Pretty In Ink

by Karen E. Olson

  Oops. Left that part out.

  “When I brought Kyle back to the club, I went in to use the phone, and when I came back out, the tires were slashed. So it was towed to a garage.”

  “All the tires were slashed?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you find that unusual?” He was baiting me.

  I took it. “Yes. I did find that unusual, Detective.” The sarcasm dripped off my words. “I figured someone didn’t want me poking around.”

  “And then when you went back to Trevor McKay’s place, you got shot at. You’d just been there and the tires were slashed. Is there a connection?”

  “How should I know? You’re the detective. Is there a connection?” I had stood up and was shaking with anger and exhaustion. I was one breath away from tears. There it was. The one breath. And there were the waterworks.

  My whole body heaved with sobs, but I didn’t take my eyes off DeBurra’s face. It unnerved him. He began to shift from foot to foot; his eyes skipped over to the door as if willing someone to save him.

  And that’s exactly what Tim did by speaking up at just that very moment.

  “I think that’s enough,” he told DeBurra sternly. “I’m taking her home. If you want to ask her more questions in the morning, I can bring her back. But she needs some sleep.” He put his arm around me, which only made me cry harder. I couldn’t stop once I’d started.

  Which is why DeBurra let us leave.

  I went into the ladies’ room and managed to calm down a little, throwing some cold water on my face and running wet hands through my hair. It was a little spikier that way, slicked back over my ears, which were still naked. I fingered them absently, wondering whether I should leave them that way for a while. No. I’d find replacements in my jewelry box at home.

  When I emerged, not feeling totally refreshed but at least no longer sobbing, Tim and I went out to his Jeep in the parking lot without saying anything to each other. I was tired of talking, anyway.

  The desert air was still, and it had cooled a bit. If I figured right, it was about eight.

  “What about Jeff Coleman? Is he still in there?” I asked, cocking my head toward the building as we climbed into the Jeep.

  “DeBurra took his statement and let him go after about an hour.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I had a little chat with him. You know, Brett, he’s not a bad guy. Why don’t you like him?”

  I was glad the sun was going down, so my face was in a shadow. I felt the blush crawl up my neck as I remembered Jeff grabbing me and covering me with his body when the gunshots rang out.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, he’s not so bad after all, I guess.”

  “He thinks pretty highly of you.”

  Really? I was too tired to think about it.

  “Do you think Ace is involved in whatever it is Charlotte’s up to?” Tim asked. “Off the record.”

  “No. And until I saw her today jumping off that balcony, I didn’t really want to think she was doing anything wrong, either. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Did you do a background check on her when you hired her?”

  I stared at him. “No. Should I have? She’s just a trainee.”

  “Brett, you should background check everyone you hire, even a trainee.”

  Something about his tone made me pause. “You know something, don’t you?”

  He kept his eyes on the road, flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “What is it, Tim? What’s in her background?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who said this was all off the record. So you didn’t really tell me, okay?”

  The Jeep slowed to a stop at a light on the Strip. The Venetian was just to our left in all its Renaissance Italy glory. It looked exactly like the Doge’s Palace, with a sign for Madame Tussauds wax museum stuck like a postage stamp at the end of a ramp. I stared at it for a long second before whispering, “Tim? Please tell me about Charlotte.”

  The light changed and he gunned the accelerator, causing the Jeep to lurch forward.

  “I didn’t tell you.”

  “I know.”

  He waited until we were sitting at the next light.

  “Metro Homeland Security’s been watching Charlotte Sampson since last year.”

  Chapter 39

  I tried to wrap my head around what Tim was saying, but the fatigue was too much.

  “What do you mean, they’ve been watching her? What do they think? She’s some sort of terrorist?”

  When Tim didn’t answer, I continued.

  “That’s ludicrous. She was a student, studying accounting, and she wants to be a tattoo artist. She’s good. She’s really good. She’s not a terrorist.”

  Tim waited until I paused. “They believe she and Wesley Lambert were partners.”

  “Partners in what?”

  He shrugged. The light turned green, and we shot forward.

  “Do they think she was part of the ricin making?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. I just overheard DeBurra saying that it was convenient she called you to come to Lambert’s condo and he was dead.”

  “Do they think she had something to do with his death?”

  We stopped again, and the red light cast a glow on the windshield.

  Tim nodded. “Yeah, they do.”

  I mulled that for a few seconds. “Wonder what Trevor’s role was.” And then I knew. The money. The money must have had something to do with this. I kept flashing back on that image of Charlotte with the backpack.

  We were on 215 now, heading toward Henderson and my bed. I leaned back on the headrest and closed my eyes, drifting off.

  But a thought made me jolt up.

  The laptop. Trevor’s laptop. It was in Jeff Coleman’s car. I wondered if there was anything on it that could give me a clue as to what Trevor had been up to, and, by extension, Charlotte as well.

  I glanced at Tim, who was concentrating on the road. Should I mention the laptop?

  Two Sister Mary Eucharistas were sitting on my shoulders. One wore little devil horns and urged me to keep my mouth shut. The one with angel’s wings said I should own up.

