Sylvia put a tattoo machine on the desk and smiled serenely. “You’re a nice girl. But I can’t tell you where he is.”
“Can you tell me about Kelly, then?”
The change of subject startled her.
“What about her?”
“What was she like?”
Sylvia stared at a spot somewhere on the ceiling before answering. “She had some troubles.”
“Jeff told me she had a drug problem.”
“That wasn’t the only thing. She was a hooker. I told Jeff he should be careful. Sometimes you can’t change a leopard’s spots.”
“Is that what happened? Did she go back to hooking?”
Sylvia leveled her eyes at me, trying to figure out what to tell me. “You could say that.”
Could say what? On one hand, Sylvia seemed like she had all her balls in the air. On the other, her cryptic answers made me wonder if she had a touch of dementia. When I didn’t say anything, she continued.
“Jeff pulled her out of the gutter. She did clean up nice, have to give her that. Pretty girl. Maybe a little too pretty.” Sylvia snorted. “He trained her here, teaching her how to tattoo; she was pretty good. That’s how women got started, you know.”
I knew. I knew about the circus women who ended up marrying the men who’d tattooed them. How their husbands trained them as tattooists so they’d have help in their shops and they didn’t have to pay them. I wondered if Sylvia Coleman had learned the trade from her husband.
“So she worked here?” I asked instead, my curiosity stronger about Kelly right now.
“This”-Sylvia waved her arm around in the air, indicating the shop-“wasn’t in her plans. Even if it was in his. He wanted to spend his life with her. He wanted kids with her. They tried for two years. But she couldn’t. She had a condition.” I hoped she wasn’t going to start going into medical explanations. That was all the information I needed.
“Did they get divorced because of that?”
Sylvia smiled sadly. “She just left him one day.”
“So you didn’t hear from her again, either, after the divorce?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t exactly close to her. But I wasn’t surprised when she left. Once she got straightened out, once Jeff gave her back her life, she was antsy. He thought a baby would change things, but she got tired of waiting for that. I couldn’t talk sense to my boy-had to just let it play out.”
Go figure, but I actually felt sorry for the guy.
A creaking sound made me catch my breath. The curtain began to move, and I saw a pair of black cowboy boots. Sylvia stood expectantly, and my heart hammered in my chest.
Chapter 24
“The sign says closed, but your door was unlocked.” He was about twenty, baby-faced, with tattoo sleeves running down both arms.
Sylvia stood, shaking her head. “I keep forgetting things,” she mumbled, indicating that I should follow her out into the shop.
I watched as she began preparing the young man’s calf for ink, shaving it carefully as she talked to him about what he wanted: a basic cross with a crown of thorns wrapped around its top. She found the flash hanging on the wall and noted its number, shuffling through a pile until she pulled it out, a ready-made stencil.
“I don’t know how much more I can help you,” she said to me as she transferred the stencil onto his calf, leaving its outline that she would trace with her machine’s needle.
I wanted to stay, to talk to her more. Not necessarily about Jeff-she wasn’t going to tell me where he was-but just to watch her, a previous generation of tattooist, a woman tattooist who’d had to suffer far more discrimination than I ever did. Those women who came before me were pioneers, breaking into a male-dominated profession and breaking all the rules. Women like Sylvia gave me an option after I held that somewhat useless art degree.
She was concentrating, her reading glasses perched on her nose so she could more clearly see the lines she had to follow. I needed to head home before Tim got there, so he wouldn’t have another reason to be upset with me.
I was also tired; it’d been a long day.
I thanked Sylvia for her time, and as I turned to leave, I heard her call my name, so I looked back.
“Come back and I’ll find something nice for your other arm,” she said. “A garden should be balanced.”
I promised her I’d call.
The tinkle of a small bell rang in the distance as I pulled the door open and stepped outside into the heat. The sun was starting to go down, but the air still wrapped itself around me, suffocating me. The car took just a few minutes to cool off, and I eased the Mustang out of the lot and into the street, heading for home.
The white Dodge Dakota stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb behind me. Every time I looked in the rearview or side mirrors, there it was, looming large behind me. If I stopped short, he’d run right into me.
After about five miles, I knew for sure I was being followed. And he wanted me to know that, staying close, not hanging back behind any other cars. I tried to make out the driver, but couldn’t. Only a shadow.
My cell phone was still hooked into the hands-free device, and I stuck it on my head, dialing Joel.
“Talk to me,” I said.
“Where are you?”
“Have you ever met Jeff Coleman’s mother, Sylvia?”
“Did you meet her? Isn’t she fabulous?”
“So you do know her.”
“Everyone in the business in Vegas knows Sylvia.” He paused. “Hey, how did you meet her? I heard she retired.”
“She was at Jeff’s shop.”
“You went there?”
I quickly told him about the visit, keeping an eye on the Dakota behind me.
“Interesting about Jeff and Kelly,” he said. “I knew he’d been married, but didn’t know more than that.”
I told him that I was suspicious Jeff had set me up at Versailles.
He pointed out the other side of that coin: that whoever had killed Matt might have been setting Jeff up.
Neither of us could decide which was right.
“I’m being followed,” I finally conceded.
“What?”
I’d turned off the highway and the Dakota was close enough so I could smell its exhaust. “A Dodge Dakota. Followed me all the way from Jeff’s shop. But not exactly trying to keep it from me.”
“Do you think it’s that guy who was following you before?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Why don’t you just stop and find out what he wants?”
It was a simple question, and one I’d been considering. It wasn’t like I was alone on the road; there were plenty of other cars.
“Okay,” I said, tired of the game. “But stay on the line, okay?”
“I’ve got my hand on the landline. I’ll call the cops if I hear something.”
I pulled over, easing the Mustang off to the side of the road, but as I opened the door and started to step out, the Dakota sped past me, so close I thought he’d take my door off, so fast I couldn’t read the license plate.
I watched the taillights as the truck slowed for a light and made an executive decision. I closed the door and put my foot on the accelerator-the mouse now following the cat.
“What’s going on?” Joel asked in my ear, and I told him. “Don’t lose him!” he said.
I was trying not to, but I’d gotten stuck behind a couple of elderly drivers who decided the speed limit was way overrated. The Dakota turned a corner, but by the time I got there, it was gone.
