“It’s okay. You don’t have to hurry. I’ve got a lot of it done already.”
I was incredibly grateful. Bitsy and I had had a hard start when I bought the shop from Flip. She was convinced I was enemy number one and would fire everyone and bring in my own people. She had a chip on her shoulder bigger than she was, which almost made me take her up on her prediction. But she’s incredibly efficient and ran Flip’s shop like clockwork for ten years. I couldn’t let her go. Gradually, we began to grow on each other. Except for that stool.
“Have you heard about Ace?” I asked.
“Joel called a little bit ago. Ace had a concussion, so they’re going to keep him overnight. But he’s doing okay, keeps asking for oxygen. So how did it go with Coleman?”
“He never showed. He called me with some crazy thing about how Matthew had trashed the shop looking for something, but he was sure he hadn’t found it. If you see anything that might warrant someone breaking in and beating up Ace, let me know.”
“Nothing here that’s not familiar,” she said. “But I’ll keep an eye out.”
I ended the call after telling her I’d be there shortly and was walking out onto the sidewalk, back toward the Venetian, when my cell phone warbled.
Simon Chase’s number. I flipped the phone open.
“Now that you’ve gotten rid of that wire, we can talk, Kavanaugh.”
I whirled around, looking for Tim, but seeing nothing but a sea of tourists.
“He’s long gone.”
“Where are you?”
Jeff Coleman fell into step beside me, his phone to his ear, a grin on his face. We hung up at the same time.
“My brother’s not happy you have Simon Chase’s phone,” I said.
“And he’s really not going to be happy when you bring it back to Chase.” He dropped the phone into my bag.
“Why am I doing that?” I asked. “I don’t want to see him.”
“It’s your way into Versailles.”
“And why do I want to go there? The last time you sent me there, I found a dead guy in a tub.” Which reminded me . . . “What did you and Matt Powell talk about?”
“He told me to watch my back.”
Chapter 50
I stopped short and a heavyset man slammed into me. He growled and moved past. I grabbed Jeff’s arm and pulled him through the door into O’Shea’s Casino.
“Watch your back? Why?”
Jeff gave me a wan smile. “Seems he was acquainted with my ex-wife.”
“He knew Kelly? How? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“You didn’t ask. And anyway, if you knew, you might have told your brother, and the cops would have had even more of a reason to nail me.”
I studied Jeff’s face, which was remarkably free of any emotion, except perhaps a slight tug of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“You didn’t do that tat, did you?”
Disgust replaced the amusement. “Kavanaugh, I don’t touch dead people.”
“So who did it?”
Jeff shrugged. “Maybe Kelly did it.”
Kelly? I didn’t get a chance to react, though, because Jeff kept talking.
“All I know is, this guy called me, asked me to meet him in the Bastille Lounge at Versailles, it was about Kelly. I met him—his name was Matt. He said Kelly had been in over her head, that she’d done something she shouldn’t have.” He bit his lip. “I guess he knew she was pregnant, but he never said exactly what it was she’d done. I figured she’d just screwed the wrong guy one way or another, same old story for her. I told him I hadn’t seen her in a long time, but he said I should watch out, that she was up to something.”
“Did he know about the embryos?”
Jeff bit his lip and nodded. “Thinking about it now, he had to have known about that.”
“But why would he warn you? What was she going to do?”
“I don’t know. While we were talking, someone came into the bar, a young guy, maybe thirty, tops. Rich-looking. Matt said he had to go, but he’d call me later. He went over to the other dude, who was pissed about something; his face was all red. They left together.”
“Was it Chip Manning?”
Jeff shrugged. “Maybe.”
“His face has been all over the news because of Elise,” I said.
“I haven’t exactly been pinned to the TV, if you haven’t noticed, Kavanaugh.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry.”
We started walking again. The air wrapped itself around us like a fleece blanket. I still hadn’t gotten a water. I pondered Jeff’s story. It sounded like the truth, and the pieces were starting to fall together.
“What about Matthew, Kelly’s brother?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t he have contacted you if Kelly was in trouble?”
Jeff chuckled. “Matthew and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”
“How would Matt Powell even know about you, though?”
“If he knew Kelly, she might have told him.”
True enough. And if Matt Powell was Elise Lyon’s Matthew, and Kelly and Elise knew each other, then it was like one big, happy family. Until Matt and Kelly ended up dead.
Maybe Elise killed them. Nothing would surprise me now.
“So why do you think I’m going to Versailles?” I asked.
“You have to give Simon Chase back his phone.”
“Why?”
“You’ll look like a hero, Kavanaugh, getting his phone back. Maybe he’ll want to suck face with you again.” The grimace was probably supposed to be a grin.
I ignored him. “So you have no idea why Matthew trashed my shop?”
He shrugged. “Something’s there. Don’t know what.” He sounded like a broken record. “Listen, I’ve got to get going. I’ll be in touch.” And before I could say anything, he was halfway across the street, jogging toward the Bellagio.
I stood there, staring after him for a few seconds, then continued back to the Venetian.
If Matthew thought I had something he wanted, that could explain why he’d been following me around. Maybe he thought I’d lead him to it.
