Body Movers Books 1-3. Stephanie Bond

folded the newspaper carefully and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. “I wasn’t following you. I just happened to be out shopping.” He lifted a ratty Dick’s Sporting Goods bag as proof.

      “Really? That’s funny, because there’s no Dick’s in this mall.” Then she angled her head. “Of course, if you’re talking about just plain old dicks, I could probably point one out for you.”

      “A muscle car and a sense of humor—wow, you’re just full of surprises.”

      “And you’re full of crap. What the hell do you want?”

      “Like I said, I’m off duty, just doing a little shopping. But since I ran into you, I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. How about we grab a cup of coffee?”

      Instantly wary, she asked, “What do you want to talk about?”

      He smiled again. “The weather, the Braves, your parents—there are so many things.”

      Through clenched teeth, she said, “I told you, I don’t know where my parents are.”

      He held up both hands, Dick’s bag swinging. “I’ve been reading the files, and I just want to clarify a few details, that’s all.” A cajoling smile transformed his big features into almost handsome, dammit. “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

      She hesitated.

      “Ms. Wren, you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later. Let’s try to keep this as informal as possible.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Peter Ashford?”

      “Should it?”

      “No,” she said quickly. “I just thought…after last night…”

      “No, I got final word from the coroner’s office this morning. They stand by their accidental-death ruling. Case closed.”

      “Oh.” So even the police had put the matter to rest.

      “How about that coffee?”

      She frowned. “Don’t you have something better to do on a Saturday night?”

      “Apparently not. Did I interrupt some kind of sunglass-shopping emergency?”

      A flush warmed her cheeks. “I wasn’t looking for sunglasses. I was looking for celebrities.”

      “Excuse me?”

      She tapped her purse, not caring whether he thought she was silly. “I collect autographs, and this is a great place to spot famous people.”

      He pursed his mouth. “Good to know.” Then he gestured toward the food court. “Shall we?”

      She nodded curtly, then fell into step with him. He had traded his suit and shoddy tie for Levi’s, a black T-shirt and a pair of black western boots. Ten points for the boots since western wear was back in style, although she suspected that Jack Terry didn’t know or care that he was accidentally in vogue. She became hyperaware of his size as they walked. The man was a mountain, with a thick torso and long legs. More than one woman turned to look at him as they made their way toward a coffee shop. The two of them must look like quite the odd couple, she realized.

      Not that they were a couple…or that anyone watching them could mistake them for a couple.

      “Is this table okay?” he asked, gesturing to a tiny café table with two chairs.

      She nodded and awkwardly lowered herself into the chair he held out for her. With a shove, he scooted her so close to the table she felt as if she were in a high chair.

      “I’ll get us some coffee. How do you like yours?”

      “I’ll have a double latte with fat-free soy milk and a bottle of Pellegrino.”

      He gave her a small smile that told her he had no idea what she’d said. “I’ll be right back.”

      She watched him walk up to the counter, obviously out of place at the yuppie establishment. Dread ballooned in her stomach as she pondered the questions he had for her. Just the thought of him reading the files on her father’s case made her tingle in embarrassment—he knew all the family secrets and scandals, and seemed intent on making her relive the part of her life that she most wanted to forget.

      Her fingers itched. Christ, why had she stopped smoking?

      “Here we go,” the detective said, setting a tray on the table. “Two coffees with cream, a bottle of springwater and two chocolate éclairs.”

      She frowned. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” He sat down on the diminutive chair and slurped his coffee, then bit into the éclair and chewed heartily. “How’s your brother?”

      “Fine. Better, I think. Although I can’t say that I’m crazy about his job choice.”

      “There are worse jobs. It might scare him straight, confronting death like that.”

      “I noticed last night that you seemed acquainted with his boss.”

      “Cooper Craft? Yeah. When I first joined the force, he was the coroner.”

      She frowned. “The coroner? As in, a doctor?”

      “Yeah, Dr. Cooper was the chief medical examiner.”

      “But I thought he worked for his family’s funeral home.”

      “He does now. He had some problems with alcohol and there was some kind of blunder with a high-profile case. There was an inquest and he lost his license—and his job. I think he might even have served some jail time.”

      Carlotta was astonished. The tall man with the long sideburns who thought she was cute had quite a colorful past. “So now he works for a funeral home and moves bodies for the morgue.”

      “Yep. And he seems to have put the booze behind him. He’ll be a good influence on your brother.”

      “Good. Wesley worships the man.”

      “He’s probably just starved for a father figure.” He cleared his throat, reached into the Dick’s Sporting Goods bag and pulled out a folder. “Speaking of which, I was hoping you could help me fill in a few gaps regarding your father’s disappearance.”

      Her spine stiffened as she sipped from the cup of surprisingly good coffee. “I doubt it, but I’ll try.”

      He opened the folder that contained a half-inch sheath of papers, most of them printouts and official-looking reports. “Do you remember the day your father was indicted?”

      She nodded and looked into her coffee, recalling the tension that had blanketed the town house, overrun with a constant stream of lawyers and the addition of a bay of file cabinets to keep up with the paperwork. “Everything seemed to be leading up to that day. Wesley and I stayed home, but we heard the news on the radio before my parents returned home.”

      “So they did return home?”

      She nodded. “My mother was crying and my dad was angry, saying that he’d been framed and that he’d get even with everybody.”

      “Did they mention that they were thinking of leaving town?”

      “No.”

      “You had no idea?”

      “No,” she said evenly. “My parents said they wanted to go to dinner alone, to talk about some financial issues. They left about seven o’clock and…they simply never came home.”

      His expression darkened. “That was the last time you and your brother saw them?”

      She nodded. “When we got up the next morning, their bedroom door was closed. I assumed they’d gotten in late and were sleeping in. I got Wesley ready for school and we left. When we came home from school,