I tossed the black box to the producer. “I didn’t want the ones I just had.”
She smiled. “Suit yourself. Thank you for your time, and for letting us disrupt your business.”
She was nice, I had to give her that, but I was glad when they were all gone and the shop was quiet.
“Do you think they’ll get anything out of the police?” Ace asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. Maybe the cops will want the media’s help in finding her, and this was a pretty interesting clue.” I thought about the two Matthews again. If I’d found out about them so easily, then it wouldn’t take the police long, either.
Ace and Bitsy moved the furniture back to where it belonged, and I grabbed the Ann Taylor bag. I needed to change before my first client came in. I didn’t want to risk getting ink on my new trousers.
I had to admit that I was liking them. I wondered how they’d look on TV tonight.
Just as I was about to go into the bathroom to change, the phone rang on the front desk. Bitsy was in the staff room with Ace and Joel, so I picked it up.
“The Painted Lady,” I said.
“Kavanaugh?” I recognized Jeff Coleman’s voice.
“Yeah? What do you want?”
“I really thought I could trust you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a good thing I’ve got better friends than you, friends who look out for me.”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t point out that we weren’t exactly friends.
“Cops. They’ve got a warrant. They want to arrest me in Kelly’s murder.”
Chapter 15
“Where are you, Jeff?” I asked.
“No need for you to know that.”
“I didn’t say anything. I haven’t even seen my brother since yesterday morning,” I said. He didn’t have to know I might have told Tim if I’d seen him.
Jeff was quiet a moment, then, “There’s something going on.”
“No kidding.”
“Someone’s setting me up. I heard the cops found my fingerprints in that car, the rental car. Couldn’t have. I haven’t seen Kelly. Didn’t know she was in town.”
“I believe you, Jeff.” I didn’t know what else to say. And strangely enough, I did believe him.
“There’s something else, Kavanaugh.”
I didn’t like it that he called me by my last name, but he was a man on the run, so could I take that away from him?
“What is it?”
“That rich bitch? Guess the cops also want to talk to me about her.”
“But I thought you hadn’t met her.”
“They found her driver’s license with Kelly.”
“I saw that on the news.”
“What’s going on, Kavanaugh? You show up at my shop last night and my whole world collapses. You’re bad news.”
“It’s not my fault,” I insisted. “Listen, Jeff, what can I do to help? Want me to talk to Tim? Where are you?”
He was so quiet I’d thought he hung up for a second, then, “There might be something you can do. But it’s not talking to the cops.”
I was afraid to press him, to find out what he wanted me to do. I shouldn’t have been so generous, but it just slipped out. The sisters had taught us to be magnanimous to those who were in need.
Sister Mary Eucharista would’ve taken one look at Jeff Coleman and let me off the hook.
He wasn’t about to let me off the hook, however.
“I need you to cover for me.”
I wasn’t liking the idea of this.
“Cover what?” I asked when he hesitated.
“I’ve got a high-profile client who won’t come to the shop. He wants Mick Jagger’s tongue on his ass. I’m supposed to be there at three. For obvious reasons, Kavanaugh, I can’t be. But you can. I’ll split the fee with you fifty-fifty.”
“Why don’t you just cancel?” Seemed reasonable to me.
“You don’t cancel this guy. He won’t call again if I do. He’s paying a cool grand. It’s easy money, Kavanaugh.”
“Jeff, that’s highway robbery. That Rolling Stones logo’s got to be one of the easiest tats ever.”
“He doesn’t care. So I don’t care. Will you do it?”
“Why me? Why not one of your staff?”
“Because the cops are watching the shop. I don’t want them following anyone to this guy.”
My curiosity was piqued. “Who is he? Howard Hughes?”
When Jeff told me who it was, a shiver ran up my spine. But not in a bad way. I couldn’t say no.
“Where and when?”
He chuckled. “Knew you’d do it. Versailles. That new resort, the big one.”
“I know it.”
“The Marie Antoinette Suite. Three o’clock.”
I hadn’t taken my equipment anywhere in a long time and wondered whether I had a proper case for it. “Sure, okay,” I said. “Can I just go up there?”
“He’ll be expecting you. Just tell the guy at the desk that you’re Minnie to see Mickey.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Serious as murder.”
I cringed, but didn’t argue. “Will you be okay?” I asked.
“Sure, don’t worry. And thanks, Kavanaugh. I knew I could count on you.”
He hung up without saying good-bye.
Bitsy was staring at me.
“Who was that?”
“Jeff Coleman.”
“That scumbag?”
“His ex-wife was Kelly Masters.”
Bitsy’s mouth formed a perfect “O.” I touched her chin and pushed up, closing her mouth.
“Why’s he calling you?” Bitsy wanted to know.
I didn’t want to tell her that I’d made a visit to Jeff’s shop last night. “He knows Tim’s a cop. He wanted to know if I had any inside scoop on her murder.” As I said it, I wished I did. “Oh, by the way, do we have any sort of bag or case I can use for my equipment? Got a house call at three.”
Bitsy’s eyebrows shot so far up her forehead I thought they’d go into orbit. “What? I don’t know anything about that.”
