Tim had left me a note on the table when I awoke.
“Had to leave. We’ll talk later.”
I looked out the window into the empty driveway. My car was still in the parking garage at the Venetian. Had he not seen me get out of a cab last night? We’d been so distracted by the pictures on the blog that I’d forgotten to tell him I’d need a ride to work.
He’d made coffee, at least, so I poured myself a cup and sat at the table. The laptop was still there, so I booted it up. Maybe I shouldn’t look at it again, but I wanted to. Maybe I’d get some sort of clue about why she was doing this, now that I had a clearer head after sleep and coffee.
The page hadn’t even popped up when I heard the doorbell.
I got up and peered out the window. A metallic orange Pontiac sat in the driveway.
I glanced down at my pajamas and T-shirt that had a cartoon lobster on it and the words “I love Cape Cod” underneath. At least I was covered up.
I opened the door.
Jeff Coleman grinned when he saw my T-shirt, but he didn’t say anything about it. He pushed his way in, and I shut the door after him.
“Tim called you,” I said, my powers of deduction hard at work.
“Said you needed a ride. I’m your ride. Just dropped my mother over at the community pool.” Jeff had gone into the kitchen and around the table to see the laptop. “Tsk, tsk, Kavanaugh. You really want to be doing that with Harry Desmond? He’s a loser.”
In the light of day and with a head clear of absinthe, I tended to agree. But then I remembered something.
“He’s unemployed, right?”
“As far as I know.”
“Well, he’s getting money from somewhere,” I said, telling him about the wad of bills in Harry’s wallet.
Jeff was quiet for a second as he contemplated that. “I can check around,” he said. “Maybe he’s working, and we’re not aware of it.”
“He’s always at my shop these days,” I said, not wanting to get into how Jeff could “check on things.” He had connections I’d be better off not knowing about.
“What’s this chick’s angle?” Jeff asked, changing the subject and pointing at the picture of me and Harry in the bar. “I mean, I don’t get why she’s all hot and bothered by you. Unless, of course…” His voice trailed off and a leer crossed his face.
I slapped his arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Your mind was most definitely in the gutter last night,” Jeff said, his finger on the picture of Harry and me kissing on the bridge.
So sue me.
“And absinthe, Kavanaugh? Really? You should know better.”
“I already got read the riot act from Tim, so leave me alone,” I said, embellishing a little. Tim had been concerned, not angry. He’d told me to be cautious. “Why did you leave, anyway? I mean, you were so dead set against me going out with Harry in the first place, but then you left me alone with him.”
“From the look of things, I should have stayed,” Jeff said. He shrugged. “I guess I figured you’re a big girl and can take care of yourself.”
I hated to think how close I’d come to
Jeff’s expression changed slightly and he said, “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It happens to the best of us.”
“But it usually doesn’t happen to me.”
“We all have our moments. Really, don’t worry about it. You’re home, you’re safe, nothing bad happened.”
I cocked my head at the laptop. “Except that. I can’t figure out what it means, though. Why is she stalking me?”
“Maybe she’s jealous.”
I snorted. “I met her, Jeff. Believe me, she can’t be jealous of me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
It was the way he said it that made me take pause.
“You know something,” I said.
“After you and lover boy left, I went into Cleopatra’s Barge.”
Butterflies started crashing around in my gut. “And?” “I met a woman there.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine, be that way. I don’t really want to know about your conquests.”
“At least mine aren’t plastered all over the Internet.” We were like squabbling kids.
“Do you want to know about this woman or not?” Jeff asked, and there was something about the way he asked that made me realize it wasn’t a pickup after all.
I nodded.
“She was nursing a scotch at a table by herself. She was tall and had red hair.” He cocked his head at my chest. “Even had a dragon. You know, like the one you’ve got.”
My chest constricted, and I couldn’t speak.
“We introduced ourselves. She said her name was Brett. Brett Kavanaugh.”
I felt myself drop into the kitchen chair. What was going on?
Jeff sat next to me, moving the laptop aside and away so I couldn’t see the screen. “She wasn’t you, Kavanaugh; she didn’t even really look like you. Her hair was longer. She wasn’t nearly as thin. That tattoo wasn’t even real. It was some sort of body paint. If I hadn’t been in the business, though, I might not have seen it for what it was. But she told me she was a tattoo artist, said she had a shop in the Venetian.”
Someone was impersonating me. Was it Ainsley? Ainsley had longer hair than me; she wasn’t as skinny. We didn’t look alike, but she could’ve painted that dragon on her chest and fooled people who didn’t know me. Was she the redhead who’d given Daisy that tattoo?
I finally found my voice. “But she couldn’t be the one who took those pictures, could she? I mean, if she was with you the whole time?”
Jeff took a deep breath. “But she wasn’t. We had a drink; she got a text message from someone. She said she had to go to the ladies’ room. I followed her, waited for her, but somehow she got past me. I never saw her again.”
“Had she been in the bar when Tim and Flanigan were asking about Ainsley and Sherman Potter?” I wondered aloud.
Jeff nodded. “I think she was, but it was dark in there, and she was alone. Like I said, she really didn’t look like you at all. I don’t think they were looking for anyone like her, were they?”
Like I’d told Tim yesterday, there are a lot of redheads in Vegas. One sitting in a bar nursing a drink isn’t going to raise any red flags. So to speak.
“So I don’t just have a stalker, I’ve got someone who’s impersonating me,” I said flatly. “Great. What do I do now?”
“Go get dressed, and I’ll take you to work,” Jeff said.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I have to tell Tim.”
“I already did.”
Oh, that’s right. They must have talked because Jeff knew to come over here and pick me up. “So is he trying to track her down, then? Is that why he left so early?”
