8 Bodies is Enough--for Amazon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A note from the author

  Other works by Stephanie Bond

  About the Author

  Copyright information

  8 Bodies is Enough

  a Body Movers mystery

  by

  Stephanie Bond

  8 Bodies is Enough

  Chapter 1

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the travel time from Atlanta, Georgia, to Las Vegas, Nevada, is approximately four hours, thirty minutes. We should arrive around 7:00 p.m., local time. Please sit back and enjoy the flight.”

  Carlotta Wren distantly registered the flight attendant’s effervescent voice. For the past few days leading up to her trip to Vegas with Peter Ashford, her mind had been running on a loop, stubbornly replaying her last conversation with Jack Terry. She’d called to tell him she had news about where her fugitive parents had been hiding, but he had preempted her report with a personal declaration.

  Liz Fischer is pregnant.

  I’ve known for a while, Jack. But good news—Wes isn’t the father after all.

  I know…because I’m the father.

  She had disconnected the call. On the heels of acknowledging to herself she loved Jack, the announcement had been especially hurtful, slamming a door on the future she had imagined with him. Their last night together was still fresh in her mind—she could still feel his hands on her body. And hadn’t he nearly professed his love for her then, too?

  For all she knew, he’d whispered the same words to Liz when they’d been procreating.

  “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Peter asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Carlotta startled guiltily, then turned her head toward her companion. “Hm?”

  “You’re thinking about Randolph, aren’t you?”

  “Um…yes.” The other man who’d been taking up space in her head lately—her father.

  Peter clasped her hand. “Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere this time—the feds will see to that.”

  Indeed, Randolph was cooling his heels in the federal penitentiary in Atlanta after appearing out of nowhere to save her from a madman and being taken into custody by Jack.

  Except she’d finally figured out he hadn’t appeared out of thin air, but from the long-empty house where she and Wesley had grown up and where Randolph had been monitoring a listening device he’d apparently placed in the wall of their townhome before he’d skipped town.

  “Forget about your parents for a few days,” Peter said. “Let’s try to have fun.”

  She conjured up a smile, fighting the shame rising in her chest. Peter had no idea she had an ulterior motive for suggesting the trip. In the thirty-second encounter she’d had with her father when she and Hannah had wormed their way into the federal pen in disguise and she’d asked about her mother, he’d told her she’d find what she was looking for at “home.” And among his things in her childhood home where he’d been hiding out, she’d found a receipt for a post office box in Las Vegas. The real estate agent she’d contacted about the house had recently sold it to a Bill and Melanie Randolph. She’d only dealt with the husband but the wife was supposed to be joining him. When pressed for an address, the agent had become suspicious, would only confirm it was a post office box in Las Vegas.

  So if Carlotta had put together the puzzle pieces correctly, Valerie was somewhere in Vegas waiting for word from Randolph to rejoin him in Atlanta. When she hadn’t heard from him, it would’ve taken a simple Google search to learn he’d been arrested and incarcerated. She was probably trying to figure out her next move.

  Carlotta prayed she found her mother before she relocated. Randolph had also said he’d stashed evidence to exonerate himself, but he couldn’t come forward yet. She’d gone over the expansive Buckhead house systematically, but had found nothing of interest other than the receipt. Not knowing what she was looking for was a huge handicap, but it stood to reason he’d left the evidence in a safer place—with Valerie? Hannah had helped her conduct hundreds of dollars’ worth of paid people-searches online, but they’d yielded no Vegas address for a Bill or William or Melanie Randolph.

  The post office box was all she had to go on.

  “When is Wes coming out?” Peter asked.

  “I’m not sure—he had to clear it with his probation officer and his boss at the city. It’s nice of you to let him use the extra room that came with the package.”

  “Happy to. So he’s still doing community service?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. She made a mental note to ask Wes if he was close to fulfilling his sentence for hacking into the city courthouse records. That incident seemed so long ago—and paled in comparison to some of Wes’s antics since.

  “And he’s still working for the morgue?”

  “Occasionally. Coop hasn’t called him as much lately.”

  Peter made a derisive noise. “At least Cooper Craft isn’t calling you to go on those ghastly body moving runs.”

  “Someone has to do it, Peter.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be you,” he said, then lifted her hand for a kiss. “You have your job at Neiman’s—and now your boss is talking about a promotion when you get back. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.” After a wedding expo, a famous designer had made comments about wooing her away from the department store. She suspected the interest had spurred her boss Lindy into action. She conceded it felt good to be wanted.

  “Wesley should be in college,” Peter remarked.

  “I know,” she said, hating the defensive note in her voice. Instead, the boy genius was performing community service, moving bodies, and working undercover for the APD in a loan shark organization. “Maybe when things are resolved with Dad’s case, Wes will settle down.”

  Peter nodded and started to say something, then pulled his hand over his mouth.

  “What?” she asked.

  He sighed. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  For a few hysterical seconds, she thought Peter might tell her he was the father of Liz’s baby. Even more crazy was the thought of how happy that would make her. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  “I’ll have to work some when we get to Vegas. Apparently, Walt was supposed to meet with clients in the area before he fell ill.”

