The Missing Ink

by Karen E. Olson

  “I’m here, Brett. He’s not bothering you again, is he?”

  “No, but he’s got Elise Lyon.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but I wasn’t too successful.

  “And they left?”

  “I thought about following them.”

  “Why?”

  Why, indeed? Why would I do that? Because I’d gotten in over my head on this one?

  Tim spoke before I could answer. “Don’t play hero, Brett. Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. I think they left on a bike.”

  “A bicycle?”

  “Motorcycle,” I said sarcastically. “There are almost as many bikes here as there are Elvises.”

  “Which direction?”

  “I don’t know. Looked like they were heading back downtown, but who knows?”

  More silence.

  “She looked scared,” I offered.

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “No.” But something tugged at my brain. Why had she run from me? And what was Simon Chase’s role in this? He was nowhere to be seen. He’d gotten me up onstage, singing, and then took off. Leaving Elise to Matthew.

  Maybe he hadn’t seen her.

  Or maybe he’d set her up. Maybe he and Matthew were in cahoots together.

  Cahoots? What was I, a hundred years old?

  My thoughts jumbled around like the letters in Boggle. I’d seen Simon with Matthew, outside Giverny before our lunch date. Maybe I wasn’t so far off in my suspicions.

  This time Tim thought he’d lost me.“What’s going on, Brett?”

  “Umm, well, you might want to talk to Simon Chase again,” I said, throwing caution to the wind and any possible romance out the window.

  “Why?”

  “He was here, too. I think he was meeting her here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Uh-oh. How to get out of this one? “He might have said something.”

  Even more silence. “You know, Brett, I can’t bring someone in and question them just because my sister might have suspicions. I need more than that to go on.”

  I knew that. I also knew that if Tim called Simon in now, Simon would know who’d ratted him out.

  Simon Chase emerged from around the far corner of the building. Quickly, I ducked behind a pickup truck that was taller than me, and I watched him scan the parking lot.

  Was he looking for Elise and Matthew? Or for me?

  “Listen, Tim,” I said, “maybe I’m wrong. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.” I started to flip the phone shut but heard him saying, “Brett? Wait.”

  Lifting the phone back up to my ear and keeping an eye on Chase, I said, “Yeah?”

  “That tat. On Matt Powell. What did you think?”

  “Professional. Definitely not a scratcher. It looked remarkably like my drawing.”

  “Remarkably?”

  “Almost identical, except for the name. Apparently Powell came in looking for a tat like that and Ace showed it to him by accident. We’ve got a file on him. On Powell, not Ace. But Ace didn’t do the ink. I don’t know who did.”

  Simon Chase was now weaving through the bikes in the lot, getting closer. I ducked a little lower, but not too low, so I still could see him through the window of the truck.

  “Do you think Coleman did it?”

  “I don’t know, Tim,” I said, lowering my voice a little so Chase wouldn’t hear me. Voices can travel on that still desert air pretty easily. “I have to get going.”

  “Okay, sure, but, Brett?”

  “Yeah?” Chase was getting closer.

  “Powell’s ink? It was done after he was dead.”

  Chapter 41

  I closed my phone, pondering Tim’s words, but not distracted enough to realize I had to duck down farther so I couldn’t see Chase, because I didn’t want him to see me.

  I squatted behind the truck, praying that he’d just go inside and stop trolling the lot.

  Sister Mary Eucharista wouldn’t be happy with me for making such a selfish prayer, but it was called for at the moment, and I hoped God wouldn’t mind. I spent most of my school days hoping God wouldn’t mind one thing or another, so it was sort of habit for me.

  Footsteps stopped on the other side of the truck. I leaned against the hot metal, holding my breath, realizing that for the second time that day I was hiding from Simon Chase. It pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn’t get another one of those kisses.

  And sitting there, not breathing, I knew I wanted another kiss. Only this time it could be longer so I’d have more time to enjoy it.

