steam.
A lot of steam.
I realized Jeff had stopped laughing and was studying the door to his shop. Joel and I stepped forward, and I could see it then. The scratches on the dead bolt, the deep grooves in the side of the door.
“Someone jimmied the lock,” Jeff said. “And did a damn poor job of it, too. I’m going to have to fix that.” It was a casual statement, as though he had a drawer full of locks in his office and he’d just have to replace this one with one of those. “What I don’t get is this thing with the pink flamingos. I mean, I understand the symbolism and all, but do they really think a pink flamingo is going to scare anyone?”
Scared the daylights out of me. I tried to look nonchalant.
“I’m going around the front,” Jeff announced. “See if anything’s up over there.”
He started down the alley, then looked back at us. “Aren’t you coming?”
I hadn’t realized it was an invitation, but I didn’t have to be asked twice. Joel and I trailed Jeff around the edge of the building and along the alley between it and Goodfellas Bail Bonds. I wondered if Sonny was over at the police station trolling for celebrity clients. When we reached the front entrance to Murder Ink, it didn’t seem as though anyone had tried to get in this way. The door had no marks on it at all. Jeff reached into his pocket for his keys and pulled them out.
“You can’t go in,” I said. “The police are coming.”
Jeff snickered. “It’s my shop.” He put the key in the lock and pushed the door in.
The front of the shop was dark; blinds had been pulled down over the big front windows. He yanked on them and they snapped up, letting in light from the streetlamp that struck the flash on the walls and illuminated it. Joel perused the designs, nodding. He was comfortable in a shop like this; my shop was the most upscale he’d ever worked in. The chain hanging out of his pocket jingled slightly as he absently toyed with it.
A glance around told me nothing seemed out of place, although at the same time, something wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it wasn’t just the flamingo in the back. Jeff’s back straightened, tense. He sensed it, too. But so far it was eluding both of us.
Until Joel spoke up.
“I didn’t realize you picked up Brett’s flamingo design.”
It was there, on the wall, right out in the open. It had been tacked over the flash on the far wall: My flamingo stencil for Daisy Carmichael.
It couldn’t be the exact one, but it was close enough that it sent a shiver down my spine. It even had the little flowers in the tips of the wings.
“I’ve never seen that before,” Jeff said softly.
All three of us stood and stared at it, as if it would magically tell us who had put it there.
“Someone is totally messing with us,” I said. “I mean, besides the breaking in, this isn’t really criminal stuff: putting a plastic flamingo in your office, putting this stencil here. This is some sort of head game.”
“Doesn’t scare me,” Jeff said, going over to the wall, reaching up, and pulling the stencil down. It tore a little where it had been taped up, but otherwise it was intact. He brought it over to me, and I took it, studying it.
“Someone could’ve done this from the picture on that blog,” I said. “It’s not that hard to do a stencil. You can get instructions on the Internet.” You could get mostly everything having to do with tattooing on the Internet, except experience and talent and common sense.
A flash of red hit the wall, illuminating the flash designs. We all turned at the same time to see the police car pulling up out front, an SUV behind it. Showtime.
The uniformed cop knocked on the door, and Jeff motioned that he could come in. To my dismay, it turned out to be Willis, a cop I’d come across a couple of times before and who didn’t like me much. From the scowl on his face, I could tell that hadn’t changed.
“We got a report,” he said, eyeing me as though I was the culprit.
A couple of crime scene investigators followed him in, and Jeff led them to the back of the shop to see the flamingo. Joel and I lingered where we were. I was tired of making statements to the police and knew I wasn’t out of the woods on this one yet, either, but the longer I could delay the inevitable, the better. Especially since it was Willis.
“We have to find Ann Wainwright,” I said.
Joel shifted from one foot to the other, his fingers still toying with the chain at his waist. “How?”
I had no clue.
“Maybe we could go back to her sister’s apartment. Talk to that neighbor again. Terri.” And then a light bulb went off over my head. “Her sister worked for a dentist.” I struggled to remember what it had said on that paycheck stub. “Carruthers? Columbia? Something with a ‘C.’ ”
“Corinthian.” The word slipped off Joel’s tongue easily.
“What, are you psychic or something?” Joel hadn’t been inside with Bitsy and me; he’d been out in the hall with Terri the whole time.
“Bitsy made me make an appointment for a cleaning. I’m supposed to go tomorrow. See what I can find out.” He made a face. “I don’t like the dentist.”
“No one likes the dentist,” I said. “So why don’t we go now? Pretend that you thought the appointment was today. We could ask questions.” Sounded like a plan, except for one thing: Jeff and Willis were still in the back of the shop. My eyes strayed in that direction.
“It’s too late,” Joel said. “It’s after seven.”
“Sometimes dentists stay open late. It’s a Thursday. Maybe they’re like banks and they’re open late on Thursdays.” I was grabbing at straws, but I didn’t want to stick around here, and I had no other ideas.
I took a few steps toward the door.
“We’re parked in back,” Joel reminded me.
We could be stuck here all night. But I underestimated how much Willis disliked me, because he came storming through the sixties beads that hung between the back of the shop and the front, his face all scrunched up, a little notebook in his hand.
“You didn’t touch anything?” he barked.
I shook my head, then quickly told him how the door had been ajar, the flamingo wedged behind it. “That’s when I called Tim.”
Jeff was standing behind Willis. I could tell he wanted him out of here, too. The crime scene guys were shuffling out now, past us and toward the door. One of them had put the flamingo in a plastic bag and he carried it with the tips of his fingers. They didn’t exactly stand on ceremony, since they didn’t bother to say good-bye, just left. I glanced up at where the flamingo stencil had hung, but then Jeff caught my eye and gave a quick shake of his head. For some reason he didn’t want to tell them about it. Hmm.
Willis jotted a few notes down, then turned to Jeff. “You can pick up the report tomorrow afternoon.” He handed him a card. “The case report number’s on that. Just go to records and ask for it. Maybe you can get your insurance to pay for the damage.” And with that, he took off out the door and into the street without even a nod in my direction.
We watched as the police cruiser slid away from the curb and down the street. When it was out of sight, Jeff stuck the card in his front breast pocket and said, “What a jerk.”
I could think of more colorful words than that, but “jerk” would do, too.
We didn’t have much time.
“We’ll get out of your hair now,” I said quickly, tugging on Joel’s sleeve.
Jeff frowned and held up his hand. “What’s your hurry?” He looked from me to Joel. He knew we were up to something.
I wasn’t going to tell him. I didn’t need him tagging along everywhere I went. I had Joel; he was enough. But Jeff didn’t seem to agree. He stared Joel down, until Joel broke down.
“We’re going to check out that dentist office where Ainsley Wainwright worked. See if they knew anything
