She unhooked herself from my arm and went into one of the stalls. I looked in the mirror and ran a hand through my short hair, tucking it back behind my ears and peering more closely at my face. I’d thought I was getting a zit this morning, but I still only saw a small red spot on my chin. I wondered whether Colin Bixby had noticed.
The toilet flushed, and Sylvia emerged, a big grin on her face.
“Now I feel better,” she said as she washed her hands.
“So you haven’t talked to Jeff yet? He doesn’t know about the bus trip?” I asked.
Sylvia pushed the button on the air hand dryer, and the motor roared, and for a few minutes she rubbed her hands under it and didn’t answer. When it finally stopped, she wiped her hands on her blue dress and cocked her head at me.
“I’m not sure why you’re harping on this. I’ll call Jeff when I get home.”
“He’s been looking for you. Worried about you,” I said.
She chuckled. “He’s always worrying. Too much. I thought I taught him better. I need to have a life, too, you know.” She winked at me.
I thought a second and then said, “The police have been looking for you, too. They found your car.”
“I told Bernie not to leave the car there, but he didn’t want to call the Triple A. Was too angry at that car to do anything but abandon it, like a kitten or something.”
I pictured them arguing about it by the side of the road, the big tour bus seeing them with their thumbs out. The image made me smile, but then I remembered where I was going with this.
“Well, Sylvia, it seems there was a problem after you left.” I paused, and Sylvia waited. “Did you know there was a body in the trunk of my car when you brought it back to me?”
“Dear, I don’t like to judge, but have you had a drug-related hallucination?” She was totally serious.
I sighed. “One of the Dean Martin impersonators was dead in my trunk. He was killed, I think, by being strangled with a clip cord around his neck.”
“You think?”
“Well, the police haven’t exactly told me the cause of death.”
“Why don’t you ask your brother, that cute detective?”
I’d have to tease Tim that an elderly woman thought he was cute.
“That’s not the whole thing, either.” I wasn’t quite sure how to broach the next sentence but figured I’d just jump in. “The dead man was Ray Lucci.”
Sylvia had put her hand on the restroom door to go out, and it froze there as her face turned white.
“Ray?”
I nodded.
“And the police want to talk to me?” It was sinking in.
“I don’t think they think you had anything to do with it,” I said quickly, “but they think maybe you saw something that might put you in danger.”
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. I followed her out to a small bench a few feet away, where we sat.
I’d never seen Sylvia’s face sag, and I put my hand over hers. She gave me a small, sad smile and patted my hand with her other one, the cheetah-print tote still hanging from her shoulder.
“You know, don’t you, dear?”
“About Ray?”
She nodded.
“Yes. My brother told me.”
“Does Jeff know?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think so. Why didn’t you tell him?”
“It was a long time ago. I met a man I thought I was in love with. When I told him about the baby, he left me.” Her hand stopped patting mine, and she stared into my eyes. “Abortion was illegal, and I was afraid. I gave him up after he was born, but I never forgot him. I found him a few years ago. We’ve been corresponding.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“He was trying to turn his life around. I gave him some money; Bernie’s son-in-law got him that job over there at the wedding chapel.” Her voice faltered. “I don’t remember anything that day, except he sang for us. A beautiful voice that boy has. Not like Jeff. Jeff sounds like a toad.”
I couldn’t say anything. I’m tone-deaf myself.
Sylvia bowed her head and turned her face away. I could see a tear slip down her cheek.
The tattoos crept out over the scoop neck of her dress. Swirls of color: birds, flowers, butterflies. Most were faded from time, their edges leaking into her wrinkles, but a new one, one I hadn’t seen before on the side of her neck, was bright and sharp.
“That’s Amore,” in script.
Chapter 26
“When did you get that?”I asked. “What?” Sylvia looked up and wiped her eyes.
“The new ink. ‘That’s Amore.’ ”
Her eyes flickered a second, as though she was trying to think of what to say. Then, “I got it in Sedona. Bernie wasn’t happy, but I said I wanted a souvenir of our wedding.”
I thought a second before saying, “Ray got one, too. It said the same thing. Came to my shop for it. Joel did it. And then his clip cord went missing.”
Sylvia didn’t say anything right away, as if she was taking all this in and deciding what it meant. Finally, she said, “I didn’t know Ray was getting a tattoo. And do you think he took the clip cord?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “He told us his name was Dan Franklin. When he came to the shop. And we found out that Dan Franklin works with him at the chapel. Did you ever meet him?”
“My dear, I meet a lot of people, but at my age, I’m lucky if I remember one of them. So no, I don’t know this Franklin fellow. And I don’t know why Ray would impersonate him.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question when my cell phone rang deep in my bag. I took my hand out from under Sylvia’s and swung my bag around, digging until I found it.
I glanced at the number on the display, flipped the phone open, and said, “Hey, Jeff. Guess who I’m sitting with.”
“I don’t have time for games, Kavanaugh.”
“You’ll have time for this, Jeff. I’m with your mother.”
Silence, then, “How?”
I told him how I’d seen her on my way to Noodles and we were hanging out near the Blue Man Group Theatre.
“Can I talk to her?”
I handed Sylvia the phone, and she got up and walked several feet away for more privacy. I studied the plants in the planter behind the benches. I thought about Sylvia and how she found her son after all those years and wondered how she’d tell Jeff. Because he was going to find out, and it would be best to tell him before the police did. While Tim was sensitive about the issue, I was willing to bet Flanigan wouldn’t be.
My thoughts wandered back to Sylvia’s new ink. It seemed too much of a coincidence that she and Ray Lucci got the exact same tattoo, albeit in different places, at the same time. She’d hesitated before telling me where she got hers. Was she lying?
I thought about how new the ink was. How it still had that pinkish hue. It had a sort of wet look, too, which meant she could be using Tattoo Goo, a product I gave my clients to keep the area lubricated right after giving them the tattoo.
Ray Lucci had gotten his tattoo the morning of Sylvia and Bernie’s wedding. It was possible he’d told Sylvia about it. Maybe that was how she got the idea for it, and it would mean something even more special than just her wedding day. It was the same tattoo her long-lost son had.
