by Karen Olson
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Novels of Karen E. Olson
The Missing Ink
Karen E. Olson has launched a delightful new series with The Missing Ink, featuring tattooist Brett Kavanaugh. Brett is proud that she makes grown men cry. She also makes grown women laugh. I look forward to more adventures for this Las Vegas needle artist.
Elaine Viets, author of the Dead-End Jobs Mysteries
In The Missing Ink, Karen E. Olson has penned a winner, full of crisp dialogue, a red-hot setting, and a smart, sassy tattooed protagonist. Viva Las Vegas!
Susan McBride, author of the Debutante Dropout Mysteries
Has it all, with edgy characters and a tight plot.
Mystery Scene
[A] pleasantly jargon-free themed mystery. . . . Readers need not be conversant with street flash or other industry terms to enjoy the setting and follow Brett down a trail of needles and gloves to the dramatic finale.
Publishers Weekly
Olson uses the fresh setting of an upscale Las Vegas tattoo shop . . . for a fast-moving tale with quirky but affectionately portrayed characters. Although stubborn, Brett never becomes too stupid to live in her determination to solve the mystery. The tension is kept at a high pitch.
Romantic Times
The Annie Seymour Mysteries
Shot GirlShamus Award Nominee forBest Paperback Original
Olson excels at plottingwith liberal doses of humorand Annie grows more fascinating, and more human, with each novel. This ones a winner from page one.
Richmond Times-Dispatch
Olson continues a winning streak with her latest Annie Seymour outing. . . . This first-rate mystery will not only keep you guessing; it will provide fun and laughter along the way.
Romantic Times (4 stars)
Olson . . . step[s] up to a new storytelling level.
The Baltimore Sun
[Shot Girl] features the same clever plotting, great local color, and terrific personal touches that have been a hallmark of the series since it began.
Connecticut Post
Dead of the Day
Karen E. Olson knows this beat like the back of her hand. I really enjoyed Dead of the Day.
Michael Connelly
Dead of the Day takes the Annie Seymour series to truly impressive territory. Absolutely everything a first-rate crime novel should be.
Lee Child
Karen E. Olson draws on her experiences as a journalist to write an excellent series about Annie Seymour, a salty police reporter in New Haven, Connecticut. Dead of the Day is a fun mystery with just enough edge to make it sparkle.
Chicago Sun-Times
Like an alchemist, Karen E. Olson blends together wildly disparate elements into pure gold. Dead of the Day is a delightful dance with the devildangerous, dark, and romantic.
Reed Farrel Coleman, Shamus Award-winning author of The James Deans
A reporter and editor for Connecticut newspapers for twenty years, [Olson] brings a journalists eye for detail and immediacy to this series. Youll want to give yourself an early deadline to read her latest story.
Richmond Times-Dispatch
Secondhand Smoke
Annie Seymour, a New Haven journalist whos not quite as cynical as she thinks she is, is the real thing, an engaging and memorable character with the kind of complicated loyalties that make a series worth reading. Karen E. Olson is the real thing, too, a natural storyteller with a lucid style and a wonderful sense of place.
Laura Lippman, New York Times bestselling author
Authentic urban atmosphere, generous wit, and winning characters lift Olsons second outing. . . . Readers are sure to look forward to Annies further adventures.
Publishers Weekly
Annie is a believable heroine whose sassy exploits and muddled love life should make for more exciting adventures.
Kirkus Reviews
Humor enlivens this first-person account. . . . This remains a series with considerable potential.
Booklist
Olsons characters are her own, and her fast-paced plot and great ending make it a perfect read for patrons who like a bit of humor in their mysteries.
Library Journal
Olson knows exactly how to blend an appealing heroine, an intricate plot, and inventive humor. Annies is a story worth pursuing and a story well worth reading.
Richmond Times-Dispatch
Humor, plenty of motives, and strong character development make this a fast, fun read.Monsters and Critics Olsons second mystery hits the mark with setting, plot, and character. . . . Her lovably imperfect heroine charms, and the antics of her coworkers and the residents of da neighborhood will keep you intrigued and amused.
Romantic Times (4 stars)
Sacred Cows
A sharply written and beautifully plotted story.
Chicago Tribune
Olson writes with a light touch that is the perfect complement for this charming mystery.
Chicago Sun-Times
In this just-the-facts-maam journalism procedural, Karen E. Olson plunges readers into the salty-tongued world of cynical reporter sleuth Annie Seymour. . . . [The story] spins from sinister to slapstick and back in the breadth of a page. Engaging.
Denise Hamilton, bestselling author of Savage Garden
A boilermaker of a first novel. . . . Olson writes with great good humor, but Sacred Cows is also a roughhouse tale. Her appealing and intrepid protagonist and well-constructed plot make this book one of the best debut novels of the year.
