The Missing Ink: A Tattoo Shop Mystery

by Karen E. Olson

  “Sorry about this,” Tim said softly, crooking his arm around mine and squeezing my hand. I knew he wasn’t just talking about the fingerprint dust.

  I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

  “He was looking for something,” Tim said.

  “He took the safe. Maybe he just wanted money.”

  “But he doesn’t know what’s in the safe. Maybe he thinks there’s more than money in there.”

  I had a hard time with that. We were a tattoo shop. What would be in our safe? We never even had that much cash around. We usually just took credit cards.

  I also had a hard time thinking that Matthew had just been hanging around waiting to break into my shop. What did he expect to find here? Elise’s tattoo drawing had already been on national TV; I’d already found the Murder Ink address on the back.

  Both Matt Powell and Chip had been here. Chip just whined about Elise; Matt looked at my drawing for Elise and then it was inked on his chest after he was dead.

  What did Jeff Coleman know? I thought about how he wanted me to meet him in two hours.

  “I know where Coleman is,” I told Tim. “He wants to meet me at that crepe place in Paris.”

  Tim pulled away from me and nodded. “It’s about time you were straight with me about him.”

  “He says he knows why Matthew broke in.”

  “You can’t trust him.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” I tried to sound cynical, but I was just too spent, so it didn’t have the effect I’d been going for.

  “I’ll go meet him. I’ll take him in, and we’ll get to the bottom of everything.”

  Tim was making sense, but something tugged at the back of my brain. Even though he seemed convinced that Jeff was the key in all this, I still wasn’t. He saw me hesitate.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t I go meet him, talk to him, and then you can show up, say you followed me?” His expression told me he was dubious. “Listen, Tim, if he’s innocent in all this, like he says, I’m still going to have to deal with him from time to time. I’d rather it didn’t look like I ratted him out completely.”

  Tim sighed. “I see what you mean, and maybe this can work to our advantage.”

  I didn’t like the way he said that. “What do you mean?”

  “You can talk to him, get him to talk to you. He obviously feels like he can trust you.”

  Slowly, his words penetrated, and I had a sinking feeling in my gut.

  “You want me to get him to admit to something.”

  “Do you think you can?”

  “Maybe. He’s told me some stuff, but nothing incriminating against him. I mean, he told me someone took the gun from his shop. His mother left the door unlocked.” As I said it, again I was struck by how silly that sounded. How guilty it could sound.

  “Just get him to talk,” Tim said. “Once he starts, it’s possible he’ll spill everything.”

  I nodded. “Okay, fine, but how will you know? He’s been pulling these disappearing acts, one minute there, the next minute gone.”

  Tim was quiet for a second, then, “We’ll wire you.”

  “I offer up Jeff Coleman and suddenly you turn me into Sammy the Bull?”

  “It’s the only way we can get him on tape to incriminate himself. And the only way I’ll let you go.”

  “You’re not my mother.”

  He cracked a smile at that. “I’ll tell Mom if you don’t play nice. And you know I’m her favorite.”

  He meant it, too. He’d tell her and I’d catch crap about how I should help my brother, because he was doing the right thing, he should be admired for his public service. Blah, blah, blah.

  I had no choice. “Does the tape come off without hurting?” I asked.

  Tim laughed out loud. “You stick needles into your skin and you’re worried about a little tape?”

  Touché.

  “So how does this work?”

  “When does he want to meet?”

  “Two o’clock.”

  Tim glanced at his watch and panic crossed his face. “Have to move fast.” He disappeared into the staff room, where the forensics guys and the uniforms were still doing their thing. When he came out again, he nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour. Be here; be ready.”

  And then he was gone.

  The other cops left shortly thereafter, and Bitsy and I stared at the destruction, not quite sure where to start cleaning up. We’d called Joel, who was calling Ace’s girlfriend, and he was heading to the hospital. Bitsy had already called our clients who were scheduled for the day and canceled them before locking the doors so no one would see what had happened.

