Stephanie Bond
maybe Coop did belong in jail, if only for his own safety.
She chewed on her thumbnail as the minutes ticked
toward the end of her shift, then retrieved her purse and
chatted with her personal bodyguard, Herb, as he walked
her to her car. She’d grown accustomed to parking in a far
corner of the garage and using her keyless remote to
unlock the rental car from a distance when no one else
was around. But so far, whoever had left the explosive
under the Monte Carlo hadn’t revisited their crime.
Although her heart stil raced every time she turned over
the ignition.
She pul ed out of the parking garage, pushing away Jack’s
suggestion that Coop could’ve planted the bomb. He
hadn’t—period.
She steered toward Peter’s house, glad the workday was
over and looking forward to the evening. Peter had a
business dinner, so she’d invited Hannah to come over to
hang out in the hot tub. She knew her friend would help to
take her mind off things for a few hours, and she was
eager to smooth the tensions between them. The
Charmed Kil er case had affected them all.
She was sitting in traffic on Peachtree when her phone
rang, displaying the name Rainie Stephens. Carlotta smiled
and connected the call. She felt a kinship with Rainie,
especially where Coop was concerned. “Hi, Rainie.”
“Hi, Carlotta. You got a minute?”
“Yeah, I’m stuck behind a fender bender. What’s up?”
“I thought you’d like to know I checked the births for the
night of the country club auction and there were no babies
born with the last name of Lindelhoff that entire week at
Piedmont, nor at any other metro hospital. Does that
answer your question?”
Carlotta’s heartbeat sped up. “Yes.”
“Now are you going to tel me what’s going on?”
She told Rainie her suspicions about Tracey’s husband, Dr.
Lowenstein, his coincidental absences and proximity to
two crime scenes. “Jack agreed to do a background check.
I don’t know if it’l turn into anything concrete, but I
thought it was worth mentioning.”
“If the man was lying, he could just be having an affair.”
“True,” Carlotta said, conceding a pang of sympathy for
Tracey if that was the case.
“On another note, I wasn’t able to directly connect Coop
to any neurologist in the city.”
“But that’s good news.”
“There’s more. An obituary came over the wire a couple of
hours ago, and the name tickled the back of my mind—
Sarah Edlow.”
“I don’t recognize the name.”
“Sarah Edlow,” Rainie said, her voice poignant, “is the
woman whom Coop pronounced dead on the scene of a
car accident.”
A shiver traveled over Carlotta’s arms. “I heard she had
serious complications because she didn’t receive
immediate care.”
“That’s right, although she eventually recovered.”
“What did she die from?”
“A brain tumor. And she was being treated by a
neurologist at Piedmont Hospital.”
“So Coop must have known and was somehow involved in
her treatment?”
“That seems likely.”
“And it explains Coop’s sudden personality change, and
why he started drinking again. Finding out about the Edlow
woman’s terminal il ness must have dredged up too much
guilt for him to handle.” Carlotta heaved a sigh of relief
that at least a few pieces of the puzzle were fal ing into
place. “So when Coop told me that his being at the
neurologist’s office had nothing to do with this case, he
was tel ing the truth. When did she pass away?”
“This morning, at hospice,” Rainie said. “It’s so sad—she
was only in her forties.”
Carlotta made a rueful noise. “I wonder if Coop knows.”
“I don’t know. It’s going to be a blow to him, I’m sure. I
called his attorney and tried to arrange an interview for
the paper, but she shut me down. Frankly, I just wanted to
see for myself that he was okay.”
It was evident from Rainie’s tone that she stil had feelings
for Coop. Or maybe the case had resurrected those
feelings. There was something very powerful about the
sensation of having let something good get away…
“Coop is strong,” Carlotta said, as much for herself as for
Rainie. “He’ll survive this, too.”
“Keep those good thoughts coming.” Rainie emitted a
slow, harried sigh. “So, are you stil agreeable to the article
running about you giving the tabloids an exclusive on
Michael Lane?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s slated for Friday. Do you have something to protect
yourself?”
Her gaze slid to her purse that held the stun baton. “Yes,
Jack made sure of that.”
“I thought he might. Gotta run.”
“Okay, talk soon.”
Carlotta ended the cal , her mind swirling with new
developments. Within a few minutes the accident had
been moved to the far lane and traffic began to move
again. When she pul ed into Peter’s driveway, she reached
automatically to press the remote control on the visor to
open the garage door. She knew exactly how to angle the
car to give her plenty of room on either side, knew exactly
how far to pul up before cutting off the engine. The
garage door lowered behind her. She got out and entered
the house, punching in the security system code to disable
the motion detectors on the first floor. As she walked
through the mud room and into the main part of the
house, she realized how comfortable she’d become with
the routine of living in Peter’s house.
She stood in the center of the great room and turned a ful
circle, taking in the opulence of the life that could be hers
for the asking. Beautiful address, beautiful things,
beautiful children. So why was she terrified at the thought
of making what should be such an easy decision?
She turned on lights and walked through the shiny,
luxurious kitchen, suddenly homesick for the gaudy red
kitchen of the townhouse. On impulse, she rooted her
phone from her purse and called Wesley. They hadn’t
talked in two days, not since she’d given him the
ultimatum about getting clean. He’d accused her of
turning on him, of turning on Randolph. Just the memory
of it brought moisture to her eyes—she couldn’t seem to
do anything right where the men in her life were
concerned.
Wes didn’t answer his phone, so she left him a quick,
upbeat message to call her sometime. Everyone kept
reminding her that at nineteen, Wesley was an adult. But
she couldn’t help feeling responsible for him, not after
everything they’d been through together.
