“Elise isn’t dead.” My words surprised even me, but they didn’t faze him.
“Do we know that?”
I wasn’t completely sure I’d heard him right. “Know what?”
“That she’s not dead.”
What was he implying? Did he know something I didn’t?
“You were the last to see her alive, I understand,” he said.
“The last one who’ll admit it.” The banter was putting me off guard. I was comfortable with Chase; he made me feel I could say anything.
Before I could add more, however, the waiter arrived with the wine. He made a great show of opening it, his hands trembling slightly as he offered a taste to the man who ran the place. Chase lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed, then sipped, swishing the wine around in his mouth before nodding.
The waiter poured me a glass, then poured more into Chase’s. He left without meeting my eye.
Chase lifted his glass, and we clinked.
“To delightful company,” he said, his eyes smoky as his tongue gently licked the rim of the glass. I wanted to be that glass, and he knew it. I was a lousy detective.
“So when was the last time you saw Kelly?” I asked.
Chase cupped his glass in his hand, staring at me over the top of it. “Four days ago. She was very much alive.”
“Did she tell you she was pregnant?”
The glass wavered slightly. “What?”
“Did you know Jeff Coleman?”
“Slimy little bastard,” he said. “But good at his job.” He tipped his glass toward me.
“He’s the one who sent me over here,” I said. “He was supposed to be here, not me, yesterday.”
“I suppose he has some explaining to do,” Chase said.
The salads arrived, perfect crispy Romaine with parmesan shavings and a tangy anchovy dressing.
“Did you know Matt Powell?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Did Elise know him?”
“Of course.” He took a sip of wine. “You think Matt was Elise’s lover?”
“The name fits the tattoo.”
“So his murder was a little tit for tat?”
Clever. I nodded. “It would make sense.”
“So who killed him?”
I thought about it a second, taking the time to savor my salad. “Chip, maybe.”
Simon laughed. “He couldn’t kill anyone. He can barely get through a day. I tried to tell Elise . . .” His voice trailed off.
“What did you tell Elise?” I asked, fork in the air. “You warned her not to marry Chip? Do you think she got cold feet and ended up here with Matt Powell and decided to marry him instead?” As I spoke, the scenario felt right. Except for one thing. Kelly Masters. “When did Elise meet Kelly?” It wasn’t completely a non sequitur.
He didn’t indicate that the change of subject bothered him. “As far as I know, they never knew each other.”
“So they didn’t meet through you?” I tried to read his face, but it showed me nothing.
“Kelly and I were over a long time ago,” he said. “As were Elise and I.”
“Did you see Elise when she came to town?” I asked as the waiter took our salad plates away.
Chase poured more wine for each of us—had I really finished the glass?
“I haven’t seen Elise in over a year,” he said. “She wouldn’t exactly seek me out.”
“What happened between you?” I wanted to see if he’d corroborate Chip’s story.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me for a few seconds, then, “What happens to any relationship when two people have nothing in common except great sex?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and he asked another question before I could.
“Is that what happened with you and Paul Fogarty?”
I caught my breath. How had he known about Paul?
He was smiling, his eyes flashing. “You’re not the only one with a computer and resources, you know, Miss Kavanaugh.”
The filet arrived then, medium-rare, bursting with juices, on a bed of mashed garlic potatoes, the horseradish sauce not overpowering but complementing the meat. I didn’t want to tell him anything about Paul—or our sex life, which was none of his business, thank you very much—but that sabotaged my own questioning. We ate in silence, each sneaking little peeks at each other over our forks.
We were at an impasse.
He knew it, too.
“Dessert?” he asked, pouring more wine.
“I’m stuffed,” I said. “I need to get back to the shop.” As I said it, I looked at my watch. Two thirty. I was supposed to meet Joel out in the lobby at two. My face gave me away.
“Do you have a train to catch?”
I put my napkin on the table next to my plate. “Actually, I really do need to get back. I’m late as it is.” I tried a smile on for size. “I’m the boss. I can’t have my staff doing all the work while I’m out playing.”
I stood up, and Chase stood up, too, walking around the table and taking my arm, again sending a spark through my skin. His lips brushed my cheek, and I could feel desire rush through my body.
“I hope we can do this again,” he whispered.
“I don’t see why not,” I said, my voice tinged with that faux accent. “Thank you for everything.” I didn’t trust myself to look at him before I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair and stumbled on those high heels out of the restaurant. I could feel his eyes on my back the whole time.
I hadn’t learned much. And I’d forgotten to ask about Matthew.
I had just reached the lobby when a hand clamped itself hard around my shoulder.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter 29
Bruce Manning didn’t bother to disguise his irritation.
“I was just having lunch,” I said. “Can you take your hand off me?”
He didn’t move it. “The last time you were here, someone turned up dead. You spoke to my daughter-in-law and she disappeared. I see a pattern.”
I wasn’t so sure. It was tenuous at best. But his grip was strong, and I was trying not to flinch.
“Future,” I said.
“Future what?”
“She is your future daughter-in-law. She hasn’t married Chip yet.”
The semantics escaped him as he scowled. “I see you’ve bewitched my manager.”
Bewitched? What century did he live in?
