4 Bodies and a Funeral. Stephanie Bond

hearing everything secondhand. The cake was definitely some kind of ruse. No one in McCoy’s camp or with Neiman’s knew about it. But the guy got away. His smock was found in a trash can inside the mall.”

      “Did he attack Eva?”

      “No. Apparently you got the worst of it.”

      Carlotta gave him a withering look.

      Jack pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Can you describe him?”

      She inhaled the scent of his aftershave on the handkerchief before she wiped her face. But the suspicion that she was only making things worse was confirmed by Jack’s wince, so she gave up. “He was about five-ten. Caucasian. Wearing a fake mustache, I think.”

      “That’s not much to go on.”

      “Then look for a guy wearing roller skates,” she said drily. “That should be pretty easy to spot.”

      He pursed his mouth, then made a few notes on a little notepad. He pulled out his phone and made a call, relaying the description to someone on the other end. When he flipped the phone closed, he shook his head and muttered, “Why do I get all the crazies?” When she raised her eyebrows, he added, “I don’t mean you … this time.”

      She frowned and crossed her arms. “Do you think he meant to hurt Eva?” Carlotta realized everyone else had stopped talking and her voice suddenly sounded very loud.

      Jack gave her a look that asked her to lower her voice. “He might have meant to harm Ms. McCoy, or he might have simply wanted to give her cake,” Jack said to the entire group.

      “But he could’ve killed her,” Eva’s boyfriend said. His face was red, his body language vibrating with anger. “Is anyone looking for this guy?”

      “Yes, Mr. Newsome. The perp’s description has been broadcast, and we have units circling the area. But let’s try to keep this in perspective. As of now, the man’s only crime is attempted delivery of a cake.”

      “I heard a case alarm go off,” Carlotta said. “Was anything stolen?”

      “We think it was triggered when the cart hit a glass case,” Maria offered.

      “Thank goodness nothing was stolen,” Lindy added.

      Suddenly Eva gasped and grabbed her wrist. “My charm bracelet—it’s gone!”

      Carlotta inhaled sharply at the loss of the iconic piece of jewelry. And from the blank expressions of the group, everyone was equally stunned.

      “Did the man take it?” Maria asked.

      Eva touched her forehead. “I don’t know … it’s possible. There were just so many people grabbing at me.”

      “I just remembered something,” Carlotta said to Jack. “There was some kind of tool on the cart. I don’t know what it was.”

      “Can you sketch it?” He handed her his little notebook and pen and she drew the outline as best she could remember.

      “It was maybe six or eight inches long.”

      Jack squinted at the drawing. “Looks like tin snips, maybe. Probably to cut the charm bracelet from Ms. McCoy’s wrist.”

      “I thought you people were here so this kind of thing wouldn’t happen,” Ben Newsome said, his voice accusatory.

      A muscle ticked in Jack’s jaw. “We can’t anticipate everything, sir.”

      “We’re pulling surveillance tapes from the store cameras,” Maria added. “Hopefully those will tell us more.”

      “Of course the most important thing is that Eva’s all right,” Ben said, squeezing her shoulders. “But that bracelet means everything to her, and it represents a lot to the American people, too.”

      Eva’s eyes were glazed, her expression stricken. “Take me home, Ben.”

      “Perhaps I should stay and work with the police,” he said gently.

      “That’s not necessary,” Jack said. “Do you have a photo of the bracelet you can let me have?”

      Newsome scoffed. “It’s only one of the most photographed pieces of jewelry in the world, Detective.”

      Jack handed the man a card. “That should make it easy for you to send a close-up to this address. We’ll contact you as soon as we have news.”

      The woman’s boyfriend scowled, but he nodded curtly and led Eva away.

      Carlotta noticed a redhead loitering on the periphery of the shoe department, within earshot of the group—the reporter from the AJC. She looked up and caught Carlotta’s eye, then replaced the shoe she’d been studying, did an about-face, and headed toward the nearest exit. Carlotta frowned, wondering how long it would be before news of the stolen bracelet would be broadcast.

      Lindy stepped up to Carlotta. “Are you okay?”

      “Yes, but I’d like to clean up.”

      “Absolutely, you should go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      Carlotta nodded wordlessly. So much for not drawing attention to herself. She glanced at her watch and used her nail to scrape off the white icing dried on the face. Three o’clock. Wesley’s meeting with the D.A. should be over by now—he’d probably left her a message.

      Please let it be good news, she prayed. Please let him be safe.

      “Did you drive to work?” Jack asked. She shook her head. “I took the train.” “Get your things. We’ll take you home.”

      4

      Wesley had counted on walking out with Liz, knowing that Mouse wouldn’t come near him if he was with his attorney. But as luck would have it, she had appointments in the government office building the rest of the day.

      “I don’t like the idea of you working for Hollis Carver,” she said with a concerned frown as they rode the elevator down to the first floor. “But give Lucas what he wants and maybe he’ll ease up on you.”

      Wesley gave a little laugh. “You know as well as I do that Lucas would be thrilled if something happened to me on the job.”

      “Nothing’s going to happen,” Liz said, but without her normal brass-tits attitude. “I’m going to request that Jack Terry be your undercover police contact.”

      Wesley rolled his eyes. “Anyone but him.”

      “I know you don’t like Jack, but he’s the best man for the job. I want you to be safe.”

      Resigned, Wesley stepped off the elevator and dragged a shaking hand through his hair. He needed a hit of something, bad.

      “I’ll call you,” Liz said from the elevator. “Get some rest—you look like hell.” The doors slid closed.

      Wesley glanced in the direction of the lobby where Mouse had probably parked his fat ass, pretending to know how to read. Which meant Wesley needed another way out of the building.

      He walked up to a janitor who was pushing a dust mop. “Man, is there someplace I can step out to grab a smoke without setting off an alarm?”

      The guy jerked his thumb toward a Stairs-Emergency Exit sign. “The door’s left propped open for smokers and the alarm turned off. Don’t tell Homeland Security.”

      Wesley made a zipping motion across his mouth, then headed for the stairwell. A folded empty cigarette pack was wedged between the door latch and the strike plate. He slipped outside, then carefully repositioned the cigarette pack as he closed the door behind him. A small concrete pad littered with cigarette butts was isolated by tall bushes and a whirring HVAC unit. He looked around to get his bearings, then stepped through the bushes and headed toward the parking lot where he’d left his bike, scanning