Pretty In Ink

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Pretty In Ink Page 19

by Karen Olson


  Jeff chuckled. “Because Bernie swims in Henderson.”

  I hadn’t heard about Bernie before. This was interesting. A little late-in-life romance. I was happy for Sylvia.

  “I swim at the competition pool,” I offered before I could stop myself. I might as well keep going. “Is that where Sylvia goes?” There were only two places that were open year-round: the Multigenerational Center pools, where I swam, or Whitney Ranch.

  Jeff hesitated, then, “Yeah, that’s where she goes.”

  “I’ve never seen her there. But then, I go pretty early.” I didn’t tell him I hadn’t gone there in more than a month. When the temperatures start to cool off, that’s when I head to Red Rock for my exercise.

  “Kavanaugh, you’re a woman of many surprises.”

  “So when will you be here?” I asked, not wanting to get into “surprise” territory with Jeff Coleman.

  “I’ll swing by after I pick up Sylvia.”

  “Hey, why doesn’t she drive herself? She’s got a car.”

  Jeff chuckled. “That car’s a hazard. We only use it in emergencies.”

  He hung up without saying good-bye. That was the Jeff Coleman I knew and was comfortable with.

  Almost immediately the phone rang again.

  I picked it up.

  “What did you forget?” I asked.

  “Forget? What? Brett, it’s Charlotte.”

  Chapter 40

  Every muscle in my body tensed up, and I could feel the veins pounding in my head.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Brett, please listen. You have to trust me.”

  I snorted. “Trust you. How am I supposed to do that? You set me up with a dead body that might be contaminated with some sort of poison; then you shoot at me and steal Trevor’s money. Did I leave anything out? Oh, right. You deposit Trevor’s money into Ace’s account so it looks like he’s some sort of criminal, and now the cops are after him, too. What exactly are you up to, Charlotte?” It dawned on me during this tirade that perhaps I should be nicer to reel her in, get some answers, and then turn her over to the police.

  “What about Ace? What do you mean, I deposited money in his account?”

  For a second, she fooled me. It really sounded like maybe she didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “Thirty thousand dollars. In Ace’s account. I know there was more money than that in Trevor’s apartment. Did you keep the rest? Are you heading for the Cayman Islands or something?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Not that I was trying very hard.

  “Thirty—” She cleared her throat. “Brett, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes, I was at Trevor’s yesterday afternoon.”

  “Why did you shoot at me and Jeff Coleman?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So you were flying off balconies like there was no tomorrow just for giggles?”

  “You have to believe me. I wasn’t the only one there. I heard someone come in and I went out on the balcony and hid behind the curtain. I didn’t see who it was, but when I heard that first gunshot, I figured I should get out of there.”

  “Why don’t you tell the cops?”

  “You told them I was there, didn’t you?”

  “They know, yes.” I paused, then, “I know the police are investigating you. It would be better to turn yourself in.”

  “Investigating me?” Incredulity laced her voice. “Listen, I’ll set things straight with Ace. No worries.” She paused a second, then added, “Oh, by the way, I’m feeling okay.”

  She hung up as a tinge of guilt tickled me between the shoulder blades because I hadn’t asked how she was.

  I stared at the phone and after a second hit star sixty-nine. The operator told me the number I was trying to reach was restricted. We didn’t have caller ID on our landline. Tim had issues with that feature. I now had more ammunition to argue the case.

  I dialed Tim’s cell number.

  “Thanks for my stuff,” I said when he answered.

  “Can’t talk, Brett.”

  “Thought maybe you would want to know I just talked to Charlotte. She called me.”

  Silence for a second, then, “What did she say?”

  “Said I have to trust her. That someone else was shooting at me and Jeff. That she didn’t put that money in Ace’s account.”

  A second passed, then, “I’ll have to get back to you, Brett, okay? I’m in the middle of something.” And he hung up.

  I stared at the phone. If I had insecurity issues, getting hung up on three times in five minutes might push me over the edge. But I wasn’t going to take it personally. Charlotte was on the lam, and my brother had a demanding job. Jeff—well, Jeff was Jeff.