“A friend of a friend,” I lied easily. “Sorry, forgot to tell you.”
Ace overheard our conversation. “I’ve got a case you can use,” he said. “Used to do parties. It’s under my table. I’ll get it for you.”
He sauntered off, and I asked Bitsy to stock the case while I was with my next client, who walked in just at that moment, letting me off the hook-but not for long.
I was in the middle of a Cinderella castle on the back of the client’s thigh when the door to my room opened slightly, Tim leaning around it. His shoulders were stiff in the sport jacket, his mouth set in a grim line. He caught my eye and cocked his head to indicate that I should come out.
“I need a couple minutes,” I told the girl in front of me as I peeled off the latex gloves. “You want a soda or anything?”
She was texting someone on her phone and shook her head.
Joel mouthed, What’s up? as I passed him, and I shrugged as I followed Tim into the staff room. He shut the door behind me.
“What do you know about Jeff Coleman?”
“Hi, hello, nice to see you for the first time in two days,” I said, eager to put off this conversation, especially since I could feel my hands start to get clammy.
I wasn’t a good liar.
He relaxed slightly, but kept his hands on his hips. “Sorry, but I’ve been pretty busy. I need to know what you know about Coleman. He’s got a shop up near Fremont, and you always seem to know everyone.”
As he said it, I realized it was true. I was never Miss Popular, but I always managed to keep up on who was who in the worlds I traveled in. It was always good to know who your enemies were, as well as your friends.
“Yeah, I know Coleman. He’s a jerk.” I said it too loud, and Tim came so close our noses were almost touching.
“Do you know where he is?”
I didn
’t have to lie this time. “No. Should I?”
“He was married to Kelly Masters.”
I hoped I had what looked like surprise all over my face.
“You don’t look like that’s news to you,” Tim accused.
So it was more like egg on my face. Figured.
“I might have heard something,” I admitted.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
I shook my head, forcing myself to keep calm, even though my heart was pounding. “Not sure,” was all I could spit out.
He didn’t believe me. So he tossed his cards on the table.
“Coleman’s fingerprints were found on a gun in that rental car where we found Kelly Masters’s body last night.”
“Really?” It had been on the news that she’d been shot. Jeff hadn’t said anything about his gun at the scene. My surprise was genuine this time. But Tim wasn’t finished.
He threw the ace down.
“And we found traces of blood that match Elise Lyon’s blood type in the backseat.”
Chapter 16
Another little bit of information that Jeff neglected to mention when he called. Unless he didn’t know. I’d checked the caller ID after I hung up with him, but the number registered as restricted. I had no way of getting in touch with him to find out if he was messing around with me.
“So, was Kelly Masters shot with that gun?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I waited for more, but nothing else came. My thoughts ran around like a border collie in a field of sheep. “You’re sure it’s Coleman’s gun?”
“It’s registered to him.”
“Why would he kill her with his own gun and then leave it there? I mean, the guy’s not Ivy League or anything, but he’s not stupid, either.” Maybe whoever did kill her was framing Jeff, like he said. “And what does that mean? You found traces of blood?”
“What do you think it means?”
“So do you think Elise Lyon was shot, too?”
His expression told me his patience was wearing thin, but nothing more.
“Why are you here, then?” I asked. “Why aren’t you out looking for Jeff Coleman?”
He ran his hand through his short hair, exasperated. “I thought maybe you might know where he hangs out.”
“Oh, because he’s in my crowd? Because we’re both tattooists, we must hang out together? Tim, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not a club. We’re just business owners. Yeah, we run into each other from time to time, but I can’t stand the guy.” All of this was true, so I didn’t have to feel guilty about any of it.
Tim sank down onto the chair next to the light table, wringing his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that there’s a lot of pressure on this one. You know, with the media, Bruce Manning, we’re under the gun.” Considering the situation, that might not be the best phrasing, but I opted not to mention that.
I pulled Bitsy’s stool over and sat next to him. “I don’t mean to get on your case. I’m sorry, too. But I don’t really know how I can help you. I don’t know where Jeff is.”
“We’ve got a warrant.”
“I know.”
The words were out before I could take them back. Tim frowned.
“How do you know that?”
I tried to be nonchalant. “Word gets around, you know.”
“No, Brett, it doesn’t. Unless you have friends in high places, and as far as I know, I’m as high up as your friends go. Who did you hear it from?”
I couldn’t keep this going. I just didn’t like Jeff enough. “He called me.”
“When?”
“A little while ago. He said he was in trouble, asked me to take a client of his he couldn’t cancel. I said okay.” And the more I thought about it, the more I felt like I’d made a deal with the devil. But I couldn’t turn down the cash. Or the client. I mean, any woman would want the job.
“Where was he?”
“I don’t know, and before you ask, his number was listed as restricted on the caller ID.”
