The Missing Ink

by Karen E. Olson

  The cocktail waitress was still primping when I emerged and surveyed my face in the mirror. It had melted a bit, and I rummaged in my bag, pulling out a small Baggie with some lip gel, blush, foundation, and mascara. My hand caught on the red patent-leather pumps, and I dropped them on the floor.

  “Great shoes,” the waitress said, “but your face is a mess.”

  Nothing like being blunt.

  “Let me help.” She frowned at my Baggie, then washed my face with a wet, cold towel-a real one, not paper-pulling the remains of my makeup off. “Have to start over, sweetheart.”

  Within seconds, she’d put foundation on, then a little blush. She took my mascara wand and expertly created lashes where there had been none. She squirted some hair gel from her own bag and ran it through her fingers and then through my hair, making it spiky. It matched the tats and the rows of silver earrings in my ears, but not the purple silk blouse.

  “I feel like two people,” I said, mostly to myself.

  She laughed. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” I said, holding out my hand. “Brett Kavanaugh.”

  “Robbin Seipold.”

  I took one of my business cards out of my bag and handed it to her. “Robbin, come into the shop and your next tat’s on me. For making me look great for my date.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Really?”

  I held my finger and thumb an inch apart as I smiled. “A small one.”

  “Better than nothing,” she said with a grin. “Lunch date, huh? I’ve got one after work. Rich guy.”

  “Better rich than poor.”

  “This one’s really rich. Runs this place. I brought him a cocktail and we got to talking. And then he asked me out.”

  It had to be Chase. Who else ran this place?

  I kicked off my sandals and stuck my feet into the red shoes, my lunch date even less appetizing now.

  “Hey, Robbin, really, stop in when you want,” I said, eager to get out of there.

  My mood didn’t improve, either, as I approached Giverny.

  Standing just beyond the restaurant entrance was Simon Chase.

  He was arguing with the bald tattooed guy. Matthew.

  Chapter 28

  I hid behind a huge plant in the hall, watching them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, even though I was trying. People were passing me, talking, laughing, interrupting.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I stiffened, turning slowly, not recognizing the voice.

  Chip Manning’s head was cocked to one side, a twitch playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re that tattoo woman. You found Matt yesterday. You saw Elise.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why are you hiding?” He peered past me, not waiting for an answer, then chuckled. “Checking up on Simon?” He stepped closer to me, and I could smell the booze on him, but he wasn’t acting drunk. It might just be left over from yesterday.

  “I’m meeting him for lunch,” I tried to say casually, but it felt like I had a piece of wool wrapped around my tongue.

  “Then why are you spying on him?”

  “I’m not spying on him. I thought I saw something on the ground over here.” I made a stupid show of looking around, then putting my hands up and shrugging. “Guess not.”

  “Elise spied on him, too.”

  A little tidbit of information I hadn’t asked for, but it was interesting all the same. “Really?” I prodded.

  “She was crying when I met her. He broke her heart.”

  I made a little “mmm” sound.

  “And then she fell in love with me. Elise had a habit of falling in love with the wrong men.”

  “Until you.”

  He looked a little startled by that, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him before. “Well, yeah, I guess so, sure.”

  He didn’t sound so sure to me, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Still haven’t found her?”

  His eyes skirted around me, past the plant and over to where Chase was still arguing with Matthew. “No. Police say she could be anywhere.”

  “Not in Vegas anymore?”

  “Might not be.” He was still focused on Chase.

  “Do you have any idea why she left in the first place?”

  His gaze swung back to me, his face dark with rage. “Why would I know that?” And he stormed off, leaving me more than a little confused. What had just happened here?

  I should’ve asked him about Matt, his driver, but I’d lost that chance. I mulled over his comments about Simon Chase and Elise. So he’d broken her heart. He probably broke Kelly’s heart, too. Maybe worse.

  I shivered, and it wasn’t just from the air-conditioning.

  Sister Mary Eucharista was sitting on my shoulder again. She didn’t think it was a good idea to have lunch with Simon Chase, or to have anything to do with him ever again.

  I debated taking her up on her advice. I had no business prying into Simon Chase’s life, running around trying to find out what I could about a missing woman. I had my own business to run.

  But my curiosity was getting the better of me, not to mention my hormones. I watched Simon Chase from my hiding spot and remembered the way his eyes twinkled. Oh, why not. I’d get a nice meal out of it, anyway.

  Just as I decided I’d come out of hiding, Matthew whirled around, his face looking much like Chip’s had just seconds ago. He saw me, his expression changing with the recognition, but just shook his head and walked away. Chase had already gone into the restaurant; he didn’t see me-or Matthew’s reaction to me.

  The entrance to the restaurant had frosted-glass walls with illuminated Monet water lilies reflected on them, sort of like a very upscale and tasteful PowerPoint presentation. I walked in, and the water lily theme was repeated along the far wall, with realistic weeping willow trees adorning the far corners of the room. The ceiling was painted like the sky, with clouds and a hint of sunset. Illusion. It was all about illusion.

