“I didn’t see who was driving,” he admitted. “I was coming from work, and I’d stopped at a Terrible’s for gas. For some reason my card wouldn’t work in the pump, so I had to go inside. When I was walking back, the car came out of nowhere and plowed past me. I jumped onto the hood of my car to get out of the way. The Mustang just kept going. It was like watching something in a movie.”
“You don’t think that the guy driving just didn’t see you?” I had to play devil’s advocate.
“The car was gunning for me. I swear it. It barely missed me.”
“Why would someone try to run you down?”
He knew what I was going for. “It’s not me, I don’t think,” he said softly. “I think it’s all of us over at That’s Amore. First Ray, then me, then Lou.”
“What? Lou? What happened with him?”
“He got mugged. Guy pulled a knife on him as he was leaving work. In the parking lot. Cut his arm, but before the guy could do anything else, some kids on skateboards came by and scared the guy off. Lou’s afraid to go anywhere now.”
Was someone trying to kill all the Dean Martin impersonators? And why?
My brain was moving faster than a rat in a maze. Flanigan must have decided I hadn’t been driving my car when it jumped that curb at Terrible’s; otherwise he would’ve taken me in yesterday. I wondered whether he didn’t already have a suspect who actually had a motive to knock off these Dean Martins.
Like maybe Dan Franklin.
“What about Dan Franklin? Do you think something happened to him, too?” I asked. “DellaRocco said he hadn’t seen him in two days.”
“He was in yesterday, but he took off pretty fast after he made a phone call, even before he could start his shift. Didn’t even change out of his costume. You think maybe Dan had something to do with Ray, me, and Lou?” Will asked.
A phone call? Had he taken off after talking to me yesterday?
“I heard he didn’t get along with Ray, but what about you and Lou?” I asked.
He thought a second, then said, “No, we got along fine. I don’t really know about Lou and him, though. I’m not sure they work together all that much because of Dan’s schedule. Dan mostly works nights and weekends. Lou, mostly days and never weekends. He’s been there the longest. You watch a lot of cop shows on TV?” he asked. “Because you really sound like a cop.”
“Maybe I watch a little too much TV,” I admitted, “but like I said, my brother is a detective. My dad was one, too, before he retired to Florida.” I gave him a small smile back. “I’m worried about you and the other Dean Martins. What did you do? Sing the wrong song or sing off key or something?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t know. But ever since Ray came to work there, things have gotten weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Ray brings out the worst in people. He and Lou have been on each other from the first day he started. Dan’s gotten really quiet. It used to be really fun working there, but now…” His voice trailed off as he remembered the good old days.
Something flashed into my brain.
“There’s a fifth impersonator, isn’t there? Alan something? I saw his name on the locker in your dressing room.”
His face changed, so slightly that if I wasn’t looking carefully to see his reaction, I would have missed it.
After a second, he said, “Alan quit two weeks ago.”
“Why? Did someone try to kill him, too?”
“No. At least not that I know of. He went over to that Elvis chapel across the street. Decided Elvis was more interesting than Dino. The boss won’t even let us talk about him. DellaRocco and Sanderson, the guy over at the Elvis place, hate each other. They’ve been stealing each other’s performers for years, hoping to put the other one out of business. Sanderson approached me a month ago, but DellaRocco gave me more money, so I stayed on. Guess Sanderson caught on and gave Alan an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
And possibly saved his life, I added to myself.
“So what about you?” I asked. “Do you know of any reason why anyone would try to kill you?”
The instant I asked, I regretted it. It implied that he’d done something to cause someone to try to run him down with my car. But he didn’t seem to pick up on that because he thought for a second, then said, “I don’t think so. I’ve stayed out of Ray’s way, and I get along okay with the other guys.”
As he spoke, his expression changed, as if remembering something. He frowned, then said, “Wait. I did have a problem with Dan about three weeks ago.”
I waited.
“It was about that stupid rat he’s got. He kept it in the dressing room. Creeped me out. I told him he had to get it out of there.”
Rat?
“He got all pissy with me, said it wouldn’t hurt a flea. But it was a
My heart was pounding so loud, I could swear he had to have heard it.
“So did he get rid of it?” I prodded.
Will snorted. “Yeah, Tony agreed with me. Said he had to bring it home. And then last week Dan came in all sad and stuff, said I should be happy. The rat had died.”
Chapter 20
While I could see motive in trying to run down Will Parker-don’t quite understand why some people think animals are worth more than humans-it was still unclear as to why Dan Franklin would kill Ray Lucci. And then there was Lou Marino’s mugging.
Will had to leave for his interview, but he scheduled an appointment with Bitsy for a tattoo touch-up, and he even hinted that maybe he’d want more ink, too. I’d probably have to make sure to get the work done before he found out it was possibly my car that was used to run him down.
“Why don’t we call Dan Franklin again?” Bitsy asked when I told her everything Will Parker had said. She was already tapping on the computer keyboard, pulling up Dan Franklin’s information, the information Ray Lucci left for us.
“He’s missing, remember?”
“But maybe this is a cell phone number. Maybe he’s missing on purpose.”
“Okay, so say I do call him,” I said. “What am I going to ask him?
Bitsy handed me the phone. “You’ll think of something,” she said.
But as it turned out, I didn’t have to think of anything at all.
The recording told me that the number was no longer in service. A number that had been perfectly fine yesterday.
Something was definitely up with Dan Franklin, and I didn’t know whether he was a good guy or a bad guy.
Even though my head was swirling, I couldn’t spend too much time pondering the situation. My next client came in as I hung up the phone.
As I picked up my tattoo machine and it hovered over Rachel Kristina Jones’s lower back, the clip cord got in the way a little, and I had to shift around slightly. I’d never looked at a cord as a murder weapon before, but now I could imagine it as one.
“Anything wrong?” Rachel’s voice was muffled because her face was in the crook of her elbow as she lay on her stomach.
“No,” I said, taking a deep breath and pushing away the thoughts. I dipped the needle into the ink and pressed on the foot pedal, the machine vibrating slightly in a familiar way against my hand.
Rachel was an English major at UNLV, and she was into quotations. So far I’d inked “Frailty, thy name is
