Authors: Stephanie Bond
from cutting out my liver.”
She gasped. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get involved, Wesley.
What did you do?”
“I worked it out. Don’t worry about it.”
She kissed him, hard. And rubbed his dick like it was some
kind of magic lamp. The woman had always been a good
lay, but suddenly, she was an animal. Maybe it was
knowing he’d come close to being fil eted like a fish that
had her jazzed, or maybe it was the sight of his roughed up
body. Whatever, he just lay back and went with it.
She ripped off her own clothes, snapped a condom on his
wood, then impaled herself on him and rode him like a
pogo stick. He helped her along as best as he could—the
porn at Chance’s was nothing if not educational—although
he felt more like a prop than anything else. She felt so
damn good sliding up and down on him, her boobs
bouncing. Man, she was smoking hot. And her ass…Damn,
what a sweet handful.
Maybe it was the heat of the moment, maybe it was the
drug, but for some reason, he slapped her bottom. Hard. It
echoed loud in his ears, and his hand stung like fire. Liz’s
eyes widened and she paused. Wesley swal owed, steeling
himself against her wrath. She’d probably throw him out
on his dick for daring to…wel , spank her.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted.
“Harder,” she moaned, then started rocking on him as if he
had chair runners.
He wet his lips, then tapped her ass lightly, in case he’d
misunderstood.
“Harder,” she insisted.
He obliged, and she urged him on. The spanking spurred
them both to crashing orgasms, then they fel back,
exhausted.
“That was amazing,” Liz said, looking over her shoulder to
rub her red cheeks. “I wish I had time for more.” She lay
down and lit a cigarette for them to share, like always. She
drew off it, then passed it to him. He was almost too weak
to pucker.
“Wesley, Jack doesn’t know about us, does he?”
Wesley made a disdainful noise. “No. Why would he?”
“The night you were in trouble, he cal ed me to see if I
knew where you were.”
“So? You’re my attorney.”
Liz pul ed on the cigarette, then exhaled. “I guess so. I
don’t know, there was just something about the tone of
his voice.”
“You balling the cop, too?”
She frowned. “That’s none of your business. Jack and I
have known each other a long time.”
“Am I better in the sack?”
She shook the cigarette at him and pushed herself to her
feet. “Don’t go there, Wesley. Let’s just have fun, okay?”
“Why were you with him in Florida?”
She looked up, then averted her gaze. “It was a case that
involves one of my clients. Jack asked me to go as a second
set of eyes, that’s al .”
“Why aren’t you married, Liz?”
She paused from fastening her bra, then continued
dressing. “I don’t know.”
“Never met the right guy?”
She gave a quiet little laugh. “Actually, I did meet the right
guy once. But he wasn’t available. Get dressed. I have to
get back to work. How’s your community service going, by
the way?”
“Fine. My boss likes me okay.”
“Your father would be proud of you,” she said, looking
wistful.
Wesley sat up and considered tel ing her that his father
had come to see Carlotta at the funeral home, in disguise.
But he was afraid she’d tel Jack Terry, and that would ruin
everything.
Wes backtracked to the bathroom to clean up, then stared
down at the split condom in alarm. Hel , that couldn’t be
good. But Liz was probably on birth control. A career
woman like her wouldn’t take chances.
He dressed quickly, then grabbed his backpack, comforted
by the extra weight it contained. Liz was right. His father
would be proud of him.
Especially once he found a way to help Randolph prove his
innocence.
26
“Hannah, hi, it’s Carlotta. I remembered something else I
found out about Detective Jack Terry when he was here
doing surveil ance. Two words—pec implants. He told me
all about it. I’m just glad he didn’t offer to show them to
me.” She shuddered dramatically. “Call me back on my
cel . I’m going on a stakeout at a cemetery and thought
you might like to join me.”
Carlotta hung up the phone and sighed. If dangling a
cemetery job in front of Hannah didn’t work, she didn’t
know what else to do.