  Bitsy sifted through the papers on the floor in the staff room and then began picking up the baby wipes and throwing them into a large trash bag she’d rummaged out of the cabinet. I collected the file folders, putting the scattered papers in piles and then their proper folders. After three-quarters of an hour, it was still a mess, but we were making progress.

  “I hate to leave you with this,” I said. “But Tim’s going to be back soon.”

  Bitsy shrugged. “It’s okay. Just find out why he did this, okay?”

  It was the only reason I’d agreed to Tim’s plan.

  “Did you have fun last night?” I asked, trying to lift our moods a little.

  Bitsy smiled for the first time since she’d come in. “You missed a great night.” But then both of us realized that because we’d been out playing, Ace had encountered our intruder.

  We didn’t have time to contemplate it further, though, because Tim was knocking at the door. I let him in, along with another guy wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Tim introduced him as Nate. He held a case that looked remarkably like my tattoo case. Which reminded me . . .

  “Am I getting my tattoo machine back anytime soon?” I asked as Nate unraveled some wires.

  Tim led me to the sofa in the back of the shop, out of sight of anyone passing by the glass doors. “I’ll check on that,” he said absently. He was concentrating on the wires now. “You have to take off your shirt.”

  My eyes grew wide and I cocked my head at Nate. “What about him?” I didn’t have much of an issue with my brother doing this, but a stranger?

  Tim chuckled. “He doesn’t care.”

  But as I slipped my tank top off to reveal my lacy white bra, I could’ve sworn I saw a leer.

  The tats didn’t seem to faze him, though. He just started taping the wire to my torso.

  “She’s going to need a looser shirt,” he said to Tim, as if I were just some mannequin that didn’t have ears.

  “I don’t have one,” I said. “Not here.”

  He muttered something I really didn’t hear this time.

  Bitsy appeared around the corner. “I’ll go pick up something for her,” she volunteered, and Tim nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  While Bitsy was gone, Tim and Nate tested the equipment. They had some sort of recorder in the case, and they stood at different places throughout the shop, and I had to say something every few seconds so they could make sure everything worked right.

  “Where are you going to be?” I asked, still in my bra, but it had been long enough that I wasn’t self-conscious about it anymore. Sister Mary Eucharista would’ve demanded that I cover myself, but she had never had to wear a wire. God forbid.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Tim said.

  Nate closed up the case just as Bitsy came back, wielding another Ann Taylor bag. I was going to have to buy stock.

  I pulled the blue blouse over my head. It was one of those loose sixties-style shirts with a square neck, and it billowed down to my hips. It had puffy short sleeves that grabbed my biceps with elastic. It totally did not go with the skirt, but Tim and Nate didn’t seem to care. They liked that it covered the wire, and even when I leaned over, it didn’t show anything but a little cleavage. And the dragon.

  “Good to go,” Tim said, starting to leave with Nate on his hee
ls.

  But at the door, he stopped and turned.

  “Remember, get him to tell you as much as possible about that gun and his ex-wife. It was his kid, so he was lying about when he saw her last. Get him to tell you what the real story is.”

  I nodded and saluted. “Yes, sir,” I said, but immediately pulled my arm down. The movement had tugged on the tape holding the wire, and it hurt.

  “And one more thing,” Tim said. “Ask him what he and Matt Powell were talking about when he met him at Versailles the day before he asked you to go over there for him.”

  Chapter 48

  I froze. “He was with Matt Powell? How do you know that?”

  Tim smiled in a way that told me he wasn’t about to tell me anything. “Just ask him, Brett, okay?”

  “He’s going to wonder how I know that. . . .” My voice trailed off as the door closed behind them and they were gone.

  So the cops didn’t just want Jeff Coleman in Kelly’s murder, but also for Matt Powell’s. Suspicion crept into my head again. He’d sent me over to Versailles. Matt Powell had been inked by a tattooist who knew what he was doing. Did Jeff set me up? Had he been playing me all along, and I fell for his sympathy cry?