The Cleveland Plain Dealer
Also by Karen E. Olson
Annie Seymour Mysteries
Sacred Cows
Secondhand Smoke
Dead of the Day
Shot Girl
Tattoo Shop Mysteries
The Missing Ink
OBSIDIAN
Published by New Am
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Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, March 2010
Copyright Š Karen E. Olson, 2010
eISBN : 978-1-101-18559-9
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHERS NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To my niece Anna Corr,who truly is pretty in ink
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank Alison Gaylin, Cheryl Violante, and Angelo Pompano for their help with the manuscript. Brett Wilson and Kevin Martino were invaluable sources, letting me in on all their secrets. The First Offenders (Alison Gaylin, Lori Armstrong, Jeff Shelby, and Anthony Neil Smith) are incredibly supportive, as is the whole FO community. Abram Katz can always be counted on to come up with the perfect poison. Craig Phillips is a fantastic illustrator, and his cover art is spot on. Jack Scovil is agent extraordinaire. My editor, Becky Vinter, with her cheery enthusiasm and eye for detail, helped me push the envelope and make this a better book. Kristen Weber, who started me on this journey, is missed but left me in good hands. Thanks to all the staff at NAL, every bookseller, every reader. Finally, I wouldnt be able to do any of this without the love and support from my wonderful husband, Chris, and daughter, Julia.
Chapter 1
If your name is Britney Brassieres, being taken down by a tsunami of champagne might seem only fitting.
One minute she was belting out Oops! . . . I Did It Again, the next she was on the floor, her arms flailing as the Moëtnot the really expensive kind, but that White Star you can get at a discount if you look hard enoughshowered her.
I know it was Moët because I saw the guy with the bottle. Hed come up to the edge of the stage near my table as Britney was singing, shook the bottle, then popped the cork, which was as loud as a gunshot as it went airborne and slammed right into Britneys chest.
Bulls-eye.
It wasnt an accident, either. Hed aimed it at her.
I jumped up on a gut reflex and impulsively shouted at the guy. Hey!
After successfully hitting his target, he turned the bottle on meconfirming that hed actually heard meand everyone else in my vicinity.
Unfortunately, it still had some oomph left, and liquid splashed across my face, getting into my eyes and dripping down my face onto my chest. I tried to blink, but it hurt, so I kept my eyes closed and listened to the pandemonium around me: chairs scraping as people scrambled to their feet, glass shattering. The vibration moved through my legs as the floor shook with the weight, the hurry to escape. I wanted to shout out that it was just champagne, but that cork explosion freaked everyone out, and when they saw Britney fall, they figured the worst.
Bodies jostled me as they shoved past, and I struggled to keep my balance, holding out my arms like a trapeze walker and hitting someone who grunted but didnt stop.
Joel? I shouted above the din. Joel?
An arm snaked around my waist. Im here, Brett. You okay? His voice was soothing as his big belly pressed into my side, and for a second I relaxed before tensing up again.
Yeah, just got some champagne in my eyes. Is Britney okay? I asked, trying to open my eyes, but they still stung and I shut them again.
Shes moving, Joel said. I think shes okay. What happened?
Guy with a champagne bottle. Whered he go? This time I forced my eyes open, blinking quickly a few times, clearing the fog. I scanned the dimly lit nightclub. There had been about a hundred people here for the show; most of them now were pushing one another toward the door; someone was screaming, someone else wailing.
The scene on the stage looked like something from a Shakespearean tragedy: Britney, in her blue and white schoolgirl outfit and long blond tresses, was splayed across the floor as her fellow performers hovered over her, clucking like the mother hens they were. I spotted Charlotte with them, kneeling and stroking Britneys forehead. Britneys lips were moving, and her eyes were open.
MissTique, who ran all the shows here at Chez Tango, flailed her arms as she teetered on six-inch clear plastic stilettos on the edge of the stage, not because she was going to fall, but because she was trying to calm everyone down. She shouted, All right, Everythings fine, and Get me a cocktail. The last was to a young man with a remarkable physique whod been dancing shirtless behind Britney before the champagne attack.
Wheres Bitsy? I had to lean in toward Joel so hed hear me as we took a couple of steps toward the stage.
Bitsy is a little person, and it was easy to lose her in a crowd.
Or bump into her.
Watch it! I heard her say and looked down to see her rubbing her arm where Id collided with her.
I was about to apologize when it grew darker, sort of like a solar eclipse. But instead of the electricity going out, it was merely Miranda Rites blocking the light behind her. She looked like someone had dumped a bottle of Pepto-Bismol on her: a vision in pink sequins and a high bouffant of pink-accented orange hair, the multicolored butterfly tattoo Id given her just a few weeks ago stretched between her shoulders just above the ample bosom. It was fake, of course. The bosom, I mean, not the ink.
Shes okay, right? I asked Miranda, shouting, cocking my head toward the stage.
The dark concrete walls didnt swallow the din; it just bounced off them into my ears with a sort of echo effect.
I think shes in shock. To compensate for the noise, Mirandas voice had reverted back to its husky tenor, giving her that Sybil split-personality thing: Is she a woman? Is she a man? Can she be both? She hit her head, though. I saw it from backstage.
Theyre on their way. Cops, too.
