Body Movers Books 1-3. Stephanie BondЧитать онлайн книгу.
Moody smiled. “You ever tried?”
“No.”
“Would you like to?”
Carlotta hesitated. “Well…sure.”
The woman’s smile lit her eyes and Carlotta had the feeling that she’d just passed some sort of test. “Why don’t you join me upstairs, and we can talk about how you happened to find such a fine cigar.”
Intrigued and edgy, Carlotta followed the woman upstairs.
“Carlos,” June said as they ascended, “would you please bring me an Amelia when you come up?”
“Sure thing, Miss Moody.”
They walked upstairs, where the furnishings were plush and the air was rich with smoke. The martini and wine bar resembled an old-fashioned parlor, with deep velvet chairs and thick rugs. The bar lined one side of the landing, surrounded by groupings of chairs and couches around low tables. Most of the seats were occupied by businessmen, with a stray woman here and there.
Behind the bar was an older gentleman with a ponytail. He nodded to the women, his gaze raking Carlotta with appreciation.
“May I offer you a drink, Carlotta?” June asked. “On the house.”
“A martini, thank you,” Carlotta said to the man, taking in the art deco barware, decanters and glasses. “Nice place.”
“I’m glad you like it,” June said, nodding her approval when the man dropped two olives in each crystal-clear martini. “Thank you, Nathan. Will you ask Tonia to keep an eye on the shop? Carlotta, let’s take our drinks in here.”
Carlotta picked up her martini and followed the woman into a room where more tables and chairs were situated around a fireplace that, even unlit, was a welcoming feature. It was easy to see why Moody’s was a busy little place and Carlotta wondered with consternation why she hadn’t heard of it before now.
“How long have you been in business?” she asked June as they sat in sumptuous gold-colored club chairs.
“It was my father’s business,” the woman said, taking a sip of her drink. “He passed away four years ago. It’s been my place since then.”
Carlotta surveyed all the men sitting back, cradling drinks and puffing on cigars. “I wondered where all the straight men in Atlanta were hiding.”
June laughed. “They’re right here, darlin’. Bring in your girlfriends sometime.”
Carlotta smiled at the thought of bringing Hannah and Michael to this place. They wouldn’t exactly “blend.”
Carlos appeared and handed June a small, slender cigar about five inches long. June thanked him, then handed the cigar to Carlotta. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of choosing a cigar I thought you’d like.”
“Not at all,” Carlotta said. “But I don’t know what to do first.”
“Some people take off the band, but I like to leave it on so that the tobacco doesn’t stain my fingers, at least until it burns down.”
She read the colorful band: Key West Havana Cigar Company. “Okay.”
“Here’s a cutter,” June said, handing her one of the small guillotine-looking devices that littered the tables next to enormous art-glass ashtrays. “The tapered end is the cap end. That’s the end that you cut and light. See the cut line?”
Carlotta scrutinized the cigar, and saw the faint impression. “Yes.”
“Don’t cut beyond the line or you’ll risk cutting the wrapper leaf.”
Carlotta situated the cutter and severed the cap with surprising little effort.
“Good. Do you have a lighter?”
She withdrew from her purse the trusty mother-of-pearl lighter that she’d unearthed from a bureau drawer yesterday—just in case a cigarette fell into her lap.
“Hold the cigar in your hand and rotate the cigar tip near the flame. It’s best if you don’t actually touch the tip to the flame. Just let it char from the fumes.”
Carlotta did as she was told, fascinated. When embers began to appear, June said, “Okay, now put the cigar to your mouth and draw by pulling in your cheeks, like this.”
She imitated the woman, noting the unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, taste of the leaf upon her lips. She was gratified when the tip of the cigar began to glow.
“Good.” June sat back in her chair and raised her martini to her mouth. “It’s like giving a blow job, only more enjoyable.”
Carlotta inhaled sharply at the unexpected comment and her lungs rebelled, sending her into a coughing spasm.
“Don’t inhale,” June said, laughing. “Take it slow, puffing occasionally to keep it lit.” She smiled. “Also like a blow job.”
Carlotta recovered, thinking it was a good thing that her memory was long, or the comparison would be lost on her. But she acknowledged that she liked the feel of the cigar in her hand, and that she was very tempted to like the woman across from her, although admittedly, June Moody was difficult to read.
“So,” June said, turning her head to exhale, “tell me about the Dominican Cohiba.”
Carlotta recognized the name as the brand of the cigar she’d brought in. Her mind whirled for an explanation more reasonable than the real one. “I work in a department store, and someone left it. I’m just trying to find the owner.”
“I see,” June said mildly. “That’s mighty generous of you.”
Carlotta smiled guiltily.
“Did you actually see the person who left it?”
“N-no.”
“You just found it?”
“In the pocket of a men’s jacket that had been returned.”
“Ah. So why couldn’t you just check the sales receipt?” June puffed on her cigar casually, but her eyes were wary.
Carlotta averted her gaze and pretended to concentrate on her cigar.
“If you expect me to give you the name of my best customers,” June said, “you’re going to have to come up with a better story than that.”
With a sigh, Carlotta decided to come clean with the woman. What choice did she have? “The jacket that I found the cigar in was purchased by a woman named Angela Ashford, who’s…dead.”
She had June’s full attention now. “Go on.”
“Angela drowned, but the circumstances around her death are suspicious and I thought…that is, I wondered…if she could have been involved with a man who had…hurt her.”
June exhaled, then gave Carlotta a pointed look. “You mean, killed her?”
“I don’t know.”
“If her death is suspicious, then why aren’t the police involved?”
“Let’s just say they’re not interested.”
“So you thought you’d do a little investigative work on your own?”
Carlotta nodded.
“Were you friends with this Ashford woman?”
“Sort of,” Carlotta hedged.
“Was she married?”
“Yes.”
“So this jacket, the cigar—they don’t belong to her husband?”
“No.”
June’s eyebrows shot up. “I see. So the person who bought the cigar could have been a lover?”