Our neighborhood was dark and quiet when we pulled into the street. The front of the house was a gray shadow. When we turned into the driveway, the headlights illuminated the banana yuccas in the front near the door.
The garage door was gaping open.
Tim slammed his brakes on, and I was glad I wasn’t following too closely. I watched him scramble out of the Jeep. I was close on his heels.
We stood, looking into the garage, but nothing looked out of place, and I didn’t notice anything missing. We exchanged a look, and Tim motioned with his hand that I should stay behind him as he pulled his gun out of his hip holster and crept toward the door that led into the house.
I noticed now that that door was open, too. He put out his hand and mouthed, “Stay here.” I didn’t much like the idea of staying in the open, dark garage, but I could see his point. So I stayed as he disappeared into the house.
A few minutes later, I saw the lights flicker on and heard Tim’s voice as he spoke into the phone. I scurried into the house, which didn’t look any the worse for wear. Maybe whoever had broken in had heard us drive up and took off before taking anything. I started toward the back of the house and my bedroom, but Tim actually reached out and took my arm, keeping me from going farther. He hung up the phone.
“Don’t go down there.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s wrong down there?” I asked, my voice sounding as though I were talking in a tunnel.
“You can’t go down there,” Tim said, his jaw tight.
I broke away from him and ran down the hall. I stood in the doorway to my bedroom and felt my chest constrict. A plastic pink flamingo sat on top of my bed, which was splashed with what looked like blood.
Chapter 32
“It’s red paint, Brett,” Tim said, but it was cold comfort. Moving out had totally seemed like a great idea, but now the thought of living alone scared the daylights out of me.
“Who would do this?” I asked, staring at the flamingo, which wore a rhinestone tiara. That looked familiar. “Those kids. At the arena. They had one of those, with a tiara on it,” I whispered.
Tim’s head was bobbing up and down. “Okay, good, that’s good to know. We got their names and statements about what happened over there, so maybe we can track this down.”
Hated to play devil’s advocate here, but it struck me: “What if the one who did this left? Left before giving a statement?”
For a split second, I saw something cross his face that indicated he’d had the same thought, but then his expression shifted into neutral.
“We’ll get him,” he said simply as he put his phone to his ear and went back to the living room.
I couldn’t stop looking at it. But I couldn’t go any farther than the doorway. No way was I going in there. Not even to make sure it was red paint and not blood. And not only because the cops would be coming in here to dust for prints and do all that stuff cops do when investigating a crime scene.
Tim reappeared at my side and I jumped.
“Sorry,” he said. “How about calling Bitsy and seeing if you can crash over there tonight?”
Best idea he’d had in ages. “Don’t you need me to make a statement or something?”
He shook his head. “No. I think you’d better go somewhere safe.”
His tone made me take pause. Somewhere safe? As though I wasn’t safe here, in my own house? He was back on the phone now, disappearing again. It was like a bad magic trick.
I took a deep breath and pulled my bag around my shoulder, where it still hung. I stuck my hand in, finding my phone and flipping it open.
“What’s wrong?” Bitsy sounded like she was wide awake, thank goodness. I hadn’t wanted to wake her.
I told her what happened. “Tim wondered if you couldn’t put me up for the night,” I said.
“No problem, no problem. Are you coming now?”
I realized I didn’t want to drive. I didn’t want to get in my car and drive over there. Because whoever had done this could follow me, like that person who posted those pictures on the blog had followed me.
“Yes, as soon as I can,” I said, figuring I’d ask Tim if he could get me a police escort. I hung up and found him putting his phone on the table in the kitchen. The sound of sirens echoed in the distance.
“My ride?” I asked, trying to joke, but not really succeeding.
He came over and put his arm around me, pulling me to him and hugging me tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We’ll get him, whoever he is.”
I knew he would. This was his house, too, which meant even though I was the one with the red paint on my bed, this was personal for him, too.
“Coleman’s coming to bring you to Bitsy’s,” he said when he pulled away. “I would take you, but I need to be here.”
Jeff? “But he went home,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tim said. “He’s glad to do it.”
I settled into the Pontiac and strapped the seat belt around me. Jeff hadn’t said much, even though Tim showed him the mess in my bedroom. I watched his profile as he pulled out of the driveway.
“You’ll have to tell me where she lives,” he said.
Bitsy’s condo was down past the university. I gave him the address, and we drove in silence. I tried not to think about what was going on, but it was swirling in my head, threatening to turn me into a crazy person.
“You’re not okay, are you?” Jeff asked, breaking the silence.
I shook my head. “Not really.” I had another thought. “How did he know where I live?” My heart started to beat faster.
Jeff was watching me out of the corner of his eye as he drove. “You should take a few days off. Maybe get out of town.”
I didn’t want to run away. I didn’t want to abandon my business to my employees who pulled more than their own weight. I couldn’t look like a coward. Even though it was an incredibly appealing idea at the moment.
I heard him chuckle. “I guess that would be too much to ask of you,” he said, reading my mind.
