Driven to Ink

need to be investigated.”

“But that’s what the police are for.” I pulled into the parking garage at the Venetian. Our conversation was going in circles, as we were, heading up to the sixth level. I eased into a parking spot, and we both climbed out. I locked the doors, and we headed to the elevator.

We were both quiet, and I knew she was thinking about this crazy mess, too.

We walked along the canal, the gondolas passing, music emanating from the square. I wondered whether Will Parker had gotten the job.

“Earth to Brett.” Bitsy snapped her fingers up near my chin somewhere. That was as far as she could stretch.

Ace was sitting at Breathe, the oxygen bar, a tube up his nose. It seemed a tad unsanitary, but who was I to bring that up?

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he opened his eyes, smiling. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello yourself. Who’s at the shop?”

He looked from me to Bitsy, then shrugged. “Joel.”

“Is it time for you to go back?”

Ace sat up a little straighter and made a face at me. “You’ve been gone ages. I just finished a tattoo. I need a break.” And he leaned back and closed his eyes again.

Bitsy and I started toward the shop. It wasn’t worth getting into. He was right. I had been gone too long, and it was time for me to shoulder my responsibilities.

Joel was at the front desk, tapping his fingers on the sleek mahogany to the stylings of Lady Gaga, his new latest favorite singer. I wasn’t so sure about his musical inclinations, but if I had my way, we’d have Springsteen all day, every day.

“Hey there,” he said, looking up.

“Thanks for holding down the fort,” I said, slinging my messenger bag on the floor.

Bitsy walked around and picked the bag up with one finger, handing it back to me. “Staff room.”

“Right.” Bitsy had rules about keeping order.

Joel put both hands on the desk and heaved himself up. Despite his Atkins loss, there was still a bit of weight to deal with.

Bitsy slid into the chair, her feet dangling. She looked up at Joel, a scowl on her face. “Didn’t anyone answer the phones while we were gone?”

Joel sighed. “Ace and I both had clients. The phone rang once, but I couldn’t run out, and I guess Ace couldn’t either.”

“What would’ve happened if someone came in?” she asked.

Joel shrugged. “The buzzer would’ve sounded and I would’ve gone out to see who it was. No one came in,” he added defiantly.

The phone was blinking with one message. Bitsy hit the button.

The voice bounced off the wall behind us.

“This is Dan Franklin. You have to stop looking for me. I’m fine. Leave Rosalie out of it.” And then the message ended.

Chapter 24

“Check the number,”I told Bitsy,who was one step ahead of me.

She shook her head. “Restricted,” she said, checking the readout. “What’s the point in caller ID if you can’t get the caller’s ID?”

My question exactly.

“Maybe it was Dan Franklin in that blue car and not Will Parker,” Bitsy said.

“But then why would he call us?”

“To make sure we got the message?”

Joel was scratching his head. “I have no idea what you two are talking about.”

That was fine with me. The fewer people who knew what we’d been up to, the better. But Bitsy didn’t seem to mind.

“Brett and I went over to the university to find out about this guy Dan Franklin and what his story is.”

Joel chuckled. “I can see you now: Cagney and Lacey.”

Bitsy ignored him. “And we met up with Colin Bixby and a lab tech who’s got a husband who beats her and happens to be a Dean Martin impersonator.”

“You know about Rosalie and the abuse?” I asked.

Bitsy rolled her eyes at me. “I remember her. Domestic-violence ribbons on her biceps. But I didn’t remember her name.”

As I hadn’t when I saw her at Jeff’s.

Joel was a few sentences behind. “Colin Bixby? As in the Colin Bixby?”

I sighed. “Yes, Joel, Colin Bixby.”

“Is he still hot?”

Before I could answer, Bitsy said, “He looks better than I remember. What do you think, Brett?”

I thought again about Colin Bixby and his clear green eyes and almost-punk look. Give him some guyliner and an eyebrow piercing, and there’s no telling what I’d do.

“He’s still okay,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Joel laughed. “What about this Dean Martin impersonator? Who rates better?”

“I don’t think rating them is fair,” I started, but Bitsy interrupted.

“The good doctor, hands down. I mean, at least he has a steady job, a good income. This Will Parker-Well, Brett, I’m sorry, but he’s another actor, and you’ve already had one of those, and see how that turned out.”

Bitsy didn’t have to remind me about Paul Fogarty, my onetime fiance, an actor on Broadway in Manhattan, whose whole life was consumed by his work. So much so that he felt compelled to belittle my career. There had been enough time between then and now for me to do some self-analysis, and I’d realized Paul’s insecurities. But it wasn’t enough for me to try to contact him after fleeing across the country to shed his abuse.

However, Bitsy’s words brought out the contrarian in me.

“At least Will Parker doesn’t live down the hall from his mother,” I said haughtily.

“How do you know that? Have you Googled him? Have you been to his house? Maybe he lives with his mother.”

Bitsy’s words rang true. I had no clue about anything regarding Will Parker except his job and that he was sexy. And he had a blue car.

“Touche.”

“Hungry, anyone?” Joel looked hopefully from me to Bitsy.

Bitsy shook her head. “Ace has a client coming in any moment, and you two”-she looked in the appointment book-“have clients in about half an hour.”

Joel grinned at me. “Just enough time to pick up Johnny Rockets burgers.”

I was getting really tired of burgers.

Walking past the pricey high-end shops away from the canal, I stopped in front of one window, admiring a floppy straw hat I could totally see myself wearing if I ever went back to the Jersey Shore for a vacation. I’d never be caught dead in it here.

“Not you,” Joel said flatly, noticing the hat.

“Great beach hat,” I said.

“Not you,” he said again. “You’re not a hat person.”

“How do you know? Have you ever seen me in a hat?”

He studied my face and head for a second, then grinned. “Have you ever once worn a hat so I could find out?” he asked, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the store.

It was full of hats. Everywhere. And Joel started plopping them on my head one by one and announcing, “No,