8 Bodies is Enough(28)

“Oh, no, he didn’t pull the non-apology-apology trick, did he?”

“The what?”

“In one breath, he said he was sorry, but in the next he tried to make you think he slept with Liz because he was trying to prove he’s not in love with you. So really it’s your fault Liz is pregnant.”

Carlotta frowned. “Damn him. I can’t believe I fell for that. I actually felt sorry for him.” She banged her fist on the dashboard. “What an asshole. He even insinuated that Peter is a cold fish.”

“Well, I have to agree with Detective Asshole on that one. Wait—we have a customer.”

Carlotta yanked her binoculars back to her face to see a person opening the door of the shipping business. “It’s a woman. But we’re not sure who we’re looking for, so keep an eye on what she carries out.”

“You keep watching,” Hannah said. “Someone just parked and is walking past the car, so I’m pretending I’m on my phone.”

Carlotta tensed. “Do they look suspicious? Just because we didn’t see anyone following us doesn’t mean they didn’t.”

“No. He looks like a tourist, probably trolling for drugs—or a hooker. We’re good, he didn’t even look this way.”

“Phew—good.”

“We were careful. The car’s in my name. And do you really think someone would make you leaving the hotel in that blond wig?”

“I guess it depends on the sophistication of the people who might be watching me.”

It occurred to her if Peter was reporting back to someone on her actions, he could report she was good at evading detection with costumes.

A movement at the door caught her attention. “The customer’s leaving.” She trained the binoculars on the woman’s hands, then sighed. “But she’s carrying only a few envelopes.” She lowered the binoculars.

“At least we know our system works,” Hannah said. “No way is someone getting out of there with your package without us seeing them. Here comes another customer. This one’s carrying a box.”

And so it went for several hours—customers coming and leaving, each without the package. The girls ate snacks and made coffee runs and took bathroom breaks. They talked about everything from Hannah’s new loft apartment in Atlanta to shows they were watching to when and if Carlotta should tell Wes about what she was doing.

“If I find our mother, then of course I’ll tell him,” she said.

“And if you don’t find your mother?”

“Then he doesn’t have to be subjected to yet another disappointment.”

“Wes might be stronger than you give him credit for.”

“I see glimpses of maturity,” Carlotta admitted. “But when it comes to our parents, I think he’s still a nine-year-old boy desperate for Mommy and Daddy to come home. I mean, that sad little Christmas tree in the living room says it all, doesn’t it?”

“That’s a little messed up,” Hannah agreed.

This exercise had resurrected a lot of memories of what life had been like after her parents had left—the initial panic, then slipping into survival mode, then the slow, sick realization she and Wes were on their own. Looking back, she didn’t know how they’d made it through. But they had—and they deserved answers.

She’d never forgive Randolph if he died and took those answers to the grave.

“At least Wes is trying to have some fun,” Carlotta said. “He said he and Chance were going to an amusement park today.”

“At least they’re syncing their stories,” Hannah said dryly.

Carlotta ignored the niggle of worry in her stomach where Wes was concerned. Instead she imagined the look on his face when she told him she’d found their mother.

When the clock crept into the last hour, though, her energy was fading—along with her optimism. She had resigned herself to coming back the next day for more of the same, when a wave of customers arrived who must have left work at five. Both she and Hannah were scanning frantically to keep up with the activity.

Suddenly, a brown package delivery truck pulled up in front of the door, blocking their view.

“Shit. What do we do now?” Hannah asked.

“You keep your eye on the customers who exit to the left, and I’ll watch the customers who exit to the right.”

While the driver unloaded packages from the rear of his truck onto a hand cart, the girls were glued to the activity of the customers emerging from behind either side of the truck.

“Wait,” Hannah said. “Guy in the blue shirt—I think he’s carrying your package.”