But then, why was Simon Chase following me in that Dodge Dakota?
I’d seen them together. Chase and Matthew. They could be in on it together.
Despite the heat, a chill crept up my spine.
I might have a reason to go to Versailles after all.
Bitsy was right. She had done a lot of work while I was gone, which made me feel guilty. I didn’t need Sister Mary Eucharista on my shoulder today. I was doing a pretty good job of giving myself a guilt trip.
While I wiped up the last of the ink off the floor in Joel’s room, all the events of the last few days swirled around in my head. What had I gotten mixed up in? Everything that had happened had happened because a woman left her fiancé at the altar. She’d sneaked off in the night, taking someone else’s identity, and disappeared.
But I’d seen her. Last night. At Viva Las Vegas. Why was she still in town? If I were her, I’d be long gone by now.
I threw the sponges covered in ink in a bucket and surveyed the floor. It sparkled as if it had never been violated. Bitsy had taken care of the rest of the room, stacking all the ink pots in a row on the shelf, the disposables neat in their boxes, Joel’s tattoo machine perched and ready for the next customer.
I had to get Tim to give me my machine back. And the case, which was Ace’s.
I wondered if whatever it was Matthew had been looking for was in the case, which was why he didn’t find it here last night.
As I took the bucket out to the bathroom off the staff room and tossed the sponges in the sink to be cleaned, a cell phone started ringing. It wasn’t a familiar ring, not Springsteen or Bitsy’s “Dancing in the Streets.” Instead, it was a real ring, an old-fashioned sort of ring. A ring, well, with that low-toned, rough brrring brrring that you hear on British television.
Simon Chase’s phone.
Curiosity got the better of me. I rummaged around
in my bag and pulled the BlackBerry out. I had no idea how something like this worked. My phone wasn’t nearly as sophisticated.
I hit the little green phone button and after a second heard, “Chase, where the hell are you?”
Bruce Manning.
I just did a little “mmmm,” lowering my voice so he’d think it was Chase.
“Where’s the girl? What did you do with her?”
The words made me freeze, my heart in my throat.
He didn’t wait for an answer. “I know you’ve got her, and I want to know where it is. I don’t care about her—you can do what you want with her—but I want it back.”
Chapter 51
I ended the call. Let him think Chase did. He obviously thought Chase knew where “it” was, whatever “it” was. And Chase had Elise. That was clear. Matthew must be working for him, as I suspected. He must have sent Matthew over here last night.
My staff room was clean, tidy, smelling like Pine-Sol. No thanks to Matthew or Simon Chase. I wanted to go over to Versailles and . . . what? What did I want to do? Yell at him, hurt him, like he’d hurt me?
Like he’d care. Like I meant anything to him. Obviously he’d been using me to try to get whatever it was everyone thought I had.
I wondered if Tim still had that wire handy.
Bitsy came into the staff room.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” she said.
“Did you find anything that shouldn’t have been here when you were cleaning up?”
“That again? No, Brett, there’s nothing here. I think the guy found it and took it. He took the safe, for Pete’s sake.”
True enough.
Simon Chase’s phone began ringing again. Bitsy frowned.
“Where’d you get that fancy phone?”
I looked at the number of the incoming call, and it wasn’t the one Bruce Manning had used. On reflex, I answered it.
“Yes?” I asked, not bothering to disguise my voice now.
“Who is this?” The English accent came through loud and clear.
“Oh, hi, Simon. It’s me, Brett.” My tone was casual, like I was expecting his call. His call on his phone. What was I—insane?
“The police said Jeff Coleman had my phone.”
Okay, I’d spilled the beans on that one; how to explain how I got the phone? Why not try the truth?
“He gave it to me to give to you. I guess he figured we’d see each other, you know, after last night.” There it was again, that affected accent. With a distinctively chilly tone around the corners.
He didn’t seem to notice.“Oh, well, yes.” His own tone had softened. “I would very much like to see you again. And I certainly would like my phone back. Shall we meet? Dinner?”
I didn’t want to go back to Versailles. I felt too vulnerable there. I wanted him off his own turf. And I wanted to be on mine.
“Can you come here? There are a couple of nice places to eat at the Venetian,” I suggested.
He was quiet a second, probably checking his schedule, then, “That’s a splendid idea. Then I can see your shop. How’s eight o’clock?” There was an eagerness in his voice. Sure, he wanted to see my shop. Then he could search it, too. I saw this now as a bad idea, but I couldn’t go back on it without raising his suspicions. Bitsy would be here, and probably Joel would be back by then. I wouldn’t be a sitting duck, like Ace had been last night.
“I’d like that,” I said, forcing my voice to sound normal, but it still came out stilted.
“Shall I make reservations somewhere?” he asked.
Wouldn’t you know a kidnapper and murderer would be the most chivalrous guy I’d been interested in in a long time. Just my luck. I’d fall for him and he’d end up in the slammer, twenty-five to life, and I’d be signing up for conjugal visits every six months.
Every six months seemed like a good idea, considering it had been longer than that since the last time I got naked with someone.
What was wrong with me? That kiss—oh, that kiss—had just been a ruse to distract me from Elise.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said, hoping that by doing so I could maintain control over this situation.
