“Maybe he tried. We still don’t have a line on who planted that bomb under your car. You said yourself that the Monte Carlo was only here, at Coop’s, and at the mall. Michael was here and he’s certainly familiar with the mall parking lot.”
She bit her lip. “Michael isn’t the type to plant a car bomb. He isn’t technical, or gadgety.”
“You can buy ready-made explosives if you know where to go.”
She sighed. “Michael is the one person we know wanted me dead, so maybe he did plant the bomb. But it just seems like a lot of trouble to go to when he had the opportunity to off me in my own bed.”
“Can’t argue there,” Jack said, then averted his gaze. She could tell he had his doubts about Michael being their man. He pulled a small notebook from an inside jacket pocket. “When do you think Lane got in the house?”
“I’m thinking Friday, after you removed the motion detectors. And I believe he left sometime Sunday or yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
She didn’t want to tell him about the money that Wesley had won in a card game. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing her brother was supposed to be doing while on probation.
“Come on, you said on the phone something about Lane having ten thousand reasons to leave?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Wesley had ten thousand dollars hidden in his room and realized this morning it was missing.”
Jack frowned. “Go on.”
“Wes last saw the money Sunday morning, so Michael must have taken it sometime Sunday or yesterday.”
“So Lane might’ve been gone before you and I came back here Sunday?”
When Jack had spent the night. She nodded, knowing the information would ease his conscience—and his ego.
“Have you noticed anything else missing?”
She shook her head, then glanced around her bedroom, comparing what she saw to the images a person’s subconscious picks up from of their surroundings every day. When her gaze landed on her bulletin board, she stopped and walked closer to study the random mementos she’d tacked onto the mesh surface—tickets stubs to shows, things she’d cut out of magazines, and photos, some of the items so old they were curled around the edges.
“What?” Jack asked, coming to stand behind her.
“Something is missing.” She stared at the empty spot, trying to remember what had once been there, then the answer slid into her mind. “A photo.”
“A photo of who?”
“Of me,” she murmured. “Michael had taken it during a holiday party at work. He gave it to me.”
“Must’ve wanted a souvenir. Anything else missing?”
She sighed. “Not that I can tell, but who knows.”
Jack made a few notes, then closed the notebook. “Let me know if you think of anything else. Go to Ashford’s and lay low. We’re going to have a CSI team go over the entire town house in case Lane left something here that relates back to one of the murders. Take only what you need.”
Panic blipped in her chest. If Michael had left something behind in their house, the Wrens would be even more closely intertwined with The Charmed Killer case. And she didn’t like the idea of the police going through her personal things.
“And forget about the body-moving business for a while,” Jack added.
“But Coop—”
“Could stand to take a break himself.”
She blinked, surprised to hear Jack’s concern for Dr. Cooper Craft, the former M.E. who had been relegated to moving bodies for the morgue and had hired Wesley to assist. It was how she’d been drawn into body moving herself, and how she’d been drawn to Coop, who had been acting strange lately. “So you do think something’s wrong with Coop.”
“Nothing an AA meeting can’t fix. Don’t get caught up in Coop’s problems, darlin’, you’ve got enough of your own. And keep that stun baton handy.” He wiped his hand over his mouth, trying to smother a smile. “You got Ashford good, huh?”
“You don’t have to take so much pleasure in his pain.”
“You’re moving in with the man. Let me have a little fun at his expense.”
“I’m not moving in with Peter…I’m staying at his house.”
Jack stepped closer and lifted her chin. “In his bed?”
Carlotta’s chest tightened. “What do you care, Jack?”
He leaned his face close to hers. “Because getting you back home gives me that much more incentive to get The Charmed Killer off the streets.” He grabbed the red panties in her hands, and walked away, holding them high before shoving them into his jacket pocket with a grin. “I’ll hang on to these for motivation.”
Carlotta shook her head as he disappeared through her door, confounded as always by the man’s push-pull on her heart. She had no doubt that Jack would get the maniac off the streets. Her live-in arrangement with Peter notwithstanding, she only hoped it was sooner rather than later.
She glanced around her room with an eye toward what the police would find that might make her uncomfortable.
Her teenage diaries.
Carlotta moved toward the dresser. She’d found them when she’d unearthed the charm bracelet that her father had given her. She couldn’t remember the exact contents of the diaries, but since they’d encompassed her burgeoning relationship with Peter and the time immediately after her parents’ disappearance, she didn’t want strangers analyzing her personal drama for their own entertainment.
She pulled out the diaries—one for each year of high school—and stowed them under clothes in her suitcase. When she started to close the dresser drawer, she suddenly noticed the corner of a file—her father’s client file that Wesley had stolen from Randolph’s attorney, Liz Fischer. She didn’t want it to wind up in the wrong hands. So she slipped in the file, then closed the bag and zipped it shut. Moving in with Peter was the right decision, Carlotta told herself. She desperately needed a change of venue.
Carlotta picked up her cell phone to check for messages and frowned. Meanwhile, where was her brother and why wasn’t he returning her calls?
2
Wesley was valiantly trying not to throw up. He’d passed on a drive-through lunch in anticipation of the job that he’d spent hours working up his nerve for, and it was a good thing, too.
The severed head at his feet looked like a prop for a haunted house. The edges of the neck skin were black with dried blood and curled, like a macabre ruffle. Red and white strings of sinew dangled out of the gaping hole that had once connected the head to a torso. The head’s eyes were partially open, and the skin was dark in places, hinting
