Pretty In Ink

by Karen Olson

  “I’m Dr. Bixby.”

  He held out his hand, and I took it, a shock running through my arm. I let out a nervous giggle, pulling my hand away too quickly. A glance at his face told me he felt it, too. He was blushing. Really blushing.

  I saw now that his name tag read, DR. C. BIXBY.

  “What’s the ‘C’ for?” I asked, indicating his tag.

  He put his hand up and fingered it. “Colin.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  He pointed to a chair. “Have a seat, please, Miss Kavanaugh.”

  I did as he asked. I might have done mostly anything he asked.

  I’d dated a guy a few months back who was rich, good-looking, and a playboy. We’d had some laughs, but I knew I had to pull out of it before I got sucked in even further. He was the kind of guy who’d break my heart if I let him.

  Since Simon, things had been a little slow on the dating front.

  Maybe that’s why I found myself admiring Dr. Colin Bixby’s obvious attractive physical attributes.

  Not to mention his nice smile.

  Which had disappeared. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, his lips pursed in a grim line.

  “I’m deeply sorry to have to tell you that Trevor McKay passed away about half an hour ago.”

  Chapter 16

  I felt like I’d swallowed a bag of marbles.

  “Excuse me?” I managed to sputter.

  His expression conveyed his compassion. “He didn’t indicate a next of kin on his paperwork. I’m glad you came in.”

  Next of kin? I barely knew anything about the guy except he could lip-synch to Britney songs while dancing on six-inch heels and look like he was having the time of his life. I also knew he had a pinup girl who looked remarkably like Britney Brassieres on his upper left arm. Ace had done the ink.

  I didn’t even know where the guy lived.

  Charlotte did. As I thought of her, I took a deep breath. This would devastate her.

  “How?” I asked softly.

  “He was incredibly dehydrated when he came in. He lost a lot of fluids. We couldn’t keep anything down him.”

  “He didn’t look good when he came to my shop earlier.”

  Colin Bixby frowned. “Yes, I meant to ask. What shop is that?”

  “The Painted Lady.”

  His eyes traveled over the garden on my arm, the dragon poking up over my tank top. “You’re the painted lady,” he said softly.

  I nodded. “That’s right.” His gaze was a little disconcerting, but not in a bad way. I had to keep talking or I’d get too distracted. “He was at my shop when he became ill. Although, come to think of it, I think he was sick when he arrived. You know he was in the hospital overnight?”

  “Yes.” Colin Bixby leafed through a file folder that he picked up off the desk. “He had a concussion and a small chest wound. According to the report, he was perfectly fine when he was released this morning. All tests showed normal.”

  Covering his tracks in case I wanted to file a malpractice suit or something.

  “It doesn’t say how he got the concussion,” he added.

  “He got knocked over.”

  The doctor’s eyebrows rose.

  I nodded. “Some guy shot a champagne cork at him. Hit him square in the chest. The shock knocked him off balance, so he cracked his head against the floor. He was wearing six-inch heels, so he didn’t have too much traction.”

  “I hate to ask . . .”

  “Trevor McKay is a drag queen,” I said matter-of-factly. “He was performing at Chez Tango last night.”

  “MissTique’s show?”

  Now I was the one who was surprised. “That’s right. Do you know her?”

  He nodded, and by the way his jaw was set, I knew that was all I was going to get. Interesting. But a little troublesome. Here I was, feeling all warm and fuzzy and other things about this guy, and this admission meant quite possibly that he was gay. I hated to think my radar was that off center. I totally had felt that little spark.

  “I’d like to get some information from you,” Colin Bixby was saying.

  It took me a second to realize that he didn’t want to hear about me; he was talking about information about Trevor. Information I didn’t have.

  “I really don’t know him very well,” I said.

  “But you came to see him. He was in your shop.” His green eyes were mesmerizing, teasing me a little, like he knew I was a fraud but didn’t care.

