The Missing Ink (23 page)

As my eyes adjusted back to the light in the bar, I saw one person who hadn’t taken off yet.

Elise was at the end of the bar.

But she wasn’t alone.

Matthew, Kelly Masters’s brother, was behind her, his hands on her shoulders as they went toward the black curtain.

Chapter 40

When I’d first heard his name, I had wondered if Matthew was Elise’s Matthew, but he seemed like too much of a square peg for that round hole. Matt Powell was much of more likely, especially since he was close to Chip and, by extension, Elise, and then, of course, there was the little fact that he had that tat on his chest.

But maybe, just maybe, that ink had been done after he’d already been dead. How else to explain the gloves and needle in the bathroom?

I had multiple Matthews, although the Elvises still outnumbered them.

Elise saw me.

She twisted around, her eyes wide with fear. Matthew’s head swiveled up toward me, and a grimace crossed his face. He turned his attention back to Elise, pushing her now.

I remembered what Bruce Manning said on CNN when Elise first went missing: He suspected she didn’t leave of her own accord, that there might have been another party involved.

This backed up that theory.

I shoved my way through the Elvises and some other ordinarily dressed people who’d come in since we’d arrived for a little karaoke. Behind me, the music started, and another singer—and I use the term loosely—began warbling “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” Something about the voice made me pause. I stopped to see if I was right.

It was Joel, belting out the song as best he could. Which wasn’t saying much. Although I certainly wasn’t one to judge.

Our little excursion had brought out the inner Elvis in my staff. Who knew?

I didn’t have time to ponder this, however, since Elise and Matthew were already a few minutes ahead of me. I bounded through the black curtain, momentarily distracted by the darkness, but the door opened, letting in a streak of light, and I followed it, like you’re supposed to.

The motorcycles still filled most of the parking lot, and one was speeding out toward the main road. Two people. A man and a woman. No helmets. Who had told me Matthew was a biker? They were too far away for me to say for sure whether it was Matthew and Elise.

I saw my Mustang in the lot and considered my options. If I left Joel here with Bitsy, there was no way he’d fit into that little MINI Cooper of hers. He’d give me a lot of crap over that.

As I debated, the motorcycle was getting smaller and smaller, farther and farther away.

There was no way I could catch up to it.

I heard Springsteen.

It took a second for me to realize it was my cell phone in the bottom of my bag. I swung it around and dug around inside until I found the phone, checking the name on the front and flipping the top up.

“Hey, there,” I said to my brother.

“You never got back to me.”

“About what?”

A heavy sigh. “About the tattoo. Did you get the pictures in your e-mail?”

Oh, yeah, right. “Sorry. I’ve been a little busy.”

“So?”

“Listen, there’s something you should know.” I paused. How to approach this? Straight out would be a good idea. “Elise Lyon is alive. I just saw her.”

“Where?” I could practically feel his blood pressure go up over the phone.

“Viva Las Vegas. You know the place?”

“You’re there? Why on earth would you go there?”

I considered telling him the truth: that I’d gotten locked in Simon Chase’s office, heard Elise’s message, then hightailed it over here because Bitsy was on the inside when it came to Elvis. But it sounded a little deranged. So I settled for, “Bitsy wanted to come to karaoke night. I saw Elise in the ladies’ room, but she left in a hurry. With Kelly Masters’s brother. Matthew.”

Silence. So long that I thought I might have lost the connection.

“Hello?”

“I’m here, Brett. He’s not bothering you again, is he?”

“No, but he’s got Elise Lyon.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but I wasn’t too successful.

“And they left?”

“I thought about following them.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed? Why would I do that? Because I’d gotten in over my head on this one?

Tim spoke before I could answer. “Don’t play hero, Brett. Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. I think they left on a bike.”

“A bicycle?”

“Motorcycle,” I said sarcastically. “There are almost as many bikes here as there are Elvises.”

“Which direction?”

“I don’t know. Looked like they were heading back downtown, but who knows?”

