her hand over the fine fabric of the jacket, Carlotta ignored the vibrating cell phone in her pocket and listened while Angela told her about the lavish parties that she and Peter threw at their palatial home located in a gated subdivision within the exclusive neighborhood of Buckhead. And how with the recent addition of a pool, spa and alfresco kitchen, they were the envy of their neighbors. And how well Peter was doing in his job at Mashburn and Tully Investments—which had once been Mashburn, Tully and Wren. The irony of Peter working for the same firm where her father had once been a partner seemed comically cruel.
“Did I mention that Peter was given a huge bonus this quarter?” Angela slurred as Carlotta rang up the enormous sale.
“Yes, I believe you did mention it,” Carlotta said smoothly. The encounter was nearly over—she could afford to be nice a little while longer, even if it killed her inside.
Angela smirked. “Of course, Peter makes all of his money legally.”
Carlotta clenched her jaw but decided to allow the sly reference to her father’s crime slide.
“Whatever happened to your parents?” Angela pressed, her eyes glinting with a gossipy light.
Carlotta wet her lips. “I really don’t know.”
“You mean you’ve never heard from them all this time?”
“That’s right.”
Angela made a pitying noise in her throat. “What kind of parents could just run off and leave their kids like that?”
Carlotta had her opinion but decided not to respond.
“I feel so sorry for you, Carlotta. I mean, it must have been hard for you to go from having everything you wanted to having nothing.”
From the triumphant look in Angela’s eyes, Carlotta could tell that by “everything,” the woman meant Peter. Carlotta wanted to say that it hadn’t been easy, especially since all of her so-called friends had seemingly vanished into thin air along with her parents. She and Angela hadn’t been best buddies, but they had run in the same crowd—the crowd that had turned on her by high-school graduation. Angela had gone on to Vandy, which was where Carlotta assumed the woman had hooked up with Peter. Had “poor Carlotta” been a common topic of conversation?
“I managed just fine,” she murmured.
Angela leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s why I always buy things from you, Carlotta, because I figure that you need the commission. It’s my little good deed.”
The scent of gin burned Carlotta’s nose like the fiery mortification that bled through her chest. Years’ worth of pent-up frustration suddenly flared to life. Her hands halted in the middle of ringing up the sale. “I don’t need your pity, Angela,” she said, her voice shaking, “or your effing money.” She gave herself ten points for the verbal filter.
Angela’s expression grew haughty. “You don’t have to be nasty—I’m only trying to help.”
“You’re trying to make me feel like a charity case.” And dammit, she was succeeding.
Angela swept her hand over the pile of merchandise that cost as much as Carlotta’s car. “So you’d be willing to turn your back on this sale because of your stupid pride?”
Carlotta hesitated—she desperately needed the commission—and in her hesitation, knew Angela had won. As she looked into the woman’s slightly unfocused but gloating eyes, comebacks whirled through Carlotta’s mind, ranging from “Screw you” to “You’re right” to “You got Peter—what else do you want from me?”
She wanted to throw something, to hit something, to push the Rewind button and be seventeen again, before her life had taken such a detour. To her horror, moisture gathered in her eyes. She blinked furiously and opened her mouth. “I—”
Her phone vibrated against her side and she pounced on the diversion. “I’m sorry, Angela, I have to take this call.” But when she withdrew the phone and glanced at the caller ID, fear bolted through her chest. Atlanta Police Department.
Her heart lodged in her throat as images of Wesley’s mangled body ran through her mind. He’d finally gotten himself killed on that damn motorcycle of his. She stabbed the Incoming Call button, missed, and tried again. “Hello?”
“Hi, sis,” Wesley said, his voice tentative—like at age ten when he had put sugar in their neighbor’s gas tank “just to see if it really would freeze up the engine.”
It had.
Her initial flood of relief that he was alive was immediately overridden with a different kind of anxiety. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you assume something’s wrong?”
She glanced up to find Angela listening intently. Carlotta turned her back and walked a few steps to be—she hoped—out of earshot. “Because, Wesley, the police department came up on the caller ID.”
“Oh.”
“So…what happened?”
“Okay, don’t freak out, but I kind of got arrested.”
Carlotta felt faint. “What? You kind of got arrested, or you did get arrested?”
She could picture him on the other end of the line, stabbing at his glasses and weighing his answer. “I did get arrested.”
She closed her eyes and mouthed a curse.
“I heard that.”
Okay, minus ten points for swearing at her kid brother. She counted to three, then exhaled. “What were you arrested for?”
“Well, it’s kind of complicated. Maybe you’d better come down here.”
“Where is ‘here’?”
“The jail at City Hall East.”
Christ, what did it say for her that she knew exactly where the jail was? She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. “What am I supposed to do once I get there?”
“Uh…ask for inmate Wren?”
She clenched her jaw and disconnected the call, then gave Angela a flat smile. “I have to go. Someone else will be happy to ring up your purchases.”
Angela’s face reddened. “But I don’t want someone else—I want you.”
“Don’t worry, Angela. I’m sure you’ll still get a gold star for your little good deed.” She swept by the woman, and when she passed Michael on the escalator, told him that she had an emergency and would return later if she could and would he take care of you-know-who?
Breaking into a jog, Carlotta retrieved her purse from her locker in the employee break room, fighting tears of frustration. What had Wesley gotten himself into now? Her feet moved automatically, carrying her to her car, which was a good thing because she couldn’t consciously remember where she’d parked.
As she careened out of the mall parking lot, she imagined Wesley’s