  I mentally slapped myself. One moment I was thinking the guy was a possible murderer, the next I was hoping to get to know him better, even in the biblical sense. Especially in the biblical sense.

  I was a sucker for a bad boy.

  Especially when he was hot.

  Like Simon Chase.

  I was a lost cause.

  I was also moments from being discovered.

  Sweat dripped down between my breasts, but I wasn’t sure whether it was from the heat or anxiety. Probably both. I was also incredibly uncomfortable in this position. These trousers were definitely done for.

  Springsteen started blaring. I hadn’t shut off the cell phone. Stupid me. By the time I muted the thing, noting that it was Tim again-he’d just have to wait-Simon Chase was leaning over the hood of the truck, staring down at me with a grin on his face.

  “What are you doing down there?” he asked, holding out his hand to help me up.

  I took it. What else was I supposed to do?

  “Dropped my keys,” I said, cleverly having taken them out of my bag as I shut the phone. I dangled the keys in front of his face. “Silly me.”

  He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. But to his credit, he didn’t call me on it, just said, “You have a very… well, interesting voice.”

  He was referring to my karaoke attempt inside. My speaking voice was just fine, thank you very much.

  “I’ll get you back for that someday,” I said.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  The flirting was back; the darkness from before had vanished like Elise and Matthew. Which reminded me…

  “She left.”

  “Who?”

  “Elise. With Matthew. What’s going on? Why did she want you to meet her here?”

  Simon shrugged. “Talk about old times?”

  “How old were those times, really? Didn’t seem like they were too old,” I said.

  He stepped closer and ran a finger along my jawline, his face close, his eyes smoky. “They’re old enough,” he whispered and leaned in, this time really kissing me, not like that little peck outside the elevator.

  His hands slid around my torso, one landing on the dragon’s tail, the other on the lily just under my breast as we each leaned closer, our bodies pressing against each other, neither of us wanting to come up for air. I let my fingers do a little walking under his ever-present suit jacket, outlining the muscles that I’d seen in that picture on my Google search.

  Someone shuffled by. “Get a room,” he said loudly as he passed.

  Proper Catholic embarrassment caused me to pull away, even though I didn’t want to. The disappointment in Simon’s eyes was obvious.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you,” he said.

  I didn’t trust myself to say what I’d wanted to do since I met him, because I might just actually tell him.

  “Bet you say that to all your girls,” I tried lamely.

  He took a step back, adjusting his shirt and jacket as he nodded. “All right, I guess I deserve that. But maybe I’m just looking for love in all the wrong places.” He ran a hand through his hair and gave me another intense look, one that I felt between my legs.

  I caught my breath. I had to change the subject.

  “Why did Elise want to meet you here? What’s going on with her? Have you known all along where she was?” I asked, not sure what direction to g
o in.

  It was a wrong turn. If I could do a U-ey, I would.

  “I don’t know why you keep pushing this,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure why, either, but I was like a dog with a bone. I didn’t want to let it go. He saw that, too, and sighed.

  “I’m going back inside. Maybe you should figure out what you want.” He turned and started back for the bar.

  I stared after him. He thought I kissed him only because I wanted information about Elise. I opened my mouth to call him back, but I shut it again and watched him go inside without turning around. I still wasn’t sure what he was up to, and I didn’t want to get in too deep, just in case. There were too many unanswered questions.

  I had dropped my bag on the ground when he’d kissed me, so I reached down to pick it up, slung it over my shoulder, and went inside.

  Joel had stopped singing and was now sitting at the bar with Bitsy, who had another big, colorful cocktail in front of her. Joel was nursing something that could have been a gin and tonic or just a tonic. I didn’t see Simon Chase anywhere.

  I slid up on a bar stool next to Joel.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked. Before I could answer, he said, “Hey, you got up and sang. Good for you.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it, because you’ll never see it again,” I muttered.

  The bartender asked if I wanted a drink and I shook my head. “I need to get out of here,” I said.