Her cel phone tril ed. When Hannah’s number came up on
the caller ID screen, she whooped and connected the call.
“Hi!”
“I’m listening,” Hannah said.
“I need to do some surveil ance at a cemetery. Want to
come?”
“When?”
“How about now?”
“I’m sitting in your driveway.”
Carlotta went to the living room window and, sure
enough, Hannah’s van sat there. Carlotta smiled and
waved.
Hannah gave her a curt wave back—with her middle
finger.
“Let me grab my purse,” Carlotta sang, then clicked the
phone shut.
Outside, she opened the van door and pul ed herself up
into the passenger seat, then slammed the door. “Hi!”
Hannah glared at her.
Carlotta sighed. “I didn’t sleep with Coop.”
She pursed her mouth into a little black knot. “But you
wanted to.”
“But I didn’t.”
Hannah continued to pout, jutting out her chin. Finally, she
growled, “Damn it, I thought I’d at least get some juicy
details. You know, find out if he’s circumcised.”
“You’l have to find out on your own.” Then maybe her
friend could tel her the juicy details.
“And why have you been leaving those bizarre messages
about Jack Terry?”
“Because the brute hasn’t lifted the tap on my phone yet.”
“Oh. Good one. How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That the tap hasn’t been lifted.”
My long lost father told me. “Um…you can tel . There’s a
clicking…thing.”
“So what’s up with the cemetery watch?”
“We’re going to Kiki Deerling’s grave.”
“And why would we want to do that?”
Carlotta pointed to the right. “Just drive, and I’l fil you
in.” She told Hannah about the road trip, leaving out the
details about the hotel robbery and her parents and her
own near-nakedness with Coop.
When she got to the part about the attempts to steal Kiki’s
body, Hannah smacked the steering wheel. “You get to
have all the fun!”
“Believe me, it wasn’t that fun when it was happening.”
“So you think this girl didn’t die of an asthma attack like
the M.E. said?”
“I don’t know. Her injuries are curious, that’s all. And the
attempts to steal the body could have been to cover up
something.”
“What does Coop think?”
“He thinks I’m bored.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Out of my mind. But since I don’t have anything else to
do, why not fol ow up on some of these leads?”
“What makes you think we’re going to see this mysterious
redheaded guy at the grave site?”
“Because he’s obsessed with Kiki.”
“So you think he kil ed her?”
“Maybe. Some kil ers like to hang around, revisit their
victims.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows.
“I read that in a book at the library.”
“Christ, you are bored.”
They arrived at the cemetery to find several cars in the
parking lot. Hannah drove around until they found a spot
where Carlotta could see the crypt through her binoculars.
Clumps of people stood around it.
“Gee, do you think it stands out enough?” Hannah asked
dryly. “That thing looks like it could glow in the dark.”
“Makes our job easier,” Carlotta murmured.
“Do you see our guy?”
“No. There’s a security guard, and people taking pictures
and laying flowers against the fence.”
“What makes you think he’l be here today?”
“Because today’s her birthday.”
“I thought she died on her birthday.”
“No, she started celebrating early. Kiki would’ve turned
twenty-one today.”
“Kiki? You’re cal ing this girl by her first name, as if you
knew her.”
Carlotta lowered the binoculars and looked at Hannah.
“Sometimes I feel like I do know her.”
“Okay, you’re creeping me out, and that’s hard to do. But
you’re right. If this guy is obsessed, he’d want to visit the
grave today. Stil , we could’ve just missed him. Maybe he’s
already gone back to the rock he crawled out from under.”
“Maybe,” Carlotta admitted. “Do you have something
better to do?”
“Hel , no. Want some pasta salad?”
“Sure.” She took another look through the binoculars.
Being on a stakeout with Hannah had its perks—her friend
always had gourmet leftovers in her refrigerated van.