  Chase was talking with the maître d’. His face brightened as he saw me, and he lightly touched my shoulder and gave me a kiss on each cheek-very European. I smiled and hoped I didn’t look as flustered as I was. His touch had sent an electric shock through me, despite my resolve to resist his charm.

  This wouldn’t do. I was here to find out if he was a murderer. I couldn’t get all warm and fuzzy just because he turned me on by just looking at me. Granted, it could be argued that the way he looked at me would’ve unnerved any woman.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said softly in my ear, and the warmth of his breath caressed my neck, causing me to again blush.

  I reminded myself about Robbin, how she was going to see him later. That cooled those hot flashes.

  We were seated at a corner table, away from everyone else. The waiter handed me a menu, but before I could take it, Chase took it and gave it back. He didn’t look at me as he said, “I’d like a bottle of Domaine St. Nicolas, 2004. We’ll each have a Caesar salad and the filet.”

  The waiter scurried off, nodding. Looked like dinner for lunch today.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but the wine is a Pinot Noir/ Cabernet Franc blend from Feifs Vendéens in Brem on the coast south of the mouth of the Loire. It’s superb.”

  I had no choice but to believe him. “That’s fine,” I said, sipping my water.

  “And I took a chance that you’re not a vegetarian.”

  “Who could be?” I asked flippantly. His gaze was unnerving me again.

  He leaned back in his chair. “You must think I’m terribly pretentious.”

  “I don’t stereotype,” I said. “Don’t like double standards.”

  “That’s why I like you.”

  If I were in eighth grade, I’d be writing Mrs. Simon Chase over and over on my paper-bag book cover.

  “You like a lot of women,” I said, meeting his eyes.

  He grinned. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

  “Why not?”r />
  “Why not, indeed. So, ask your questions. I’m an open book.”

  I wasn’t so sure. “You like celebrities, actresses. Models. Tattooists.” I let my tongue linger on the last word.

  “You want to ask me about Kelly Masters.”

  “You knew her real name?”

  “That ‘K-C’ business was just that: business. In her personal life, she was Kelly.” He took a deep breath. “So why do you want to talk about her and not Elise?”

  “Elise isn’t dead.” My words surprised even me, but they didn’t faze him.

  “Do we know that?”

  I wasn’t completely sure I’d heard him right. “Know what?”

  “That she’s not dead.”

  What was he implying? Did he know something I didn’t?

  “You were the last to see her alive, I understand,” he said.

  “The last one who’ll admit it.” The banter was putting me off guard. I was comfortable with Chase; he made me feel I could say anything.

  Before I could add more, however, the waiter arrived with the wine. He made a great show of opening it, his hands trembling slightly as he offered a taste to the man who ran the place. Chase lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed, then sipped, swishing the wine around in his mouth before nodding.

  The waiter poured me a glass, then poured more into Chase’s. He left without meeting my eye.

  Chase lifted his glass, and we clinked.

  “To delightful company,” he said, his eyes smoky as his tongue gently licked the rim of the glass. I wanted to be that glass, and he knew it. I was a lousy detective.

  “So when was the last time you saw Kelly?” I asked.

  Chase cupped his glass in his hand, staring at me over the top of it. “Four days ago. She was very much alive.”

  “Did she tell you she was pregnant?”

  The glass wavered slightly. “What?”

  “Did you know Jeff Coleman?”

  “Slimy little bastard,” he said. “But good at his job.” He tipped his glass toward me.

  “He’s the one who sent me over here,” I said. “He was supposed to be here, not me, yesterday.”

  “I suppose he has some explaining to do,” Chase said.

  The salads arrived, perfect crispy Romaine with parmesan shavings and a tangy anchovy dressing.

  “Did you know Matt Powell?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Did Elise know him?”

  “Of course.” He took a sip of wine. “You think Matt was Elise’s lover?”

  “The name fits the tattoo.”

  “So his murder was a little tit for tat?”

  Clever. I nodded. “It would make sense.”

  “So who killed him?”

  I thought about it a second, taking the time to savor my salad. “Chip, maybe.”

  Simon laughed. “He couldn’t kill anyone. He can barely get through a day. I tried to tell Elise…” His voice trailed off.

  “What did you tell Elise?” I asked, fork in the air. “You warned her not to marry Chip? Do you think she got cold feet and ended up here with Matt Powell and decided to marry him instead?” As I spoke, the scenario felt right. Except for one thing. Kelly Masters. “When did Elise meet Kelly?” It wasn’t completely a non sequitur.

  He didn’t indicate that the change of subject bothered him. “As far as I know, they never knew each other.”

  “So they didn’t meet through you?” I tried to read his face, but it showed me nothing.

  “Kelly and I were over a long time ago,” he said. “As were Elise and I.”

  “Did you see Elise when she came to town?” I asked as the waiter took our salad plates away.

  Chase poured more wine for each of us-had I really finished the glass?

  “I haven’t seen Elise in over a year,” he said. “She wouldn’t exactly seek me out.”

  “What happened between you?” I wanted to see if he’d corroborate Chip’s story.

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at me for a few seconds, then, “What happens to any relationship when two people have nothing in common except great sex?”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and he asked another question before I could.

  “Is that what happened with you and Paul Fogarty?”

