Pretty In Ink

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Pretty In Ink Page 26

by Karen Olson


  I wanted to be able to tell her it was all right, but I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t.

  She could tell. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked a few times. “I’m fired, aren’t I?”

  I nodded without thinking.

  She jumped out of her chair and swung the door open, dashing out. I took a deep breath as I got up. I kept forgetting that she was ten years younger than me, that I might have reacted the exact same way if Mickey had threatened to fire me when I was just a trainee.

  The front glass door was already closing when I emerged, and I saw a flash of her as she ran, Bitsy and Joel staring.

  “What happened?” I heard Joel ask. I shook my head and sped past him after Charlotte.

  She was fast. She was running along the canal, dodging shoppers and tourists. I had about five inches on her, but I’d had a slow start and wasn’t gaining much. I kept my eye on her, bumping into a few people because I wasn’t watching where I was going, and when I finally thought I’d catch up, someone stepped out from around a turn up ahead that made me stop short and caused my heart to beat even faster, but not for the right reason.

  Colin Bixby.

  He took two steps toward Charlotte, who was careening toward him.

  She grabbed onto the top of the small railing that ran along the length of the canal and stopped short. She looked first at Bixby, then back at me. An expression of terror crossed her face, and before I had a chance to even shout out her name, she catapulted over the railing and splashed into the water.

  A gondola sailed under the footbridge at just that moment and slammed into her.

  I held my breath, considering my options. Should I jump in after her? I did have my lifesaving certificate from when I was fourteen.

  But Bixby was seconds ahead of me. He was already in the water. Just as I was about to pull myself up over the railing to join him, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Chapter 57

  As I stared into Frank DeBurra’s eyes, which were black with hate, something popped into my head that was sort of a non sequitur, considering.

  How had he known there should’ve been two bodies inside Chez Tango after the explosion?

  No one had told him this. I knew only because “Kyle” had called me. Bixby knew, but he had been somewhere in traffic, supposedly. Jeff Coleman and Tim knew because I’d told them.

  No one had gotten around to telling DeBurra, yet even before he’d spoken to any of us, he was telling the firemen to look for two bodies. A man and a woman, he’d said.

  Why hadn’t this occurred to me before? When I might have been in a better position to actually raise that red flag with Tim. Because at this moment, the prospects of talking to my brother seemed a bit bleak.

  A crowd had formed around the canal, everyone angling to see the girl who’d jumped in and gotten hit by the gondola. The gondolier was in the water now, too; Bixby was cradling Charlotte’s head in his arms and shouting that someone should call 911.

  No one was paying attention to me, or the fact that I was being herded out of the mall by a scruffy cop who was taking advantage of the situation. He had my right arm twisted up behind my back, and to hide that, he was walking so close we might be mistaken for lovers.

  So didn’t want to go there.

  Blood still caked DeBurra’s nose where my brother had hit him, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. “You shouldn’t run from the cops, Miss Kavanaugh.” His voice was low and menacing, his breath hot against my neck.

  My throat and mouth were so dry, I could barely swallow. I licked my lips, but it was like licking the desert sand.

  “Where are you taking me?” I managed to croak.

  “Where we won’t be bothered.”

  “Why?”

  “You and I have some things to settle.”

  “Like what?”

  He snorted, his one good eye shifting back and forth as he pushed me forward toward the exit.

  So he was no Chatty Kathy. Normally that would’ve suited me just fine, but I didn’t like it that he was taking me to an undisclosed location.

  We’d reached the end of the canal and entered the circular area that was the entrance to the Venetian Grand Canal Shoppes. The ceiling was painted with elaborate Renaissance frescoes, gold accenting everything. In a way, I preferred this area to the one where the ceiling was painted as if we were supposed to be outside. The illusion was less theme park-like.

  The vestibule was remarkably free of people, most likely because they’d heard the splash and the screams and had gone to see what the fuss was all about. Maybe they thought it was another one of those little plays or dances performed periodically for entertainment.

