“What is it?” I asked.
She was a pretty girl, with sleek black hair and green eyes that sparkled. “I was wondering, well, if you ever, well, you know…”
“Spit it out,” I said.
She smiled shyly. “I was wondering if you would be willing to take me on here, like an intern or something.”
“What about being an accountant?”
She sighed. “I don’t think it’s in my cards. I bought my own machine, and I’ve been tattooing my friends.”
I caught my breath. “Not a good idea, Charlotte.”
“I know, but I just want to do this.”
I had to stop her, and the only way was to agree to have her come in and talk it over with the rest of the staff. We hadn’t had a trainee since I took over, but we’d all been starting out ourselves at one point. If Mickey hadn’t taken a chance on me, I don’t know where I’d be today.
Since I didn’t want her to overlap with the TV crew, Bitsy scheduled her for the next week.
“What do you think?” I asked Bitsy as we watched Charlotte skip out of the shop.
Bitsy shrugged. “It’s not like we don’t have work we can give her. And she’s a nice kid.”
I was preoccupied, however, with the Murder Ink address on Elise’s drawing. I didn’t tell anyone about it. If I did, it could end up all over national TV, and I wanted to talk to Jeff Coleman about it first. It was conceivable that Elise had never shown up there, that she’d come to our shop first, but I figured some well-placed questions to Jeff would get me the answers I needed.
Since he was open until four, I’d head over there now.
Joel and Bitsy told me to go ahead home, they’d finish closing up. They’d decided I was a “gloomy Gus” and felt I was raining on their
It was more like a monsoon.
Sure, I should probably feel guilty about that, but they were out of control, talking about outfits and Joel wishing he’d started Weight Watchers last week because he’d surely lose at least ten pounds right away, and you know how the camera puts weight on people.
Joel had completely forgotten about the creepy tattooed guy by now, but I didn’t see anyone suspicious as I left the mall and went to the parking garage. I started the Bullitt up and headed out into the night.
The lights of the Strip sliced across my windshield, and I thought about putting the roof down, but decided against it. It was still pretty hot, and the air-conditioning felt good as it blasted against my face.
I was halfway up the Strip when my cell phone rang inside my bag. I dug it out and flipped it open, noting Tim’s number on the screen.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Brett? You on your way home?”
I didn’t want to tell him about Murder Ink unless I knew Elise had been there or had some contact with them, so I sidestepped the question by asking one of my own: “Why?”
“You said that the picture of Elise Lyon on TV was definitely the woman who came into your shop?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
Something was up. “Why are you asking?”
“If I send you a picture on your phone, can you confirm or deny whether it was the woman who was in your shop the other night?”
“This is about that body in the car at the airport, isn’t it?”
“I can’t comment at the moment.”
By his not commenting, I knew it was.
“What about Chip Manning? Why can’t he identify her? What about her parents?” Yeah, what about them? Weren’t the parents the ones who were always plastered all over the TV screens begging for information about their lost girl?
“Her father is on his way to Vegas now, but her mother’s staying behind just in case she goes home.”
For the wedding. If she still wanted to get married, she’d be there now. “So why me? I only talked to her for, like, ten minutes.”
He sighed. “I’d rather not get her mother all upset-”
“Just in case it’s not her, right?” I finished for him.
“Just do it, Brett, okay?”
“Okay, okay, keep your pants on.”
“I’m sending it now.”
I pulled over so I wouldn’t get stopped by the cops for paying more attention to my phone than to the road.
I waited a couple of seconds, and a picture popped up on the screen. It wasn’t a great picture, but I knew one thing: Elise Lyon’s mother wouldn’t be upset.
Because it wasn’t the woman who’d come into The Painted Lady.
Chapter 11
“It’s not Kelly Masters,” I said.
“But it is,” Tim said.
“What?”
“Her name is Kelly Masters. She’s got ID on her; the rental car agreement is in her name. She’s from L.A.”
“What happened to her?”
“I really can’t say.”
I was ready to smack him. He couldn’t tease me like this. “But you’ve already told me plenty. And I might find out on the news anyway.”
“You might.”
Something in his voice told me I might not. “You’re not releasing anything about this, are you?”
“We need to find out the connection between Kelly Masters and Elise Lyon-”
“Because there is a connection, isn’t there?” I interrupted. “Why else would Elise use Kelly’s name?”
He was quiet a second, then, “You can’t tell anyone about this. Promise?”
“A
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Wish I were.”
“So there’s even more of a reason to keep the lid on this, okay?”
“No problem.” Not like I was ready to spill the beans to the media. And it was a good thing Bitsy didn’t know about this. Or Joel. Ace wouldn’t care, because Ace rarely paid attention to anything that didn’t directly involve him.
I toyed with the idea of telling Tim where I was heading. Just as I decided to, he said, “Listen, I’ve got to run. I probably won’t be home tonight.” And he ended the call.
I stared at my phone, the picture of Kelly Masters staring back at me. Kelly was a pretty girl, too, but now that I paid attention to more than her face, I saw there was another big difference between Kelly and Elise.
Kelly had a tattoo on the side of her neck. I couldn’t make out what it was, but it was definitely ink.
I punched Tim’s number into my phone.
“What?” he asked, annoyed.
“Quick question about this picture.”
“Shoot.”
“Kelly Masters has a tat on her neck, right?”
He was quiet a second. Then, “You can see that?”