More silence.

“She looked scared,” I offered.

“Did you talk to her?”

“No.” But something tugged at my brain. Why had she run from me? And what was Simon Chase’s role in this? He was nowhere to be seen. He’d gotten me up onstage, singing, and then took off. Leaving Elise to Matthew.

Maybe he hadn’t seen her.

Or maybe he’d set her up. Maybe he and Matthew were in cahoots together.

Cahoots? What was I, a hundred years old?

My thoughts jumbled around like the letters in Boggle. I’d seen Simon with Matthew, outside Giverny before our lunch date. Maybe I wasn’t so far off in my suspicions.

This time Tim thought he’d lost
me
.“What’s going on, Brett?”

“Umm, well, you might want to talk to Simon Chase again,” I said, throwing caution to the wind and any possible romance out the window.

“Why?”

“He was here, too. I think he was meeting her here.”

“How do you know that?”

Uh-oh. How to get out of this one? “He might have said something.”

Even more silence. “You know, Brett, I can’t bring someone in and question them just because my sister might have suspicions. I need more than that to go on.”

I knew that. I also knew that if Tim called Simon in now, Simon would know who’d ratted him out.

Simon Chase emerged from around the far corner of the building. Quickly, I ducked behind a pickup truck that was taller than me, and I watched him scan the parking lot.

Was he looking for Elise and Matthew? Or for me?

“Listen, Tim,” I said, “maybe I’m wrong. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.” I started to flip the phone shut but heard him saying, “Brett? Wait.”

Lifting the phone back up to my ear and keeping an eye on Chase, I said, “Yeah?”

“That tat. On Matt Powell. What did you think?”

“Professional. Definitely not a scratcher. It looked remarkably like my drawing.”

“Remarkably?”

“Almost identical, except for the name. Apparently Powell came in looking for a tat like that and Ace showed it to him by accident. We’ve got a file on him. On Powell, not Ace. But Ace didn’t do the ink. I don’t know who did.”

Simon Chase was now weaving through the bikes in the lot, getting closer. I ducked a little lower, but not too low, so I still could see him through the window of the truck.

“Do you think Coleman did it?”

“I don’t know, Tim,” I said, lowering my voice a little so Chase wouldn’t hear me. Voices can travel on that still desert air pretty easily. “I have to get going.”

“Okay, sure, but, Brett?”

“Yeah?” Chase was getting closer.

“Powell’s ink? It was done after he was dead.”

Chapter 41

I closed my phone, pondering Tim’s words, but not distracted enough to realize I had to duck down farther so I couldn’t see Chase, because I didn’t want him to see me.

I squatted behind the truck, praying that he’d just go inside and stop trolling the lot.

Sister Mary Eucharista wouldn’t be happy with me for making such a selfish prayer, but it was called for at the moment, and I hoped God wouldn’t mind. I spent most of my school days hoping God wouldn’t mind one thing or another, so it was sort of habit for me.

Footsteps stopped on the other side of the truck. I leaned against the hot metal, holding my breath, realizing that for the second time that day I was hiding from Simon Chase. It pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn’t get another one of those kisses.

And sitting there, not breathing, I knew I wanted another kiss. Only this time it could be longer so I’d have more time to enjoy it.

I mentally slapped myself. One moment I was thinking the guy was a possible murderer, the next I was hoping to get to know him better, even in the biblical sense. Especially in the biblical sense.

I was a sucker for a bad boy.

Especially when he was hot.

Like Simon Chase.

I was a lost cause.

I was also moments from being discovered.

Sweat dripped down between my breasts, but I wasn’t sure whether it was from the heat or anxiety. Probably both. I was also incredibly uncomfortable in this position. These trousers were definitely done for.

Springsteen started blaring. I hadn’t shut off the cell phone. Stupid me. By the time I muted the thing, noting that it was Tim again—he’d just have to wait—Simon Chase was leaning over the hood of the truck, staring down at me with a grin on his face.

