The Missing Ink

by Karen E. Olson

  No kidding.

  “Bitsy might know,” Joel offered. “Remember last year she dated that Elvis? The little-person Elvis? I’ll call her.” He pulled out his cell and dialed. I heard him tell Bitsy he was okay, Brett had overreacted, but he needed to ask her if the Elvises in town had a place they hung out. He listened a couple seconds, thanked her, then closed his phone.

  “Got it,” he said. “Let’s take your car. It’s right here. I’m parked all the way over on the other side of the garage and up a couple levels.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Viva Las Vegas.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s a club off the Strip on Charleston. It’s all karaoke, all the time, and it’s all Elvis songs. Bitsy says she’s never seen more Elvises in one place than there.”

  “But it’s a shot in the dark.” The thought of karaoke alone made me shudder; the idea of Elvis karaoke was enough to make me run screaming from the room.

  “It’s the only shot we’ve got.”

  We climbed into my Mustang, and as I maneuvered our way out of the Versailles driveway, I discovered we had another problem.

  The white Dodge Dakota had parked itself on my butt again as we pulled out onto the Strip.

  Chapter 38

  “Lose him,” Joel instructed.

  “Lose him? What are we, on Miami Vice?”

  “This is the Bullitt car, isn’t it?” Joel asked with a tinge of sarcasm. “Wasn’t that the best car chase ever in movies? Steve McQueen on the streets of San Francisco?”

  “Now you want a car chase?” I gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing in the rearview mirror at the Dakota and then through the front windshield at the line of traffic in front of me. “No way. No freakin’ way.”

  “You’re no fun,” Joel muttered, and I could’ve sworn he was serious.

  Joel told me when to turn right and left, and the Dakota was following the directions beautifully. Like he knew where we were heading.

  Either that or I was going so slowly it was much too easy for him.

  For a few seconds I did consider trying to “lose him,” but since I’m a law-abiding citizen who drives the speed limit, I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it.

  It was now around seven o’clock, and the sky had started to change slightly from its daytime look. I hoped it was too early for karaoke, but when we pulled into the parking lot at Viva Las Vegas alongside about a hundred shiny silver motorcycles, I knew there was a party going on inside. We could hear it, too, as we stepped out of the car, no longer in our air-conditioned cocoon. I could even feel it against the bottoms of my feet, the bass thumping like an earthquake. Not that I knew what an earthquake felt like, but it seemed right.

  I glanced around, but the Dakota had disappeared. Maybe the big neon sign advertising KARAOKE TONIGHT had frightened him off. I was sorry I couldn’t hitch a ride and leave this little adventure to Joel.

  And to Bitsy?

  I recognized the silver MINI Cooper as it pulled in behind the Mustang. She got out and scurried toward us.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Bitsy grinned. “I love this place. I’ve always wanted another excuse to come here.”

  “But you could come here anytime.”

  “No one ever wants to come with me, and I can’t call Rick again. Our breakup was pretty hard on him.”

  Bitsy was picky about men and had left two ex-husbands in her wake, as well as more boyfriends than I could keep track of.

  She was already halfway inside the door, and Joel shrugged at me. I sighed. If Simon and Elise didn’t show up here, I didn’t know what I’d do. Because it looked like Bitsy was here for the long run.

  “So Ace is at the shop?” I asked, uncertain I wanted him running the place. He’d never been there alone, or closed up alone, as long as I’d owned the shop.

  Bitsy waved her hand at me as she walked to the bar. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about it. He used to close up all the time when Flip was here and I was going through my second divorce.”

  If Bitsy wasn’t worried, then I knew I shouldn’t be. But it would be a good reason to leave.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Joel whispered, reading my mind. “We’re on a mission. Your mission.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

  We walked down a long hallway, and when my eyes adjusted to the dark interior, I began to notice the decor. The walls were black, speckled with huge movie posters for-what else-Viva Las Vegas, Elvis and Ann-Margret cartoony and frozen in a dance step. Black lights illuminated Joel’s white shirt, turning him into a beacon moving toward the bar. I was still wearing the purple top and white trousers, and I felt like a magician’s trick.

