“So does Sylvia,” I said, although the instant I said it, I regretted it because of the way Tim looked at me.
“What do you mean,
“She’s got a ‘That’s Amore,’ too,” I said. “She told me she got it in Sedona to commemorate her wedding. It looked new, so I’m sure she wasn’t lying.”
“What about Dan Franklin’s?”
“What about it?”
“Did that look new, too?”
I saw where he was going with this. If Franklin was the one who got the tattoo at my shop last week, then it would still be healing with that bubblegum pink hue. I thought about the tattoo, but I wasn’t sure.
“It was so quick,” I said. “He took off his jacket, I saw the tattoo, and then, when I pointed it out, he swung around so I didn’t have a chance to really look at it.”
“But this is your job,” Tim protested as we went through the doors at Harrah’s.
“Okay, so I had an off day,” I said bitterly.
The lights were flashing like a strobe; bells were ringing; music was playing. People were crowded around the slot machines, methodically hitting those little PLAY AGAIN buttons and hoping for the best. I refrained from shouting, “You’ll never win,” and stuck close to Tim as we maneuvered our way across the casino floor toward the back, where Dan Franklin’s head bobbed up and down in the crowd. He didn’t seem to know we were behind him, and he didn’t look back. Maybe he figured he’d lost us back at the Palazzo.
It felt as if we were walking forever. Around slot machines, gaming tables, people, cocktail waitresses balancing trays of glasses. Like those rats in a maze.
Finally we left the casino and stepped into a small area with a couple of kiosks. A sign pointed us in the direction of the Monorail. We went outside along a concrete path between Harrah’s and the Imperial Palace.
It dawned on me right about then that Tim was helping me track down Dan Franklin. Exactly the kind of thing he was supposed to prevent. But I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. He was on autopilot; being a cop and chasing the bad guys was ingrained in his DNA. Although it could be argued we didn’t quite know which side of the law Dan Franklin was on. The tattoo made him suspect, as did the facts that he’d been hiding out for days now, eluding any sort of questioning, and had withdrawn ten thousand dollars from his bank account.
As we approached the Monorail station, after walking what felt like miles, I realized there was one more thing that cast doubt on the man’s innocence.
He had a blue Ford Taurus. So what would cause him to get around town on the Monorail instead of driving? An accident, perhaps?
Chapter 46
Sure, I was casting a wide net. It wasn’t exactly that I wanted Dan Franklin to be guilty, but all the signs were there. Because I still wanted to distract Tim from Dan Franklin’s banking activity, I filled him in on the blue Taurus as we went up the steps to the Monorail station.
“You’re wondering why he’d take the Monorail,” Tim said when I was done. No one could ever accuse him of not being with the program.
As he spoke, the sleek bullet-shaped Monorail slid along its track and came to a smooth stop at the station, which we were approaching. I didn’t see Dan Franklin anywhere up there, but we didn’t have the greatest view.
We had to buy tickets from a machine. Tim stuffed a ten-dollar bill into its slot, and it spit out a couple of tickets. He handed me one.
“Too bad there wasn’t a person here,” I said. “You could’ve just showed your badge.”
He ignored me, and we slipped the tickets into the turnstile. The doors flipped open, and we took the stairs two at a time.
At the top, the Monorail’s doors were closing, and as it started to move past us, going north toward the Sahara, I spotted Dan Franklin inside one of the cars, smiling and waving at us as the train picked up speed.
“We just wasted ten bucks,” I said. “Because even if we get on the next train, we don’t know where he’s getting off.”
Tim still hadn’t said anything. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the tracks.
“This only goes to the Convention Center, the Hilton, and the Sahara from here,” he mused. “The Convention Center doesn’t make any sense; it leaves you off in the middle of nowhere, not close to the Convention Center or to the Strip. And the Hilton-it’s too far off the main drag. No real reason to go there, either. The Sahara is the logical destination.”
“For what?” I asked.
Tim turned and stared at me. “What do you mean,
“Why would he go to the Sahara?”
He sighed. “Think about it, Brett. If you want to be some sort of Nancy Drew, I think you’ll have to do better than that.”
And then the lightbulb over my head went on.
The wedding chapel wasn’t far from the Sahara.
“You think he’s going to That’s Amore, don’t you?” I asked.
Tim grinned. “So you’re a little slow.”
I started for the escalator but heard Tim say, “Where are you going?”
I turned back to see him staring at the track, as if willing a train to come by.
“What? We’re going to take this?” I asked, walking back over to him.
“By the time we get the car, he could be long gone.”
“And by the time a train comes, he’ll be halfway to Mexico.”
“But not if he doesn’t have a car, like you suspect.”
Okay, so he had a point. “But won’t we need a car once we get there?”
“Maybe you can ask your friend Jeff Coleman to meet us.”
Had aliens come and taken my brother away? Was he one of those pod people from
And then I knew. He wanted to ask Jeff how he knew about the ten thousand dollars. I’d painted myself into a corner on that one.
“Call him, okay?” Tim said.
I had to try to turn it around a little. “Why don’t you call Flanigan instead?”
“Because if I tell him I’ve got a gut instinct based on your gut instinct, he’ll tell me to stay out of it.”
I grinned. “And that doesn’t appeal to you, does it?”
“Just call Coleman, okay?”
I didn’t see any way out of it. As I reached into my bag, I saw another Monorail approaching. That didn’t take too long.
I flipped my phone open and punched in Jeff’s number.
“Kavanaugh?”
“Hey there, what are you doing right now?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I’m not kidding. Are you free now?”
“For what? Phone sex?”
I snorted. “No. Not phone sex.”
Tim shot me a look, and I waved him off as the Monorail came to a stop in front of us. The doors slid open, and we stepped inside. It was like the monorail in Disney World. Clean and bright. Except that no one else was in this car, and as I remembered, the monorail at Disney was usually full of screaming kids and at least one balloon.
Jeff was talking. “Okay, so no phone sex. Maybe next time.”
I ignored him. “Can you meet Tim and me over at That’s Amore? We need a ride.”
“Where’s your car?”