  Bitsy noticed the shirt didn’t go with the skirt.

  “You might want to get a pair of jeans or something.”

  I’d spent enough money on clothes the last week. “No, I’m all right.” Although a glance in the full-length mirror showed that I needed a little help from those What Not to Wear people. Even the dragon looked a little embarrassed. I shrugged, as if to say, It’s not my fault; I’m on a mission, and left the shop.

  Paris was just down the Strip, and I decided to walk to clear my head, get myself into game mode. I was wearing Tevas, which were good to walk in, although sadly did not add to my appearance.

  Most of the people moving down the sidewalk, however, didn’t exactly look like they’d just walked off the set of Sex and the City, either. It was too hot to do anything but melt anyway; everyone just hurried to get to their next air-conditioned space. I stopped a couple of times to hover in the doorways of casinos, letting the cool air wash over me so I could make it the next few feet without passing out. I should’ve brought water.

  Which made me wonder if sweating would harm the wire. I hadn’t thought about that, but it was too late now.

  Paris is another illusion, like the Venetian or Versailles; it’s got a great shopping area with little Disney-like stores and restaurants and cobblestone streets and trees. A little farther up was the casino that sat underneath a replica of the Eiffel Tower.

  La Creperie is a walk-up joint, where for $8.99 you can get an incredibly decadent crepe with any filling you want. I like the fruit ones.

  Jeff Coleman wasn’t waiting for me. Glancing around, I didn’t see him anywhere, but that wasn’t a total surprise, since he kept sneaking up on me all over the place. He was probably watching me, just like the cops were watching me—and listening to my stomach growl as I saw someone walk by with a crepe full of ham and cheese.

  While the morning had gone in slow motion as I picked up the pieces that were Ace and my shop, now I was literally wired and ready for anything. Food would’ve given me a real boost, but I didn’t want to be shoving crepe into my face when Jeff Coleman jumped out from a corner.

  I found a seat at a table in the area next to La Creperie and tapped my fingers as I waited.

  And waited.

  After fifteen minutes, I said, “I’m not sure he’s coming,” seemingly to no one—although passersby probably would think I was on my cell phone, even though I didn’t have one of those dorky things sticking out of my ear like some sort of Star Trek character. I had no idea where Tim and Nate were waiting. I wondered if this was what their job was like, those stakeouts on TV and in movies that made police work seem so glamorous but in actuality were duller than dirt.

  Antsy, I got up and went across the little cobblestones to a shop that sold French cheese and wine. As I browsed, I kept an eye on La Creperie, but there was still no sign of Jeff.

  Springsteen sang in my bag. I dug around until my fingers touched my cell phone, and I flipped it open.

  “Hello?”

  “Kavanaugh, you should be arrested for wearing that outfit.”

  “Where are you?” I asked. “I’m here, but you’re not.”

  “And when you get rid of those cops, I’ll meet you.”

  I hesitated a second. “Cops? What cops?”

  “Don’t play games, Kavanaugh. I’m not stupid. You never wear shirts like that, although I did like the one you wore on TV.”

  He was here somewhere.

  “You’re supposed to tell me why Matthew broke into my shop.” I was talking too fast, the words spilling out of my mouth on top of one another. “And why did you meet with Matt Powell at Versailles? What’s up with that?”

  “No time for chitchat, Kavanaugh. You’ve got something in your shop they want.”

  My chest felt heavy as his words sank in. Tim was right. “But my shop was trashed. Matthew probably got whatever it was.”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  He sounded so sure.

  “How do you know this?” Skepticism seeped into my voice. “I mean, really, how do you know? Do you have something to do with this?”

  “I’ve got my ear to the ground, something you should’ve thought of instead of traipsing off and becoming a TV star.”

  “I didn’t choose that.”

  “Fair enough. But really, there’s something everyone’s looking for, and everyone thinks you’ve got it.”

  “What is it?”

  Silence for a second, then, “Not sure.”