  “What about Elise?” Bitsy asked as she slurped her drink through a straw.

  “She’s gone. Don’t know where.” I got off the stool.

  Joel made a face at me. “I can’t go home with Bitsy. I can’t fit in that car,” he said.

  “Well, the Mustang’s leaving, so if you want a ride, you have to come with me now.”

  Joel looked from me to Bitsy and back again. “I want to stay,” he whined.

  Why anyone would want to stay here baffled me. It had gotten more Elvis-congested since I’d been outside; the music was blaring, the singing atrocious. But Joel and Bitsy did seem like they were having a good time. Go figure.

  I pulled a twenty out of my bag and dropped it on the bar in front of Joel. “Cab’s on me,” I said. “Sorry, but I really do need to go.”

  Bitsy waggled her fingers at me as she turned her attention to an Elvis who’d come up behind her and started chatting. Joel pocketed the twenty and asked for another drink before leaning over and air-kissing my cheek.

  “See you tomorrow, hon,” he said cheerily.

  I did a quick look to try to find Simon, but when it seemed futile, I wandered back out through the black-lit hall and pushed the door open. The sun had almost set now, streaks of red and yellow dancing across the desert sky, the air almost comfortable.

  I climbed into the Mustang and turned the key in the ignition. As I waited a few seconds for the air-conditioning to kick in, movement in the rearview mirror caught my eye.

  Simon Chase was coming out of the bar. He hit a button on a key fob and opened the door to his vehicle.

  A white Dodge Dakota.

  Chapter 42

  I watched it ease out of the lot, and I didn’t waste any time. While I hadn’t followed it before, I certainly wasn’t going to miss the opportunity now. Especially since Simon was driving, and even if he were mixed up in something criminal, I didn’t think he’d hurt me.

  Of course, that’s what abused wives always tell themselves, too.

  I pushed my concerns away and concentrated on the Dakota in front of me. He was going about ten miles above the speed limit, which was ten miles above my comfort zone, but I wanted to keep up. I also didn’t want him to see me behind him, so I kept a couple of cars between us. The Mustang was low enough to the ground and the Dakota high enough off it so maybe I was out of his line of sight.

  He turned toward downtown, and soon we were heading along the Strip.

  I knew where we were going.

  The Dakota pulled into the Versailles entrance, and I parked along the side of the road with my flashers on. Pretty anticlimactic. I shouldn’t have assumed he would lead me to Elise and Matthew.

  But then a thought crossed my mind.

  What if he had?

  What if he was hiding them in plain sight?

  He was the manager. He could give them a room easily. Granted, Chip and his father were also at Versailles, but the place was enormous. How hard would it be to stay out of someone’s way?

  I told myself that as I made an executive decision to go back in there. Even though I was banned. But this time I wouldn’t go through the lobby. I’d go into the casino, where there were plenty of people to mask my arrival and plenty of slot machines to hide behind if I needed to. Granted, I was taller than most women, and I had tats, short bright red hair, and rows of piercings in my ears, but odder-looking people than me hung out in casinos. It was worth a shot.

  The room was buzzing with activity, the cocktail waitresses barely able to keep up and keep their bosoms in their corsets. I thought about Robbin, the girl I’d met in the ladies’ room. She had a hot date with the guy who ran the place. Was that why Simon had come back?

  A short man with a bad toupee bumped into me.

  “Excuse you,” he muttered, wandering away.

  I weaved around the slot machines, the flashing lights making me blink, the little musical dinging sounds bouncing off the ceiling. Sheryl Crow was singing about leaving Las Vegas, piped in from undisclosed speakers, no one really hearing it-it was background noise to replace that of the coins dropping into metal bins. I was a little dizzy as I approached the blackjack tables, Tim’s old stomping ground. He could still count cards, but only if there was a one- or two-deck shoe. It looked like these tables had at least six decks. No way to win, every way to lose.