The ringing of the house’s land line broke into her
thoughts, startling her. She glanced at the main console
and saw the call was coming from the callbox at the
security gate. She turned the small flat-screen TV to the
monitoring channel and smiled at Hannah’s mug staring
into the camera, then picked up the ringing phone.
“Hi.”
“This is way too much trouble just for a goddamn soak in a
hot tub. I passed a fucking rest area on the way here.”
Carlotta smiled to herself. “I’l buzz you in.”
22
Carlotta punched in Peter’s security code for the gate, and
a few minutes later, she heard the sound of Hannah’s van
pul ing into the circular driveway. She walked to the front
door to greet her friend, who looked more cheerful than
usual in tall black boots, a red short pleated skirt and white
T-shirt that read “Go Away.”
“Hi,” Carlotta offered. “Did you bring a suit?”
Hannah frowned. “A suit? I thought it was just us.”
“Never mind. Peter told me there are extra suits in the
pool house.”
“You wouldn’t be so modest if you’d grown up with
sisters.” Hannah clomped past her, and Carlotta noticed
that once again, her friend took pains not to acknowledge
the lavishness of the house. Hannah ignored and/or
mocked Peter’s wealth at every opportunity.
Carlotta closed the door. “You have more than one
sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Tel me about them.”
“They hate me. Got any snacks?”
Classic Hannah, deflecting personal questions. “Sure. Raid
the pantry while I grab my suit.”
She jogged up the stairs to her bedroom, pul ed a one-
piece swimsuit from a drawer and changed quickly,
shoving her feet into flip-flops. By the time she got
downstairs, Hannah had gril ed them sandwiches and
brewed a pitcher of pinkish tea.
“How do you do that?” Carlotta asked.
“There are two things I’m good at,” Hannah said, lifting a
laden tray. “Cooking and screwing.”
“And on that up note, let’s retire to the patio, shall we?”
Carlotta grabbed her cel phone in case Wes called back.
A sliding glass door off the casual eating corner led to the
pool area that was accented with beautiful stonework. The
centerpiece was the aquamarine pool, its surface stil and
glistening in the early evening light. The pool was flanked
by a waterfall and hot tub. Past the al fresco kitchen,
which also featured a bar, was the shuttered pool house.
Carlotta directed Hannah to set their food on the bar, then
she produced a key ring she’d snagged from the kitchen
and unlocked the door to the tiny building.
“Isn’t this where Peter’s wife turned tricks?” Hannah
asked.
Carlotta frowned. “Allegedly.”
She pushed opened the door. Since the windows were
shuttered, the little house was dark. She felt for a light
switch and flipped it up to il uminate a small but elegant
tiled sitting room furnished with a couch and two chairs
upholstered with a tropical-print fabric, all of it custom,
Carlotta was sure, down to the leaf-shaped green area
rugs. Against one wall an entertainment center included a
wet bar, small refrigerator and microwave.
The room to the left was a bedroom with a cozy bathroom
and shower. Carlotta couldn’t help but stare at the queen-
size bed, imagining Peter’s wife servicing wel -to-do johns.
Angela had been part of a high-end call-girl ring, the extent
of which was stil unknown, although Carlotta had a feeling
that Angela’s friends at the Bedford Manor Country Club
knew more about the goings-on than they’d revealed to
police.
Hannah stuck her head inside the room. “Do you think she
did it because Peter couldn’t deliver in the sack?”
Carlotta frowned. “Angela was responsible for her own
behavior.” Resisting the urge to snoop in the closet for
lingerie and props, she retraced her steps back through
the living room to the room on the other side. The
changing room had two individual booths against the far
wall. There was also a mirrored vanity, and an armoire ful
of bathing suits, wraps, hats, and sandals.
“Take your pick,” Carlotta said.
Hannah pul ed out a nautical-themed one-piece and
frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”
Carlotta laughed and selected a mustard-colored halter
bikini. “How about this?”
Hannah considered it for a minute, then shrugged. “That’s
not so bad, I guess.”
“Hurry. Our sandwiches are getting cold.”
While Hannah changed, Carlotta looked around, hugging
herself. The place gave her the creeps, no doubt because
of what had gone on here. Had Angela entertained men
while Peter was only steps away in the house? Her respect
for Peter bal ooned, knowing he’d forgiven his wife for the
sordid things she’d done in their own home.
Especial y since Carlotta couldn’t even forgive Peter for
leaving her all those years ago…
With a start she realized it was true. She was stil
withholding part of herself from Peter to punish him. What
did that say about her?
“Let’s eat,” Hannah said, emerging from the changing
room.
Carlotta smiled at her statuesque friend. The suit flattered
her athletic figure and revealed her body art. “That looks
great on you.”
“Whatever.”
Carlotta fol owed her outside where they dived into the
sandwiches and the pitcher of tea.
“How’s my brother?” Carlotta asked.
“Scarce.”
“Gawd, he’s probably staying with Liz Fischer.”
“Chance is holding strong on not letting him have anymore
Oxy.”
“That’s good. I called Wes a few minutes ago, but he didn’t
answer. I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”
“He’l come around.”
“I hope so.”
They made small talk, but Carlotta stil felt the underlying
tension of their disagreement about Coop’s guilt because
they both so scrupulously avoided talking about it. By the
time they finished eating, dusk had settled enough for the
outside lights to kick on.
They eased into the hot tub and Carlotta moaned with
pleasure as the warm, bubbly water encased her body. She
admired the addition to Hannah’s back tattoo. “Is that the
one Chance bought so you’d go out with him?”
“We’re not going out,” Hannah said flatly. “We’re fuck
buddies, that’s al .”
“Does he know that? I saw the way he looked at you when
we met at the townhouse. I think he’s in love.”