  He couldn’t be gay. He couldn’t.

  “I wanted to see how he was, and I wanted to ask him about something.” Right. Charlotte said Trevor was the one who could explain everything. Now Charlotte was going to have to come out of hiding. I pulled out my cell phone. “A friend of mine knew him better. She can tell you what you need to know.”

  Colin Bixby put his hand over mine, the one that was holding the phone, and I felt it again. The spark, the warmth—and the firm way he closed my phone.

  “You can’t use that in here,” he said softly, leaning toward me.

  I usually don’t like to share my personal space, but I didn’t have a problem with that right now. He smelled nice, like fresh Ivory soap with a splash of Purell thrown in for good luck.

  “You can use this one.” He lifted his hand off mine and waved it over a landline on the desk.

  “Thanks.” I picked up the phone and dialed Charlotte’s cell.

  The voice mail kicked in, and I said she needed to call me right away. I hung up and dialed Ace’s number. It rang a few times before I got his voice mail. I left the same message. I turned to Colin Bixby and shrugged. “I can have her call you.”

  He was looking at me sideways in a way that made me sure he’d aced chemistry class. “How many tattoos do you have?”

  I couldn’t help myself. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” I sounded like I was in sixth grade. Yikes.

  But it didn’t seem to turn him off.

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  Okay, so he knew MissTique, but the way he was looking at me now definitely clinched it: He was so not gay.

  He slipped a card out of his breast pocket and pressed it into my hand. “Call me.”

  Just try and stop me.

  I stuck the card in my bag and stood up. He shook my hand, holding it a second longer than he should have. But I wasn’t complaining.

  All right, so I knew nothing about Colin Bixby except he was a doctor and he worked in the emergency room at UMC. But to a single woman of thirty-two who hadn’t had a date in a while, it was nice to know the man at least had a job. I just hoped he didn’t live with his mother.

  I took one of my own cards out and handed it to him. “In case you don’t want to wait,” I flirted shamelessly.

  He gave me a sort of half smile and blushed again, and I had to leave before I said something even more stupid. I almost sprinted out the door but stopped when I heard him calling me back.

  “Miss Kavanaugh, you might want to know that Mr. McKay was delirious when he arrived here because of his dehydration. We did not find any ID on him. All we found was this.”

  Colin Bixby held out a stone-studded pin with the queen of hearts on it.

  Chapter 17

  He didn’t let me take it. Instead, he just asked me if I could identify the pin as belonging to Trevor. I felt like I was living an episode of CSI.

  I told him yes, the brooch was Trevor’s.

  “Since Mr. McKay became ill in your shop, did you notice whether he had a wallet or any other identification on him there?” Bixby asked.

  I thought about how quickly Trevor had gotten sick and shook my head. “No. We told the paramedics his name, but they moved really fast to get him out of there.”

  “So you don’t know where he lives?”

  I felt like an idiot. But then I had a thought: “MissTique probably has his address, because he works for her.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kavanaugh. I’ll give Kyle a call.”

  So he knew MissTique’s name was really Kyle. Uh-oh. Those doubts again started to bubble up.

  But then he winked a
t me. “And I’ll call you, too, if you don’t mind.”

  I was bouncing back and forth like a pinball.

  “You can call me Brett,” I said, giving him a short wave as I turned and practically skipped away.

  I picked up takeout from Noodles in the Palazzo shops. When I first came to Vegas, I could never figure out whether I was in the Venetian or the Palazzo, since they’re connected and there isn’t a real definitive line on the border between them. I count the waterfall that spills down to the first floor as the start of the Palazzo shops, but I think they start before that, possibly at the end of the canal.

  It’s easy to get lost, with all the walkways between the fancy, expensive shops. Sometimes I end up at Double Helix, an open-air bar that sits in the middle of a star-shaped area with paths going in all different directions. I found the box office for Blue Man Group downstairs one day when I was looking for a ladies’ room. I’ve never seen the Blue Man Group, but it’s nice to know it’s there if I ever want to.

