by Karen Olson
What about Rusty Abbott? Where is he? Whats his story? Id told him everything about Abbott, from the roulette game to his sudden appearances all over the place.
He made the bomb DeBurra set off at the club. We found his fingerprints.
How did you tie DeBurra to it?
Abbott did. He left us DeBurras fingerprints, too, on a second device that didnt detonate. It wasnt ever live. Tim paused. DeBurra thought Charlotte had seen him at the apartment. He also thought she had Trevors laptop.
And she would put two and two together, which was why he wanted to get rid of her. And he thought I would figure it out, too, I said. Hes the one who called me pretending to be Kyle, right?
Tims silence verified it.
I had another thought. The call came from Chez Tango.
Theres such a thing as call forwarding. He thought you might try to call back.
We were quiet a couple of seconds; then he said, We cant find Abbott.
What do you mean, you cant find him?
Just what I said. We cant find him. Its like he disappeared or something. Hes gone.
People dont just disappear.
Tim chuckled. People like Rusty Abbott do. You know thats not his real name? He was using a dead guys social security number to get paid. Someone else is living in his apartment, claims shes been there for five years, no one by the name of Rusty Abbott ever lived there. Lester Fines not talking, either, if he knows where Abbott went. He says hes as surprised about all this as we are. All he asked about was that brooch. He wants it back.
No kidding.
I remembered how I hadnt been able to find Rusty Abbott when I Googled him, except listed on Lester Fines site.
How did you get his fingerprints, then?
He was working for Lester Fine. All his employees are fingerprinted.
So he cant really disappear then, can he?
As long as he stays out of trouble.
I pondered that a few seconds; then Tim spoke again.
The money in Aces account that disappeared? DeBurra did put it there, but before he could move it to his own account, it disappeared on him. We managed to trace it to another account with Abbotts name on it. But it wasnt there for long. Maybe a few minutes. Now its in the wind, just like Abbott.
I mulled this over. Id suspected Abbott of a lot of things, but being a ghosta comfortably well-off ghost, thanks to Trevors moneywas not one of them. Somehow I found it suitable justice that Abbott had taken DeBurras money after DeBurra had gone to all that trouble to retrieve it.
And even though Rusty Abbott did know how to make accidents happen, as Jeff Coleman so aptly put it, hed actually tried to help me. Hed given me a clue by leaving that picture of DeBurra in drag for me in the makeup case. It was too bad he hadnt taken out that picture of Lester Fine, because it threw me off completely. Abbott also warned me about the explosion, and he gave me that casino chip and I won all that money.
What about Charlotte? Are you going to charge her with anything?
As soon as the doctor gives us the all clear on her, were going to be questioning her extensively. As far as I know, she didnt do anything criminal except run, and that was to get away from DeBurra.
Whats going to happen to Shawna now? I couldnt help but ask.
Who knows? Tim was still indifferent to her. Hed moved on. I just wish DeBurra had realized that and let his one-sided feud go.
We hung up, and I went back inside. Bitsy and Joel and Kyle were still in the same spot, only now Joels head was bobbing against Kyles shoulder as he slept. Kyle didnt seem to mind.
I heard a swish as the frosted doors slid open across the room, and Bixby stood there, looking at me.
My Tevas felt like concrete weights. I wanted to go apologize while I had the chance, but I was uncertain how to do it.
I waited too long. He gave me a sad smile and touched his chest. Where his new Celtic knot was inked.
Then the doors were swishing closed again, with him behind them.
Chapter 59
Jeff Coleman carefully pulled the stencil off my arm. I studied it, and even though I was looking at it upside down, it was spectacular.
Who knew?
The Japanese koi swam in a curve around my biceps; ocean waves and lotus flowers danced around it. Id told Jeff I wanted the fish to be gold and white, the flowers yellow, red, and pink, and the waves different shades of blue and purple.
It was half a sleeve, enough to cover up the tiny scars from the windshield glass. Jeff had tried to talk me into a full sleeve, but I needed more time to think about what I wanted.
Its okay?
Jeffs hesitation made me pause. He was nervous about this. He hadnt cracked a joke since he came to the shop, didnt call me Kavanaugh once.