  My hand, the one twisted around, had fallen asleep. I tried to wiggle my fingers to wake it up, but he only gripped harder, like a vise on my wrist.

  His other hand, the one not holding on to me, swung jauntily by his side.

  He probably didn’t expect me to try to wrench free, so that’s exactly what I did.

  I twirled around and yanked my arm down, pulling it from his grasp. I was free. Who knew those self-defense classes in high school would pay off someday?

  But that’s when I noticed that his sleeve had gotten pushed halfway up to his elbow. I hesitated.

  He had ink.

  Familiar-looking ink.

  It was the bottom half of a queen-of-hearts playing card.

  He saw me staring at it, and an ugly smirk tugged at his lips.

  “Do you think you could’ve done better?” he asked, sliding the sleeve up farther so I could see the whole thing, as if we were just comparing tattoos like at Chez Tango the first night I met him.

  I cleared my throat, trying to force the saliva into my mouth so I could speak. “It’s flash,” I said flatly.

  “Yeah, it’s flash,” DeBurra said. “That’s all Jeff Coleman does, isn’t it?”

  “Jeff did that?”

  “His mother started it, but she’s a whack job. I asked him to finish it after he finished up with Rusty’s. It was a full house that night.”

  “The Queen of Hearts Ball,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from the ink. It wasn’t Lester Fine after all. It was Frank DeBurra. “You were in drag.”

  He coughed. “For the job,” he said.

  But the band of flush that crawled up his neck said that could be a cover.

  “Why did you say your name was Colin Bixby? I mean, did you know him?”

  “Lambert and Abbott did. He was at that ball. I met him.”

  Of all the pictures I’d seen of the Queen of Hearts Ball, I hadn’t seen one of Bixby. I hadn’t even considered that he might have been there. “And you just decided to use his name that night?”

  “Couldn’t exactly use my own, could I?” he hissed.

  Suddenly I thought about that picture on Trevor’s Facebook page. The one of the drag queen whom I’d seen across the street from Chez Tango after discovering the slashed tires on Jeff’s car.

  As I looked at Frank DeBurra, it was all coming together.

  He was that drag queen.

  And if Trevor knew, maybe that money that he had coming in under the table was blackmail money, like Charlotte suspected. From Frank DeBurra.

  It was possible Trevor had put that picture on Facebook to taunt him. And as I’d suspected before, but hadn’t known the true reason why until now, DeBurra made those Facebook pictures disappear. So no one could identify him. Like me.

  “How much did you pay Trevor?” I asked. “Was it just that fifty thousand?” As I spoke, I remembered something else. How quickly DeBurra had shown up at Trevor’s apartment the day Jeff and I got shot at. “You were in Trevor’s apartment,” I said, not able to stop myself. “You were the one who shot at us. You took that money. You put it in Ace’s bank account to set him and Charlotte up. You probably have lots of ways of getting into bank accounts, being in Homeland Security.”

  He stared at me, not admitting anything but not denying it, either.

  Tim had been surprised that De
Burra was at Chez Tango the night Trevor got hit with the champagne cork. He said he thought DeBurra was racking up some overtime. But I was beginning to think there was another reason he was at the club that night.

  The guy with the champagne. How tall was he? I’d been concentrating so much on the tattoo and the bottle and the sweatshirt that I hadn’t thought too much about his height. DeBurra was about my height. I was about as tall as the guy in the club. I’d subconsciously registered that.

  I also flashed back to a comment DeBurra had made when Wesley Lambert’s body was found. About how this made “that queen’s death” suspicious. At that point, I hadn’t thought anyone suspected Trevor’s death of being from anything other than natural causes. Tim and I had discussed the possibility of poison, but that was later.

  “You killed Trevor to get him to stop blackmailing you. Did you pay Wesley Lambert for that ricin on the champagne cork?” I paused a second. “You were after Charlotte because you knew she might have something in Trevor’s documents that could incriminate you. And what about the investigation into Lester Fine? Was that for real?” When I was on a roll, I couldn’t be stopped. But then I made a mistake.

  “Does Shawna know?” I asked.