  Noodles is a large, bright restaurant with massive tables so you can meet your neighbor. I’m not one to embrace eating with strangers, so I always get takeout. The food is fabulous, and today I picked up a variety of duck, shrimp, and chicken entrees. It was the least I could do for my staff—well, Bitsy and Joel—who’d held down the fort all day while Charlotte and Ace were in hiding and I was out playing Nancy Drew.

  Joel met me at the front desk when I came in.

  “You went to Noodles,” he said, unable to keep the glee out of his voice as he took the bag from me. “Bitsy, look, Brett went to Noodles.”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer, just went immediately into the staff room.

  Bitsy, who was sitting at the front desk doing paperwork, didn’t look as happy.

  “Thanks for letting me play hooky a little,” I said, uncertain how to approach this. Bitsy liked being in charge whenever she could be, which is why I sometimes made her think she was in charge. But when she really was, like today, she could get a chip on her shoulder about it.

  And since her shoulders were little, like her, those chips could be a bit large.

  But she didn’t look mad. Her eyes, which were a bright, clear blue and offset by her blond hair, which she recently cut short in a really attractive bob, were clouded by worry.

  “I haven’t heard from Ace or Charlotte,” she started.

  I put up a hand. “I have. I also have bad news. Let’s go in the staff room.”

  Bitsy followed me as we joined Joel, who was already dishing noodles into his mouth. He stopped when he saw my expression.

  “What, do you want to say grace or something?”

  I sighed and sat down.

  Joel finished chewing and followed suit. Bitsy kept standing. We were all at the same eye level that way.

  “Trevor died this afternoon.” I told them about going to the emergency room after Charlotte said I should find Trevor, and how I met Colin Bixby and he told me the news.

  Bitsy was the first to speak.

  “Have you talked to Charlotte?”

  “She’s not answering her phone, and neither is Ace.”

  “This is going to devastate her.”

  I agreed. I didn’t know Trevor very well, but I felt awful. I couldn’t even imagine how Charlotte would feel.

  “So if Charlotte told you that Trevor was supposed to tell you what was going on, what happens now?” Joel asked. “Should you just talk to Tim about all this?”

  I wanted to. It was better than the alternative, which was talking to Frank DeBurra. He was too hostile.

  At the same time, though, I was seesawing about how I felt about Charlotte’s reaction when I asked her just what went down this morning. Why not just tell me? Why tell me to talk to Trevor? What was she hiding?

  I told Bitsy and Joel about my visits to the pawnshops, what the pawnshop guy told me about the guy who’d been angry with Charlotte, and how he wouldn’t say whether he recognized Rusty Abbott from the sketch.

  “There’s so much; you’re making me dizzy,” Bitsy said.

  Joel didn’t have that problem. He’d resumed eating the noodles with the duck, his chopsticks flying. It did smell good. I’d missed lunch while I was on my travels. I picked up the container of noodles with shrimp, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and started eating, too. Bitsy decided to join us. The three of us sat, chewing our noodles, not talking, not looking at one another, just eating.

  Considering the circumstances, I suppose I should say I didn’t taste the food.

  But I did. And it was delicious.

  From the slurping sounds next to me, I could tell Joel and Bitsy were enjoying it just as much as I was.

  The buzzer indicating that someone had come into the shop startled us. Bitsy got her bearings first, put her container down, and went out to the front. I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized it was probably my seven o’clock. I saw a few file folders on the light table, found the one I needed, and followed Bitsy.

  I was right. It was my client Hunter Ross. I wouldn’t have time to muse over the day’s events for the next two hours.