  Speaking of whom, I had to get to the shop. I looked out the window, but there was no sign of him yet. I told myself it would take him longer than that to get here.

  I found an old messenger bag on a hook in my closet and tossed all my stuff inside. As I passed the mirror, I noticed that I’d spilled some coffee on my tank top. I pulled it over my head, threw it in the laundry basket, and found a hot pink, tight, stretchy T in my drawer. I needed something cheery, so I put it on. It hung to my hips and clashed nicely with the dark skinny jeans, a different pair from yesterday.

  A honk made me grab the bag and dash out the front door, making sure it was locked before climbing into the backseat of the gold Pontiac. Trevor’s laptop was right where I’d left it.

  “Hey, thanks for this, Jeff,” I said, then leaned forward and patted Sylvia on the shoulder. “Hey, Sylvia.”

  She wore a bright yellow latex bathing cap with little daisies all over it. A peek over the front seat showed me that she was wearing a matching terry-cloth housecoat and flip-flops. Even her feet were inked. Beautiful red roses were entwined with leafy greens. She would look spectacular in her bathing suit. And probably raised a few eyebrows.

  “We have to stop off for my car,” Sylvia explained. “Someone”—she looked at Jeff—“left it in some parking lot all night.”

  “We’re going back to Trevor’s?” I asked Jeff. “Can you drop me first?”

  “And miss checking out the scene of the crime? Kavanaugh, I’m disappointed in you.” He didn’t look at me, but I could see the corner of the smile in his profile.

  I sighed and leaned back in the seat. When he put it that way, I couldn’t really back out. “Sure, fine. But let’s make it quick, okay?” I reached into my bag and took out my phone, punching in the number for the shop.

  “The Painted Lady.”

  “Hey, Bits, it’s me.”

  “How are you?”

  “Spent most of the night at the police station.”

  “Ace is there now.”

  “I was afraid of that.” I told her about Charlotte at Trevor’s apartment and the money and how the police thought she might have made a deposit in Ace’s bank account but she was denying it. As I spoke, I saw Jeff sneaking looks at me in the rearview mirror. Sylvia bobbed her head to a tune only she could hear. Literally. She had earbuds in her ears and was flipping through songs on a bright pink iPod that matched my shirt.

  “I’m not sure who to believe anymore,” Bitsy said when I finished.

  Her and me both.

  “I assume you’re home today,” Bitsy said.

  “No, I’ll be in, maybe in about an hour or so. Jeff Coleman’s taking me to my car, but we’ve got a stop to make first.”

  Just as I said that, we passed the access road that led back to Windsor Palms, the high-rise condominium where my Mustang was still parked. Surprisingly, a chill slid down my spine. Maybe it was a good thing it would be the last stop. I must have underestimated the degree of my freaked-out-ness from the day before.

  When I hung up after talking to Bitsy, I spotted Jeff’s eyes in the mirror.

  “So no one told you what they’re investigating Charlotte for?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ve got some friends I could call. Make inquiries. See what I can find out.”

  I frowned. Jeff Coleman had “friends.” That was interesting. But then I remembered: He’d been in the military. Maybe he was onto somet
hing.

  “Sure,” I said, slipping the laptop into my messenger bag.

  We didn’t say anything more; I stared at Sylvia’s bathing cap and wondered if all the decorations would keep her from moving well through the water. I’d never seen her at the pool; I would’ve remembered that cap even if I hadn’t known her.

  The sun was bright, blasting through the car windows as we turned into the parking lot at Trevor’s. The Gremlin sat squat with two empty spaces around it. Every other spot was taken. No one probably wanted to park too close to it; it might have something that was catching. Like the rust that was creeping along the frame.

  Jeff eased the Pontiac next to the Gremlin, and Sylvia opened her door to get out. But as she swung her body around, Jeff put his arm across her chest.

  “No, you’re not driving it,” he said, and with his other hand he tossed the keys back into my lap. “She is.”

  I frowned, picking up the keys. “What?”