  When we stepped through a black curtain, the cavernous room spread out in front of us, the lights dim, fading everyone to a soft sepia. Maybe they thought we’d look better that way. The red and blue skinny lights hanging over the long, sleek, black marble bar offered a splash of color, but it was more like I was in a cave, expecting to feel the drops from stalactites descending from the ceiling, but instead only the whoosh of air-conditioning came from an unseen vent.

  A stage with a red curtain was across the room, and small, round cocktail tables with chairs sat between the bar and the stage.

  Those things didn’t worry me. It was the clientele. We were the only ones there who were not dressed like Elvis. Even the few women in the room were wearing black wigs, big Elvis sunglasses-despite the low light-and white se quined pantsuits. There must have been fifty Elvises, but a glance around the room told me Simon Chase and Elise Lyon were not among them, unless they, too, were in costume. Somehow I couldn’t see Simon playing dress-up. Elise… well, I didn’t know her, so who knew how she got her rocks off. She did set this meeting up.

  But on the whole, it felt like a big bust.

  I tugged on Joel’s arm; he’d already ordered and handed me a Corona. Bitsy was seated in front of a pink Cosmo the size of a Cadillac. She wore a huge smile as she flirted with the bartender, who seemed captivated. That was the other thing about Bitsy: She didn’t just date little people. She’d had her share of taller men; the last one looked like Aidan Quinn but his voice was higher.

  “Excuse me.”

  I glanced around into the face of one of the ubiquitous Elvises, leering at me as he leaned one elbow on the bar, his body invading my personal space.

  I shook my head. “Not interested,” I said.

  He straightened up. “Not interested in what?”

  “In you.” I couldn’t be more blunt.

  “Excuse me, miss, but I was going to ask if you would like to sign up for karaoke.”

  So sue me for misunderstanding.

  “It’s still a no.” I turned away from him and took a drink from my bottle.

  “I’ll sign up!” Bitsy heaved herself off her bar stool and went over to him, telling him her name and saying she’d be up for singing everything.

  I rolled my eyes at Joel, who grinned.

  “She likes it here,” he said.

  “We’re not here to sing karaoke.”

  “You may not be, but I think she is.”

  The bartender had handed Bitsy her drink over the bar and she carried it, sloshing only slightly, as she followed the karaoke Elvis and his clipboard up toward the stage. This was my worst nightmare.

  “I don’t think I want to stay,” I said.

  “We can’t leave her here alone.”

  “I should go to the shop and check on Ace,” I tried.

  “But then you’d miss Simon Chase.”

  “He’s not coming here. I have no clue where he’s meeting Elise.” I finished off my beer, putting the bottle on the bar. I was about to get up when Joel put his hand on my arm.

  “Don’t be too sure about that,” he said.

  Instinctively, I started to turn to look toward the door, but he said, “Don’t look.”

  It wasn’t as if Simon Chase wouldn�
�t notice us here, since we stuck out like the proverbial sore thumbs.

  “Where is he?” I whispered.

  “He’s going toward the back, toward the restrooms.”

  I slid off the stool.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To the restroom,” I said, seeing Simon’s head bobbing up and down among the Elvises.

  I wasn’t quite sure just what I’d do when I confronted him, but this was a public place, it wasn’t his office, and he couldn’t kick me out. I would wait until Elise showed up.

  When I turned the corner to go down the hall to the restrooms, he was gone. One Elvis brushed past me, but other than him, I didn’t see anyone. I paused when I reached the door to the men’s room, but I didn’t have the guts to push it open. An Elvis walked out, startling me, so I instinctively walked to the ladies’ room door and went in, my thoughts scrambling as to how I’d find Simon and Elise.

