I smiled and thanked him. “I’m all done with that now.”
“Are you? What about that impersonator?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he really look like Dean Martin?” From the way he asked, I began to wonder whether Joel didn’t have a Rat Pack crush, too. While we suspected his inclinations, we weren’t positive which way Joel swung; he hadn’t come out to us, and we never saw him with a date, girl or guy.
“Not without the wig, really,” I said.
Bitsy pushed open the door. I hadn’t realized she’d gone out. She was carrying a take-out bag from Johnny Rockets.
“Lunch,” she announced.
It was two o’clock, but who was paying attention? It was always lunch in the shop, especially with Joel around. Although we had been eating way more burgers lately because of this Atkins thing. I wondered what it would be next. I couldn’t see him turning vegetarian or vegan. Weight Watchers made a load of money off him, and he swore them off. Maybe that Jenny Craig thing I kept seeing on TV, where you have to buy their food.
None of it appealed to me, and fortunately, I was skinny enough and my metabolism obviously still worked well enough that I didn’t have to worry about it.
We followed Bitsy to the staff room, and she handed out burgers. Joel’s next client had arrived, though, so he downed his burger in two bites before taking his client into his room.
“Where’s Ace?” I asked between bites.
“He’s taking the afternoon off,” Bitsy said. “He’s working on some new paintings, and he wanted some time for that.”
Of all my employees, I knew Ace the least. The things I did know were fairly superficial, like where he lived and how he got into this business. Ace was a frustrated artist, thus the comic-book paintings on our walls, but since he didn’t make much money off those, he had to make money somehow. He’d fallen into tattooing by meeting up with Flip Armstrong, the guy who owned the shop before me, and training with him. I’d done the same thing back east with Mickey, but unlike Ace, I embraced my new career. Ace did great work, don’t get me wrong, and was very conscientious about it, but he was always a little removed from it, as if he were too good for it.
A buzzer sounded. Someone had come into the shop. Bitsy jumped up off her chair and went out front. I kept eating.
But the burger almost caught in my throat when Bitsy came back.
With Will Parker behind her.
Chapter 18
Will Parker grinned at me. Bitsy was smiling widely behind him, giving me the thumbs-up.
Great.
“Oh, hi, there,” I said, standing awkwardly, acutely aware of some sort of burger dribble on my chin. I grabbed a napkin and wiped it across my face, hoping there wasn’t anything else incriminating there.
When I gave him my card, I honestly didn’t think I’d see him quite so soon. If at all. It had been only a few hours since I’d met him.
While I’d been worried about his intentions earlier, now I hoped he wasn’t some sort of weird stalker.
Bitsy discreetly left the room. I was sure, however, that she hadn’t gone far, since she probably wanted to hear every word. A good thing. Just in case.
Will Parker hadn’t stopped grinning, but he was taking in the staff room: the lunch table, the fridge, the bulletin board with our favorite tattoo designs stuck to it, the light table with papers and file folders scattered on it.
He’d shed the tuxedo and was wearing a nice pair of beige slacks and a white button-down shirt under a navy blazer. He even wore a tie, baby blue with little yellow fleur-de-lis. I wondered what the occasion was.
Dressed the way he was and without the black Dean Martin wig, I had to admit I was totally intrigued. Even if he turned out to be a stalker. Bitsy would be pleased.
“I didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” I said to break the ice.
His head bobbed up and down. “I know, lame, right? But I showed your card to one of the guys at the chapel, and he said your shop was over here at the Venetian, and I was headed over here anyway, so I figured I’d stop in. Maybe see if you could touch up my tat.”
The red lights that had been flashing in my brain kicked up a notch. “Someone you work with knows my shop? Who?” I hoped I didn’t sound too paranoid.
“Guy named Lou Marino.”
I tried to place him but couldn’t. Had he been a client? Something about his name was tugging at my brain.
Will was still talking, and I missed the first part of what he said, but his next words jolted me. “His wife’s father got married the other day at the chapel. Lou said he married a woman who owns a tattoo shop.”
“Sylvia Coleman? She used to own Murder Ink.” Small world was suddenly an understatement.
He nodded, and it hit me. That was why the name was familiar. Rosalie Marino. Bernie’s daughter.
“His wife is Rosalie?” I asked, thinking about Rosalie’s tattoos. I wasn’t sure Lou Marino was someone I wanted to cross paths with.
At the mention of Rosalie’s name, Will Parker’s grin vanished and he looked a little uncomfortable. I began to wonder whether Lou Marino’s coworkers knew about the abuse.
“That’s right,” he said, “Rosalie.”
“What does her husband do there?” I asked.
“He’s another Dino.”
I thought about Sylvia and how she’d requested Ray Lucci that day. Requested him because he was her son. It seemed too odd that Lucci worked with Bernie’s son-in-law. Yet another coincidence. Perhaps.
“So what about my tattoo?” he asked, pulling me back into the conversation. “Can you do it? Touch it up, I mean.”
“Not now. You need to make an appointment.”
“I can’t stay now anyway,” he admitted.
“You could’ve just called, then.”
