“Tattoo parties, I think.”
“Why would he do that?” Joel asked, slicing off some cheese and sticking it on a cracker. So much for his diet. I thought about the cheese and crackers we’d had earlier at the shop and felt guilty for enabling him.
“What are you talking about, Brett?” Bitsy asked, pouring more wine.
I told them how I’d seen Ace meet up with Harry, and he’d had his case with him.
“But why would you think he’s doing parties?” Joel asked.
I’d forgotten to tell them what Jeff found out. “Harry does tattoo parties. He’s not completely unemployed, like he’s told us.”
Bitsy and Joel frowned.
“You mean, he’s been lying to us?” Bitsy asked.
I nodded. “Seems that way. I noticed he had a lot of money on him last night when we were out, and Jeff asked around, found out.”
“He’s a tattooist?” Joel asked, incredulous.
I told them Harry’s history with Jeff. “But I didn’t realize Ace knew, and clearly he didn’t tell either of you, either,” I finished.
We all mulled that a few minutes as we ate our cheese and drank our wine in silence. And then we all looked up at the same time.
“Ace is close,” Joel whispered, voicing what we were all thinking. “He knows everything about you. He knew everything about Daisy, because she always came to the shop. He’s a tattooist. He knew Daisy was allergic. Daisy might have trusted him.”
I didn’t even want to think about it. I couldn’t think about it. It was absurd.
Wasn’t it?
“You both know him better than I do. He’s kept his distance with me, but I’d only thought it was because he still thought I was an outsider. Because you all had been working for Flip for so long, and then I came and bought the shop and he had a new boss. And then there was all that stuff with Charlotte.” Charlotte had been a trainee in our shop, and she and Ace had had a relationship. But Charlotte got into some stuff that she shouldn’t have, and I had to let her go. I didn’t think Ace ever forgave me for that.
But would that be reason enough to set me up like this? To create that blog? To break into my house and splash red paint around?
I’d like to think that one of my employees was not that crazy.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered.
“Where was Ace last night?” I asked Bitsy.
She knew what I was asking: Was Ace working last night or was he out of the shop, taking pictures of me and Harry and then posting them on a blog?
Bitsy bit her lip and took a swig of wine. This wasn’t good.
“He left early. Not long after you did,” she admitted. “His last client canceled. Or so he said. I didn’t talk to the client, but Ace said he’d intercepted a call earlier when I was out getting lunch.”
So he had opportunity. And maybe motive.
“Where was he when Daisy was killed?” I asked. Flanigan had come by the shop to find out where I had been, not anyone else.
Bitsy shrugged. “I would have to check. I think he was there, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. And then he does disappear sometimes, but usually to that oxygen bar.”
We stared uncomfortably at each other, not wanting to think the worst but thinking it anyway.
Finally I shook my head and said, “Listen, it can’t be Ace. It’s ridiculous to think that.”
Bitsy started clearing up the cheese and crackers. “You’re right. It’s late, and our imaginations are running away with us. Ace is a good guy. He’s a little impulsive at times and gets a little too high on his horse about that so-called art he creates. He’s not a murderer.” She snorted. “Maybe we should all just go to bed. We’ll have clearer heads in the morning.”
I helped her bring the wineglasses in while Joel pulled out the sofa bed. I wondered about sleeping arrangements, if Joel really was staying over, too.
“Joel’s going to be in the spare room,” Bitsy said when I asked. “I’d put him on the sofa bed, but I’m afraid it might not be sturdy enough. If you get my drift.”
I did, and I said I didn’t mind. I started to go back out into the living room, but she caught my arm and stopped me.
“I know you’re uncertain about Jeff,” she said.
I opened my mouth to say, well, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I didn’t have to because she put her finger up to stop me.
“He’s a good man,” Bitsy continued. “He’s got his own business. He’s settled into the community. He’s got a healthy relationship with his mother. He cares about you. You could do worse. In fact, you’ve done worse.”
I hated hearing it in such black and white terms, but she was right. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to take my relationship with Jeff to another level. Although that kiss had been a real surprise. In more ways than one.
She took her hand off my arm and patted it. “Think about it. He won’t push you; you know that. He’ll back off if you want. But I wouldn’t make any rash decisions just yet.”
I didn’t think I could, with this stalker blogger out there somewhere. I pushed Jeff Coleman and his kiss out of my head, although admittedly, it lingered somewhere in my subconscious; it wouldn’t go away altogether.
I pulled on my pajama bottoms and big T-shirt, brushed my teeth, and went back into the living room and crawled under the covers. The sofa bed was surprisingly comfortable, sans that metal bar that usually cut into someone’s back. As I closed my eyes, I heard something familiar. A little dinging sound.
A text message on my cell phone.
I grabbed my bag off the plush armchair next to the sofa and took out the phone. When I looked at the display, I caught my breath, my hands beginning to shake as I read the message.
“Brett, I know you did this to me. You won’t get away with it.”
I checked the display again. It was Daisy’s number.
I put the phone down and pulled my legs up to my chest, my arms around them, my head down on my knees. I needed to call Tim, who was no doubt still trying to clean up the mess at our house, but I felt as though I’d fall apart if I let myself go. Literally let myself go. So I sat there, rocking slowly, trying not to think about the person who was trying to make me crazy.
The light in the hall went on, and Bitsy’s shadow appeared.
“What’s wrong, Brett? I heard something.”
Couldn’t get anything past Bitsy.
She came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. I cocked my head toward my phone where I’d tossed it, and she picked it up, hitting one of the buttons so that the display shone like a Christmas tree. She read the text, her eyes wide.
“What is this? Who sent this?”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“Did you call your brother? Someone’s got Daisy’s cell phone. I didn’t know she had your number.”
We’d exchanged numbers at one point, and I keyed her number into my phone. I supposed she’d done the same thing.
Joel lumbered out, wearing a big terrycloth bathrobe.
“What’s up?” he asked, and Bitsy handed him the phone.
When he read the message, he came around and sat in the armchair, leaning over to rub my back. He’d been doing that a lot lately.
What was wrong with me? I was acting like some sort of victim. Which, of course, I was, but this was ridiculous. I pulled my arms away from my legs and reached for the phone, punching in Tim’s number.
