Carlotta gritted her teeth. “Anyway, she returned the jacket yesterday.”
“When yesterday?”
“In the afternoon.”
“Was she acting strangely?”
“She’d been drinking,” Carlotta admitted. “The man’s jacket had been worn and when I told her I couldn’t give her a refund, she became…verbally abusive.”
“What did she say?”
“She had the idea that…Peter and I were having an affair.”
He lifted his cup to his mouth. “Why would she think that?”
Carlotta fidgeted. “Perhaps because he and I were engaged before they were.”
“But you said that happened years ago.”
“Yes. Peter ended our relationship about the same time my parents left.”
He frowned. “He dumped you when the going got tough, huh?”
“He was just a kid,” she said defensively. “I was hurt, but I eventually understood why he did what he did.”
“So maybe Mr. Ashford has been pining for you all these years?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“But Mrs. Ashford seemed to.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, what I’m trying to tell you is that Angela might have been the one having the affair. I don’t know if it means anything, but I felt obligated to tell you, so there.” At this point, mentioning that the woman had also tried to strangle her seemed like overkill.
He leaned back in his chair and shook his head slowly. “You want to know what I think? I think that you imagined this thin story of Angela Ashford having a lover to make yourself feel better over the fact that whatever was going on between you and her husband might have made her take a flying leap into that pool all on her own.”
Carlotta’s mouth opened, then closed as denial washed over her.
He lifted his cup to her. “This theory that you have—where I come from, we call that borrowing trouble. The truth is, Ms. Wren, you and Peter Ashford both should be thankful that the M.E. ruled the death an accident.” He smiled. “Now you can carry on with a clear conscience.”
White-hot anger whipped through her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He looked her up and down over the top of his cup, then he gave a little laugh. “Maybe not, but I know guilt when I see it, lady.”
Carlotta glared at him, then wheeled and stalked away as fast as her high heels would allow. The man was insufferable!
And dead on.
18
Carlotta pulled up in front of Hannah’s apartment building just as Hannah bounded outside, long black leather skirt flowing, thick buckles and silver chains clanging. She opened the passenger-side door of Carlotta’s car and slid inside. “Hiya.”
Carlotta stared at the goth garb. “Hannah, for Christ’s sake, this is a funeral not a Halloween party!”
“I’m wearing black,” Hannah said, unfazed as she buckled her seat belt.
“When are you going to let me give you a makeover?”
“Let me see…uh, never. Besides, what does it matter what a person wears to a funeral?” She snorted. “I can promise you the person in the casket doesn’t give a crispy crap.”
Carlotta frowned. “Funerals are for the living, and I can promise you, everyone at this funeral will be dressed as if they were going to the Oscars.”
“Do you think they’ll have food? I’m starving.”
“No, they won’t have food, you idiot. It’s a funeral. Haven’t you ever been to a funeral?”
“No,” Hannah said. “Have you?”
“No,” Carlotta admitted. “But I’ve seen them on television, and there’s no buffet.”
“I don’t know why you want to go to your ex-boyfriend’s wife’s funeral anyway. It’s like you’re rubbing it in that you’re still alive and she’s…not.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say. I knew Angela—we went to school together, and I told you, she was a customer of mine.”
Hannah gave her a sideways glance. “But what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“Huh?”
Carlotta sighed. “Okay…the other night when I ran into Peter at the party…”
“Yeah?”
“When I left, he followed me.”
“And?”
“And…we kissed.”
Hannah whooped. “You kissed a married man? After all the shit you’ve given me over the years?”
“It’s not something I’m proud of.”
Hannah hooted. “This is great.” Then she stopped. “Oh, wait. You kissed the man and a couple of days later, his wife drowns in a pool. That’s not great, that’s…weirdly coincidental.”
Carlotta wet her lips. “I know.”
“Oh my God, do you think he killed her?”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Of course not.”
Hannah jumped up and down in her seat. “Maybe he killed her because he’s still in love with you! Oh my God, that’s so romantic!”
Carlotta was starting to regret her decision to ask Hannah to attend the funeral with her, but she’d thought she’d stick out more if she went alone. Now with Hannah’s getup—and her oozing mouth—the only thing she needed to draw more attention to them was a flare.
“Peter didn’t kill Angela,” Carlotta said carefully. “She was drunk and fell into the pool. The coroner’s office ruled her death an accidental drowning.”
“Mighty convenient for you,” Hannah said slyly.
“That’s not remotely funny.”
“But it’s true. You must still have feelings for this guy, Carlotta. I saw how shaken up you were the night you ran into him. I’ve never seen you