I didn’t really want to talk anymore. I wanted to get to Bitsy’s and see if I could sleep a little.
Once we got there, Joel was hovering in the doorway to welcome me. He pulled me into a big bear hug before I could even say hello. When he finally stepped back, he grinned. “We’re going to have a sleepover.”
I appreciated the thought. That my friends were here for me. But it wouldn’t make everything go away.
Jeff dropped the small overnight bag that Tim had packed for me on the floor. Bitsy picked it up and disappeared down the hall. Joel looked from me to Jeff, then mumbled something about a glass of wine and went toward the kitchen. Jeff and I stood, facing each other, that weird awkwardness back.
“You’re in good hands,” Jeff said.
Why was everyone treating me like I was some sort of china objet d’art that would crash to the ground and break into tiny pieces?
Oh, right. Because that’s the way I felt.
I took a deep breath and tried a smile on for size. I’m not sure it worked, because Jeff took a step closer, his expression unreadable. I wanted him to crack a joke, call me by my last name, tell me to stop being so serious all the time.
Anything except what he did next.
He kissed me. Right there. Right in Bitsy’s hallway.
His lips were warm and soft and nothing like I ever would’ve imagined, if I’d ever imagined something like this happening. I closed my eyes and felt his hands settle gently around my waist, pulling me closer.
I let him.
I kissed him back.
I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it was the surprise of it all. Maybe it was because it felt good. Because he made me feel safe.
Slowly the kiss changed; it became a little more urgent, more passionate, and I felt myself slipping away, losing myself in it.
When he finally pulled away, I couldn’t catch my breath. But in a really good way. I opened my eyes, almost surprised t
o see it had been Jeff Coleman who’d made me feel that kiss in all the right places, all the way to my toes. He stepped away, the familiar grin back. “See ya, Kavanaugh,” he said jovially, as if that kiss had never happened. As if it was somehow all mixed up in my head with the flamingo with the tiara on it, two things that were just too weird to even be based in reality.
And then he went through the door and was gone.
I stood there for a few minutes, not quite sure what to think.
Bitsy, however, was not at such a loss.
“It’s about time,” she said flatly, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “Come on. Joel’s got the wine poured.”
If I hadn’t been a total mess before that kiss, now I really was. Because I couldn’t make sense out of it. I allowed myself to be led into the living room and given a glass of red wine. I hardly tasted it.
Bitsy noticed.
“Don’t get nuts about this, Brett,” she said. “I mean, we’ve all known for a long time how you two felt about each other.”
I finally found my voice. “But how do we feel? I mean, we’re friends. This isn’t right. Why did he do that?”
“Because the man’s been in love with you since the get-go, that’s why,” Joel spoke up. “You’ve just been too stupid to notice.”
Stupid. Yes, because I still didn’t buy it. “He just wanted to distract me,” I tried. “From everything that’s been going on.” I remembered how he’d said he wouldn’t have sat around and let a woman he was interested in go out with other men. This was a ruse. It had to be.
Bitsy’s phone rang, and she picked up the handset off the coffee table. “Hello? Oh, hi, Tim.” She listened for a few minutes, then put the phone down and reached for a laptop on the side table.
“What’s up?” Joel asked, replenishing everyone’s wine.
She shook her head and pointed to the screen. It was Ink Flamingos again. I looked away. I didn’t want to see anything else.
Joel caught his breath, and curiosity took over. I leaned in and took a peek.
Another picture. This time it was of the flamingo on my bed.
Chapter 33
“Okay, so we know that whoever took this picture and is posting on this blog is the one who put that flamingo there,” Bitsy said.
“But who is it?” Joel asked. “Who could get into their house?”
That was a question that had been swirling around in my head since I’d seen the garage door open. The only person I knew who’d ever broken into our house was Jeff. But it couldn’t be Jeff. Could it?
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud.
Bitsy and Joel frowned.
“Jeff wouldn’t do that,” Joel said.
“I didn’t think he’d ever kiss me, either,” I said.
“It’s stupid to even think it,” Bitsy said, taking a sip of her wine. “No, it’s someone who’s close, though.”
“Why is someone trying to scare me? Why is someone trying to pin Daisy’s murder on me?” I asked.
As I spoke, I realized that those were the key questions. If we could figure out who had it in for me, then we’d have our murderer. At least I’d hope so. Problem was, I didn’t think I’d made anyone angry enough so they’d try to frame me like this. Except maybe Tim. But he wouldn’t do it. He was my brother. And a cop.
As I started thinking about people close to me, I disregarded Bitsy and Joel, who were sitting here with me, Bitsy now unwrapping a hunk of cheese and putting out crackers.
What about Ace? Which reminded me. . .
“You guys know Ace is moonlighting?” I asked.
“Doing what?” Joel asked.
“Tattoo parties, I think.”
“Why would he do that?” Joel asked, slicing off some cheese and sticking it on a cracker. So much for his diet. I thought about the cheese and crackers we’d had earlier at the shop and felt guilty for enabling him.
“What are you talking about, Brett?” Bitsy asked, pouring more wine.