  Walt Tully was a partner in the investment firm Mashburn & Tully where Peter worked and her father had once been a partner.

  “James Brody asked me to step in since I was coming out anyway.”

  Carlotta tempered her reaction—she would need some time on her own to search for her mother, so Peter’s impromptu assignment was a gift. “What will you have to do?”

  “Just goodwill lunches and drinks.” He looked contrite. “With Randolph being back in the news, the partners are doubling-down on customer relations, just to reassure everyone the firm is solid.”

  “I understand,” she said, t
rying to hide her relief. “Don’t worry—I’ll find something for me and Wes to do.”

  She hadn’t told Wes about talking to Randolph in the pen, finding his hideout, or the clue leading her to Vegas. She justified her decision with the fact that since she told him they were going to Vegas, she’d seen Wes scant minutes here and there, and she worried if she told him about the post office box in Vegas, he’d tag along even if his probation office and boss both said no. Right now, she needed for him to stay out of trouble.

  Especially after the baby-daddy scare with his attorney, Liz.

  Plus she didn’t entirely trust Wes to keep family secrets from the blond barracuda. That said, her brother deserved to know what was going on, so if he got to Vegas, she was going to sit him down and tell him everything.

  “I hope you have a plan to keep him away from the poker tables,” Peter said.

  “I don’t have to. He’s not twenty-one, so no casino is going to let him gamble. Besides, he doesn’t have enough money to get into trouble.”

  “That never stopped Wes before,” he said mildly.

  “I know. But he swore to me he wouldn’t borrow more money from those loan sharks and on that subject, I believe him.”

  Wes seemed to have been scared straight, although she didn’t want to know those harrowing details. The undercover job—that she wasn’t supposed to know about—served two purposes: ingratiating him to the APD and paying off his debt to The Carver.

  Hopefully that obligation would also be met soon.

  “What’s going on with his girlfriend?” Peter asked.

  “I’m not sure. There was a, um, hiccup, and he hasn’t mentioned Meg lately.” Peter didn’t know about the Liz-Wes-Jack paternity mix-up, and she was loath to tell him because she didn’t want to hear him say I-told-you-so where Jack was concerned.

  But he’d told her so.

  “Too bad about Wes’s girlfriend.” Peter moved his head closer to hers. “I was hoping he’d bring her so we’d have plenty of alone time.”

  “We’ll have our own room,” she said with a little laugh.

  “I know,” he said, this voice thick with meaning. “And it’ll be nice to be away from all the distractions in Atlanta.”

  He meant Jack, of course. And Coop. And Randolph.

  And Peter had his own distractions. The few times they had tried unsuccessfully to reignite their physical relationship, it had taken place in the home and the bed he’d shared with his deceased wife in a marriage fraught with tension.

  She and Peter both had baggage, ghosts, and issues galore.

  But Peter Ashford had been persistent and patient while she’d tried to sort through her feelings for him and Jack and Coop. And while the other two men had always been there when she needed them and provided tempting diversions on occasion, Peter was the only one who had professed his feelings and offered her a future.

  Indeed, their trip was compliments of a package he’d won in a charity auction a few months ago. They were sitting in first class and she was lightly buzzed on wine and warm nuts they’d been served while everyone in coach was still searching for a place to stuff their carry-on. A first-class life was what she had to look forward to if she would only open her heart to him.

  Carlotta looked into Peter’s earnest blue eyes and nodded in assurance. “I think this might be just what we need to get things on track.”

  He smiled, then grimaced into a yawn. “I’m sorry,” he said behind his hand. “With Walt out of the office, I’ve been working long hours.”

  She nodded in sympathy. Walt Tully had been hospitalized from an overdose of prescription drugs just as his former partner and fugitive Randolph Wren had been captured. So in a sense, she and her family were loosely responsible for Peter’s exhaustion.

  “Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you before we land.”

  “If you’re sure.” But he was already reclining his seat, and as the plane went airborne, he was softly snoring.

  When they reached cruising altitude, Carlotta asked a flight attendant for a blanket to tuck around Peter’s sleeping form. Even in slumber, his features, hair, and clothing were neat and polished, so different from—

  No, she wouldn’t think of Jack. She reached down to the inexpensive pink beaded elastic bracelet she’d bought, pulled it up and let it snap against the sensitive skin of her wrist. The zing of pain made her flinch. A good reminder that Jack equals pain. If she zapped herself every time she thought of him, eventually her body would get the message.

  She hoped.

  Fatigue pulled at her, too, but her mind wouldn’t shut down. She passed the flight watching a couple of movies—one a romantic comedy featuring two people who were impossibly ill-suited overcoming all their differences to find happily ever after, and the other a con she and her gal pal Hannah could’ve pulled off with more panache.

  Throughout, her mind kept wandering to what awaited her in Vegas. Would she find her mother? Would Valerie be happy to see her? Would she and Peter finally turn a corner?

