The mess we’d seen this morning was gone. The books were gone, too, probably out in that Dumpster, along with all those little kitschy tourist things. A look in the bedroom showed us that the clothes had been cleared out of the closet. Nothing personal had been left. It was merely furniture and dishes in the cabinets in the kitchen.
“She’s not here,” the uniform said, stating the obvious. “She was here when that guy left. He didn’t leave until I got here.” He was talking about Joel.
Tim stared him down, until finally he blushed and said, “Okay, I needed a coffee.”
Great. A thirsty cop takes his eye off the girl, and she disappears.
“I’m taking you to your shop,” Tim said. To the uniform, he said, “Stay here. Watch the place. No coffee this time. I want to know if she comes back.”
As we went out to the car, I asked, “Where’s Flanigan? I haven’t seen much of him.”
Tim grunted, and I took that as my cue to stop asking questions.
The ride to the Venetian was cloaked in silence. As we went into the entrance to the parking garage, I thought about my car.
“Where’s my Mustang?” I asked.
“Impounded. After you took off earlier.”
My heart sank. “What do I do to get it out?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Tim said as he parked near the entrance to the Grand Canal Shoppes and walked me past the kiosks and the shops, past the oxygen bar where Ace was usually hanging out, to The Painted Lady. Bitsy was sitting sentry at the front desk. She hopped up when we walked through the door.
“Joel’s just back. What’s going on?”
Tim waved his hand in the air, said to me, “I’ll be by in a bit to pick you up,” and said good-bye to Bitsy as he took off.
I had no idea where he was going.
Being back in the shop gave me an odd sense of calm. As though nothing could touch me now. I wanted desperately for someone to walk through the door and want a tattoo, because I could lose myself in the act of tattooing, go into that little Zen zone I had. But as far as I knew, no one would be walking through the door. It was late now, around ten o’clock. My stomach growled.
Bitsy grinned, even though I could see the anxiety behind it. “Joel brought back In-N-Out burgers.”
My heart did a little happy dance.
“And I rescheduled your eight o’clock.”
My heart sank as I remembered. “I didn’t call you,” I said. “I didn’t have my phone.”
“Joel called me. I took care of it.” While I figured she had every reason to be upset with me, her voice was kind. Maybe she knew how much of a mess I really was.
We passed Joel’s room, where he was tattooing a guy who was almost as big as he was. He gave me a nod as Bitsy and I went into the staff room. The aroma from the Double-Doubles made my stomach growl again. I tore open one of the paper wrappers and sank my teeth into the burger. I made a yummy sound and began to tell Bitsy about the events of the day. I left out the bit about Jeff kissing me again. Bitsy can’t keep her mouth shut, and I didn’t really know how I was going to deal with that and didn’t want it broadcast until I did.
As it was, she settled on the one thing I knew she would.
“Harry Desmond has a wife? That girl who was here earlier?”
I nodded. “Guess so. She was with Ace. And remember, she wanted a flamingo tattoo.”
We mulled that a few minutes as we finished our burgers. I took a sip of a Coke, as if I needed the caffeine, but the way I was feeling right this very minute, well, I doubted anything would keep me up tonight. I wanted desperately to lie down and close my eyes.
“Where do you think they went?” Bitsy asked. “And Jeff? You said Jeff followed them?”
I thought about Jeff’s orange Pontiac, handed over to the valet. Had he gotten his car or had he followed on foot? Maybe a cab. I thought about my car, impounded. With my bag inside. With my cell phone.
I went out to the front desk, the familiar whir of the tattoo machine emanating from Joel’s room. The sound calmed me as I dialed Jeff’s number.
“Where did you go, Kavanaugh?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said. “Where are you?”
“I lost them. I’ve been driving around, trying to find them; then I went back to the Flamingo, but you were gone.”
I quickly told him about Harry and Tim and Ainsley’s apartment.
He blew a low whistle. “I’ll be over in a bit. Make sure you’re okay.”
“No need,” I said. “Joel and Bitsy are here. Tim’s coming to get me. You need to open your shop.” Murder Ink was open till four a.m. most nights. I wasn’t sure how he did it, except that he wasn’t open as early as I was.
“You sure?” I could tell from his tone that
“Yes. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And I hung up before he could argue with me.
I half expected him to call right back, but he didn’t.
Joel finished up his tattoo, and his client came out and paid Bitsy as Joel and I cleaned up his room. Bitsy said we didn’t have any other clients scheduled for the night, and I began to think that maybe I would get that sleep I needed sooner than expected.
I leaned against the glass door and stared out at the canal, the gondoliers packing it up for the night, too. The mall would be shutting down soon; the tourists and shoppers would go home. Everything seemed so normal.
Bitsy and Joel watched me as I went into the staff room by myself. They hadn’t initiated too much conversation since Joel’s client had left. I pulled the laptop out from under the light table and opened it. I knew I shouldn’t do this, but curiosity was getting the better of me.
The last picture I’d seen on Ink Flamingos had been that one of Sherman Potter’s flamingo tattoo. I wanted to know if anything else had shown up.
Joel had moved into the room behind me. I could hear Bitsy with the vacuum out in the hall. Joel didn’t say anything, just turned on the TV, its volume soft.
The Ink Flamingos blog popped up on the screen at the same time I heard the announcer on TV saying there was something about breaking news.
I saw the picture of Jeff kissing me in the Flamingo gardens at the same time I heard the announcer say, “Sherman Potter, the manager of the Flamingos band, has been found dead in a hotel room at the Golden Palace, the same place where Dee Carmichael was found dead just days ago.”
I whirled around in my seat to see a grainy Detective Flanigan talking to a reporter outside the Golden Palace, the coroner’s van behind him.
“…found in a room on the third floor of the hotel,” he was saying.
So whoever had moved Sherman Potter had gotten him to another room on another floor and left him there.
“…several leads.”
My red hair being one of them, probably. So this was where Flanigan was, while Tim was being pushed into the pool at the Flamingo.
“What’s that?”
Bitsy had come up behind me. I hadn’t even heard the vacuum cut out. She was staring at the blog on the laptop screen.
I couldn’t make the screen go dark fast enough. Joel had seen it, too.
“You were making out with Jeff Coleman?” Bitsy asked, a smile crossing her face. “While all this is going on? Wow.”
Wow was right.
I sighed. “I don’t need any crap right now, okay?”
Maybe it was the way I said it that made Joel jump up, shut off the TV, and say, “I’ll go get some truffles. I think we need truffles.”
Joel always needed truffles, but I wasn’t going to argue.