I told them how I’d seen Ace meet up with Harry, and he’d had his case with him.
“But why would you think he’s doing parties?” Joel asked.
I’d forgotten to tell them what Jeff found out. “Harry does tattoo parties. He’s not completely unemployed, like he’s told us.”
Bitsy and Joel frowned.
“You mean, he’s been lying to us?” Bitsy asked.
I nodded. “Seems that way. I noticed he had a lot of money on him last night when we were out, and Jeff asked around, found out.”
“He’s a tattooist?” Joel asked, incredulous.
I told them Harry’s history with Jeff. “But I didn’t realize Ace knew, and clearly he didn’t tell either of you, either,” I finished.
We all mulled that a few minutes as we ate our cheese and drank our wine in silence. And then we all looked up at the same time.
“Ace is close,” Joel whispered, voicing what we were all thinking. “He knows everything about you. He knew everything about Daisy, because she always came to the shop. He’s a tattooist. He knew Daisy was allergic. Daisy might have trusted him.”
I didn’t even want to think about it. I couldn’t think about it. It was absurd.
Wasn’t it?
“You both know him better than I do. He’s kept his distance with me, but I’d only thought it was because he still thought I was an outsider. Because you all had been working for Flip for so long, and then I came and bought the shop and he had a new boss. And then there was all that stuff with Charlotte.” Charlotte had been a trainee in our shop, and she and Ace had had a relationship. But Charlotte got into some stuff that she shouldn’t have, and I had to let her go. I didn’t think Ace ever forgave me for that.
But would that be reason enough to set me up like this? To create that blog? To break into my house and splash red paint around?
I’d like to think that one of my employees was not that crazy.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered.
“Where was Ace last night?” I asked Bitsy.
She knew what I was asking: Was Ace working last night or was he out of the shop, taking pictures of me and Harry and then posting them on a blog?
Bitsy bit her lip and took a swig of wine. This wasn’t good.
“He left early. Not long after you did,” she admitted. “His last client canceled. Or so he said. I didn’t talk to the client, but Ace said he’d intercepted a call earlier when I was out getting lunch.”
So he had opportunity. And maybe motive.
“Where was he when Daisy was killed?” I asked. Flanigan had come by the shop to find out where I had been, not anyone else.
Bitsy shrugged. “I would have to check. I think he was there, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. And then he does disappear sometimes, but usually to that oxygen bar.”
We stared uncomfortably at each other, not wanting to think the worst but thinking it anyway.
Finally I shook my head and said, “Listen, it can’t be Ace. It’s ridiculous to think that.”
Bitsy started clearing up the cheese and crackers. “You’re right. It’s late, and our imaginations are running away with us. Ace is a good guy. He’s a little impulsive at times and gets a little too high on his horse about that so-called art he creates. He’s not a murderer.” She snorted. “Maybe we should all just go to bed. We’ll have clearer heads in the morning.”
I helped her bring the wineglasses in while Joel pulled out the sofa bed. I wondered about sleeping arrangements, if Joel really was staying over, too.
“Joel’s going to be in the spare room,” Bitsy said when I asked. “I’d put him on the sofa bed, but I’m afraid it might not be sturdy enough. If you get my drift.”
I did, and I said I didn’t mind. I started to go back out into the living room, but she caught my arm and stopped me.
“I know you’re uncertain about Jeff,” she said.
I opened my mouth to say, well, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I
didn’t have to because she put her finger up to stop me.
“He’s a good man,” Bitsy continued. “He’s got his own business. He’s settled into the community. He’s got a healthy relationship with his mother. He cares about you. You could do worse. In fact, you’ve done worse.”
I hated hearing it in such black and white terms, but she was right. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to take my relationship with Jeff to another level. Although that kiss had been a real surprise. In more ways than one.
She took her hand off my arm and patted it. “Think about it. He won’t push you; you know that. He’ll back off if you want. But I wouldn’t make any rash decisions just yet.”
I didn’t think I could, with this stalker blogger out there somewhere. I pushed Jeff Coleman and his kiss out of my head, although admittedly, it lingered somewhere in my subconscious; it wouldn’t go away altogether.
I pulled on my pajama bottoms and big T-shirt, brushed my teeth, and went back into the living room and crawled under the covers. The sofa bed was surprisingly comfortable, sans that metal bar that usually cut into someone’s back. As I closed my eyes, I heard something familiar. A little dinging sound.
A text message on my cell phone.
I grabbed my bag off the plush armchair next to the sofa and took out the phone. When I looked at the display, I caught my breath, my hands beginning to shake as I read the message.
“Brett, I know you did this to me. You won’t get away with it.”
I checked the display again. It was Daisy’s number.
Chapter 34
I put the phone down and pulled my legs up to my chest, my arms around them, my head down on my knees. I needed to call Tim, who was no doubt still trying to clean up the mess at our house, but I felt as though I’d fall apart if I let myself go. Literally let myself go. So I sat there, rocking slowly, trying not to think about the person who was trying to make me crazy.
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