  Jeff was cocking his head at Sylvia and shaking it at the same time. I got it. He didn’t want her to drive. I’d wondered whether Sylvia had started a decline into dementia, but Jeff put the kibosh on that.

  “You don’t have your license with you,” Jeff admonished her. “You can’t drive in that silly outfit. You’ll get stopped by the cops.”

  “Then it’ll all be in the family, won’t it?” Sylvia asked, still attempting to get out, but Jeff continued to hold on to her.

  “Kavanaugh, get out,” he said. “I’ll meet you back at my shop, and then I’ll take you to your car.”

  I opened the door and climbed out. Sylvia was still arguing with Jeff, but then I heard, “You better treat that car nice.” I assumed that was for me. The door slammed shut, and Jeff gave me a little finger wave as he backed out and the Pontiac moved away.

  I stood next to the Gremlin, and I felt another shiver. Twice in one day. Go figure. Getting shot at here wasn’t giving me the best karma.

  I looked up at Trevor’s apartment on the second floor. A band of yellow crime-scene tape had been slung across the door.

  But it was broken. Two pieces of tape hung down on either side like limp ponytails.

  The door was open. And someone was coming out.

  Chapter 41

  I couldn’t move. My feet felt as though they were cemented to the asphalt.

  It was Rusty Abbott.

  He looked down at me, and a look of panic crossed his face. He glanced to the left and to the right, probably trying to figure out which way to run.

  I had that effect on him.

  But then he surprised me. He started down the stairs. He was carrying something that looked remarkably like Trevor’s makeup case. Kyle and I hadn’t seen it in the apartment yesterday, so where had it come from?

  I didn’t have time to ponder that, however, because Abbott’s other hand had moved up to his waistband.

  The gun glinted as the sun caught it.

  I caught my breath and scrambled into the car. I’d been shot at once here. I wasn’t going to make it a habit.

  I started the car and in the rearview mirror saw Abbott approaching. I shoved the stick shift into reverse and gunned the engine.

  He had to jump out of the way. The tires skidded a little as the Gremlin’s muffler roared, and I pulled out onto Charleston without even looking.

  I was lucky there’d been a lull in the traffic.

  My heart was pounding. Why on earth would Rusty Abbott want to kill me? I hadn’t wanted to take that casino chip in the first place.

  Unless he really was the guy who’d shot Trevor with the cork, and it wasn’t Wesley Lambert. Maybe he thought I could identify him.

  And what was he doing with the makeup case? Unless he’d known Trevor kept the brooch in it and thought it was still there.

  As I sat at a light, I knew I was going to have to find out more about that Queen of Hearts Ball. There was that pin and the tattoos and all those pictures of everyone looking so tight with their arms around each other: Rusty Abbott and Wesley Lambert and Charlotte.

  How did Trevor play into all that? Was he the third person who showed up at Murder Ink for a tattoo?

  No, he didn’t have a playing-card tattoo. That I knew for sure. So who was the third person?

  Jeff Coleman wasn’t back yet from dropping off Sylvia. Murder Ink was closed up, but I found a key to the back door on the chain with the Gremlin key. I let myself in.

  I turned on the overhead light and dropped my bag on the cluttered desk. I eyed the file cabinet in the corner. Jeff had to have some sort of record of those three clients that night.

  I told myself he was as interested as I was in all this as I opened the top drawer.

  The files were a mess, just like the rest of the place. I couldn’t make heads or tails of them. They weren’t in any sort of alphabetical order or even arranged by date. It seemed totally random. I flipped through about twenty folders, taking a deep breath with each one, not because I was afraid of what I’d find, but with the exasperation I felt. Bitsy would never let our records be such a mess.

  I had reached in to grab another file when the door opened, and I felt my heart jump into my throat.

  “Kavanaugh, what are you doing?”

  Jeff was next to me, taking the file out of my hand and slipping it back into the drawer.

  “You weren’t here—”

  “So you decided to go through my files. For what? What are you looking for?” Despite our rather up-and-down relationship, this was the first time I’d heard him actually angry with me. He’d teased me before, but this time I’d touched a nerve.