  Below them the colored lights of Vegas came into view, twinkling with promise. The city looked magical and Carlotta was inexplicably shot through with the wondrous sense that here, anything was possible.

  Plus ten points.

  Chapter 2

  “WELCOME TO THE VIP SUITE, Mr. and Mrs. Ashford.”

  Carlotta opened her mouth to correct the uniformed bellman.

  “Thank you,” Peter said, clearly pleased at the assumption. Then he gave her a wink.

  She swallowed her irritation—Peter was only trying to protect her honor.

  Besides, it was hard to be cross standing in the middle of such opulence. The massive room was enveloped in gold and white carpet, curtains, and upholstered furniture, with subtle touches of black here and there.

  The bellman swept his arm toward the enormous bed, swathed in miles of luxe fabric. “The California king mattress can be adjusted for firmness and massage.” He was tactful enough not to point out the mirrored tiles on the ceiling, but she blushed under Peter’s heated glance.

  The man walked past the bed into a wide hallway and indicated the tall wood doors on either side. “His and her walk-in closets, each with a dressing table and a safe for your valuables.”

  Beyond the closets, he threw open double doors to reveal a breathtaking white marble bathroom with gold fixtures. “Two showers, each fitted with dual shower heads and steam. The floor is heated. The tub is equipped with fifty jets.” He pointed. “Use this panel for a light show. Use this panel for the sound system. The television here and in the sitting room receive over two hundred channels, and you can place bets using the special remote.”

  He led them back into the living area. “Of course, the bar is fully stocked, and room service is available twenty-four seven. We have six restaurants, an exercise facility on the tenth floor, and pools on the fifth, fifteenth, and twentieth floors. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave?”

  “We’re good,” Peter assured him, folding a bill into the man’s hand.

  He gave a curt nod of thanks and left. Carlotta looked at Peter and lifted her hands. “Was this the best you could do?”

  He laughed and pulled her close. “I take it you approve of the accommodations?”

  “Yes. Are you sure the auction package is covering this?”

  “Well, since I have to work while I’m here, I decided to get a room upgrade. Plus I’m trying to impress you.”

  “Mission accomplished,” she murmured, lifting her mouth to receive a very good kiss.

  “Well, that’s not the only mission,” he whispered.

  Her pulse drummed higher as she returned a second, more hungry kiss. She and Peter had been each other’s first lovers, and they had once been electric together. She wanted them to get to that place again.

  He lifted his head. “I’m starving—are you?”

  She blinked. “Uh—sure, I could eat.”

  “Why don’t we unpack and freshen up,
then grab a quick bite and come back and…relax?”

  “Okay.” She reasoned Peter was probably a little nervous, too. Which was understandable considering the ups and downs of their relationship.

  Carlotta took her time unpacking, thinking she hadn’t brought enough clothes to do justice to the expansive walk-in closet with padded hangers, teak shoe shelves, and velvet-lined drawers. On display, her travel wardrobe looked a little blah, but she’d purposely packed neutral clothes so she wouldn’t be particularly noticeable or memorable as she searched for her mother. She guiltily stowed a red wig and a blond wig in the custom drawers, along with a couple of floppy hats.

  Still, not everything she’d packed was practical. From tissue paper, Carlotta removed two sets of exquisite lingerie she’d brought for the occasion, one blue and one yellow, Peter’s favorite colors on her. After she tucked away the bits of silk, she snapped the pink bracelet on her wrist—twice.

  The built-in safe was the size of an armoire. Out of curiosity she opened the heavy steel door to find a yawning space inside. But considering the furs, jewelry, cash, and designer accessories most guests who booked this type of room traveled with, she supposed it made sense. And while the Chanel clutch and the Fendi sandals she’d brought were pricey, they weren’t exactly safe-worthy.

  She showered quickly and changed into a short black skirt and taupe silk blouse, wound her hair into a low French twist, then found Peter in the sitting area, parked in a club chair.

  He didn’t hear her approach on the thick carpet, so she was able to study him unobserved. By anyone’s standards, Peter was a handsome man—tall and fit, with aristocratic features and impeccable grooming. But at the moment, his chiseled mouth was pinched into a line and his forehead creased with worry. Carlotta’s steps faltered—was she to blame for his tense expression, or was Peter worried about something else?

  He glanced up and his face rearranged into a smile as he stood. “You look beautiful, Carly.”

  “Thank you. You look nice, too. Everything okay?”

  He smiled. “Never better.”

  The hotel lobby was abuzz with activity, but as soon as they walked outside they were immersed in the full teeth-jarring spectacle of Vegas. Carlotta’s senses were assailed by blaring noise, blazing lights, and a barrage of motion. The crush of bodies was overwhelming. Flamboyant street entertainers vied for attention amid the cacophony of ringing slot machines and jackpot bells from children’s games. The smells of cooking food blasted them from all directions. The range of people milling around them was mind-boggling: young, old, older…male, female, unisex…cowboys, sheiks, showgirls.