“I’m no witch,” I said, twisting my shoulder to try to release his grip.
“You’re as bad as she was,” he muttered, the pressure tightening and pain shooting through my arm.
“Who?” I asked when I caught my breath. “Did you hurt Elise, too?”
“I don’t like your insinuation. I’d like you to stay out of my hotel and casino. I’d like you to tell my manager that you can’t see him anymore. If I see you, I’m going to call the police.” His voice was low, but he kept his face neutral. Anyone watching us probably wouldn’t suspect he was threatening me.
“You don’t scare me,” I whispered.
“I should. Now get out.” And as quickly as he’d grabbed me, he released me, my arm dangling by my side.
I reached up and rubbed my shoulder. It had gone slightly numb. “I’m waiting for someone to pick me up.”
But Bruce Manning had already dismissed me and walked away—toward Simon Chase, who was watching the whole thing. Manning flicked his hand at Chase, who turned to follow him, but not before I saw his raised eyebrows, a question as to whether I was all right. I nodded.
I didn’t care that Bruce Manning was one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. All I cared about was that he’d hurt me, in public. I could try to press charges, but I’d be laughed out of court. I’d be a fool to go up against him; it would be his word against mine.
Still, I could tell Tim and maybe he’d be able to give me some advice.
I moved farther into the lobby, glancing around for
Joel. I didn’t see him. But I did recognize the woman hovering behind the gigantic spray of flowers.
Sylvia Coleman.
“Your young man came to the shop,” Sylvia said when I approached her. “Dear, do you know he’s gay?”
It took me a second to realize she was talking about Joel. “He’s not my young man.”
She grinned. “That’s a relief.”
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
I wondered again about dementia. “Joel. My young man. He was supposed to meet me here.”
“Oh, yes, dear, I know. He’s in the men’s room.”
Why was she here? Did Joel bring her? Why had he gone to Murder Ink? We were supposed to go to that Super 8.
As I was asking myself those questions, he somehow managed to appear without my noticing his approach. “How was lunch? Did you have the filet?”
I tugged on his arm, asked Sylvia to excuse us a moment, and led him a few feet away. Keeping my voice low, I asked, “What’s going on? Why are you here with Sylvia?”
“I just thought I’d run past there before I picked you up to see if I could get any more information. She was hanging around, bugging everyone.”
“So you decided to do them a favor and have her tag along with you so she could bug us?”
“She said she’d bring us to Jeff.”
That stopped me. Okay, I could live with this. “He’s not at the Super 8?”
“No. Why would he be there?” Sylvia’s voice startled me. She’d sneaked up behind us. “It’s not nice to keep secrets,” she admonished me.
No kidding. But there were a lot of them floating around these days; what was another one?
“You can take us to him? I really need to talk to him,” I said.
Sylvia grinned. “He wants to talk to you, too.” She looked up at Joel. “Him, well, not so much.”
“She’s not going without me,” Joel piped up.
Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, then maybe no one will go.”
At that moment, I saw Bruce Manning out of the corner of my eye. He was heading back our way with Simon Chase. I grabbed elbows and steered Joel and Sylvia through the lobby and out the front revolving door.
“What’s going on?” Joel asked.
“Let go of me,” Sylvia demanded, trying to wrench her arm free.
Who was bullying whom now? I dropped their elbows and apologized. “It seems I’ve been banned from Versailles,” I said with a slight twitter. “Bruce Manning has made me an enemy for life.”
“Oh, dear, he’s full of hot air,” Sylvia said, pooh-poohing me. “He’s a nice man, just a little too full of himself sometimes.”
“And how do you know Bruce Manning?” I asked sarcastically.
“I happen to know him at least as well as you probably do,” Sylvia said, puffing up her chest. “He was just in the shop this morning. He wanted to know where Jeff was, too.”
Chapter 30
So the cops and Manning were both after Jeff Coleman. Interesting.
“Let me guess,” Joel said, his expression showing his surprise at this revelation as well. “He didn’t want any ink, did he?” The valet had come over, and Joel handed him his ticket.
Sylvia looked slightly uncomfortable and didn’t answer.
“What did he say he wanted Jeff for?” I pressed.
She shrugged. “He didn’t exactly say.”
“What did he say?”
“He came up in one of those big black cars and asked if Jeff was there. I said no, he was out of town. He didn’t like that, but then asked if someone named Ellis, Ellen, something like that, had been around.”
I raised my eyebrows at Joel.
“I told him I didn’t know any Ellis, that Jeff didn’t either, and if he wanted a tat, I could do a nice skull on his chest for five hundred. He left then.”
I could picture Sylvia wielding her tattoo machine, the ink on her arms and chest and legs most likely intimidating Manning and making her look taller than her five-foot frame.
So Manning had wanted to know about Elise. Why would he assume Elise would’ve been to Murder Ink? Unless he knew about Kelly Masters’s connection to Jeff.
The valet pulled up with Joel’s Toyota Prius. I didn’t know how he managed to squeeze his body into the driver’s seat, but somehow he did. He said he wouldn’t drive anything else; he had to conserve energy and use less gas. Water was my issue; climate change his. But I guess you could argue they were one and the same.
