Ink Flamingos (12 page)

I forced down my annoyance about how Bitsy had gone behind my back and set up an e-mail contact on the Web site. I’d asked her not to, because I didn’t want anyone to have to monitor it and then deal with nutty e-mails and spam. But then something nudged those thoughts out of the way.

Someone had bothered to send an e-mail with that link. Someone who wanted to make sure I saw it. Who wanted to make sure I knew.

I
told Bitsy about Harry and the absinthe and that I’d seen the blog myself.

“Have you heard from Harry? Has he been around?” I asked Bitsy. I wondered if he’d seen the blog. But then again, probably not. Harry had said once that he didn’t have a computer, that he’d had to sell it once he started running out of money.

Except now I knew he had money, so maybe that was a lie, too.

“Harry hasn’t said anything about a job, has he?” I asked Bitsy.

She snorted. “Of course not. I think he likes being one of the jobless.” She paused. “I haven’t seen him around this morning, though. Usually he’s here with coffee when I open up.”

That was news to me. “Really?”

“Brett, you’re not here as early as I am. I know you need your beauty sleep, so I always schedule your first client for noon or later. By then Harry’s been here and gone, and then he comes back later. I think it’s to moon at you. And after last night, well, it’s pretty obvious that he’s making his move now.” She chuckled. “And you aren’t exactly resisting, from the looks of these pictures.”

I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “It was the absinthe,” I tried lamely. But was it? For the first time yesterday, I’d noticed how good-looking Harry was, and while he certainly wasn’t boyfriend material—not like the employed Dr. Colin Bixby—I admit that I enjoyed those kisses.

Colin Bixby. Uh-oh. What if he saw that blog? If whoever took those pictures sent the blog link to my shop’s e-mail, what was to keep them from sending them to Bixby at the hospital?

Now I had a whole other thing to worry about.

“So when do you think you’ll be in?” Bitsy was asking. “You’ve got a client in an hour. Joel and Ace are here, working.”

I knew she threw that last bit in to try to make me feel a little guilty, and it worked.

“I’m going to finish up here with Tim and come right over,” I promised. “I need a ride anyway, because I left my car over there yesterday and never went back for it.”

“Can you bring lunch?” she asked.

Ah, a way to redeem myself. “Johnny Rockets?” “I’m not sure what Joel’s eating these days.” Neither was I. He bounced around too much on those diets to keep anything straight. My biggest fear was he’d turn vegan, just to avoid everything, and then we would have no clue what to feed him.

“If I have to go out again, I will,” I promised.

“Right. And then we won’t see you till Christmas,” Bitsy said sharply and hung up.

I stared at the phone. I totally did not need attitude right now. I was under a little bit of stress. I had a stalker and an impostor, or were they the one and the same?

I wandered back out to the table where Tim and Jeff were sitting. For a second, I studied them: my brother, his back arrow straight as he took notes in his little notebook; Jeff leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable as his lips moved.

Jeff was lying about something.

I wondered if Tim could tell.

I sat down.

“You didn’t see this woman last night, right, Brett?” Tim turned toward me.

“No, I just wondered about how she could’ve gotten away from Jeff so easily. I started thinking that maybe she wore a disguise, so we came over here and found the bag of stuff in the ladies’ room stall.”

Tim gave me a funny look as he jotted something down in his notebook, tucked the pen in his breast pocket, and shoved the notebook in his back trouser pocket. He stood.

“Okay, I know where to reach you if we have more questions,” he said and was about to walk away when I held my hand up.

“What about whoever put those pictures up on that blog?” I asked. “Well, on both those blogs. Do you think it could be the same person?” Although I wasn’t sure, because Ainsley wouldn’t have needed to wear a wig. But you never knew, as Jeff had pointed out.