“I had to be over here at the Venetian. I’ve got a job interview. When Lou told me about your shop and I was heading over here anyway, I figured it might be karma that we met this morning.” A smile crept back, and his eyes flashed with a distinct sexiness.
Karma. I liked the sound of that. And a job interview explained the outfit.
“Job doing what?” I asked, wondering in what capacity the Venetian would need a Dean Martin impersonator.
“They’re looking for some performers.”
“They’re starting a Rat Pack routine?” I asked. It would definitely fit the Italian theme.
He shook his head. “No, no. I don’t only do Dean. I’m a singer and a dancer. I can do pretty much anything.”
I had visions of those Renaissance dancers who swirled around St. Mark’s Square on a regular basis, and the idea of Will Parker putting that on his résumé bothered me for some reason.
Was I snooty enough to not date someone because he pranced around in tights and a big white wig?
Possibly.
He saw my hesitation.
“I know it’s not Broadway, but it pays okay,” he said. “And I’ve got to get out of that wedding chapel.”
“Why?”
“Something’s not right over there,” he said, pausing.
“What’s not right?” I prodded.
“Ray Lucci’s murder, for one.”
“But that didn’t happen at the wedding chapel,” I said before thinking. And a nanosecond later I realized I couldn’t be certain it hadn’t. He’d ended up in my car, which had been at That’s Amore, and he had been dressed in his Dean Martin outfit.
But then I had a flash of that rat. That rat that came from somewhere, and even though I now knew Dan Franklin worked with lab animals, I didn’t know how it would have ended up at the chapel, especially since there was an empty cage at Franklin’s house.
Will Parker had started to notice that I wasn’t giving him a hundred percent of my attention.
“Do you know where Lucci was killed?” he asked, his expression guarded now.
I flashed him an embarrassed smile. “No, no, I don’t know about that,” I said quickly a
nd, eager to change the subject, added, “You said Ray Lucci’s murder was one thing that’s not right over at the chapel. What else is going on?”
“You’re right—it wasn’t just that. Although Ray was a crazy guy. Always talking about the cars that came through. We all knew he’d been inside for car theft, so we were never really sure if he was joking or not. He really liked that car Lou’s father-in-law drove up in.”
My Mustang Bullitt again. It didn’t set right that a dead guy had been planning on stealing my car, or at least had thought about stealing it.
And then I realized something.
“Were you working that day?” I asked.
“Yeah, it was me and Lou and Ray.”
“But not Dan Franklin?”
He seemed a little taken aback by my question.
“Do you know Dan?”
“I talked to him yesterday,” I said, not lying. “So he wasn’t working that day? He wasn’t there at all?”
“I saw him come in, but he wasn’t on shift. At least not when I was. This isn’t his full-time job; it’s something he does to make extra money. Tony lets him make his own schedule.” He paused. “Why are you asking about Dan?”
I shrugged. “Just making conversation. So you saw the Mustang Bullitt, too.”
The change of subject threw him a second; then he said, “Nice ride.” His face clouded over. “That’s one of the other things that’s not right.” He ran a hand through those golden locks of his. The grin was AWOL now.
He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, what he said was so unexpected I couldn’t catch my breath. “That very same car tried to run me down two days ago, about four o’clock, over on Charleston.”
Chapter 19
Will Parker said he was sure it was the same car, but he hadn’t gotten the license plate number, which was why the cops hadn’t tracked it down.
Until yesterday.
When Ray Lucci’s body was found in it.
This could explain Flanigan’s song and dance in the parking garage last night. He must have been alerted to Will Parker’s report about the red Mustang convertible. So Flanigan showed up here to check out where it had been parked, to see whether there were any clues that it had been stolen. I guess someone could have taken it. I was in the shop, didn’t leave until midnight. That meant there were nine hours during which my car was unattended.
I hadn’t noticed anything unusual, though, when I’d gotten into it that night. There were no telltale signs that the car had been hot-wired. The seat was where I’d always left it; I hadn’t had to adjust the rearview mirror.
This was why Flanigan asked me whether anyone else had a key.
Of course Sylvia and Bernie had borrowed mine. Did someone make a copy?
But that begged the question: If someone stole it, why bring it back? Maybe to make it look as though it was never gone in the first place.
Will Parker was looking at me funny. I’d been quiet too long. I didn’t want to tell him it was my car. Somehow I had a feeling that might not go over too well. And we were just starting to get to know each other. If it went any further and he ever saw my car, I’d deal with it then. Now was not the time.
“You didn’t see who was driving?” I asked.
“You sound like the cops,” he said.
“My brother’s a detective,” I explained. “I think it’s in the DNA.”
“Really? He’s a cop?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, but he never takes anything I say seriously. So what happened with the car?”
“I didn’t see who was driving,” he admitted. “I was coming from work, and I’d stopped at a Terrible’s for gas. For some reason my card wouldn’t work in the pump, so I had to go inside. When I was walking back, the car came out of nowhere and plowed past me. I jumped onto the hood of my car to get out of the way. The Mustang just kept going. It was like watching something in a movie.”
“You don’t think that the guy driving just didn’t see you?” I had to play devil’s advocate.
“The car was gunning for me. I swear it. It barely missed me.”
