Ink Flamingos

by Karen E. Olson

  The girls were at the sinks, primping in front of the mirrors. They both looked up when I came in.

  “Your friend is still in there,” the brunette whispered.

  I nodded. “It was a rough night.” I went over to the stall and knocked. Jeff grunted. I turned back around. “You said you were in Cleopatra’s Barge?”

  “Cool place,” the blonde said. “Met a great guy. He said he could get us into the music business.”

  Didn’t they all? But something about that piqued my curiosity. Sherman Potter was supposed to be there last night, and as far as any of us knew, he’d never shown up. But what if he had and we just hadn’t waited long enough? We were expecting Ainsley to sing, but when we found out she wasn’t going to, we’d all taken off.

  Except Jeff, who’d met my impostor. And when she ditched him, he left, too.

  Turns out, these two girls were more than happy to tell me about their night without any prodding.

  “He’s the manager for the Flamingos!” the blond girl squealed.

  “He said he was looking for a new lead singer for the band.” The brunette picked right up where the blonde left off, and then they exchanged what I assumed was supposed to be a sad expression. “You know, Dee Carmichael died yesterday.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to tell them that I knew Sherman Potter. Or Dee Carmichael.

  It was the blonde’s turn now. “Anyway, he said he needed a new singer to take over, so he gave us his card and said we should call and audition.”

  Interesting. Especially since Potter had said Ainsley would be taking over for Daisy.

  The brunette pulled a business card from her bag and started waving it around. “I’m going to call this morning. I mean, this could be my big break.”

  “Our big break,” the blonde reminded her.

  “Oh, right,” the brunette assented, although I could tell she had no intention of sharing.

  I wanted to tell them that Sherman Potter was using them, that he didn’t want any more than a roll in the hay with these two girls, but it wasn’t my place. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

  “It’s awfully quiet in that stall,” the blonde whispered to me.

  I looked over, but before I could say anything, the door slammed open and Tim bounded in with two uniforms, a crime scene investigator, and a casino security guard right behind him.

  Chapter 18

  The girls’ hands moved to their mouths, and the brunette’s eyes moved to her bag. Hmmm. Bet there was something illegal in that bag.

  “Where is he?” Tim asked.

  I pointed to the stall. Tim sauntered over and was about to knock when the door opened and Jeff Coleman came out. “It’s about time,” he said. “It was a little too close in there.” He winked at the two girls at the sink. “Hey there.”

  They stared at him, mouths wide open. Okay, so there was no girl in there getting rid of last night’s cocktails after all. They’d get over it.

  Tim indicated the crime scene guys should go into the stall. He turned to me as they did so, and said, “Okay, you need to tell me everything.”

  The girls at the sink had gathered up their things and were about to skirt out, but I stopped them by putting my hand out. “You need to talk to these girls, too. They talked to Sherman Potter last night at Cleopatra’s Barge.”

  Tim’s expression went from surprised to guilty that he hadn’t stuck around long enough to pleased that maybe he’d have a couple of witnesses after all. He showed them his badge.

  “I’d like to ask a few questions, if I might,” he said. “I’m Detective Kavanaugh.”

  They giggled as they checked him out. Okay, so even though he’s my brother, I have to admit that he’s a good-looking guy. He looks younger than his thirtyeight years, with his freckles and boyish grin. And he’s buff in all the right places, since he practically lives at the gym when he isn’t working or at home.

  We’re actually sort of carbon copies, except I’m a lot skinnier, with more angles, and I don’t have the freckles. I replaced them with the tattoos, instead.

  Tim turned from the girls to Jeff. “Can you wait till I talk to them?”

  Jeff nodded. “Is it okay if Brett and I get a cup of coffee? There’s a buffet just off the casino.”

  Tim nodded. “I’ll be there in a few.”

  I was surprised he said okay, especially since I was with Jeff, but I wasn’t going to jinx the moment and tugged on Jeff’s arm so we could go before Tim changed his mind.

  Jeff and I walked in silence to the buffet, where we got a couple cups of coffee and settled in at a table near the door, so Tim could find us easily.

  I took a few sips, thinking about Ainsley Wainwright. “The woman you met up with last night couldn’t be the woman I met yesterday in Sherman Potter’s hotel room,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “She was just out of the shower,” I said. “Her hair was wet, and it didn’t look like a wig to me.”

  “It could’ve been. Those wigs are pretty fancy these days.”

  “Maybe,” I said, then remembered something. “You said that dragon wasn’t real. Were you just sitting there, checking out her chest?”

  Jeff smirked. “Give me a little credit, won’t you? I could tell right away. I didn’t need to stare at her chest.”

  “A lot of guys wouldn’t have a problem with that,” I said.

  “Yeah, but maybe I’m not that sort of guy.”

  I tightened my hands around my cup and frowned. I had no idea how Jeff Coleman was with women other than me. With me he was always making some sort of smart-aleck comment or teasing. I didn’t remember him ever focusing on my chest or my butt or any other part of my body, except for my tattoos. The ones that weren’t on my chest.

  So maybe he wasn’t that sort of guy.