  I didn’t like casinos; they had never managed to win me over. I used to like the heavy feel of the plastic cups holding five or ten dollars’ worth of quarters or nickels, slipping the coins into the machines. But now that they’d done away with the coins-you just put in a bill and got back a little ticket that you slipped into a machine like an ATM to get your meager winnings-it had lost any magic for me it might have once held. There were other things I’d rather throw my money away on, like Kenneth Cole shoes. While I’d be poor, at least I’d look hot.

  Hot like Simon Chase, who was standing about fifty feet away from me as I stumbled around a slot machine that wore a guillotine hat. Quickly, I ducked back behind it, peering over the top. The woman playing it didn’t even notice, she was so intent on pushing that little PLAY AGAIN button. Another downside to the new ticket system: Put in a bill and there was no reminder of just how much you were losing.

  Matthew approached Simon, who looked like he’d been expecting him. They shook hands, Simon nodding, Matthew’s mouth moving. I can’t read lips, so I was at a loss. I could read expressions, and Simon’s was exasperated as he straightened his shoulders and stood taller. I could see his mouth form the word “no.”

  So maybe I could read lips a little.

  Add it to the résumé.

  I scanned the room, looking for Elise. The way Matthew had pushed her out of Viva Las Vegas worried me. Maybe she was in a room upstairs somewhere, locked in, these two guys arguing about her fate. Would she die like Matt Powell? Like Kelly Masters?

  As I thought those things, I realized that people didn’t just get murdered for nothing. What did Kelly and Matt know that they had to be killed to keep them quiet? Kelly was pregnant; who was the father? Matt was in love with Elise-the tat told the story.

  I couldn’t see Matthew killing his sister. But he might kill Matt. And he had enough tats so he probably knew how it was done.

  But the ink was too good, too well drawn.

  As my thoughts spun around like the Scrambler, Simon started walking away from Matthew, who began heading in the opposite direction.

  Whom to follow?

  “You go after Chase; I’ll follow Matthew.” The voice made me jump, and I turned to see J
eff Coleman standing next to me. Some detective I would make; I hadn’t even noticed him there.

  “Meet you back here in half an hour,” Jeff said.

  I just stood there, and he frowned at me.

  “If you don’t go now, Kavanaugh, you’ll lose him.”

  As he spun around the slot machine, the guillotine came crashing down and the bells and whistles rang in my ears.

  Chapter 43

  Jeff was right: I didn’t have time to stand here and contemplate how he’d gotten there and why he’d barked orders at me. Simon’s head bobbed among the crowd, and I kept my eye on it as I weaved in and out among the slot machines. Soon I was past the slots and amid the tables: blackjack, roulette, craps. People huddled over them, their eyes wild with hope and despair.

  I could get cynical, but I can’t lie. Vegas is a great place for a tattoo shop, and I make a lot of money off those dreamers who came here looking to win big but didn’t. They wanted to go home with something, and saying, “Hey, I got this tat in Vegas,” sort of made up for it.

  Sure beat a T-shirt.

  I wondered what Simon Chase would look like in a T-shirt. So far I’d only seen him in a suit and tie.

  And as I had that thought, I realized now I couldn’t see him at all.

  I stopped and scanned the room, all the heads looking identical to one another, even the bald ones. They became a blur, and I blinked a few times to get my focus back.

  There he was, leaving the casino, going toward the lobby.

  Not a good place for me. Not enough places to hide. All those mirrors.

  I sped up slightly, because I didn’t want to lose him again, even though my heart had started pounding with the possibility of getting caught by Bruce Manning again and, if not, how I would approach Simon about why he was following me around in a Dodge Dakota for the last couple of days.

  Somehow I hadn’t pictured that as his vehicle of choice. I saw him more as a Ferrari sort of guy, maybe a Maserati. Something cool, like those guys on Entourage would have.

  He was a little older-sort of like Kevin Dillon but way better-looking. I could so see him in Entourage. Entourage International, maybe.