  I didn’t even see his hand until it made contact with my cheek. My head whipped back with the impact, and it felt as though my neck snapped.

  He laughed as I instinctively put my hand to my face, which was hot.

  “It’s the job,” he said again.

  “What? You dressed up like a woman for the job but then decided you liked it too much to stop?”

  I touched a nerve, because he stepped closer, reaching out for me.

  He underestimated my instincts. Just as I’d automatically kicked Rusty Abbott in the groin, my foot shot out and nailed him right in the shin. His knee buckled, and I took off past him, back toward St. Mark’s Square, to the canal where the crowd had formed. I needed people around me. He couldn’t touch me if there were that many witnesses.

  I had to get back to the shop to call Tim. My gut told me if I tried to tell the uniforms who’d responded to Charlotte’s accident, they might not believe me over the word of a detective.

  And that said detective was gaining ground on me and holding out his badge as he shouted, “Stop her!”

  I looked around like I didn’t know he was talking about me, even though I was the only one running. I glanced at the scene in the canal as I passed: Charlotte being taken out of the water by a couple of paramedics, Bixby helping, a gurney waiting on the walkway, two uniforms. Uh-oh. DeBurra got the attention of the two cops, directing it toward me. They were young and eager to help. Now we had a conga line, but no one was dancing.

  I spotted Joel on the footbridge ahead, among a throng of people. I needed to get over there.

  “Joel!” I shouted. “Joel!”

  He looked over at me and waved. I pushed my way to him.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I panted, clutching his arm. “We have to call Tim.” I started to nudge him down the bridge the other way.

  “Do you know if Charlotte’s okay?” he asked, indicating the gurney, where she now lay. She was lying flat, but her eyes were open and she was smiling at one of the paramedics.

  “Looks okay to me,” I said, nudging a little more forcefully now.

  “Hey!” He frowned. “What’s your problem?”

  I felt my problem in the small of my back. I twisted around slightly to see Frank DeBurra and the gleam of his service revolver.

  Chapter 58

  I guess he figured I’d gotten away from him too many times, so he felt he had to resort to holding me at gun-point. Still, it was risky to do it in a crowd. Even if I ran, I doubted he’d actually fire at me. Cops are trained not to do that. But then again, this particular cop was a bad guy, so all bets were off.

  Joel was talking to me.

  “What’s going on?”

  I sort of cocked my head back, hoping he’d notice DeBurra behind me, and because Joel and I have that kind of karma, he did. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and he blinked twice.

  “You’re not getting away from me again,” DeBurra hissed from behind, throwing me off any psychic connection I had going on with Joel. He pulled my left arm around, and his hand encircled my wrist.

  The pressure was off my lower back now, and I twisted a little to see him putting his gun back in his hip holster. He reached around behind his back, and I guessed what he was going for.

  Handcuffs.

  Crap.

  I had to do something.

  My right hand brushed the front of my jeans, and I felt it. The brooch. It was still in my pocket.

  I had an idea.

  Joel was staring at me; it had been only a couple of seconds, and he was still waiting for some sort of sign. I pulled the brooch out of my pocket and undid the clasp with one hand. I raised my eyebrows at Joel, then turned fast so I was facing DeBurra. At the same moment that he slapped the bracelet around my wrist, I shoved the pin into the top of his hand as hard as I could.

  The queen of hearts winked at me as she stuck to DeBurra.

  DeBurra yowled, pawing at his hand to try to pull the pin out.

  With the handcuffs dangling from my wrist, I took advantage of the moment and ran, grabbing Joel’s arm as I went, shouting, “Come on!”

  The throng of people on the footbridge, without really knowing what was going on, parted like the Red Sea. I wondered whether Sister Mary Eucharista wasn’t doing some sort of hocus-pocus from her seat in Heaven.

  Joel lumbered more slowly than I liked, and he stopped suddenly, right in front of me, causing me to take a misstep and slip. My feet flew out in front of me and I landed on my butt, sliding down the stairs like a toddler and landing with a bump at the bottom.

  It knocked the wind out of me for a second.