  After I cleaned, shaved, and placed the stencil of the tiger on Hunter’s back, I set out my inkpots, slipped a new needle into my tattoo machine, and pulled on a pair of gloves. Hunter was facedown on the chair, and I pressed my foot to the pedal. The machine began to whirr. I dipped the needle into a pot and began to draw, washing away extra ink and blood with a soft cloth as I worked. Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours slipped away as I lost myself in the ink, the tiger’s stripes mesmerizing as I filled them in, shading the face, outlining the eyes.

  I heard voices out in the front of the shop as I stopped the machine and looked at my handiwork. There was something about working on skin, knowing it was alive, that I was creating art on a living being. Beat the heck out of working on that hard canvas.

  I didn’t have time to finish the tiger today. Hunter knew we’d have at least two or three sessions before it was done, but I gave Hunter a hand mirror so he could go see the partial tiger for himself in the big, full-length mirror out in the back of the shop. I started cleaning up my inks, taking the needles I’d used and disposing of them in the hazardous waste container under the table. The needle bar would be put in the autoclave for sterilization.

  Joel was with a client when Hunter finally left after making his second appointment and paying for today’s session. Bitsy closed the drawer that hid the credit card machine and looked up at me expectantly.

  “What?” I asked a little too sharply. She frowned, so I immediately said, “I’m sorry. It’s just been a really long day. Has Charlotte or Ace called?”

  “Ace is in with a client.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “His client was already here. We couldn’t exactly have a heart-to-heart.” She paused. “I did ask him about Charlotte. He said she was in a safe place.”

  What on earth did that mean?

  But my brain was shutting down. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed, forget that this day ever happened. Well, except maybe for Dr. Colin Bixby. Since I hadn’t talked to Charlotte, I had no excuse to call him. I wondered whether he really would call me.

  As I was thinking that, the phone rang. Like karma or something.

  “The Painted Lady,” Bitsy said when she picked it up. She listened for a minute, nodding, then turned to me, holding the receiver out. “It’s Jeff Coleman.”

  So much for karma. I took the phone. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself, Kavanaugh. You know, you’ve got yourself in a bit of a pickle.”

  “Huh?”

  “Rusty Abbott was just in here. Asking all sorts of questions about you.”

  I felt my chest constrict, and I stopped breathing for a second. “What sorts of questions?”

  “Personal stuff. How long have you had your shop, are you dating anyone, where do you live. That sort of thing. It was weird, almost like he was sweet on you. But in a stalker kind of way.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel better,” I
said sarcastically. “Why doesn’t he just get in touch with me himself?”

  “I’m not sure you want to have a cup of coffee with the guy, Kavanaugh. He was a little skittish. I didn’t tell him anything, but I did ask him about the roulette game, and he said he’d just happened to be there when you wandered over. You know, your reputation precedes you. He recognized you by your tats.”

  Like I’d recognized him.

  “So why would he run away, then?”

  “I think you make him nervous.”

  Great. A nervous stalker.

  “I didn’t realize you were such great friends with the guy.”

  “I’m not. First time I’ve seen him since I did his ink.”

  “But you did tell him about me, didn’t you? When you inked him.”

  “I must have. Otherwise how would he have known about us?”

  Us. Like we were some sort of couple. I totally did not want to go there.

  “He asked me to give you a message.”

  I waited, could hear him take a breath.

  “He said you might want to be careful, because you never know. Accidents happen.”

  Chapter 18

  My heart jumped into my throat. “Accidents happen?

  What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen my share of crazy, Kavanaugh, and I think you better be on the lookout. I don’t think he’s playing with a full deck.”

  Considering the tattoo on Rusty Abbott’s arm, Jeff Coleman was taking liberties with his puns.

  “You really didn’t tell him anything?”

  Bitsy was openly listening to my conversation, and I waved my hand in front of her face and turned my back to her. She walked around me to go to the staff room and stuck her tongue out at me. I stuck mine out in return. We were like a couple of third graders.

  Jeff was talking. “All I said was if he wanted to talk to you, he could find you at your shop—that was public information—but he said that wasn’t the plan.”