  But true to the Jeff Coleman that I knew, he leaned toward me and grinned. “You’re never going to figure me out, Kavanaugh. Have to keep you on your toes.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, something I did frequently and he no longer paid any attention to. But it made me feel better to do it.

  “No coffee for me?”

  I looked up to see Tim standing behind me.

  “It’s just over there,” I said, indicating the coffee bar. “Help yourself.”

  It was his turn to roll his eyes as he went off for his own cup.

  “Why do you think my impostor ditched you last night?” I asked Jeff, watching Tim out of the corner of my eye.

  “Maybe because I started asking her about her tattoos. Maybe because she thought I’d look too closely. Like you thought I should’ve.” His eyes focused on my face as he drank from his cup.

  I mulled that a second. “If she didn’t recognize you, then she can’t know we’re friends, which means if she’s going to impersonate me, she hasn’t done her homework.”

  “Or maybe she just decided to start impersonating you. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

  True. I’d been unusually busy at work lately and didn’t have time for much except work and sleep.

  Work.

  It was almost noon. I had to call Bitsy.

  Tim slid into the seat next to me as I pulled my cell out of my bag. I held it up. “I have to call the shop.”

  “Why don’t you go out where it’s not so loud,” Tim suggested, “and I’ll talk to Jeff first, go over everything again, while you’re gone.”

  I regretted my decision to call Bitsy. I wanted to hear what Jeff had to say, but then realized Tim probably wanted us separated so he could get each story without anyone interrupting. Or me interrupting, more likely.

  I nodded and got up, going toward the restrooms that were in a quiet corner of the restaurant. There was actually a bank of pay phones here, which surprised me. I hadn’t seen a pay phone in a long time. Since everyone had cell phones now, why would we need them?

  Unless you lost your shirt—and cell phone—gambling, and you needed to call home. Or your bookie.

 
I punched in the number for the shop.

  “Where are you, Brett?”

  Right. We had caller ID now, with some new package Bitsy had negotiated.

  Quickly, I told her about my impostor and how Jeff and I had come over to Caesars and found the impostor’s stuff in the ladies’ room.

  I heard a short intake of breath. “For someone who wasn’t going to get involved anymore, you sure are involved again,” she said sharply.

  “Hey, this time it’s not my fault. Someone’s wandering around impersonating me and taking pictures of me. It’s creepy.”

  “I saw something online this morning,” Bitsy said, her voice going down in volume.

  I felt the panic rise in my chest. I specifically hadn’t told her about my night out with Harry.

  “It’s that blog,” Bitsy was whispering now. “It had pictures of you. What happened last night?”

  I really didn’t want to revisit my absinthe-laced evening.

  When she realized I wasn’t going to answer, she continued. “I got an e-mail. From our Web site’s contact page. No indication who it was from. All it had was a link. To that blog. The one we saw yesterday.”

  I forced down my annoyance about how Bitsy had gone behind my back and set up an e-mail contact on the Web site. I’d asked her not to, because I didn’t want anyone to have to monitor it and then deal with nutty e-mails and spam. But then something nudged those thoughts out of the way.

  Someone had bothered to send an e-mail with that link. Someone who wanted to make sure I saw it. Who wanted to make sure I knew.

  Chapter 19

  I told Bitsy about Harry and the absinthe and that I’d seen the blog myself.

  “Have you heard from Harry? Has he been around?” I asked Bitsy. I wondered if he’d seen the blog. But then again, probably not. Harry had said once that he didn’t have a computer, that he’d had to sell it once he started running out of money.

  Except now I knew he had money, so maybe that was a lie, too.

  “Harry hasn’t said anything about a job, has he?” I asked Bitsy.

  She snorted. “Of course not. I think he likes being one of the jobless.” She paused. “I haven’t seen him around this morning, though. Usually he’s here with coffee when I open up.”

  That was news to me. “Really?”

  “Brett, you’re not here as early as I am. I know you need your beauty sleep, so I always schedule your first client for noon or later. By then Harry’s been here and gone, and then he comes back later. I think it’s to moon at you. And after last night, well, it’s pretty obvious that he’s making his move now.” She chuckled. “And you aren’t exactly resisting, from the looks of these pictures.”

  I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “It was the absinthe,” I tried lamely. But was it? For the first time yesterday, I’d noticed how good-looking Harry was, and while he certainly wasn’t boyfriend material—not like the employed Dr. Colin Bixby—I admit that I enjoyed those kisses.

  Colin Bixby. Uh-oh. What if he saw that blog? If whoever took those pictures sent the blog link to my shop’s e-mail, what was to keep them from sending them to Bixby at the hospital?

  Now I had a whole other thing to worry about.

  “So when do you think you’ll be in?” Bitsy was asking. “You’ve got a client in an hour. Joel and Ace are here, working.”

  I knew she threw that last bit in to try to make me feel a little guilty, and it worked.

  “I’m going to finish up here with Tim and come right over,” I promised. “I need a ride anyway, because I left my car over there yesterday and never went back for it.”

  “Can you bring lunch?” she asked.

  Ah, a way to redeem myself. “Johnny Rockets?” “I’m not sure what Joel’s eating these days.” Neither was I. He bounced around too much on those diets to keep anything straight. My biggest fear was he’d turn vegan, just to avoid everything, and then we would have no clue what to feed him.