  I caught my breath. How had he known about Paul?

  He was smiling, his eyes flashing. “You’re not the only one with a computer and resources, you know, Miss Kavanaugh.”

  The filet arrived then, medium-rare, bursting with juices, on a bed of mashed garlic potatoes, the horseradish sauce not overpowering but complementing the meat. I didn’t want to tell him anything about Paul-or our sex life, which was none of his business, thank you very much-but that sabotaged my own questioning. We ate in silence, each sneaking little peeks at each other over our forks.

  We were at an impasse.

  He knew it, too.

  “Dessert?” he asked, pouring more wine.

  “I’m stuffed,” I said. “I need to get back to the shop.” As I said it, I looked at my watch. Two thirty. I was supposed to meet Joel out in the lobby at two. My face gave me away.

  “Do you have a train to catch?”

  I put my napkin on the table next to my plate. “Actually, I really do need to get back. I’m late as it is.” I tried a smile on for size. “I’m the boss. I can’t have my staff doing all the work while I’m out playing.”

  I stood up, and Chase stood up, too, walking around the table and taking my arm, again sending a spark through my skin. His lips brushed my cheek, and I could feel desire rush through my body.

  “I hope we can do this again,” he whispered.

  “I don’t see why not,” I said, my voice tinged with that faux accent. “Thank you for everything.” I didn’t trust myself to look at him before I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair and stumbled on those high heels out of the restaurant. I could feel his eyes on my back the whole time.

  I hadn’t learned much. And I’d forgotten to ask about Matthew.

  I had just reached the lobby when a hand clamped itself hard around my shoulder.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  Chapter 29

  Bruce Manning didn’t bother to disguise his irritation.

  “I was just having lunch,” I said. “Can you take your hand off me?”

  He didn’t move it. “The last time you were here, someone turned up dead. You spoke to my daughter-in-law and she disappeared. I see a pattern.”

  I wasn’t so sure. It was tenuous at best. But his grip was strong, and I was trying not to flinch.

  “Future,” I said.

  “Future what?”

  “She is your future daughter-in-law. She hasn’t married Chip yet.”

  The semantics escaped him as he scowled. “I see you’ve bewitched my manager.”

  Bewitched? What century did he live in?

  “I’m no witch,” I said, twisting my shoulder to try to release his grip.

  “You’re as bad as she was,” he muttered, the pressure tightening and pain shooting through my arm.

  “Who?” I asked when I caught my breath. “Did you hurt Elise, too?”

  “I don’t like your insinuation. I’d like you to stay out of my hotel and casino. I’d like you to tell my manager that you can’t see him anymore. If I see you, I’m going to call the police.” His voice was low, but he kept his face neutral. Anyone watching us probably wouldn’t suspect he was threatening me.

  “You don’t scare me,” I whispered.

  “I should. Now get out.” And as quickly as he’d grabbed me, he released me, my arm dangling by my side.

  I reached up and rubbed my shoulder. It had gone slightly numb. “I’m waiting for someone to pick me up.”

  But Bruce Manning had already dismissed me and walked away-toward Simon Chase, who was watching the whole thing. Manning flicked his hand at Chase, who turned to follow him, but not before I saw his raised eyebrows, a qu
estion as to whether I was all right. I nodded.

  I didn’t care that Bruce Manning was one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. All I cared about was that he’d hurt me, in public. I could try to press charges, but I’d be laughed out of court. I’d be a fool to go up against him; it would be his word against mine.

  Still, I could tell Tim and maybe he’d be able to give me some advice.

  I moved farther into the lobby, glancing around for Joel. I didn’t see him. But I did recognize the woman hovering behind the gigantic spray of flowers.

  Sylvia Coleman.

  “Your young man came to the shop,” Sylvia said when I approached her. “Dear, do you know he’s gay?”

  It took me a second to realize she was talking about Joel. “He’s not my young man.”

  She grinned. “That’s a relief.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  I wondered again about dementia. “Joel. My young man. He was supposed to meet me here.”

  “Oh, yes, dear, I know. He’s in the men’s room.”

  Why was she here? Did Joel bring her? Why had he gone to Murder Ink? We were supposed to go to that Super 8.

  As I was asking myself those questions, he somehow managed to appear without my noticing his approach. “How was lunch? Did you have the filet?”

  I tugged on his arm, asked Sylvia to excuse us a moment, and led him a few feet away. Keeping my voice low, I asked, “What’s going on? Why are you here with Sylvia?”

  “I just thought I’d run past there before I picked you up to see if I could get any more information. She was hanging around, bugging everyone.”

  “So you decided to do them a favor and have her tag along with you so she could bug us?”

  “She said she’d bring us to Jeff.”

  That stopped me. Okay, I could live with this. “He’s not at the Super 8?”

  “No. Why would he be there?” Sylvia’s voice startled me. She’d sneaked up behind us. “It’s not nice to keep secrets,” she admonished me.

  No kidding. But there were a lot of them floating around these days; what was another one?

  “You can take us to him? I really need to talk to him,” I said.

  Sylvia grinned. “He wants to talk to you, too.” She looked up at Joel. “Him, well, not so much.”