  Exhaustion won out. I justified not saying anything by telling myself I’d let him know about the laptop in the morning. After I got some sleep. I didn’t have the energy to answer more questions.

  I leaned back again and dozed.

  I barely remembered getting into the house and going to bed. But when I woke up, the sun streaming through the miniblinds, I was curled up under my comforter, wearing my cotton pajama bottoms and oversized T-shirt. I had a vague memory of pulling it over my head.

  The clock told me it was ten already. I usually got to the shop around eleven. I wondered whether I could call Bitsy and explain that I needed a couple more hours of sleep.

  But I’d been gone all day yesterday, she’d saved my butt, and I needed to give her a break.

  I dragged myself out of bed, looked in the mirror, and almost screamed.

  My hair, which I’d slicked back so nicely at the police station, was standing on end, like Alfalfa’s from The Little Rascals. I swiped a hand over it, and it just bounced right back up again.

  A shower. I really needed a shower.

  I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and let it soak me. I tipped my head back, and the water pounded into my skull. In a good way. I don’t know how long I was in there, but when I got out, I was all nice and prune-y, my skin was red from the heat, and I felt almost human again.

  A cup of coffee would complete me.

  Tim was already gone. He’d left the coffeepot on, and I poured a cup as I read the brief note he’d left me on the counter:

  Had to go in early. Will call later. Your stuff is on the chair.

  – T

  Stuff? What stuff?

  There, hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, was a supermarket plastic bag that sagged with something heavy inside. I p
icked it up and dumped it on the table.

  I grinned. My keys, my wallet, my sunglasses, my cell phone, even the couple of pens and small pad I kept for notes.

  My messenger bag was nowhere to be seen. Since it was made of some sort of fabric, the cops probably figured it could be contaminated, like my clothes, and sent it to the Big Hazard Waste Pile. No biggie. That just meant I could buy a new one.

  I toasted a bagel and slathered some cream cheese on it, then took my plate and coffee into the living room and sank down on the leather sofa. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

  SpongeBob and Patrick were tormenting Squidward again.

  The phone rang. I nearly spit out my coffee.

  The phone wasn’t in its little cradle, but I found it on top of the refrigerator just as the machine kicked in. I punched it on.

  “Hello?”

  “Kavanaugh?”

  No one else but Jeff Coleman called me by my last name.

  “Did I wake you?”

  I refreshed my cup of coffee. “No. What’s up?”

  “How was it last night? You were there late.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I talked to your brother about an hour ago. I called to see how you were.”

  I didn’t like it that my brother and Jeff Coleman were getting tight. The jury was still out on whether Jeff and I were veering into friends territory or if we were going to just stay acquaintances and colleagues. Again I thought about how his body had felt on top of me yesterday. While he was protecting me, keeping me out of harm’s way, putting himself in danger.

  I told myself it was just reflex for him. He was a Marine, for Pete’s sake. His job was to protect.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “I got my car back this morning and I found the laptop-”

  “Great,” I said, interrupting him. “Can I come by and get it?” Just as I asked, my memory flashed on my car, still at the condo parking garage, if the cops hadn’t towed it by now.

  How was I going to get to Jeff’s, much less to work?

  He was one step ahead of me.

  “Tim said you were going to need a ride to your car. I can come get you and bring you over there.”

  This might be going a little too far, but I did need to see Jeff anyway to get the laptop, and I did need to get to my car.

  “It’s a little out of your way,” I said.

  “I have to go pick my mother up at the pool anyway,” he said. “So it’s no big deal.”

  Pool? Did I miss something?

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She swims with the seniors at one of the pools in Henderson every other day. She usually gets a ride with Bernie, but he just had hip replacement so I’m her new chauffeur until she can get some other sucker to drive her.”

  “Why does she come all the way out here?” I asked. “There are pools closer to her.” Sylvia lived in Bonanza Village, a trailer park-excuse me, a mobile home community-out near the Desert Pines Golf Course. “What about Garside or Doolittle or even the municipal pool?”

  Jeff chuckled. “Because Bernie swims in Henderson.”

  I hadn’t heard about Bernie before. This was interesting. A little late-in-life romance. I was happy for Sylvia.

  “I swim at the competition pool,” I offered before I could stop myself. I might as well keep going. “Is that where Sylvia goes?” There were only two places that were open year-round: the Multigenerational Center pools, where I swam, or Whitney Ranch.

  Jeff hesitated, then, “Yeah, that’s where she goes.”

  “I’ve never seen her there. But then, I go pretty early.” I didn’t tell him I hadn’t gone there in more than a month. When the temperatures start to cool off, that’s when I head to Red Rock for my exercise.

  “Kavanaugh, you’re a woman of many surprises.”

  “So when will you be here?” I asked, not wanting to get into “surprise” territory with Jeff Coleman.

  “I’ll swing by after I pick up Sylvia.”

  “Hey, why doesn’t she drive herself? She’s got a car.”

  Jeff chuckled. “That car’s a hazard. We only use it in emergencies.”

  He hung up without saying good-bye. That was the Jeff Coleman I knew and was comfortable with.

