“That’s what I asked. He wouldn’t say any more than that, but I’d watch your back, Kavanaugh.”
I was quiet a second, digesting this information.
“Do you want me to come over there, follow you to your house, make sure you get there okay?” Jeff’s voice was unnaturally soft, and the fact that he was offering made me take this a lot more seriously. He must really think the guy was a nut and could cause me some sort of trouble.
Accidents happen.
I heard Joel’s and Ace’s tattoo machines whirring in harmony in their rooms.
“No, Jeff. Thanks, I really appreciate it, but I can have Joel or Ace do that. You don’t have to leave your shop and come down here.”
“Wouldn’t be a problem, Kavanaugh.”
I thought about Jeff Coleman, how he called me only by my last name, like he was some sort of tough guy, and how he always made cracks about my “upscale” shop.
“Thanks, Jeff, really,” I said, hoping he could hear the gratitude in my voice.
I could hear a smile in his. “You know, Kavanaugh, I think I’m growing on you.”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond. I heard the dial tone and hung up the phone, pondering what he’d said. Not about him growing on me-the jury was still out on that one-but about Rusty Abbott. What was his game? Even though he told Jeff that meeting up with me was just a coincidence, in a completely paranoid moment, I wondered whether he’d actually set me up. If he were the champagne shooter from last night, maybe he was following me around to make sure that I couldn’t identify him.
I was being totally irrational.
Or was I?
I was so deep in thought that when Ace’s client came up behind me, I jumped.
“You scared me,” I said, holding my hand to my chest to see if I could make it stop thumping so hard.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said with a lopsided grin.
Bitsy had come back and was taking his credit card. I wandered over to Ace’s room, where he was cleaning up his inks. He looked up when I came in and sat on his client chair.
“Hey, Brett,” he said casually, as if it were like any other day.
“Where’s Charlotte?”
He stopped fiddling with the inkpots and shrugged. “She called some friend who came and picked her up at my place. I don’t know who he was-he stayed in the car-but she said she’d be okay.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“She’s a big girl, Brett.”
“Did she get my message about Trevor?”
“That’s why I made her call someone. I had to be back here, and I didn’t want her to be alone. She was pretty broken up about it.”
“But not enough to come out of hiding.”
He didn’t say anything.
“What’s going on? Why is she in hiding? Was it that guy at the pawnshop? Has he threatened her? Is it an old boyfriend? Is that who she’s hiding from?” I couldn’t stop the questions once they started coming out.
He bit his lip and shrugged. “She hasn’t really told me anything, except that it’s not what it seems. Said I just have to trust her. So that’s what I’m doing.”
“Not what it seems? That’s pretty evasive. She has to talk to the police.”
Ace shook his head. “No cops. She’s pretty adamant about that. Says it’ll all come out eventually, and she wants it on her terms.”
“What does that mean?”
He sighed. “I’m not totally sure, Brett. Believe me, I tried to get her to go to the cops. Tell them what really happened this morning at that pawnshop. But she won’t. I can’t force her.”
“What about Tim?”
He gave a short snort. “He’s the cops, Brett. No cops.”
“Should I talk to him for her?”
He went back to putting away the inks. “Whatever you want.”
“When did you and Charlotte get so chummy?” I asked.
I could see only the side of his face, but the smile was obvious. It was as if someone hit me over the head; otherwise, I would never have figured it out.
“You’re dating her, aren’t you? Why are you keeping it secret?”
He shrugged and looked back at me. “We didn’t want anyone to know. The whole ‘office romance’ thing is so cliched.” He made little quote marks with his fingers as he spoke.
I could understand that. “Listen, then, you really do need to convince her that going to the cops is the best thing. If she needs some sort of protection, then it’s for her own good.”
“I think she knows what she’s doing.”
“Does she?” I asked. “Do you? You could be charged with obstruction for hiding her.” I was repeating what DeBurra had said to me, and I didn’t catch myself in time to stop.
“Don’t pull that cop talk on me, Brett. I know what I’m doing, too. And not for nothing, but when she’s ready to tell me what’s going on, she’ll tell me. I’m being patient with her. I’m not going to bug her about it.” He really turned his back on me now, dismissing me.
It felt like I had a hundred-pound weight on my chest. I was just trying to do the right thing and help the girl. Sister Mary Eucharista had taught me well. But she didn’t tell me how to do the right thing when no one else was cooperating.
Joel agreed to follow me home to make sure I got there okay. Ace and I didn’t talk for the rest of the night, and I let Bitsy go early because she had a date.
I had a million things swirling around in my head: Rusty Abbott warning me about accidents, the toothless guy at Pawned, Charlotte and Ace and their discreet romance, Trevor’s untimely demise, Dr. Colin Bixby. The latter was the most pleasant place for my thoughts to hang their hat, but even he got pushed aside when I flashed back on that sketch of Wesley Lambert. What role did he have?
My cell phone rang. I had it hooked up to my hands-free device.
“Want to stop for a bite?” Joel’s voice came through loudly.
“I just want to get home.”
“You wouldn’t know that by the way you’re driving.”
So I went the speed limit. Sue me.
“You know, if anyone wanted to follow you, it would be so easy,” Joel continued.
“You must be hungry. You’re grumpy.”
“Come on, stop for something. There’s a little Mexican place not far off the exit.”
I knew it. And the power of suggestion had my stomach growling. The noodles were a few hours ago. “Sure, fine.”
“Nachos,” he said, drawing the word out.
I was also thinking margaritas. That would be a nice way to top off the day. So I mentioned it.
“Way too many calories,” Joel said. “I’ll go through a week’s worth of points.”
“And nachos are fat free? Give me a break.”
I pulled off the highway and turned off the exit.
“It’s just up there,” Joel said when the strip mall came into view.
“I see it.”
I ended the call and threw the hands-free unit on the passenger seat as I pulled into the parking lot. The lights were still on, the neon advertising Corona beer.
But as I was about to get out, a glance in the sideview mirror made me freeze.
Detective Frank DeBurra was walking up to my door.
I lowered the window, waiting for DeBurra like he was going to ask for my license and registration. Joel had already gone inside, not noticing I wasn’t behind him.
Some bodyguard he turned out to be.
“Miss Kavanaugh, can you get out of the car?” DeBurra’s voice was low, measured.
