8 Bodies is Enough(35)
“Says the woman who practically forced her way inside,” Birch said.
“I’m sorry. But I hope you understand why I had to.”
“I’m not sure I understand everything that’s going on, but I know I can trust you. Mr. Randolph said this day might come—that the Carlotta Melanie talked about would show up. He was right.”
If Randolph had intermittently monitored the listening device he’d planted in the kitchen of the townhome, he must’ve known she was determined to get to the bottom of their disappearance.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised. “Call me if anything out of the ordinary happens.”
“You mean anything else out of the ordinary.”
Instinctively, she liked Birch. If Randolph had chosen him to live here and watch Valerie and Priscilla in his absences, he must’ve had a great deal of confidence in the man.
She said goodbye, and when she walked outside, dusk was fading to darkness. The cool night air bathed her face as she made her way back to the SUV on wobbly legs. Hannah was on the phone, but put it down and sprang across the console to pull the door handle.
Carlotta climbed inside, feeling spent. This had to go down as the most momentous day of her life.
“I was getting ready to call the cavalry,” Hannah said. “What the fuck happened?”
Carlotta leaned her head back and gave Hannah the five-minute version.
“You have a sister? Holy crap, your life is a telenovela.”
“I know.” She pulled on her seatbelt. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
Hannah stared. “You found your mother and you’re leaving?”
“I have to get Wes and bring him back here. I can’t deal with this alone and he deserves to know.”
Her phone rang, and Wes’s name flashed on the screen. “Wait—this is Wes. Oh, Hannah, he’s going to be so happy.” She connected the call. “Hi, Wes. I was just going to call you. I have such good news.”
“Sorry to cut you short, Sis, but I don’t have much time…and my news isn’t that great.”
She gripped the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been arrested.”
Her stomach fell. “Arrested? For what?”
“Oh, shit,” Hannah muttered.
“It’s complicated,” Wes said. “Can you call Jack? And Liz?”
Carlotta closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“Thanks, Sis. Now you can tell me your good news.”
Carlotta massaged the headache exploding behind her eyes. “I’ll tell you later. Hold tight.” She disconnected the call and let the numbness overtake her.
Minus one hundred.
Chapter 13
WES DUCKED TO AVOID a turd being flung through the air. He thought the holding cells in Atlanta were scary, but they were nothing compared to the holding cells in Clark County, Nevada. His cellmates ran the gamut from drunks to punks, from streakers to tweakers. At any given time, someone was singing or screaming or banging their head on the wall. One guy sat in the corner holding imaginary knitting needles, allegedly making a sweater for Hugh Grant.
The poop tossing, although gross and disturbing, was appropriate for the occasion, however, because no matter how Wes sliced and diced his situation, he was in deep shit.
Underage in a casino? Check.
Using a fake driver’s license? Check.
Placing bets with counterfeit money? Check, check.
But even more scary than the charges pending, was the knowledge that he’d paid off his loan shark with counterfeit money. No wonder Mouse had been calling.
“Wes!”
He turned his head to see Chance standing on the other side of the bars, craning. Wes bolted up and went over. “Hey, man.”
Chance’s eyes bulged. “You’re counterfeiting money?”
“No.” He glanced around. “Keep your voice down. Wait—how’d you know about the money?”
“Because my buddy Nick just called me screaming that you stiffed him with five fake Franklins, and now his bank is all over his ass.”
After registering mild surprise a criminal like Nick would use a bank, he winced—The Carver wasn’t the only bad dude he’d paid with the phony baloney.
“What were you thinking, man? Even a dumbshit like me knows counterfeiting is federal. That’s serious fucking time.”
“As opposed to dealing drugs?” Wes said dryly.
“Man, the U.S. government doesn’t give a rat’s ass about a two-bit pill pusher. But they ain’t playing when it comes to their dough.”
“I didn’t know it was fake.”
“Where the freak did you get it?”
“I can’t tell you. Can you smooth things over with Nick?”