  “Okay, so you’re getting on my case for not keeping my ear to the ground, but that’s all you’ve got?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “So what about Matt Powell? Why did you meet him? Do you know who did his ink? Was it you?”

  “No.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, I said, “You don’t know anything, do you? You don’t know what it is Matthew was looking for when he tossed my shop. You don’t know how Kelly got pregnant with your baby.” I was struggling to keep my voice down, but I wasn’t entirely successful. I began walking toward the casino.

  “I do know,” he said softly.

  “Do know what?” I barked.

  “I know how she got pregnant.”

  “Well, I think we can figure that out, can’t we?”

  “It’s not what you think. Really.” He didn’t sound like himself, and I stopped walking, moving out of the line of foot traffic.

  “Then what is it?”

  “We had embryos.”

  “What?”

  “Embryos. For in vitro fertilization. We never used them; she left me before we could. I went to the doctor’s office yesterday. I got one of the nurses to tell me Kelly had three embryos implanted four months ago. One survived.

  “The cops were right. She was pregnant with my kid.”

  Chapter 49

  He sounded so sad, so deflated. So I made an executive decision. I let him go.

  I hung up and walked back to La Creperie, putting up my hands in a sign of surrender. Tim was already coming toward me.

  I told him what Jeff had said, but he wasn’t as gullible as I was.

  “You should’ve reeled him in,” Tim said. “There are still too many questions.”

  “He said there’s something in my shop,” I said. “That’s why it got trashed.”

  “What is it?”

  I shrugged. “He said he didn’t know.”

  “He’s pretty clever, feeding you bits of information to get your sympathy but not really telling you much more,” Tim said bitterly. “You should’ve gotten him to meet you.” He put his hand out, and I frowned, not knowing what he wanted. “Your phone. I want to see the number he called you from.”

  That was easy enough. I gave it to him, and he gave the number to Nate, who wrote it
down.

  I knew the number, though. And I knew he wouldn’t get anything out of it.

  “It’s Simon Chase’s number,” I said flatly.

  Tim and Nate stared at me.

  “He’s got Chase’s cell phone,” I said cryptically.

  “Why?”

  I tried to look nonchalant.

  “Why does Jeff Coleman have Simon Chase’s phone, Brett?” I recognized the big-brother voice, but instead of the good “I’ll take care of Zack Turner” big brother, this was the one who always came out before he chased me around the yard threatening to “get” me for something or other.

  “He . . . well, he got his hands on it last night at Viva Las Vegas. He said he’d give it back.” Had he? I wasn’t so sure.

  Tim took a deep breath. “You do realize that even if the guy didn’t kill anyone, he is a thief?”

  “Oh, yeah, I know that,” I said. “Believe me, I don’t like the guy—never did.”

  Tim and Nate rolled their eyes at each other.

  “Give us the wire,” Tim said.

  “Right here?”

  “Find a ladies’ room. We’ll wait.”

  It did hurt pulling the tape off, in a different way from getting inked. In a worse way, really, because it left nothing but a big, red, raw patch of skin. The dragon had gotten caught under it, and he looked uncomfortable.

  Almost as uncomfortable as I felt in the ridiculous outfit. I couldn’t wait to take off this shirt and change into my tank top.

  I handed the wire to Tim as I stepped outside. “I’m done?”

  “You weren’t much help,” he said. “I’m going to catch a lot of crap for using this stuff and not having anything to show for it.”

  “Sorry,” I said, meaning it. “I didn’t get the cop genes.”

  I must have touched a nerve, and it looked for a moment like he wanted to give me a hug, but Nate was hovering. It wouldn’t be macho, so he just said, “Let me know if anything else happens.”

  “Sure.” So much had gone on in the last couple days, I wasn’t sure I could cram any more in. I needed to get back to the shop and help Bitsy pick up the pieces. I also needed to call the hospital and Joel and see how Ace was doing.

  “I’m on my way back,” I said when I called Bitsy as I waited in line for a crepe. Might as well have lunch first; who knew when I’d get another chance?