Tim looked at me as though I had two heads. “Yes, Brett, it could be the same person. We’re on top of it. We’re trying to track the IP addresses—you know, the addresses that indicate which computers would be generating the information. When I know more, I’ll let you know.” Although from the look on his face, I doubted that. He’d tell me when he was good and ready, which meant probably when the blogger had already been arrested. Couldn’t take any chances that little sister would screw up the process, now, could he?

I pushed down my irritation. I knew he was doing the best he could, under the circumstances. He wasn’t a computer guy, so he had to farm this part of the job out to someone who was. That took time. I may not be a cop, but I do know some things, and not only from watching TV.

I thought of something. “Bitsy said someone sent an e-mail through our contact page on our Web site with a link to the blog. Someone wanted me to see those pictures.”

Tim’s frustration with me turned back into concern. “I’ll tell the computer guys. They may have a way to trace that e-mail.”

I nodded, and he cocked his head at Jeff. “You can get her to work, right?”

He didn’t really need to. I could actually walk from here, but I was feeling really spooked with all those pictures of me all over the Internet.

Jeff seemed to be reading my mind. “I’ll make sure she gets there okay,” he promised.

“Thanks,” Tim said. “Be cautious, remember that, okay?”

It was the only thing I
was
remembering right now. “He’s worried,” Jeff said as we watched my brother walk away. “He’s right, too. Someone’s got it in for you. Do you have any idea who?”

I picked up my coffee mug and took a sip. Cold. I like iced coffee, when it’s supposed to be iced coffee, not when it’s just room temperature.

“Have you pissed anyone off lately?” Jeff asked. “I mean, besides the Las Vegas Police Department.”

I made a face at him. “No, I have not,” I said. “At least not that I know of.”

“Well, we know it wasn’t Harry Desmond taking those pictures, since he was with you,” Jeff mulled.

“Why would you even consider Harry?” I asked.

“I don’t like him.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell,” I said sarcastically. “Or is it more that you’re just mad I went out with him?”

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Why would I get mad?”

“You don’t seem to like Colin Bixby very much, either.”

“You think it’s because you’re going out with him?” The smile had come out full force now, as if he were incredulous I’d even suggest such a thing.

I put my cards on the table. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“You’re always cutting him down, making fun of him, making fun of me going out with him. I mean, it’s like you’re jealous or something.” I had never considered that before, but now that I said it, I wondered. Was Jeff harboring a crush on me?

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kavanaugh,” he said, his eyes flashing angrily. “So you’re one of the few people I find I can tolerate in this city, but believe me, if I was interested in you, you’d damn well know it.”

He stood, shoving his chair against the floor with a loud squeal. “Are you ready? I promised your brother I’d get you safely to your shop, and then I have to get to mine. I’ve got a business to run, too, if you would care to remember.”

Jeff didn’t even wait for me. He just started walking toward the exit. I grabbed my bag and followed him, wondering who put that bee in his bonnet. It was as though he was protesting too much, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d sit back and watch a woman he was interested in go out with other men. Granted, I’d never met anyone he’d dated, and wasn’t sure exactly whether he was dating anyone right now. I knew he’d been married a few years back and had gotten burned pretty badly. Maybe he was just concerned I’d get burned, too, and he didn’t want to see that.

Because while he might not want a romance with me, I did know we were friends. He took a bullet for me. And if push came to shove, I’d probably do the same for him.

Jeff’s back was poker straight as he strode through the Roman marketplace. Even though it was dim in here, I knew we’d get slaughtered with sunlight once we went back outside. In seconds, our steps were in sync, but he still didn’t seem to want to talk.

I did, though. I had one more question.

“Why did you lie to my brother?”

J
eff stopped short. “What makes you think I lied to him?”

I shrugged. “I can tell.”

He gave me a funny look, then said, “That’s downright psychic, Kavanaugh.”

“You did lie to him.”

“So what if I did?”

“What about?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” he said, starting to walk again.