  Joel didn’t even notice I’d fallen. He just kept going. I put my hand down to push myself up, but then I felt someone’s hand under my armpit, pulling me up.

  “Kavanaugh, you certainly know how to make a statement.”

  I whirled around to see Jeff Coleman, a small smile at the corner of his lips. I opened my mouth to say something, but I was distracted by what was going on behind him.

  Tim was handcuffing Frank DeBurra.

  I looked back at Jeff.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The detective here stole my car.”

  “Huh?”

  “You have such a way with words.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “What about him stealing your car?” I held my hands up as I spoke, and the handcuff swung around and almost hit me in the face.

  Jeff grinned. “I had no idea you were so kinky, Kavanaugh.”

  My eyes should be on automatic roll when I’m around Jeff Coleman.

  “They’re DeBurra’s. He was going to take—” But I didn’t get to finish, because Jeff took my arm and led me back up the footbridge.

  Tim looked annoyed when Jeff tapped him on the back, but then he saw the handcuff and Jeff said something so softly, I couldn’t hear.

  Within seconds, Tim was unlocking the cuff and my hand was free. I rubbed my wrist. “Thanks,” I said, glaring at DeBurra, who was glaring back. “What are you charging him with?”

  “He stole my car,” Jeff said again. “Right after you took off. I hadn’t taken the keys out; he just jumped in and drove off after you. I got your brother away from the paramedics and we’ve been looking for him.” He chuckled. “Criminals are stupid. He left the car out front, told the valet he’d just be a few minutes, to leave the engine running.”

  A gold Pontiac had followed Bixby and me back to the Windsor Palms. I’d assumed it was Jeff. But it was DeBurra.

  “He’s done a lot worse things than that,” I said.

  Tim looked at me grimly. “No kidding. How do you think he knew there should have been two bodies in that building?”

  So I wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on that.

  Bixby wasn’t talking to me. I guess I couldn’t blame him; I’d suspected him of . . . well . . . I wasn’t
quite sure of what, but I’d suspected him of something, and he wasn’t stupid.

  Made it a little awkward, however, when I tried to see Charlotte in the emergency room.

  Bixby sent out some other doctor, who was about a hundred and fifty years old and who had about as much charm as a desert cactus. He told us we had to wait; Charlotte was still being evaluated.

  “Boy, you really screwed that one up,” Bitsy said, ever blunt, as we sat in the corner of the waiting room. Joel was with us, shifting on the uncomfortable plastic chair. The armrests were too close together and he had to sit at an angle, shoving his girth between them. I was uncomfortable for another reason—who knew what was on these seats? But I’d been standing for an hour now, and I finally had to give my feet a rest despite my reservations.

  “How was I to know Bixby didn’t know anything about Lambert’s science experiments?” I asked. “He said he knew the guy, and I freaked. I admit it.”

  Kyle patted my hand. “Honey, if it’s any consolation, his mother lives down the hall from him. You wouldn’t want to be involved with a guy who’s tied to mama’s apron strings.”

  My cell phone warbled Springsteen, and the receptionist gave me a glare. I got up as I flipped the phone open, and went outside to talk to Tim.

  “We found quite a few withdrawals from DeBurra’s bank account that match the spreadsheet Trevor had,” Tim said.

  I’d given Tim the laptop before he took DeBurra to the station for questioning.

  “We also found some correspondence via e-mail with Wesley Lambert.” He paused. “DeBurra paid Lambert to lace that champagne cork with ricin. And the day before he died, Lambert sent him a threatening e-mail, saying he was going to rat him out.”

  “Do you think DeBurra killed Lambert?” I asked.

  “There’s no evidence of that. Lambert died of ricin poisoning.”

  I asked him the same question I’d asked DeBurra: “Was he ever investigating Lester Fine, or was that just a story he told Charlotte?”

  Tim was quiet a second. “He didn’t lie about that. But there’s nothing that links Fine to the ricin lab. At least not that I know of.” And since Tim wasn’t with Metro Homeland Security, he might not be privy to that information.

 

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