  Almost immediately the phone rang again.

  I picked it up.

  “What did you forget?” I asked.

  “Forget? What? Brett, it’s Charlotte.”

  Chapter 40

  Every muscle in my body tensed up, and I could feel the veins pounding in my head.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Brett, please listen. You have to trust me.”

  I snorted. “Trust you. How am I supposed to do that? You set me up with a dead body that might be contaminated with some sort of poison; then you shoot at me and steal Trevor’s money. Did I leave anything out? Oh, right. You deposit Trevor’s money into Ace’s account so it looks like he’s some sort of criminal, and now the cops are after him, too. What exactly are you up to, Charlotte?” It dawned on me during this tirade that perhaps I should be nicer to reel her in, get some answers, and then turn her over to the police.

  “What about Ace? What do you mean, I deposited money in his account?”

  For a second, she fooled me. It really sounded like maybe she didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “Thirty thousand dollars. In Ace’s account. I know there was more money than that in Trevor’s apartment. Did you keep the rest? Are you heading for the Cayman Islands or something?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Not that I was trying very hard.

  “Thirty-” She cleared her throat. “Brett, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes, I was at Trevor’s yesterday afternoon.”

  “Why did you shoot at me and Jeff Coleman?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So you were flying off balconies like there was no tomorrow just for giggles?”

  “You have to believe me. I wasn’t the only one there. I heard someone come in and I went out on the balcony and hid behind the curtain. I didn’t see who it was, but when I heard that first gunshot, I figured I should get out of there.”

  “Why don’t you tell the cops?”

  “You told them I was there, didn’t you?”

  “They know, yes.” I paused, then, “I know the police are investigating you. It would be better to turn yourself in.”

  “Investigating me?” Incredulity laced her voice. “Listen, I’ll set things straight with Ace. No worries.” She paused a second, then added, “Oh, by the way, I’m feeling okay.”

  She hung up as a tinge of guilt tickled me between the shoulder blades because I hadn’t asked how she was.

  I stared at the phone and after a second hit star sixty-nine. The operator told me the number I was trying to reach was restricted. We didn’t have caller ID on our landline. Tim had issues with that feature. I now had more ammunition to argue the case.

  I dialed Tim’s cell number.

  “Thanks for my stuff,” I said when he answered.

  “Can’t talk, Brett.”

  “Thought maybe you would want to know I just talked to Charlotte. She called me.”

  Silence for a second, then, “What did she say?”

  “Said I have to trust her. That someone else was shooting at me and Jeff. That she didn’t put that money in Ace’s account.”

  A second passed, then, “I’ll have to get back to you, Brett, okay? I’m in the middle of something.” And he hung up.

  I stared at the phone. If I had insecurity issues, getting hung up on three times in five minutes might push me over the edge. But I wasn’t going to take it personally. Charlotte was on the lam, and my brother had a demanding job. Jeff-well, Jeff was Jeff.

  Speaking of whom, I had to get to the shop. I looked out the window, but there was no sign of him yet. I told myself it would take him longer than that to get here.

  I found an old messenger bag on a hook in my clos
et and tossed all my stuff inside. As I passed the mirror, I noticed that I’d spilled some coffee on my tank top. I pulled it over my head, threw it in the laundry basket, and found a hot pink, tight, stretchy T in my drawer. I needed something cheery, so I put it on. It hung to my hips and clashed nicely with the dark skinny jeans, a different pair from yesterday.

  A honk made me grab the bag and dash out the front door, making sure it was locked before climbing into the backseat of the gold Pontiac. Trevor’s laptop was right where I’d left it.

  “Hey, thanks for this, Jeff,” I said, then leaned forward and patted Sylvia on the shoulder. “Hey, Sylvia.”

  She wore a bright yellow latex bathing cap with little daisies all over it. A peek over the front seat showed me that she was wearing a matching terry-cloth housecoat and flip-flops. Even her feet were inked. Beautiful red roses were entwined with leafy greens. She would look spectacular in her bathing suit. And probably raised a few eyebrows.

  “We have to stop off for my car,” Sylvia explained. “Someone”-she looked at Jeff-“left it in some parking lot all night.”

  “We’re going back to Trevor’s?” I asked Jeff. “Can you drop me first?”

  “And miss checking out the scene of the crime? Kavanaugh, I’m disappointed in you.” He didn’t look at me, but I could see the corner of the smile in his profile.

  I sighed and leaned back in the seat. When he put it that way, I couldn’t really back out. “Sure, fine. But let’s make it quick, okay?” I reached into my bag and took out my phone, punching in the number for the shop.

  “The Painted Lady.”

  “Hey, Bits, it’s me.”

  “How are you?”

  “Spent most of the night at the police station.”

  “Ace is there now.”

  “I was afraid of that.” I told her about Charlotte at Trevor’s apartment and the money and how the police thought she might have made a deposit in Ace’s bank account but she was denying it. As I spoke, I saw Jeff sneaking looks at me in the rearview mirror. Sylvia bobbed her head to a tune only she could hear. Literally. She had earbuds in her ears and was flipping through songs on a bright pink iPod that matched my shirt.