“Lovely. See you then.” And he hung up.
“You’ll take care of what?”
Bitsy’s voice made me jump about five feet in the air.
“Don’t do that,” I said, a little too harshly.
“Sorry.” While I was frosty, she was definitely sarcastic. I immediately felt bad.
“No, I’m sorry. I think I’m just freaking out. Too much crap in the past few days.”
She nodded. “Know what you mean.” She paused. “Would you mind . . . well, if I took the rest of the day off and went home? I’m a little freaked out, too.”
But she was supposed to hang around so I could have backup when Simon Chase showed up.
Bitsy’s face was showing the strain of the day, and I couldn’t keep her here. She’d already done so much.
I nodded. “Go home. Get some rest. Hopefully we’ll be back to normal tomorrow. I’ll finish up here.”
The relief that crossed her face made me feel even worse.
“Thanks, Brett.”
She gathered up her purse and went to the door, turning just before she left. “Lock up behind me. Don’t let any strangers in.”
That was all there were out there—strangers. As I did what she said, I watched the people moving past the door, looking as they passed but not attempting to come in. I went over to the mahogany desk and sat in the leather chair. Joel should be back soon. I’d be a lot less jittery then.
Bitsy had replaced the mess of the purple orchid with the old white one. I wondered where she’d had it stashed so it survived the melee. It still wasn’t looking good. I reached over and touched the dirt. It was bone-dry.
I kept pressing down on the dirt around the orchid’s stem. My finger penetrated the soil and I pulled it out, my fingernail black. Shaking off the excess, I went to get some water for the flower. I filled a glass in the bathroom, trying not to look in the mirror. I still hadn’t changed out of the ill-fitting shirt, and dark circles accentuated my eyes.
I poured the water around the base of the orchid and watched it seep into the dirt. As I turned to take the glass back, something glinted at me.
I stuck my finger into the soil again. It was wet this time, and I knew I was going to have to seriously wash my hands. But my finger caught on something, and I dragged it up.
The largest diamond ring I’d ever seen sparkled brightly as it caught the overhead light, casting a gleam against the wall and Ace’s Mona Lisa.
I’d seen this diamond before.
But the last time it had been on Elise Lyon’s finger.
Chapter 52
This was what Matthew was looking for. I could bet on it. And I’d win. What are those odds in Vegas?
Elise must have stuck it in the plant when she was here. Why, though? Because it was Chip’s ring and she was going to run off and marry Matt? Why wouldn’t she just give it back—or keep it? It must be worth something.
Bruce Manning’s words on the phone jolted my brain. He’d said he didn’t care what Simon Chase did with the girl, but he wanted it back. Must be the ring. So it was worth something.
I turned it over in my hand, watching the colors change in it. It was spectacular.
For a second I had a crazy thought.
I didn’t have to give it back. While they thought it was here, they’d already trashed the place and hadn’t found it. Who would be the wiser?
I would. I couldn’t do that. I had to give it back.
But to whom?
Elise was the logical choice. Granted, she’d left it here, abandoned it for anyone to find. But it was hers—and her decision whether she wanted to give it back to her former fiancé or his father.
She wasn’t exactly accessible right now, though. Simon Chase and Matthew had her. They must have asked her where the ring was—maybe that was what was goi
ng on at Viva Las Vegas last night when I saw Matthew taking her out of there. She must have refused to tell them, since Matthew ended up here and hadn’t found it.
Was she going to show up dead now? Or were they still trying to get the ring’s hiding place out of her and then they’d do away with her?
Had Kelly Masters known about the ring and refused to say where it was? Was that why she was killed? And Matt. What about Matt?
I was having dinner with Simon Chase in a few hours. Like I would be able to act natural now.
Maybe I could try to get something out of him about Elise. Where she was, what was going on. No. A dinner date wasn’t going to soften him up enough for him to spill his guts about his crime. Tim’s wire was another idea. It didn’t work with Jeff, but I knew Chase would show up. He wasn’t on the lam.
I dialed Tim’s number but only got voice mail. I left a cryptic message, asking him to call as soon as he could.
I’d been turning the ring over and over in my hand and now slipped it on my finger. It looked good. But how could it not? I remembered that other ring, the one Paul had given me. It was a quarter the size of this, but it had felt bigger. Heavier.
I couldn’t wear the ring. I didn’t want to leave it behind, either. What if Matthew came back and decided to give it another go?
I stuck the ring in my skirt pocket as I went back to the staff room and into the bathroom, changing into my tank top and throwing the poofy shirt on the light table. As I started to go back out, I heard the front door open. Peeking out, I saw Joel lumbering in, his face drawn and tired like Bitsy’s, like mine.
He pulled me into a hug.
“He’s okay,” he said into my hair.
I nodded, carefully extracting myself. “I know. I’m glad. It could’ve been worse.”
Joel shrugged. “That’s the funny thing.”
“What’s funny?”
“Ace said it was more like an accident.”
“Accident how? I mean, his face was all bloody. He had a concussion.”
The Missing Ink: A Tattoo Shop Mystery Page 22