“What are you doing down there?” he asked, holding out his hand to help me up.

I took it. What else was I supposed to do?

“Dropped my keys,” I said, cleverly having taken them out of my bag as I shut the phone. I dangled the keys in front of his face. “Silly me.”

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. But to his credit, he didn’t call me on it, just said, “You have a very … well, interesting voice.”

He was referring to my karaoke attempt inside. My speaking voice was just fine, thank you very much.

“I’ll get you back for that someday,” I said.

“I certainly hope so.”

The flirting was back; the darkness from before had vanished like Elise and Matthew. Which reminded me …

“She left.”

“Who?”

“Elise. With Matthew. What’s going on? Why did she want you to meet her here?”

Simon shrugged. “Talk about old times?”

“How old were those times, really? Didn’t seem like they were too old,” I said.

He stepped closer and ran a finger along my jawline, his face close, his eyes smoky. “They’re old enough,” he whispered and leaned in, this time really kissing me, not like that little peck outside the elevator.

His hands slid around my torso, one landing on the dragon’s tail, the other on the lily just under my breast as we each leaned closer, our bodies pressing against each other, neither of us wanting to come up for air. I let my fingers do a little walking under his ever-present suit jacket, outlining the muscles that I’d seen in that picture on my Google search.

Someone shuffled by. “Get a room,” he said loudly as he passed.

Proper Catholic embarrassment caused me to pull away, even though I didn’t want to. The disappointment in Simon’s eyes was obvious.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you,” he said.

I didn’t trust myself to say what I’d wanted to do since I met him, because I might just actually tell him.

“Bet you say that to all your girls,” I tried lamely.

He took a step back, adjusting his shirt and jacket as he nodded. “All right, I guess I deserve that. But maybe I’m just looking for love in all the wrong places.” He ran a hand through his hair and gave me another intense look, one that I felt between my legs.

I caught my breath. I had to change the subject.

“Why did Elise want to meet you here? What’s going on with her? Have you known all along where she was?” I asked, not sure what direction to go in.

It was a wrong turn. If I could do a U-ey, I would.

“I don’t know why you keep pushing this,” he said.

I wasn’t sure why, either, but I was like a dog with a bone. I didn’t want to let it go. He saw that, too, and sighed.

“I’m going back inside. Maybe you should figure out what you want.” He turned and started back for the bar.

I stared after him. He thought I kissed him only because I wanted information about Elise. I opened my mouth to call him back, but I shut it again and watched him go inside without turning around. I still wasn’t sure what he was up to, and I didn’t want to get in too deep, just in case. There were too many unanswered questions.

I had dropped my bag on the ground when he’d kissed me, so I reached down to pick it up, slung it over my shoulder, and went inside.

Joel had stopped singing and was now sitting at the bar with Bitsy, who had another big, colorful cocktail in front of her. Joel was nursing something that could have been a gin and tonic or just a tonic. I didn’t see Simon Chase anywhere.

I slid up on a bar stool next to Joel.

“Where’d you go?” he asked. Before I could answer, he said, “Hey, you got up and sang. Good for you.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, because you’ll never see it again,” I muttered.

The bartender asked if I wanted a drink and I shook my head. “I need to get out of here,” I said.

“What about Elise?” Bitsy asked as she slurped her drink through a straw.

“She’s gone. Don’t know where.” I got off the stool.

Joel made a face at me. “I can’t go home with Bitsy. I can’t fit in that car,” he said.

“Well, the Mustang’s leaving, so if you want a ride, you have to come with me now.”

Joel looked from me to Bitsy and back again. “I want to stay,” he whined.

Why anyone would want to stay here baffled me. It had gotten more Elvis-congested since I’d been outside; the music was blaring, the singing atrocious. But Joel and Bitsy did seem like they were having a good time. Go figure.

I pulled a twenty out of my bag and dropped it on the bar in front of Joel. “Cab’s on me,” I said. “Sorry, but I really do need to go.”