  But the question was answered for me as one of the stall doors opened and Elise Lyon came out.

  Chapter 39

  She was adjusting her shirt, not paying attention. I leaned against the sink and folded my arms across my chest.

  “So, fancy meeting you here.”

  Her head whipped up and she got that deer-in-the-headlights look, her mouth forming a perfect “O.” She was faster than me, and she managed to push me aside as she ran out of the restroom, the door slamming back in my face.

  I bounded out into the hall in three strides and crashed right into someone. I stumbled and fell, sprawled on the floor, which was a little sticky and smelled like booze.

  A hand reached down, and as it pulled me up, I looked right into Simon Chase’s face.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  “I told you not to follow me,” he said.

  I shrugged, smoothing out my trousers, which now had streaks of dirt on them, and my hands were speckled with whatever was on the floor, tacky against the material. I wanted to go wash up, but I had a feeling that wasn’t in his plan.

  “I didn’t. I’m here for the karaoke,” I said more defiantly than I felt at the moment.

  I did see a smile then, trying to come out, tugging at the corners of his mouth, but he kept it at bay. “You don’t seem the karaoke type.”

  No kidding, but I had to keep this up now. “My friends and I, well, we’re all signed up.”

  Simon took my arm and began to lead me back down the hall toward the music, which got louder and louder as we approached.

  “I’d like to see how you do,” he said, not looking at me, which was a good thing because I was in full panic mode.

  I hadn’t sung since I was forced to be in the choir in high school. And then I’d been kicked out by Sister Mary Eucharista, who proclaimed I had a “tin ear” and I was “ruining the joyful noise.”

  I was going to be ruining more than that if I got up onstage.

  “I have to talk to Elise,” I said. “Didn’t you see her?”

  Simon stopped short, and I bumped into him.

  “No. And you didn’t, either.” His eyes were dark, but instead of scary dark, they were searching mine, seemingly trying to tell me something telepathically.

  Sadly, my telepathic powers were lacking. Much like my musical talent.

  “What’s going on with her? Why is she running?” I asked.

  He just shook his head and jerked on my arm, pulling me forward again.

  I couldn’t tell if Simon Chase was a bad guy or a good guy. Was he helping Elise? Was that why she called him? Or was she calling him to confront him about what was going on?

  We stepped back out into the bar, and I glanced over at the stage. Bitsy was singing her heart out, blue suede shoes and all that, accompanied by an Elvis who had to be at least six-four.

  “Your friend is good,” Simon said thoughtfully.

  A thought slammed into my brain. How did he know Bitsy was my friend? He’d met Joel, but not Bitsy. She’d been dissed by the TV people, so he couldn’t have seen her during the 20/20 segment. Where else would he have seen her?

  I looked around for Joel. Second time in twenty-four hours that a three-hundred-pound man had disappeared. Made me wonder if David Copperfield wasn’t in town.

  The Elvis with the clipboard was checking with everyone to see if they wanted to sing. He took one look at me and started to pass, but Simon stopped him.

  “She wants to sing,” he said, his face daring me to contradict him.

  The Elvis nodded. “They always come around in the end. How about next?”

  One glance at the clipboard told me no one was drunk enough to sign up yet, except for Bitsy. Lucky me.

  Simon handed me over, and I didn’t even toss a look back at him. I’d have to just get this over with.

  “What will you sing?” the Elvis asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “What song do you know?”

  I thought a little, and the only Elvis song title I could think of was “Jailhouse Rock,” but who knew what it sounded like? I told him the song, and he grinned.

  “Great choice.”

  Bitsy was startled when she stepped off the stage and saw me being escorted up. I shrugged at her. I couldn’t think of any way to get out of this.

  The Elvis handed me a microphone and showed me the screen where I’d read the words to sing, “just in case you forget them.” Just in case.

