“Are you going to find her today? So I can stop looking over my shoulder?” I couldn’t keep the worry out of my voice.
Tim sighed. “We’re on it, but still stay cautious. Can you get Jeff to take you home later?”
I felt something snap. “Why Jeff? I mean, why not Joel or Bitsy? Why does it have to be Jeff?” Yes, the lady was protesting too much, and it didn’t escape Tim.
He chuckled. “It can be anyone you’d like. I just thought-”
“Well, don’t think. I’ve got a client. I’ve got to go.” I punched END on the phone, although it didn’t have the same satisfying feel as slamming a phone receiver down.
I grabbed the manila folder and started toward my room. I was still clearly having issues with Jeff Coleman and the fact that he’d kissed me. Or more, that I’d kissed him back. And liked it.
I pushed the thoughts aside and went back to my client, putting myself on autopilot, forcing a smile.
I was glad to know I could still work. In fact, work was a way to forget about what was going on. As long as I was in my room, the familiar weight of the tattoo machine pressed against my hand, I felt as though I had no troubles.
Too bad I couldn’t hole myself up in there for the next couple of weeks, or at least until Tim found Ainsley Wainwright’s twin sister. I had begun to wonder if she wasn’t responsible for pinning Daisy’s murder on Sherman Potter and trying to frame me as well. Although setting two people up for the same crime seemed a bit overachieving. And then there was the little fact that her sister was murdered-even though Tim hadn’t told me officially, the red stain on the mattress was more than a clue. She wouldn’t kill her sister, would she? So someone else must have.
I couldn’t be thinking about all this while I worked. Shea Collins was a science major at the university, and she wanted a tattoo of the bones of her spine along the bones of her spine, from the top of her neck down to her lower back. She was a skinny girl, and it was a little dicey working with the uneven canvas. Also, because it was very bony, it was a lot more painful for her than having a tattoo on a fleshy part of her body. She choked back sobs, and when I offered to make the design simpler so I could be done more quickly, she adamantly refused. I had no choice but to keep going.
My hand had started to cramp up a little after an hour, and I turned off the machine and set it down on the table behind me. I surveyed the design and was pleased. I handed Shea a box of Kleenex.
“How about if we finish this up another day?” I asked. “How about the end of the week?”
She nodded, blowing her nose.
After I smoothed some Tattoo Goo on the outline I’d managed to get done and covered up the new tattoo so she could put her shirt back on, Shea and I went out into the front of the shop, where Bitsy was leafing through the appointment book. She looked up when we approached. I explained how Shea needed to come back. Bitsy nodded, then said softly, “That girl is here.”
“What girl?”
“The one Joel talked to this morning. At Ainsley Wainwright’s apartment. He said he’d give her a discount. What sort of discount would be appropriate?”
I had no idea she’d really show up here, and from the look on Bitsy’s face, Bitsy hadn’t expected it, either.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“She did help us,” Bitsy reminded me.
Had she? Oh, right. She had told us about the twins. But that was about it. I had a thought. If she was getting a discount on a tattoo, then she should cough up a little more information. I said as much to Bitsy, who concurred.
“She’s in the back with Joel, who’s doing up a design for her.”
We’d told her we were cops. Unless she was stupid, she couldn’t still believe that.
“Did she bring that friend with her? The one she mentioned.”
Bitsy shook her head. “She’s alone.”
I left Shea with Bitsy and strode down the hall toward the waiting area in the back. The black leather sofa clashed in a nice way with the blond laminate flooring. A glass coffee table held a variety of tattoo magazines and a couple of our portfolios, so clients could get an idea of the kind of work we did.
Joel was sitting next to the girl on the couch, his pad open, his pencil frantically sketching. The girl was pointing, showing him what she wanted.
I cleared my throat, and they both looked up. Joel smiled. “Brett, this is Terri.”
I stepped forward to shake her hand, but she didn’t make a move toward me. I waited for her to say something about how we’d impersonated Las Vegas’s finest, but she merely nodded. I hoped she wouldn’t make some sort of citizen’s arrest or complaint. I didn’t need Tim on my case again.
I wondered again if she thought I was a killer, like the blogs said. So far no clients had mentioned it. Maybe they didn’t read the blogs. I could only hope.
Terri’s eyes were running up and down my person, though, checking me out. I shivered slightly, uncomfortable under her gaze. It was almost as if she were a guy. Uh-oh. Maybe she played for the other team. This was definitely awkward.
I pushed through it, though, and shifted from one foot to the other, finally asking, “I was wondering if you could tell me a little something about Ainsley Wainwright. I mean, if you live in the same building, you must know her, right?”
She hesitated a second before shrugging. “Sure. But you probably only want to know about that blog, right?”
Okay, she did know about it. I nodded.
“She liked tattoos. She had a bunch of them, but not where you’d notice.” Terri flashed a little knowing smile. Hmm. Maybe they were closer than I thought. But that also made me think. When I’d met Sherman Potter’s Ainsley, the only tattoo I’d seen was the one on the inside of her thigh. If she’d had others, I would’ve seen them, considering how small that towel was. So she must really be the sister.
“You said you’d never met her sister, right?” I asked Terri, who had lost interest and was now paying more attention to Joel’s drawing.
“No,” she said.
“What can you tell me about the blog?” I asked, when I realized she wasn’t going to say anything more.
“She loved doing that.”
I’d hoped for a little more, but Terri didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. I changed tacks.
“She worked at a dental group?”
Terri nodded. “She was a hygienist.”
“Did she have a boyfriend or anything?”
“Some guy showed up last week. Never saw him before. Tall, dark hair, looked like he worked out, older guy. He had a long nose. It didn’t seem to go with his face.”
Terri had just described Sherman Potter. What was he doing there? He was involved with the sister, not the blogger. Or had he known both of them?
“I’m done.” Joel put his pencil on the table and lifted up the notepad.
I stopped breathing. It was a flamingo. He shrugged at me. “This is what she wanted.”
I stared at Terri, who was admiring the sketch. “I love it,” she said. “It’s perfect.”
I wanted to put a ban on flamingo tattoos. A sign out front that said NO FLAMINGOS HERE. Joel knew what I was thinking, and his eyebrows rose high in his forehead as if to tell me to chill.
I forced a smile. “It’s nice,” I said and went back to the front of the shop to leave them alone to figure out the particulars and see when Terri could come back for the actual tattoo.
Bitsy’s mouth formed a little “o” when she saw my face, but the phone rang, interrupting any question she’d had, and she picked it up. “The Painted Lady,” she said, all signs of emotion wiped from her voice.
“Hold on a sec,” Bitsy said, putting her hand over the receiver and frowning up at me. “There’s a problem.”
I waited.
“This is your next client. She said she got a message from you saying you had an emergency and wouldn’t be able to keep her appointment. She wants to reschedule. What’s up?”
I had no idea. Because I hadn’t called her.
