The Missing Ink (9 page)
Authors: Karen E. Olson
Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Crime, #Chick-Lit, #Contemporary
They’d set up a chair for her across from the couch, and I settled in, jostling the black box at my waist a little. I shifted so I wouldn’t lean against it, acutely aware that I couldn’t slouch, trying to keep my back ramrod straight.
“Don’t look directly into the camera,” she advised.
I had no intention of looking at it at all.
Alison Cho had no issues with looking at the camera, though.
“Today we’re speaking with Brett Kavanaugh, owner of The Painted Lady tattoo shop in Las Vegas, where Elise Lyon was last seen alive.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, and it made me shiver.
Alison swung her head around and looked me straight in the eye. “What was her demeanor that night? Did she seem well? Or agitated?”
“She was fine. Relaxed.”
The voice that came out of my mouth didn’t sound like mine; rather, it was like I was somewhere else and hearing myself through a tunnel. My heart was pounding, and I hoped I wasn’t sweating through the purple top.
“She came in for a devotion tattoo, correct?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“Please explain what that is.”
“It’s a tattoo that has the name of a loved one on it. Kelly—I mean Elise—wanted the name in a heart with two clasped hands.” Maybe more information than anyone needed, but Alison seemed interested.
“She made an appointment for the tattoo?” she prompted.
I nodded again. “For the next day. But she didn’t show up.”
“And no one saw her again,” she said ominously to the camera. “We have a copy of the devotion tattoo Elise Lyon requested,” she said, holding up the sketch I’d drawn. Elise’s original drawing was still in my bag, where I’d put it before heading to Murder Ink last night.
I instinctively glanced at Bitsy, who was frowning. She probably gave the sketch to the producer, thinking he’d put her on camera, and then he screwed her.
But Bitsy wasn’t the only one getting screwed.
Chip Manning was, too.
Because the camera zoomed in on my sketch. Complete with the “Matthew” inside the heart.
Alison Cho didn’t notice. She put the piece of paper in her lap and thanked me for my time.
It was over.
I stood up, trying to yank the mike and wire off my person, and was happy to see the producer come over to me. I assumed he’d help me out, but his mouth was set in a grim line.
“That drawing. It was the wrong one.”
Alison’s head snapped back. “What?”
“It was the wrong drawing.” He looked at Bitsy, who’d come up next to me. “Why didn’t you give me the right one? Was it because we didn’t put you on camera?”
So Bitsy’s attitude had not gone unnoticed.
From the look on her face, I could see she was going to say something she’d probably regret, so I jumped in. “It was the right one.”
His gaze moved from Bitsy to me. “But it said Matthew. Not Chip, or even Bruce.”
“That’s right.” I met his stare.
“You mean she wanted a tattoo with another man’s name on it?” Alison was justifiably curious, her journalistic instincts kicking into full gear.
I took a page from Tim’s playbook. “No comment,” I said.
Alison Cho looked like she’d just landed an interview with Osama bin Laden. “Do the police know about this?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I can’t say anything else.”
Alison turned to the producer. “Get the police spokesman on the phone. We need to get over there now and find out what this is about.” She looked at me one last time. “This is your chance to have another few minutes on TV.”
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.”
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’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.
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.
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