  The music started, and I had no idea where to jump in, so I just started singing, if that’s what you could call it. My heart was pounding, and I needed a Xanax in the worst way. Fortunately the lights prevented me from seeing the audience, which started to boo about two lines into the song. I wanted it to be like The Gong Show, and someone would hook me around the waist and drag me offstage. But that didn’t happen. I got through the whole song, the booing and hissing aside, and when I stopped, applause broke out.

  Probably because it was over.

  I rushed offstage, tripping over my own feet as I went down the steps, scanning the room for Simon Chase, but he was gone. Great. He made me suffer my worst humiliation and took off on me.

  As my eyes adjusted back to the light in the bar, I saw one person who hadn’t taken off yet.

  Elise was at the end of the bar.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  Matthew, Kelly Masters’s brother, was behind her, his hands on her shoulders as they went toward the black curtain.

  Chapter 40

  When I’d first heard his name, I had wondered if Matthew was Elise’s Matthew, but he seemed like too much of a square peg for that round hole. Matt Powell was much of more likely, especially since he was close to Chip and, by extension, Elise, and then, of course, there was the little fact that he had that tat on his chest.

  But maybe, just maybe, that ink had been done after he’d already been dead. How else to explain the gloves and needle in the bathroom?

  I had multiple Matthews, although the Elvises still outnumbered them.

  Elise saw me.

  She twisted around, her eyes wide with fear. Matthew’s head swiveled up toward me, and a grimace crossed his face. He turned his attention back to Elise, pushing her now.

  I remembered what Bruce Manning said on CNN when Elise first went missing: He suspected she didn’t leave of her own accord, that there might have been another party involved.

  This backed up that theory.

  I shoved my way through the Elvises and some other ordinarily dressed people who’d come in since we’d arrived for a little karaoke. Behind me, the music started, and another singer-and I use the term loosely-began warbling “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” Something about the voice made me pause. I stopped to see if I was right.

  It was Joel, belting out the song as best he could. Which wasn’t saying much. Although I certainly wasn’t one to judge.

  Our little excursion had brought out the inner Elvis in my staff. Who knew?

  I didn’t have time to ponder this, however, since Elise and Matthew were already a
few minutes ahead of me. I bounded through the black curtain, momentarily distracted by the darkness, but the door opened, letting in a streak of light, and I followed it, like you’re supposed to.

  The motorcycles still filled most of the parking lot, and one was speeding out toward the main road. Two people. A man and a woman. No helmets. Who had told me Matthew was a biker? They were too far away for me to say for sure whether it was Matthew and Elise.

  I saw my Mustang in the lot and considered my options. If I left Joel here with Bitsy, there was no way he’d fit into that little MINI Cooper of hers. He’d give me a lot of crap over that.

  As I debated, the motorcycle was getting smaller and smaller, farther and farther away.

  There was no way I could catch up to it.

  I heard Springsteen.

  It took a second for me to realize it was my cell phone in the bottom of my bag. I swung it around and dug around inside until I found the phone, checking the name on the front and flipping the top up.

  “Hey, there,” I said to my brother.

  “You never got back to me.”

  “About what?”

  A heavy sigh. “About the tattoo. Did you get the pictures in your e-mail?”

  Oh, yeah, right. “Sorry. I’ve been a little busy.”

  “So?”

  “Listen, there’s something you should know.” I paused. How to approach this? Straight out would be a good idea. “Elise Lyon is alive. I just saw her.”

  “Where?” I could practically feel his blood pressure go up over the phone.

  “Viva Las Vegas. You know the place?”

  “You’re there? Why on earth would you go there?”

  I considered telling him the truth: that I’d gotten locked in Simon Chase’s office, heard Elise’s message, then hightailed it over here because Bitsy was on the inside when it came to Elvis. But it sounded a little deranged. So I settled for, “Bitsy wanted to come to karaoke night. I saw Elise in the ladies’ room, but she left in a hurry. With Kelly Masters’s brother. Matthew.”

  Silence. So long that I thought I might have lost the connection.

  “Hello?”