8 Bodies is Enough(24)
How had Dead Johnson gotten the address for the shipping store? She hadn’t shared it with anyone except Hannah, when they were searching online databases for a potential street address for Bill and Melanie Randolph.
Then a thought struck her—before coming to Las Vegas, she’d used her phone to find out as much as she could about the post office box address. Had the dead man hacked into her phone? Or Peter? Or someone at Mashburn & Tully?
Regardless, it was imperative she keep an eye on box 610. If only there was a way she could know when someone would be there to pick up mail. And she had less than a week.
Then she remembered something Jack had said—that packages had to be picked up within two days. Which meant customers were notified when packages arrived. In fact, she recalled seeing a sign to that effect.
“Okay, let me know if you have any updates,” Jack was saying. “Okay, bye.” When he disconnected the call, his expression was pinched.
“How’s Liz?” she asked lightly.
“Liz is fine. But…I have some bad news.”
She jerked her head around. “Randolph?”
Jack nodded. “He was jumped in the prison food hall and stabbed.”
“Is he--?”
“He’s alive in the prison infirmary under heavy guard; they’ll move him if he recovers enough. But Liz said it doesn’t look good.”
“What happened? I thought he was in solitary confinement because a relative of one of his clients is housed there?”
“He was. The incident happened at meal time. The person you mentioned isn’t implicated, but it’s still under investigation.”
She bit into her lip to stem rising tears. So after all this time, she and Wes still might never get to talk to Randolph, might never get answers. “If we fly back to Atlanta tonight, will they let us see him?”
“No. I’m sorry, they won’t. And he’s unconscious. But Liz said she’d call me with updates.”
“She can’t call me? Or Wes?”
“I guess she assumes you’d rather not hear from her. And she did try Wes, but she said he didn’t pick up.”
“Liz,” Carlotta said with a strident little laugh. “No matter what happens, she’s always in the mix, isn’t she?”
Jack didn’t seem to have a response. “I’ll get you back to the hotel.”
“Actually, can you drop me off at the post office up there on the left? I want to mail my postcard. I’ll walk back to the hotel from there.”
“I can wait while you get a stamp, Carlotta.”
“Thanks, but I need to clear my head. And I can call Wes to let him know.”
“Okay,” he relented.
When he slowed the SUV, she hopped out. She could feel Jack watching her to make sure she went into the post office. When she got to the door, she turned and waved. The SUV pulled away. When it was out of sight, she turned and scanned the shops clustered around the post office. With Randolph ailing, all the more reason to seize any opportunity to find her mother.
A bookstore a few doors down caught her eye.
When she walked in, she was struck by how much bookstores had changed. In order to get to the actual books, she had to weave her way past kiosks of electronic devices, games, stuffed animals, and other tchotchkes. After some browsing, she found the section she was looking for.
Valerie had devoured glitz fiction—novels about the rich and famous leading decadent lives most people only dream of. She called them her brain candy. Carlotta often wondered if her mother used them as guidebooks for how to move in high society circles.
She recognized some of the authors’ names from the books that used to adorn Valerie’s nightstand. Randolph teased her about them, but often came home with a book he’d bought on his lunch hour he thought she would enjoy.
Despite the womanizing, he’d seemed to love Valerie. Had their love persevered being on the run the past ten years? And if so, did Valerie have any idea Randolph was now fighting for his life?
Pushing aside the melancholy thoughts, Carlotta selected several recent hardcover releases and paid for them, then lugged her load to the post office. From the wall of retail supplies, she selected a colorful cardboard box that would hold the books but also was larger than box 610 at the shipping store. She filled out the mailing label to M. Randolph while she waited in line. When she got to the counter, she hefted the box to the scale in front of the clerk.
“One postcard stamp, and I’d like to send this package overnight delivery, please.”
The guy’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s gonna be expensive to send a package this heavy overnight.”
“That’s okay.” She reasoned if she got a promotion and raise when she went back to Neiman’s, she could pay down the towering balance on her credit card.