I made him come to The Painted Lady because, honestly, I wasnt quite sure just how clean his shop was. I knew how clean mine was. He acted all put out at first when I said he could do my ink, only on my turf. But he was strangely quiet when he arrived with his case, explaining that he needed his own machine.
Its great, I said, meaning it.
It wasnt flash, either. Hed designed it. He hadnt wanted to, but when I pointed out the brilliance of his Day of the Dead tattoo, he finally acquiesced.
You know, I said, you could start doing custom designs.
He snorted, then rolled his eyes. Im going to leave that to you, Kavanaugh. The drunks need a place to go at two a.m. Im happy to provide that.
The machine started whirring, and just before he touched it to my skin, he added, And dont tell anybody about this, all right? I dont need that kind of reputation.
I grinned. Your secret is safe with me, Coleman. Then I closed my eyes, feeling the first sting of the needle before it mellowed into the familiar and welcome pain.
The envelope arrived two days later. Bitsy handed it to me when I got in. I shoved it under my armpit as I went into the staff room. Dropping my messenger bag on a chair and taking a sip of my to-go coffee, I plucked it out from under my arm and saw there wasnt a return address and the postmark was smudged so I couldnt see where it had been mailed from.
It was one of those big yellow envelopes with the Bubble Wrap inside. I ripped it open and took out a sheet of paper.
Luck didnt have anything to do with it, it read.
It was signed Rusty.
I peered into the darkness of the envelope, wondering what the note meant. Something was stuck in the bottom of the envelope, so I turned it upside down and shook it once.
A fifty-dollar casino chip dropped onto the table.
Read on for an excerpt
from Karen E. Olsons next
Tattoo Shop Mystery,
Driven to Ink
Coming from Obsidian in Fall 2010.
When Sylvia and Bernie came back from Thats Amore Drive-Through Wedding Chapel with my car, it wouldve been nice if theyd taken the body out of the trunk.
As it was, I didnt discover it until a day later when I hit a bump and heard a thump that made me curious about what Id forgotten to unload on my last trip to the grocery store. By that time, Sylvia Coleman and Bernie ApplebaumSylvia said at her age she wasnt about to take on any new nameswere at the Grand Canyon on their honeymoon, and I was in my driveway staring at the corpse of a man in a tuxedo, as if hed expected death would be a black-tie affair.
Being both the daughter and sister of police officers, I did the first thing that came to mind: I called Sylvias son, Jeff Coleman, to find out whether he knew anything about this.
Murder Ink, Jeffs voice bellowed through my ear. Murder Ink was his business, a tattoo shop near Fremont Street, next door to Goodfellas Bail Bonds. He specialized in flash, the stock tattoos that lined the walls of his shop, even though I knew
firsthand that he was an amazing artist when he put his mind to it.
Despite the flash, Jeff was one of my main competitors in Vegas. I own The Painted Lady, where we do only custom designs. We cater to a classier clientele, and my shop is in the Venetian Grand Canal Shoppes on the Strip, a high-end themed mall that would never have allowed a tattoo shop to sully its image without a little blackmail by the shops former owner.
Its Brett.
Kavanaugh?
Your mother seems to have left me a little something for the use of my car yesterday. Sylvia had asked me nicely whether she and Bernie could use my red Mustang Bullitt convertible for their drive-through wedding. She said it was preferable to Bernies 1989 blue Buick and her thirty-five-year-old purple Gremlin, which looked like a lizard with its tail cut off.
What about Jeffs Pontiac? Id asked her.
Its bright yellow. It looks like a pimps car.
I couldnt argue with that. It did look like a pimps car. I told Sylvia that she was welcome to use my Mustang, but she had to drive. Bernies cataract surgery wasnt scheduled for another six weeks, and even though Sylvia said she watched the road for him, it didnt inspire much confidence.
What are you talking about, Kavanaugh? Jeff asked.
Theres a man in my trunk.
A low chuckle told me that perhaps I hadnt described it properly.
A dead man. In a tuxedo.
And youre sure my mother left it there for you?
I certainly dont remember it being there before she borrowed my car.
So, let me play devils advocate for a minute. Maybe he climbed into your trunk and died after my mother and Bernie returned the car.
Hmm. I hadnt thought of that. I recounted where the car had been since they dropped it off for me at the Venetian, and it had been only there and here, in my driveway overnight, and then at Red Rock Canyon this morning when I went for a hike. I leaned farther in toward the body. On the right breast pocket I could see something embroidered with red thread: Thats Amore.