Tim had gone all rigid, ready to pounce out of his chair toward the phone at the front desk. He relaxed slightly, but he was still on alert. Like the way a cat is when the bird flies away, but maybe, just maybe, it’ll be back.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting here asking you about this and you talked to him but you won’t tell me until I trip you up. You’re not hiding anything, are you?” His face was dark, and I recognized his expression. The last time he’d looked like this was when Mary Ellen Judson had messed around with his best friend, Aidan, but pretended nothing had happened even when he asked her about it, even after Aidan had told him about it.
Sister Mary Eucharista knew the power of guilt. It was kicking my butt.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, not making eye contact.
“If he calls again, I need to know. You need to get some information out of him.”
So now I was a narc. Sort of. “Sure.” I got up. “I’ve got to finish that tat out there.”
Tim and my guilt followed me out of the staff room.
“Oh, and don’t talk to any media again. That Leigh Holmes snippet made it onto the cable networks.”
Bitsy was on the phone, jotting down an appointment, but as Tim spoke, she glanced up at me. I knew what she was thinking, and I had to tell Tim.
“Uh, Tim, you’re a little late with that,” I said.
He took a deep breath. “Why don’t you just tell me everything, Brett? Why do you make me pull it out of you?”
“That thing for 20/20, remember? I told you they were coming. They were already here. Not a couple of hours ago. They’re doing a piece tonight on Elise Lyon’s disappearance.”
He looked like he’d just gotten off a ship after a two-week cruise and couldn’t get his balance. “What?”
“20/20-”
“I heard you. What sorts of questions did they ask?”
“It really wasn’t a big deal,” I said quickly. “It was some reporter named Alison Cho. She just asked about Elise’s visit here.”
“But she showed the drawing,” Bitsy piped up. Lucky for me, she’d just gotten off the phone. Right.
“What drawing?” Tim looked at Bitsy, knowing she’d give him the straight answers he’d been looking for from me.
“The devotion tat Brett was going to do.” Bitsy’s eyes skipped from Tim to me and back again.
“What is it?” he asked, and I shook my head behind him, trying to tell her to stop right there.
Bitsy has a problem with keeping secrets. She can’t. So no one usually tells her anything they don’t want spread around. That’s why when she said, “You know, how it said Matthew and not Chip,” I wasn’t totally surprised.
Tim whipped around to face me again. “That’s going to be on TV? Why didn’t you just tell her it was the wrong one?”
“I said no comment.” I cocked my head at Bitsy. “But Ms. Truth Teller here couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
Tim looked like he was about to explode. “If anyone here,” he said loudly, “talks to the media or anyone else besides me about Elise Lyon again, I swear I will find a way to arrest you.”
And then he walked out.
“What’s up his butt?” Joel called out from his room.
“Nothing,” I said, and headed back to Castle Girl.
Because of Tim’s visit, I barely finished the ink in time before I had to go to Versailles to cover for Jeff. I grabbed the case that Bitsy had put together for me.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Yeah, just what is this mysterious job you’ve got?” Joel had sneaked up behind me, as much as a three-hundred-pound man can sneak up on anyone.
I’d been busting at the seams to tell someone, and I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. This was too good not to share.
“Jeff Coleman asked if I could fill in for him with a client who doesn’t want to go to his shop.”
“Why can’t he do it?” Joe
l asked.
“Because he’s on the lam,” Bitsy said, then immediately put her hand over her mouth.
“You were eavesdropping,” I accused her.
“Wouldn’t you?” Bitsy asked through her hand.
She had me there.
“Okay.” I sighed, and I told them who the client was.
Joel’s body rocked slightly, as if he were about to swoon. Exactly how I’d felt when Jeff told me, and I had no idea how I’d react once I actually had the man’s bare butt under my fingertips. I hoped the sweat from my hands wouldn’t seep through my gloves and cause the machine to slip. That was all I needed, to make a mistake on the guy’s ass. Granted, it wasn’t exactly in a spot where he’d notice.
“I have to go now,” I said, pushing my way past Ace and out into the mall.
In the parking garage elevator, I was sandwiched between an elderly woman in a bright pink velour sweat suit-didn’t anyone tell her it was a hundred degrees outside?-and a guy who looked like he was on his way to a Young Republicans meeting, complete with a three-piece navy pin-striped suit, red tie, and buzz cut. And they looked at me like I was the freak.
When I stepped out of the elevator, though, I started to freak. Quietly. To myself. Because the big, bald, tattooed guy in the sleeveless jean jacket was leaning against a concrete pillar about halfway to my car.
Chapter 17
The pink sweat suit and the Young Republican slipped past me, going in the opposite direction. I didn’t want to face this guy in a parking garage by myself. I didn’t want to seem afraid, either, even though he could probably smell my fear, mixed with exhaust, from here.
I could just pretend I forgot something and get back in the elevator. I could use the case as a weapon. I wondered whether Bitsy had packed it in such a way so that if I had to swing it at him, my stuff would be okay.
I could just ask him what he wanted, why he was watching me. But while I could confront Willis, the cop, outside my shop, that was clear-cut. He was a cop. I knew cops. I felt comfortable around them.
Sure, this was a big tattooed guy. Not like I hadn’t encountered one of them before, either. Not like I hadn’t inked one of them myself.
The Missing Ink Page 7
