Elise’s visit here.”
“But she showed the drawing,” Bitsy piped up. Lucky for me, she’d just gotten off the phone. Right.
“What drawing?” Tim looked at Bitsy, knowing she’d give him the straight answers he’d been looking for from me.
“The devotion tat Brett was going to do.” Bitsy’s eyes skipped from Tim to me and back again.
“What is it?” he asked, and I shook my head behind him, trying to tell her to stop right there.
Bitsy has a problem with keeping secrets. She can’t. So no one usually tells her anything they don’t want spread around. That’s why when she said, “You know, how it said Matthew and not Chip,” I wasn’t totally surprised.
Tim whipped around to face me again. “That’s going to be on TV? Why didn’t you just tell her it was the wrong one?”
“I said no comment.” I cocked my head at Bitsy. “But Ms. Truth Teller here couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
Tim looked like he was about to explode. “If anyone here,” he said loudly, “talks to the media or anyone else besides me about Elise Lyon again, I swear I will find a way to arrest you.”
And then he walked out.
“What’s up his butt?” Joel called out from his room.
“Nothing,” I said, and headed back to Castle Girl.
Because of Tim’s visit, I barely finished the ink in time before I had to go to Versailles to cover for Jeff. I grabbed the case that Bitsy had put together for me.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Yeah, just what is this mysterious job you’ve got?” Joel had sneaked up behind me, as much as a three- hundred-pound man can sneak up on anyone.
I’d been busting at the seams to tell someone, and I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. This was too good not to share.
“Jeff Coleman asked if I could fill in for him with a client who doesn’t want to go to his shop.”
“Why can’t he do it?” Joel asked.
“Because he’s on the lam,” Bitsy said, then immediately put her hand over her mouth.
“You were eavesdropping,” I accused her.
“Wouldn’t you?” Bitsy asked through her hand.
She had me there.
“Okay.” I sighed, and I told them who the client was.
Joel’s body rocked slightly, as if he were about to swoon. Exactly how I’d felt when Jeff told me, and I had no idea how I’d react once I actually had the man’s bare butt under my fingertips. I hoped the sweat from my hands wouldn’t seep through my gloves and cause the machine to slip. That was all I needed, to make a mistake on the guy’s ass. Granted, it wasn’t exactly in a spot where he’d notice.
“I have to go now,” I said, pushing my way past Ace and out into the mall.
In the parking garage elevator, I was sandwiched between an elderly woman in a bright pink velour sweat suit-didn’t anyone tell her it was a hundred degrees outside?-and a guy who looked like he was on his way to a Young Republicans meeting, complete with a three-piece navy pin-striped suit, red tie, and buzz cut. And they looked at me like I was the freak.
When I stepped out of the elevator, though, I started to freak. Quietly. To myself. Because the big, bald, tattooed guy in the sleeveless jean jacket was leaning against a concrete pillar about halfway to my car.
Chapter 17
The pink sweat suit and the Young Republican slipped past me, going in the opposite direction. I didn’t want to face this guy in a parking garage by myself. I didn’t want to seem afraid, either, even though he could probably smell my fear, mixed with exhaust, from here.
I could just pretend I forgot something and get back in the elevator. I could use the case as a weapon. I wondered whether Bitsy had packed it in such a way so that if I had to swing it at him, my stuff would be okay.
I could just ask him what he wanted, why he was watching me. But while I could confront Willis, the cop, outside my shop, that was clear-cut. He was a cop. I knew cops. I felt comfortable around them.
Sure, this was a big tattooed guy. Not like I hadn’t encountered one of them before, either. Not like I hadn’t inked one of them myself.
But this particular guy? There was a vibe about him, a sinister, creepy vibe that hit me in the gut when I’d seen him the first time, then outside my shop, and now. He wasn’t just a guy I was running into. There was more to it. What there was, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to be alone in a dark, cavernous parking garage with him. I preferred to question him when surrounded by people, in a public place.
He had to be Kelly Masters’s brother, Matthew. Jeff’s warning about him only solidified how I felt about this. I wondered if he thought I knew something about his sister. Although the first time I saw him, no one had found her dead.
I was grabbing onto any straw I could to make sense of this.
And while I’d hesitated, he started walking toward me.
I stopped breathing for a second as I debated what to do. Turn back or just barrel past him and take my chances?
Suddenly, the elevator door opened behind me, and a young couple stumbled out, their smiles indicating that either they’d hit a jackpot at the tables or they were anticipating a little afternoon delight. I didn’t care which, because they were going my way, and I managed to put them between me and Matthew as we walked, so I felt safe. They didn’t pay any attention to me.
We shuffled by, and I felt Matthew’s eyes on me as I clicked my key fob and slid into my car, dropping the case on the seat next to me. I didn’t even wait to put on my seat belt, just fired up the engine and felt the Mustang skid slightly as I peeled out of the spot.
I thought I’d hit him as I spun around, but he was gone.
Like a ghost.
I kept looking in the rearview mirror as I pulled out of the garage and headed toward Versailles, which had been built on part of the lot where the old Frontier had sat before it was imploded. Another hotel and casino was scheduled to go up on the property, too. Vegas was just squeezing them in on the Strip. Cranes and bulldozers and construction crews were just a matter of course. Sin City had become Crane City. Soon there would be no empty lots left.
Despite the space restriction, Versailles still managed to look sprawling. Gardens that imitated the ones at the real French palace were in front, rather than behind, and hedge animals danced along the elegant drive up to the circular entranceway. A fountain sporting sculptures shaped like mermaids made me start thinking about that water shortage again.
I debated self-parking, but my experience with that was dubious. The parking garages were mazes of arrows that made you think you were going in the right direction but somehow you always managed to end up at the exit or the valet parking lane. It was easier to valet park, cheaper-free-to self-park. It depended solely on the level of frustration I was willing to endure.
Today, my endurance was at an all-time low. So I pulled up into the valet parking lane.
A valet in a white-and-gold footman’s uniform, complete with white wig, tights, and big-buckled shoes, pranced up to my door as I eased the Mustang to a stop. I climbed out, grabbing my case, and handed over the keys.
“Nice tat.”
The valet’s words were whispered, as if he’d get in trouble for admiring the garden on my arm. But it
I nodded my acknowledgment and skipped up the steps, not prepared for what I would encounter inside.
The opulence of the magnificent lobby was staggering. Mirrors lined all walls; ornate chandeliers dripped real