Hes from the wedding chapel, Jeff. His tux is an advertisement. Its got the name sewn on it.
Is your brother home? Has he seen the body?
My brother, Detective Tim Kavanaugh, hadnt been home all night. I could only surmise that either he was catching bad guys or he had a late date that spilled over into morning.
No.
Have you called the cops, then?
Doing it now. I punched END on my cell and sent Jeff Coleman into oblivion as I now entered 911. But just as I was about to hit SEND, I knew I should try to reach Tim first. Before he came home to a driveway full of police cruisers and the coroners van.
He answered on the first ring.
What do you want, Brett?
His tone was cold, but the fact that hed actually answered his phone meant that he was probably doing police stuff and not with a woman. A good thing for me, but perhaps not for him.
You remember how I let Sylvia and Bernie borrow my car for their wedding the other day?
A heavy sigh told me he wasnt into tripping down memory lane and I should get on with it.
Well, they left me a body. In the trunk.
A second of silence, then, What are you talking about?
I told him about Mr. Thats Amore. Hes from the chapel. The drive-through. I explained about the stitching on his pocket.
A heavy sigh. Brett, how do you get yourself into these messes? He was referring to a couple of other incidents in the past six months, incidents that were completely out of my control, thank you very much.
I told you not to let that wacko borrow your car, he said.
Shes not a wacko, I said, although not with much confidence. Sylvia had her moments. I didnt know exactly how old Sylvia was, but I guessed she was in her seventies or early eighties. She and her former husband had owned Murder Ink before he died and she retired, handing over the business to Jeff. She spent a lot of time at the tattoo shop and had actually inked my calfNapoleon going up the Alps. It was one of my favorite Jacques Louis David paintings, and I did the stencil. Sylvia, as far as I knew, didnt do any original designsand sometimes I wondered whether she didnt have a touch of dementia. But I was happy she and Bernie had hooked up. They had started swimming together at the Henderson pool a few months back and it developed into a late-in-life romance.
So you dont recognize this man? Tim asked, completely reversing the conversation and throwing me off balance for a second.
You mean the guy in the trunk?
Yes, Brett, the guy in the trunk. Exasperation had seeped into Tims tone, and I totally did not need that right now.
But I counted to ten as I leaned forward again and peered at Mr. Thats Amore. His face was whiter than that zinc stuff you put on your nose so you wont get sunburn. His eyes were closed, but his mouth hung open slackly, as if he didnt have the energy to close it. The tux was remarkably neat, considering he was stuffed in my trunkjust a few spots of dust and dirt.
He looked uncannily like Dean Martin.
But I didnt have time to ponder that, because I could also see the side of his neck, just below his ear.
He had a tattoo of a spiderweb.
I told Tim, who made a sort of mmm sound. I knew what he was thinking: Spiderweb tattoos were popular in prison. And from the looks of this ink, it couldve been a prison tat; it was sort of blue-black with rough edges that bled into the skin.
And what was that? I leaned in even farther, my finger precariously close to pulling back the white shirt collar.
Tim was warning me not to touch anything.
I yanked my hand back.
No kidding, I said, eager not to give myself away. Although I did open the trunk, so my fingerprints are on that.
I should be there shortly, he said, then added, The forensics team and a cruiser are on their way. Just stay where you are and wait for them.
Where I was was in the driveway. I was just back from Red Rock. I wanted to change out of my grubby jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, and hiking boots, and, most of all, I wanted something to eat. Id had some toast before I left at seven, but that was four hours ago. I also needed to get to the shop by noon, because I had a client scheduled.
Do I have time for a shower? I asked hopefully.
No. Tim hung up.
Without thinking, I leaned against the back of the car. Immediately I felt it bounce a littlenot that Im heavy; Im actually pretty skinnyand Mr. Thats Amore shifted slightly with the movement. I jumped away from the Mustang as I stared at the body, which rocked for a second.
There it was again. It was poking out slightly through the collar of his shirt.
I couldnt help myself. I reached in and moved the fabric so I could see it better.
It was the end of a cord.
A clip cord.
Id recognize it anywhere.
A clip cord is used to attach a tattoo machine to its power source.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46