cheeks warmed. “I’m a little behind on my payments.”
A corner of his mouth twitched, as if to say he wasn’t surprised. “Tell me about the incident at the body shop.”
She told him the name and address of the place and what the man had said to her, and described again the evidence that someone else had picked up her car.
“And he thought it was you?”
“Yes, he seemed certain that I had been in the shop earlier.”
“So maybe this woman looked like you.”
“Or maybe she was wearing a disguise. Wigs are easy to come by, you know.”
“Oh? Are you speaking from experience?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Just general knowledge.” She took a quick drink from her mug to divert attention from the subject—no use divulging her own party-crashing techniques. That was all in her past anyway.
Although her wigs and a few getups were still in the garage, in the trunk of the white Miata that had simply died on her, which had led to test-driving and getting stuck with the Monte Carlo.
“You should contact all three credit bureaus tomorrow,” he said. “Get a current credit report to see if any other suspicious activity shows up.”
“Okay.” Although she’d promised herself that she would get her finances in order, at the moment, it seemed like a daunting task.
“Can you think of anything else unusual that’s happened lately?”
Carlotta angled her head at Jack. “You mean other than being implicated in Angela Ashford’s death, being stalked by a murderer and the little shootout in the mall parking deck?”
“Yeah. Other than all that.”
She stopped as the thought of her father calling came back to her with ringing clarity. Could the two incidents possibly be connected?
“What?” Jack asked tersely. “You’re hiding something from me, I can tell.”
Her mind raced for a plausible lie, then seized upon something perfectly legitimate and pointed to the vase of fading roses sitting on the breakfast bar. “Actually, I was thinking about the flowers I received yesterday.”
“From Peter?” he asked dryly.
“They weren’t from Peter. The card was signed ‘Thanks for a great time, Mason,’ but I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Did you call the florist?”
“Yeah. I tried to tell them the delivery must have been a mistake, but I didn’t get very far.”
Jack nodded. “So maybe our ID thief had a date as you, and the guy sent you roses meant for her.”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “ I haven’t had a date as me in ages…how could someone posing as me have a date?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so prickly.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry—didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He coughed lightly. “Do you still have the card that came with the flowers?”
Carlotta nodded and parted the roses to retrieve the card. “I don’t see it. I had it in the break room at work, but I must have dropped it on the way home. Ow!” She grimaced at the drop of blood on her finger.
Jack reached for her hand and removed a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around her finger.
“I need you to write down the name of the florist.”
“If I can remember it.” Then she remembered the postcard from her parents that he’d confiscated from her days earlier. “I don’t guess anything came of the last piece of correspondence you took from me?”
He frowned. “One case at a time, okay? Although with you, I’m starting to lose track.”
She crossed her arms, all too aware of her over-bandaged finger. “Are we finished here?”
“I guess so—for now.”
“Where’s my car?”
“Impound lot. And now that we have a different crime on our hands, it’ll probably be a while before you get it back.”
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
“Can’t be helped, but I’ll keep you posted.”
Carlotta bit into her lip. “You can reach me here. I, uh, decided to take a few days off from Neiman’s.”
Jack seemed preoccupied with putting away his pen, then he gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s
A corner of his mouth twitched, as if to say he wasn’t surprised. “Tell me about the incident at the body shop.”
She told him the name and address of the place and what the man had said to her, and described again the evidence that someone else had picked up her car.
“And he thought it was you?”
“Yes, he seemed certain that I had been in the shop earlier.”
“So maybe this woman looked like you.”
“Or maybe she was wearing a disguise. Wigs are easy to come by, you know.”
“Oh? Are you speaking from experience?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Just general knowledge.” She took a quick drink from her mug to divert attention from the subject—no use divulging her own party-crashing techniques. That was all in her past anyway.
Although her wigs and a few getups were still in the garage, in the trunk of the white Miata that had simply died on her, which had led to test-driving and getting stuck with the Monte Carlo.
“You should contact all three credit bureaus tomorrow,” he said. “Get a current credit report to see if any other suspicious activity shows up.”
“Okay.” Although she’d promised herself that she would get her finances in order, at the moment, it seemed like a daunting task.
“Can you think of anything else unusual that’s happened lately?”
Carlotta angled her head at Jack. “You mean other than being implicated in Angela Ashford’s death, being stalked by a murderer and the little shootout in the mall parking deck?”
“Yeah. Other than all that.”
She stopped as the thought of her father calling came back to her with ringing clarity. Could the two incidents possibly be connected?
“What?” Jack asked tersely. “You’re hiding something from me, I can tell.”
Her mind raced for a plausible lie, then seized upon something perfectly legitimate and pointed to the vase of fading roses sitting on the breakfast bar. “Actually, I was thinking about the flowers I received yesterday.”
“From Peter?” he asked dryly.
“They weren’t from Peter. The card was signed ‘Thanks for a great time, Mason,’ but I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Did you call the florist?”
“Yeah. I tried to tell them the delivery must have been a mistake, but I didn’t get very far.”
Jack nodded. “So maybe our ID thief had a date as you, and the guy sent you roses meant for her.”
“Maybe.” She frowned. “ I haven’t had a date as me in ages…how could someone posing as me have a date?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so prickly.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry—didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He coughed lightly. “Do you still have the card that came with the flowers?”
Carlotta nodded and parted the roses to retrieve the card. “I don’t see it. I had it in the break room at work, but I must have dropped it on the way home. Ow!” She grimaced at the drop of blood on her finger.
Jack reached for her hand and removed a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around her finger.
“I need you to write down the name of the florist.”
“If I can remember it.” Then she remembered the postcard from her parents that he’d confiscated from her days earlier. “I don’t guess anything came of the last piece of correspondence you took from me?”
He frowned. “One case at a time, okay? Although with you, I’m starting to lose track.”
She crossed her arms, all too aware of her over-bandaged finger. “Are we finished here?”
“I guess so—for now.”
“Where’s my car?”
“Impound lot. And now that we have a different crime on our hands, it’ll probably be a while before you get it back.”
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
“Can’t be helped, but I’ll keep you posted.”
Carlotta bit into her lip. “You can reach me here. I, uh, decided to take a few days off from Neiman’s.”
Jack seemed preoccupied with putting away his pen, then he gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s
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