It all sounded so ridiculous. And I didn’t even know Mr. That’s Amore’s name.
Bitsy scowled as I hesitated, and she leaned over and snatched the phone out of my hand. She punched in Dan Franklin’s phone number.
After a few seconds, she said, “Mr. Franklin, this is Bitsy Hendricks at The Painted Lady. We’re checking up to make sure everything’s all right with your new tattoo. Could you please call back at your earliest convenience? We need to make a report to the health department, so we’d appreciate your call. Thank you.” And she rattled off our number before hanging up.
Smooth. Very smooth.
“That’s why you work for me,” I said proudly.
Bitsy was beaming. “Thank you, thank you, to the Academy,” she said, bowing slightly at the waist, her short blond bob bouncing against her face.
I looked out the glass door toward the canal and spotted Joel lumbering back toward the shop. It was all I could do not to rush out and pull him in. I waited as patiently as I could until he pushed the door in, stopping short when he saw Bitsy and me staring at him.
“What? What did I do?”
“Dan Franklin. Why didn’t you tell me you tattooed ‘That’s Amore’ on him?”
Joel shrugged. “What of it? He wanted the tat around his biceps. Easy. Why does this matter?”
“The guy in my trunk was from the That’s Amore Drive-Through Wedding Chapel.”
“Really?” He looked from me to Bitsy and back to me. “I didn’t know that.”
Bitsy slapped him on the forearm with Dan Franklin’s file. “You did so. I told you that’s where Sylvia and Bernie got married.”
“But you didn’t tell me the dead guy was from there.”
The folder, which was about to come down again, stopped midair. “Hmm,” Bitsy said thoughtfully. “Maybe in all the excitement I did leave that little tidbit out.”
The folder changed direction and came down on my arm this time.
“Don’t get smart with me.” She frowned, but I could tell she didn’t mind.
“So do you think this Dan Franklin has something to do with that guy in your trunk?” Joel asked. God bless him, but he was slow on the uptake today. Maybe it was all that meat he was eating. Give the man a doughnut, and the sugar rush would spark his brain.
“Could be,” I said.
“Maybe you should go over there, to that wedding chapel,” Bitsy said. “See if anyone there knows this Dan Franklin.”
Now that was an idea. Although I could hear Tim now, telling me I shouldn’t get involved in police business.
But I was still on the fence about that. Franklin might not have anything to do with Mr. That’s Amore. It could be a coincidence.
If it turned out not to be, then I could share what I found out with Tim.
At least that was the way I was justifying it.
Problem was, if I went over to the wedding chapel, would they tell me anything?
I didn’t have time to play detective. I had a client coming in. And speak of the devil, but didn’t the door open right at that very moment.
Carla Higgins had a Dr. Seuss fetish. She already had the Cat in the Hat on her right shoulder and the Lorax on her left, and today she was in for Yertle the Turtle in the center to balance them all out. She’d expressed a desire for Thing 1 and Thing 2, one on each biceps, but decided Yertle was more pressing.
I took her into my room with a little shrug in Bitsy and Joel’s direction. Work before pleasure. Or at least before any snooping around.
I put the stencil on Carla’s back and gave her a mirror to make sure it was in the right place.
“It’s perfect,” she said as I pulled a disposable needle and needle bar out of their respective packages.
As I pressed my foot on the pedal that turned on the machine, causing its familiar whine, and started to draw, I thought about Joel’s clip cord and why Dan Franklin might have thought to pocket it on his way out of here yesterday. Had he seen it and thought it would make a good murder weapon? Something that couldn’t be traced back to him directly?
Who thought like that? Who went through their day looking for unusual murder weapons?
I obviously was not in tune with the mind of a murderer.
Which was a good thing.
Yertle the Turtle was done in no time. Carla was thrilled as she went out to pay Bitsy. I started cleaning up my inks, throwing away the small containers. Everything had to be disposable or sterilized. Usually Bitsy cleaned up, but I wanted the busy work, something to keep my mind occupied, because I was still going over how I would talk to Tim about Dan Franklin. Halfway through Yertle, I’d realized I had to tell him, even if it was way off the mark.
My gut told me it wasn’t, though.
Bitsy stuck her head through my door, waving the phone. “Phone for you, Brett.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece.
“It’s your brother,” she said in a stage whisper.
I took the phone from her and said, “What’s up, Tim?”
“We have an ID on your body. His name’s Ray Lucci. He’s a Dean Martin impersonator over at that wedding chapel.”
So the resemblance was earning the guy a living. Who knew?
“Lucci was an ex-con, like we thought. Remember the spiderweb tattoo?”
I did. But I knew Tim wasn’t done yet. And when he spoke again, I suppose I should’ve been surprised, but I wasn’t.
“He’s got a new tattoo, too, Brett. It says ‘That’s Amore’ around his biceps. And he’s got Joel’s business card in his wallet.”
Chapter 7
Mr. That’s Amore was Dan Franklin? Hadn’t Tim said the guy’s name was Ray Lucci? I was trying to wrap my head around this.
“Brett?” Tim said when I took too long to respond.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’ve got something to tell you.” I launched into the story about Dan Franklin and Joel’s missing clip cord.
Now it was Tim’s turn to be quiet.
Finally, he said, “I appreciate you telling me this, Brett. Sounds like this guy was using an alias. I’m going to have to tell Flanigan about the clip cord, and he’s going to have to talk to Joel and Bitsy.”
“Bitsy?”
“She must have met Lucci yesterday, too, right?”
“They’re not suspects or anything, are they?” I asked.
It was a second of hesitation, but I noticed. “No, I don’t think so,” Tim said.
“But you’re not in charge on this one. You told me it’s Flanigan. He doesn’t like me,” I added.
“He doesn’t like anyone,” Tim said as he hung up.
Joel was in his room with a client. I poked my head in the doorway.
“A minute?”
The machine stopped whirring, and he set it down, telling his client he’d be back in a second. He came out into