  “If I have to go out again, I will,” I promised.

  “Right. And then we won’t see you till Christmas,” Bitsy said sharply and hung up.

  I stared at the phone. I totally did not need attitude right now. I was under a little bit of stress. I had a stalker and an impostor, or were they the one and the same?

  I wandered back out to the table where Tim and Jeff were sitting. For a second, I studied them: my brother, his back arrow straight as he took notes in his little notebook; Jeff leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable as his lips moved.

  Jeff was lying about something.

  I wondered if Tim could tell.

  I sat down.

  “You didn’t see this woman last night, right, Brett?” Tim turned toward me.

  “No, I just wondered about how she could’ve gotten away from Jeff so easily. I started thinking that maybe she wore a disguise, so we came over here and found the bag of stuff in the ladies’ room stall.”

  Tim gave me a funny look as he jotted something down in his notebook, tucked the pen in his breast pocket, and shoved the notebook in his back trouser pocket. He stood.

  “Okay, I know where to reach you if we have more questions,” he said and was about to walk away when I held my hand up.

  “What about whoever put those pictures up on that blog?” I asked. “Well, on both those blogs. Do you think it could be the same person?” Although I wasn’t sure, because Ainsley wouldn’t have needed to wear a wig. But you never knew, as Jeff had pointed out.

  Tim looked at me as though I had two heads. “Yes, Brett, it could be the same person. We’re on top of it. We’re trying to track the IP addresses—you know, the addresses that indicate which computers would be generating the information. When I know more, I’ll let you know.” Although from the look on his face, I doubted that. He’d tell me when he was good and ready, which meant probably when the blogger had already been arrested. Couldn’t take any chances that little sister would screw up the process, now, could he?

  I pushed down my irritation. I knew he was doing the best he could, under the circumstances. He wasn’t a computer guy, so he had to farm this part of the job out to someone who was. That took time. I may not be a cop, but I do know some things, and not only from watching TV.

  I thought of something. “Bitsy said someone sent an e-mail through our contact page on our Web site with a link to the blog. Someone wanted me to see those pictures.”

  Tim’s frustration with me turned back into concern. “I’ll tell the computer guys. They may have a way to trace that e-mail.”

  I nodded, and he cocked his head at Jeff. “You can get her to work, right?”

  He didn’t really need to. I could actually walk from here, but I was feeling really spooked with all those pictures of me all over the Internet.

  Jeff seemed to be reading my mind. “I’ll make sure she gets there okay,” he promised.

  “Thanks,” Tim said. “Be cautious, remember that, okay?”

  It was the only thing I was remembering right now. “He’s worried,” Jeff said as we watched my brother walk away. “He’s right, too. Someone’s got it in for you. Do you have any idea who?”

  I picked up my coffee mug and took a sip. Cold. I like iced coffee, when it’s supposed to be iced coffee, not when it’s just room temperature.

  “Have you pissed anyone off lately?” Jeff asked. “I mean, besides the Las Vegas Police Department.”

  I made a face at him. “No, I have not,” I said. “At least not that I know of.”

  “Well, we know it wasn’t Harry Desmond taking those pictures, since he was with you,” Jeff mulled.

  “Why would you even consider Harry?” I asked.

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Really? Couldn’t tell,” I said sarcastically. “Or is it more that you’re just mad I went out with him?”

  A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Why would I get mad?”

  “You don’t seem to like Colin
Bixby very much, either.”

  “You think it’s because you’re going out with him?” The smile had come out full force now, as if he were incredulous I’d even suggest such a thing.

  I put my cards on the table. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re always cutting him down, making fun of him, making fun of me going out with him. I mean, it’s like you’re jealous or something.” I had never considered that before, but now that I said it, I wondered. Was Jeff harboring a crush on me?

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Kavanaugh,” he said, his eyes flashing angrily. “So you’re one of the few people I find I can tolerate in this city, but believe me, if I was interested in you, you’d damn well know it.”

  He stood, shoving his chair against the floor with a loud squeal. “Are you ready? I promised your brother I’d get you safely to your shop, and then I have to get to mine. I’ve got a business to run, too, if you would care to remember.”

  Jeff didn’t even wait for me. He just started walking toward the exit. I grabbed my bag and followed him, wondering who put that bee in his bonnet. It was as though he was protesting too much, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d sit back and watch a woman he was interested in go out with other men. Granted, I’d never met anyone he’d dated, and wasn’t sure exactly whether he was dating anyone right now. I knew he’d been married a few years back and had gotten burned pretty badly. Maybe he was just concerned I’d get burned, too, and he didn’t want to see that.

  Because while he might not want a romance with me, I did know we were friends. He took a bullet for me. And if push came to shove, I’d probably do the same for him.

  Jeff’s back was poker straight as he strode through the Roman marketplace. Even though it was dim in here, I knew we’d get slaughtered with sunlight once we went back outside. In seconds, our steps were in sync, but he still didn’t seem to want to talk.

  I did, though. I had one more question.

  “Why did you lie to my brother?”