“Why would someone try to run you down?”
He knew what I was going for. “It’s not me, I don’t think,” he said softly. “I think it’s all of us over at That’s Amore. First Ray, then me, then Lou.”
“What? Lou? What happened with him?”
“He got mugged. Guy pulled a knife on him as he was leaving work. In the parking lot. Cut his arm, but before the guy could do anything else, some kids on skateboards came by and scared the guy off. Lou’s afraid to go anywhere now.”
Was someone trying to kill all the Dean Martin impersonators? And why?
My brain was moving faster than a rat in a maze. Flanigan must have decided I hadn’t been driving my car when it jumped that curb at Terrible’s; otherwise he would’ve taken me in yesterday. I wondered whether he didn’t already have a suspect who actually had a motive to knock off these Dean Martins.
Like maybe Dan Franklin.
“What about Dan Franklin? Do you think something happened to him, too?” I asked. “DellaRocco said he hadn’t seen him in two days.”
“He was in yesterday, but he took off pretty fast after he made a phone call, even before he could start his shift. Didn’t even change out of his costume. You think maybe Dan had something to do with Ray, me, and Lou?” Will asked.
A phone call? Had he taken off after talking to me yesterday?
“I heard he didn’t get along with Ray, but what about you and Lou?” I asked.
He thought a second, then said, “No, we got along fine. I don’t really know about Lou and him, though. I’m not sure they work together all that much because of Dan’s schedule. Dan mostly works nights and weekends. Lou, mostly days and never weekends. He’s been there the longest. You watch a lot of cop shows on TV?” he asked. “Because you really sound like a cop.”
“Maybe I watch a little too much TV,” I admitted, “but like I said, my brother is a detective. My dad was one, too, before he retired to Florida.” I gave him a small smile back. “I’m worried about you and the other Dean Martins. What did you do? Sing the wrong song or sing off key or something?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t know. But ever since Ray came to work there, things have gotten weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Ray brings out the worst in people. He and Lou have been on each other from the first day he started. Dan’s gotten really quiet. It used to be really fun working there, but now . . .” His voice trailed off as he remembered the good old days.
Something flashed into my brain.
“There’s a fifth impersonator, isn’t there? Alan something? I saw his name on the locker in your dressing room.”
His face changed, so slightly that if I wasn’t looking carefully to see his reaction, I would have missed it.
After a second, he said, “Alan quit two weeks ago.”
“Why? Did someone try to kill him, too?”
“No. At least not that I know of. He went over to that Elvis chapel across the street. Decided Elvis was more interesting than Dino. The boss won’t even let us talk about him. DellaRocco and Sanderson, the guy over at the Elvis place, hate each other. They’ve been stealing each other’s performers for years, hoping to put the other one out of business. Sanderson approached me a month ago, but DellaRocco gave me more money, so I stayed on. Guess Sanderson caught on and gave Alan an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
And possibly saved his life, I added to myself.
“So what about you?” I asked. “Do you know of any reason why anyone would try to kill you?”
The instant I asked, I regretted it. It implied that he’d done something to cause someone to try to run him down with my car. But he didn’t seem to pick up on that because he thought for a second, then said, “I don’t think so. I’ve stayed out of Ray’s way, and I get along okay with the other guys.”
As he spoke, his expression changed, as if remembering someth
ing. He frowned, then said, “Wait. I did have a problem with Dan about three weeks ago.”
I waited.
“It was about that stupid rat he’s got. He kept it in the dressing room. Creeped me out. I told him he had to get it out of there.”
Rat?
“He got all pissy with me, said it wouldn’t hurt a flea. But it was a rat.”
My heart was pounding so loud, I could swear he had to have heard it.
“So did he get rid of it?” I prodded.
Will snorted. “Yeah, Tony agreed with me. Said he had to bring it home. And then last week Dan came in all sad and stuff, said I should be happy. The rat had died.”
Chapter 20
While I could see motive in trying to run down Will Parker—don’t quite understand why some people think animals are worth more than humans—it was still unclear as to why Dan Franklin would kill Ray Lucci. And then there was Lou Marino’s mugging.
Will had to leave for his interview, but he scheduled an appointment with Bitsy for a tattoo touch-up, and he even hinted that maybe he’d want more ink, too. I’d probably have to make sure to get the work done before he found out it was possibly my car that was used to run him down.
“Why don’t we call Dan Franklin again?” Bitsy asked when I told her everything Will Parker had said. She was already tapping on the computer keyboard, pulling up Dan Franklin’s information, the information Ray Lucci left for us.
“He’s missing, remember?”
“But maybe this is a cell phone number. Maybe he’s missing on purpose.”
“Okay, so say I do call him,” I said. “What am I going to ask him? Why haven’t you gone to the chapel in two days? Why is your wallet in your locker there? Right. Like he’s going to answer.” I thought about that ten thousand dollars. Another thing Bitsy didn’t need to know about.
Bitsy handed me the phone. “You’ll think of something,” she said.
But as it turned out, I didn’t have to think of anything at all.
The recording told me that the number was no longer in service. A number that had been perfectly fine yesterday.
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