again, while you’re gone.”
I regretted my decision to call Bitsy. I wanted to hear what Jeff had to say, but then realized Tim probably wanted us separated so he could get each story without anyone interrupting. Or me interrupting, more likely.
I nodded and got up, going toward the restrooms that were in a quiet corner of the restaurant. There was actually a bank of pay phones here, which surprised me. I hadn’t seen a pay phone in a long time. Since everyone had cell phones now, why would we need them?
Unless you lost your shirt-and cell phone-gambling, and you needed to call home. Or your bookie.
I punched in the number for the shop.
“Where are you, Brett?”
Right. We had caller ID now, with some new package Bitsy had negotiated.
Quickly, I told her about my impostor and how Jeff and I had come over to Caesars and found the impostor’s stuff in the ladies’ room.
I heard a short intake of breath. “For someone who wasn’t going to get involved anymore, you sure are involved again,” she said sharply.
“Hey, this time it’s not my fault. Someone’s wandering around impersonating me and taking pictures of me. It’s creepy.”
“I saw something online this morning,” Bitsy said, her voice going down in volume.
I felt the panic rise in my chest. I specifically hadn’t told her about my night out with Harry.
“It’s that blog,” Bitsy was whispering now. “It had pictures of you. What happened last night?”
I really didn’t want to revisit my absinthe-laced evening.
When she realized I wasn’t going to answer, she continued. “I got an e-mail. From our Web site’s contact page. No indication who it was from. All it had was a link. To that blog. The one we saw yesterday.”
I forced down my annoyance about how Bitsy had gone behind my back and set up an e-mail contact on the Web site. I’d asked her not to, because I didn’t want anyone to have to monitor it and then deal with nutty e-mails and spam. But then something nudged those thoughts out of the way.
Someone had bothered to send an e-mail with that link. Someone who wanted to make sure I saw it. Who wanted to make sure I knew.
I told Bitsy about Harry and the absinthe and that I’d seen the blog myself.
“Have you heard from Harry? Has he been around?” I asked Bitsy. I wondered if he’d seen the blog. But then again, probably not. Harry had said once that he didn’t have a computer, that he’d had to sell it once he started running out of money.
Except now I knew he had money, so maybe that was a lie, too.
“Harry hasn’t said anything about a job, has he?” I asked Bitsy.
She snorted. “Of course not. I think he likes being one of the jobless.” She paused. “I haven’t seen him around this morning, though. Usually he’s here with coffee when I open up.”
That was news to me. “Really?”
“Brett, you’re not here as early as I am. I know you need your beauty sleep, so I always schedule your first client for noon or later. By then Harry’s been here and gone, and then he comes back later. I think it’s to moon at you. And after last night, well, it’s pretty obvious that he’s making his move now.” She chuckled. “And you aren’t exactly resisting, from the looks of these pictures.”
I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “It was the absinthe,” I tried lamely. But was it? For the first time yesterday, I’d noticed how good-looking Harry was, and while he certainly wasn’t boyfriend material-not like the employed Dr. Colin Bixby-I admit that I enjoyed those kisses.
Colin Bixby. Uh-oh. What if he saw that blog? If whoever took those pictures sent the blog link to my shop’s e-mail, what was to keep them from sending them to Bixby at the hospital?
Now I had a whole other thing to worry about.
“So when do you think you’ll be in?” Bitsy was asking. “You’ve got a client in an hour. Joel and Ace are here, working.”
I knew she threw that last bit in to try to make me feel a little guilty, and it worked.
“I’m going to finish up here with Tim and come right over,” I promised. “I need a ride anyway, because I left my car over there yesterday and never went back for it.”
“Can you bring lunch?” she asked.
Ah, a way to redeem myself. “Johnny Rockets?” “I’m not sure what Joel’s eating these days.” Neither was I. He bounced around too much on those diets to keep anything straight. My biggest fear was he’d turn vegan, just to avoid everything, and then we would have no clue what to feed him.
“If I have to go out again, I will,” I promised.
“Right. And then we won’t see you till Christmas,” Bitsy said sharply and hung up.
I stared at the phone. I totally did not need attitude right now. I was under a little bit of stress. I had a stalker and an impostor, or were they the one and the same?
I wandered back out to the table where Tim and Jeff were sitting. For a second, I studied them: my brother, his back arrow straight as he took notes in his little notebook; Jeff leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable as his lips moved.
Jeff was lying about something.
I wondered if Tim could tell.
I sat down.
“You didn’t see this woman last night, right, Brett?” Tim turned toward me.
“No, I just wondered about how she could’ve gotten away from Jeff so easily. I started thinking that maybe she wore a disguise, so we came over here and found the bag of stuff in the ladies’ room stall.”
Tim gave me a funny look as he jotted something down in his notebook, tucked the pen in his breast pocket, and shoved the notebook in his back trouser pocket. He stood.
“Okay, I know where to reach you if we have more questions,” he said and was about to walk away when I held my hand up.
“What about whoever put those pictures up on that blog?” I asked. “Well, on both those blogs. Do you think it could be the same person?” Although I wasn’t sure, because Ainsley wouldn’t have needed to wear a wig. But you never knew, as Jeff had pointed out.
Tim looked at me as though I had two heads. “Yes, Brett, it could be the same person. We’re on top of it. We’re trying to track the IP addresses-you know, the addresses that indicate which computers would be generating the information. When I know more, I’ll let you know.” Although from the look on his face, I doubted that. He’d tell me when he was good and ready, which meant probably when the blogger had already been arrested. Couldn’t take any chances that little sister would screw up the process, now, could he?
I pushed down my irritation. I knew he was doing the best he could, under the circumstances. He wasn’t a computer guy, so he had to farm this part of the job out to someone who was. That took time. I may not be a cop, but I do know some things, and not only from watching TV.
I thought of something. “Bitsy said someone sent an e-mail through our contact page on our Web site with a link to the blog. Someone wanted me to see those pictures.”
Tim’s frustration with me turned back into concern. “I’ll tell the computer guys. They may have a way to trace that e-mail.”
I nodded, and he cocked his head at Jeff. “You can get her to work, right?”
He didn’t really need to. I could actually walk from here, but I was feeling really spooked with all those pictures of me all over the Internet.
Jeff seemed to be reading my mind. “I’ll make sure she gets there okay,” he promised.
“Thanks,” Tim said. “Be cautious, remember that, okay?”
It was the only thing I