  “What don’t you want me to find?” I challenged. It was easier to get on the offensive.

  But he wasn’t having it.

  “What are you looking for?” he growled, slamming the drawer shut.

  I decided I should tell him the truth. “I just wanted to know if you’ve got a file on that third guy who came in for the queen-of-hearts tattoo with Rusty Abbott and Wesley Lambert,” I said.

  His eyes were narrowed, and he studied my face for a few seconds, during which I could totally believe that he’d been in the Marines. He scared me.

  But then he gave a low chuckle and started shaking his head.

  “Oh, Kavanaugh, you could just ask before you start snooping around. Or do you like playing Charlie’s Angels?”

  I felt my face flush, but I couldn’t let that go. “That was one of the most misogynistic shows ever on TV,” I said hotly.

  “Yeah, maybe, but they were so hot.” He turned his back on me as he rifled through the files, then turned around with one in his hand. He waved it in front of me, teasing me. “Didn’t every girl want to be a Charlie’s Angel?”

  “Not me,” I said, a little too loudly, my eyes following the file.

  “Which one would you be? The smart one or the tough one or the dumb, sexy one?”

  I sighed. “Stop playing around,” I said.

  He laughed out loud. “You know, Kavanaugh, you shouldn’t make it so easy to get to you.”

  I couldn’t tell him that he was the only one who brought out this side of me. Then he’d think he was something special.

  “What’s in the file?” I asked.

  He looked at it as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Oh, this,” he said. “This is the file you’re looking for from that night.”

  “How do you know?” I asked. “Those files aren’t in any particular order.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “There is an order. My mother set it up, and it works, so it’s staying that way.”

  If Sylvia set up the filing system, then it clearly wouldn’t have any rhyme or reason to it. But if they could keep track, who was I to say anything?

  “Do you want to see it?” Jeff said, handing the file to me.

  I snatched it away from him and rolled my eyes as I flipped it open.

  The name took my breath away.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “This is the right one?”

  Jeff nodded. “Yeah. You know who it is?”

  I nodded slowly. “I
do.”

  And he’d told me he didn’t have any ink because he didn’t like needles.

  Colin Bixby.

  Chapter 42

  “This is the guy who was in drag?” I asked.

  “One of two,” Jeff said. “That guy Wesley Lambert, the one with the ricin in the condo? He was the second one. I checked that out this morning. And Rusty Abbott was the third guy, but he wasn’t in drag.” He paused. “Who is this Bixby guy?”

  “He’s a doctor,” I said softly. “At the emergency room. I met him.”

  “Yesterday when you were there?”

  “And the day before, when I went to see Trevor. He’s the one who told me Trevor was dead. He knows Kyle. Kyle Albrecht. He’s MissTique. At Chez Tango.” I thought about how I’d suspected Bixby of being gay. So maybe I wasn’t so wrong about that.

  “Those guys really look like women,” Jeff mused.

  “It’s weird to see them taking off their girl faces and becoming boys again,” I said.

  “Huh? You’ve seen that?”

  “They’re so not shy,” I said, but I was still distracted by how I’d misread Bixby. Sort of.

  I handed the folder back to Jeff. “I’ve got to get to the shop,” I said.

  “Sure you don’t want to hang around here and learn how it’s really done, Kavanaugh?”

  “Doesn’t take much to do flash,” I tossed back at him, picking up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “Just take me to my car, okay?”

  “Say please.” He’d put the folder back, shut the drawer, and was standing too close to me, his eyes searching my face.

  I stepped back. “Give me a break.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Should I just call a cab?”

  He dug keys out of his pocket and motioned that I was to follow him back out into the alley, where the gold Pontiac sat. We settled in after he locked up his shop, then headed back down to the Strip.

  The sky was a deep cobalt blue. No clouds in sight. The Stratosphere Tower loomed high above us on our right just before crossing Sahara. I spotted the pawnshops to the left, just before the Sahara hotel. Just a little way down, Circus Circus was to our right, its red and white striped big top advertising its theme, and an empty lot sat where the Star-burst used to be.

 

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