I hustled to keep up with him. “Maybe I want to worry about it. Because it’s got something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly why you don’t need to worry about it,” he said, pushing the door open and letting the sunlight stream across my eyes.

I rummaged in my bag for my sunglasses and stuck them on as I followed him, not even a step behind. “You can’t be serious that you’re not going to tell me.”

“You’ll tell your brother.”

“No, I won’t,” I said quickly, before realizing that if it was important, I might have to go back on that promise. He saw my expression change.

“There,” he said, pointing at my face. “I knew it.”

It was a little scary how well we knew each other.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll keep badgering you.”

“I’m dropping you off at your shop and leaving, so you won’t have the chance.”

We were bickering like an old married couple. Not the kind of thought I wanted to have about Jeff Coleman. I changed tacks.

“You didn’t lie to me, too, did you?” I asked.

He studied my face a second, unable to see my eyes because of the sunglasses, then said, “No.” And after a pause added, “I might not have told you everything.”

“But you’re going to now, aren’t you?”

We stopped on the bridge I’d been on last night with Harry, when he kissed me and the flash went off. I was having some serious déjà vu, but I didn’t want to seem spooked in front of Jeff, so I stood my ground, happy that the sunglasses kept him from seeing my eyes darting around behind him, worried I’d discover another camera aimed right at me.

Jeff shifted from one foot to the other, his own eyes searching out something behind me, but I didn’t want to show him I was curious, so I forced myself to look straight ahead.

“The woman last night. We were talking about tattoos, and she commented on mine. But then she said Sylvia Coleman gave her a tattoo,” he added.

“Your mother? She actually said Sylvia Coleman?”

“Threw me for a loop. That’s what disoriented me, what I was thinking about when she went to the ladies’ room.”

I mulled that a second. “So she knows that I know your mother. Funny that she’d say Sylvia tattooed that dragon.”

Jeff took a deep breath. “Not the dragon.”

I didn’t think I heard him right. “What do you mean?”

“She said my mother tattooed Napoleon on her leg. She knew it was a painting you liked.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Jeff kept talking, as though he didn’t notice.

“She was wearing tight jeans, so she couldn’t prove it. I couldn’t check it out.”

I wondered if she knew about the tiger lily on my side. Not many people knew about that one, because it was usually covered up by clothes. Even when I went swimming at the public pool in Henderson, I wore a Speedo one-piece. She could’ve seen the Napoleon tattoo when I swam, or when I wore a skirt. Although I didn’t wear a skirt too often. She obviously knew about the Celtic cross on my upper back because it was in living color on that blog—my penance for wearing a halter top. I wouldn’t be wearing that again. I thought about the stiletto heels in the plastic bag in the ladies’ room. My footwear was not something she’d studied at length, since I usually wore Tevas or Birkenstocks. Even the flats I wore today were a rarity. Heels weren’t exactly necessary when one was five foot nine.

“Did she say anything else about me?” My voice was unusually soft, as though I couldn’t speak above a whisper.

Jeff moved a little closer and for a second, his hand reached out like he was going to touch my cheek. But then he seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled it back, stuffing it into his pocket.

“We didn’t get much further than that,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell Tim?” I asked. “I mean, shouldn’t he know?”

His eyes skipped around behind my head. There was something else. I waited. Finally, he said, “She made a couple cracks about my mother. Unkind things. It was all I could do not to say something. I didn’t exactly want to repeat what she said to your brother and then have it all be on the record.”

I couldn’t blame him, so I gave him a pass.

“It’s enough he knows someone’s out there impersonating you. What she said about my mother and the description of your tat isn’t really relevant to his investigation.” He paused. “Come on. Let’s get to your shop. You might feel a little better once we get there.”

He was right about that. Out here, I was a sitting duck. For some chick with a camera who had decided I was more interesting than she was so she had to take over my persona.

Good luck with that.

 

Bitsy’s eyebrows rose high into her forehead when she saw me come in with Jeff Coleman on my heels.