Five hours later, they’d eaten their way through a bowl of
pasta salad, a plate of ham wheels, a tub of crab dip and a
third of a white-chocolate cheesecake.
“I’m think I’m going to be sick,” Hannah muttered.
“Hang on,” Carlotta said, her binoculars riveted on the
crypt. “I think this is our guy.” She adjusted the focus until
the man’s face came in clearer as he approached the
grave. The security guard was gone and all the fans had
left. The man must have been watching from somewhere,
waiting until he could be alone. “Yeah, it’s him.” She
opened her door and jumped down.
“What are you going to do?”
“We are going to talk to him.”
“I don’t know. My stomach is kind of upset.”
“Okay, stay here. But keep an eye out.” She handed
Hannah the binoculars.
A tall wrought-iron fence surrounded the cemetery.
Carlotta made her way to the closest gate and opened it as
noiselessly as possible. Then she moved quickly toward the
grave site, maneuvering around headstones to stay behind
him, taking care not to step on graves, out of respect and
out of an old superstition she’d heard that if you stepped
on a grave, you would next be in one. Despite the high
temperatures, she felt a chil as she walked among the
headstones, new and old, large and small, like the people
they represented. Burial was such a bizarre human ritual.
The man had wrapped his hands around the bars of the
fence that surrounded the white crypt, and was crying. She
managed to get within a few yards of him before he
turned and saw her. Carlotta froze. Recognition dawned
on his face. He took off at a gallop.
“Wait!” she yel ed. “I just want to talk to you!”
She’d worn sneakers this time—Liz Claiborne—but the
cast slowed her down because she couldn’t swing her arm.
He also did not subscribe to her superstition about
stepping on graves. She tried to keep up with him, yel ing
for him to stop. When he did, though, it wasn’t by choice.
Hannah took him down with a flying leap. It must have
knocked the wind out of him because he lay in the grass
even after Hannah rol ed off him and started puking her
guts out.
By the time Carlotta ran up, her friend waved her off. “I’m
fine. Stay with Opie.”
The man was sitting up, holding his chest. “I ought to call
the police and have you two arrested for assault,” he said,
wheezing.
Carlotta stood over him, hands on her hips. “Go ahead.
When they get here, we’l ask them about the penalty for
stealing a body. It’s a felony, you know.”
He frowned, rubbing his breastbone. “I wasn’t going to
steal Kiki’s body when I came to the morgue. I just wanted
to see her, to see what he did to her.”
“See what who did to her? The coroner?”
“No. That a-hole Matt Pearson. He murdered her.”
Carlotta felt her eyes bulge. “You saw Matt Pearson kil
Kiki Deerling?”
“Yes…no. I saw him slowly kil ing her, getting her hooked
on heroin when they were together. After she broke it off,
Kiki was staying clean, but then he showed up for her
party.” The man started crying. “I know he kil ed her, I just
know it.”
Carlotta sighed and squatted down at eye level with him.
“What’s your name?”
He sniffed. “Wayne Barber.”
“And how are you connected to Kiki? I’ve seen you in the
background in pictures of her.”
“I’m…her friend.”
Hannah had recovered and wiped her mouth, streaking
her black lipstick. “Her stalker friend?”
He looked angry. “I didn’t stalk Kiki. I…fol owed her. And
looked out for her. I’m president of her fan club.”
Hannah rol ed her eyes.
From her pocket, Carlotta pul ed the clipped magazine
pictures with him in them. “You look pretty angry in
these.”
“I wasn’t angry with Kiki. Matt was with her all those
times. I hate him. I know he kil ed her, the bastard. Gave
her too much heroin, and took away the world’s most
beautiful flower.” He started sobbing.
Hannah made the universal “cuckoo” sign, circling her
finger next to her ear.
“There were two other men at the morgue trying to claim
the body,” Carlotta said. “Do you know anything about
that?”
“No, I swear.”
“Were you fol owing Kiki the night she died?”
He nodded. “I snuck into the party, pretended I was a