Pretty In Ink

“What, was I speeding or something? Am I under arrest?” I should know better than to question a cop. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to behave with one. But DeBurra got my hackles up.

“Just get out of the car, please.” His tone was laced with exasperation.

I had that effect on some people.

I opened the door and climbed out, smoothing my skirt, pulling down on my tank top, which had started to ride up over my abdomen.

“Are you following me?” I asked. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have asked Joel to come along. DeBurra would’ve been my shield against Rusty Abbott.

“Have you heard from Miss Sampson?”

That old song and dance. Should’ve known.

“I’m going in for some nachos now. I haven’t seen Charlotte all day. I have no idea where she is.” None of what I said was a lie.

“Her friend Trevor McKay is dead.” It sounded even more final the way he said it.

“I know,” I said.

“I know you know. You were at the hospital. You spoke to Dr. Bixby.”

I shifted a little. “Yeah. I wanted to see how Trevor was. But he was dead before I got there.” I added that last part in case he thought I had something to do with Trevor’s demise.

“And you went to two pawnshops.”

I tried to keep my anger out of my voice. “Have you been following me all day?”

“What’s your relationship with Jeff Coleman?”

This had gone on far enough.

“I’d love to stand here and play This Is Your Life, Detective, but my friend is in the restaurant and I really want a margarita right now. Unless you’re going to charge me with something, then I’m going inside.” I started walking even as I spoke.

DeBurra fell into step beside me. “I can arrest you-for obstruction. But I won’t.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” I said, the attitude slipping out because I was unable to stop it.

“I think you’ve had contact with Charlotte Sampson today. And I think you’re keeping it from me.”

I stopped short and whirled around to face him. “You know, Charlotte’s the one who was threatened. It’s not as if she committed a crime or anything. You should be trying to find the guy who threatened her, not acting as if an innocent girl was guilty of something.”

As I spoke, an expression crossed his face that I couldn’t read. I began to wonder whether she was guilty of something, regardless of what that pawnshop guy said. That would explain why she was hiding, why DeBurra was going after her like a dog after a bone.

DeBurra gave a short snort. “So you don’t know where she is, do you?”

I sighed. “No, I really don’t. I’m telling the truth. I did talk to her, but she won’t say where she is. I’m doing my best.”

“Miss Kavanaugh, if you were doing your best, Charlotte Sampson would be turning herself in.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But there’s just so much I can do.”

“It’s for her own good,” DeBurra said.

“Like I don’t know that.”

“No, really,” he said, his voice lower now, like he was going to tell me a secret.

I leaned forward slightly to hear him better.

“Charlotte Sampson got mixed up with the wrong people. Wesley Lambert, for one. And her life may be in danger.”

Chapter 19

First Wesley Lambert gets involved with the wrong people, and now Charlotte. What was Lambert involved in? If it was drugs, like Kyle suggested, how did Trevor’s brooch come into play? And then warning Eduardo that he’d send a message to Trevor. Sort of like how Rusty Abbott was warning me through Jeff.

“I haven’t seen her,” I said again and pushed my way past DeBurra.

I’d taken about three steps when I heard his voice behind me.

“I’m going to be your shadow. She has to show up eventually.”

That was going to be a royal pain. But I didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge that I’d even heard him. Instead I went inside and found Joel already chewing on chips and salsa at a table near the back. A margarita sat on the table.

I slid into the chair across from Joel and took a sip. Smooth, tart, perfect. I smiled. “Thanks.”

“Where’d you go?”

I told him about my close encounter of the irritating kind with Frank DeBurra. He murmured appropriately throughout.

“What’s up with this guy Lambert? Is he a drug dealer or does he just deal in gaudy jewelry?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I think he’s the guy in the pawnshop who threatened Charlotte.”

“What does he want?”

I had no idea.

A waitress came over and set down a gigantic plate of nachos slathered in cheese and chili. Joel thanked her politely before taking a handful onto his plate. I suddenly wasn’t very hungry anymore, but I needed something in my stomach to soak up all that tequila; otherwise, the good detective who’d vowed to keep following me would have a legitimate excuse to pull me over on my way home.

We ate in comfortable silence, my thoughts all over the place. I wondered whether I’d be able to get any sleep tonight with the activity going on in my brain.

When the nachos were gone and the margarita glass drained, I opened my mouth to start up again, but Joel shook his head and put his fingers to his lips.

“I’m worried about Charlotte, too, Brett, but I think Ace is taking care of her and you should just go home and get some sleep.”

“What, does everyone know about Ace and Charlotte but me?”

He chuckled. “Brett, they’ve been dating practically since Charlotte started working for us. You haven’t noticed how they moon at each other?”

I thought about it. “No.”

“You should pay more attention. They make a pretty couple.”

That they did: Ace with his handsome, movie-star looks and Charlotte with her long, sleek dark hair, bright eyes, and pixie face. Each of them, too, had symmetrical tattoos-Ace had sleeves that ended in perfect matching fleur-de-lis, and Charlotte had those derringers.

I just hoped that when all this was over I wasn’t going to lose one or even two of my employees.

Joel gave me a kiss on the cheek before I got into my car to head home. I told him not to bother following me anymore, since I was sure DeBurra was out there somewhere. I arrived at my house in one piece; I hadn’t noticed anyone behind me. Maybe he was full of hot air.

Tim was already asleep. I put on my cotton pajama bottoms and a big T-shirt, crawled into bed, and, despite my worries, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I got up about nine. I missed Tim again; he had gone to work while I slept. We didn’t see each other very much, even though we were roommates. His job had odd hours, and mine kept me at the shop until midnight most nights. Every once in a while, like yesterday, our paths crossed.

I’d hoped to talk to him again about DeBurra and tell him what had happened last night. I’d have to try to call