I let Sylvia sit up front next to Joel and settled in the backseat, my knees up under my chin. “Where are we heading?” I asked as Joel eased the Prius down the drive and past the hedge animals.
Sylvia shifted in her seat so she could face me. “Circus Circus.”
Joel made the appropriate turn out of the drive. I pondered this. Circus Circus looked on the outside like a red and white-striped circus tent. The big neon sign sporting a clown creeped me out—mainly because all clowns creep me out, one reason why I never go to Circus Circus even though the roller coaster in the Adventuredome is supposed to be pretty cool.
None of us said anything for a few minutes as we made our way up the Strip.
“Uh, Brett?” Joel broke the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Look out the back, will you?”
Sylvia and I turned at the same time, peering out the back window.
A white Dodge Dakota was behind us.
“Is that the same truck that was following you?” Joel asked.
All big trucks looked alike to me, although the possibility of coincidence was unlikely. Again I tried to see if I could recognize the driver, but the window was tinted slightly and the sun was glaring off it, so it was impossible.
“I have no idea,” I said.
“Who is following you, dear?” Sylvia asked.
“A bald guy with an eagle tattooed on his neck.”
“Oh, that’s just Matthew.”
I remembered that she hadn’t been concerned about him when I’d spoken to her before, either. “What’s his story?”
“He just has a bit of a temper. You have to know how to handle him.”
“How is that?”
“Be nice to his sister.”
Kelly? “You know Kelly is dead, right?” I asked tentatively. That possible dementia kept rearing its ugly head.
Sylvia sighed and shook her head, her expression indicating that I was a sad excuse for a human being. “I wish you wouldn’t doubt me. And I wish you’d come in for that other sleeve. Really, dear, a naked arm is like a naked breast. It just shouldn’t be out in public.”
Joel glanced back and rolled his eyes at me.
We reached Circus Circus, and Joel pulled into the front, even though the self-parking was in the back. The Dakota drove past.
“Maybe it wasn’t Matthew after all,” I said.
“Why would it be Matthew?” Sylvia asked.
“Because he’s following me.” I spoke slowly, as if to a small child.
“But Matthew drives a Harley. He doesn’t own a truck.”
Okay, I guess I should’ve asked Sylvia about that earlier, but it didn’t occur to me that she would know what type of vehicle Matthew drove.
We drove in circles trying to find self-parking. Joel finally gave up and pulled up in front of the hotel entrance. Joel handed the valet his keys, took a ticket, and we headed toward the entrance with Sylvia leading the way, scurrying so quickly I was afraid we’d lose her. Joel was panting by the time we got inside, where the air-conditioning enveloped us and immediately gave me goose bumps.
I took off my sunglasses and sped off after Sylvia, who was navigating the slot machines like a rat in a maze.
“Come on,” I urged Joel, who was huffing and puffing hard enough to blow down a house.
I was dubious about Sylvia’s state of mind, but we had no choice but to follow her lead, to trust that she really was taking us to Jeff and not on a wild-goose chase.
>
We took the escalator up, turning right at the top. It was set up like Main Street, USA, with fake trees and kiosks selling everything from cheesy jewelry to candy to temporary tattoos.
We reached the entrance to the Adventuredome, a bright, enclosed space that sort of looked like the big ball at Disney’s Epcot, but turned inside out. Carnival rides were laid out in front of us, and we skirted around to the right—it was circular, with rides and booths, the scent of cotton candy in the air. I got caught behind a group of four teenagers jostling one another and laughing. Sylvia’s head bobbed up and down ahead of me as she went around the curve, then disappeared. I turned to Joel, who was barely keeping up beside me.
“Stay here, and I’ll find her,” Joel said.
“No, I want to go with you. This place is a nightmare.” I wasn’t kidding. SpongeBob was bigger than life, right in front of me, advertising his 4-D ride.
“Stay here,” Joel said again. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched his large body lope away until I couldn’t see it anymore.
A stroller slammed into the back of my legs, and I stiffened, sorry I’d let Joel go on ahead. There was no apology from the woman steering the small Hummer. I smelled popcorn and sugar and heard screams from the roller coaster that wound its way across the ceiling overhead. I stared up at it, trying to follow the tracks to see where the twists were, but it disappeared into a fake mountain.
His voice made me jump.
“So, Kavanaugh, who do the cops think killed that guy? You or me?”
Chapter 31
Jeff Coleman looked like he hadn’t slept since I’d seen him the other night. Black smudges accented his eyes; his five-o’clock shadow was more like ten o’clock.
I didn’t care. “What are you doing? Did you send me over to Versailles knowing I’d find a dead guy in the bathroom?”
Jeff glanced around at all the tourists who’d brought their kids to Vegas like it was some sort of Disneyland. Yeah, there was a roller coaster, but it was just the backdrop for the blackjack and roulette tables, the slot machines. A few years back, Vegas wanted to become a family destination, but somewhere along the way it realized that was a sham. Adventuredome was one of the few leftovers. Even the MGM had shed its amusement park and Wizard of Oz identity in favor of topless showgirls.
The Missing Ink: A Tattoo Shop Mystery Page 14