Authors: Karen E. Olson
Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Crime, #Chick-Lit, #Contemporary
The Missing Ink (26 page)
I stepped back out into the hall, noticing now that the doors to all the rooms were shut. One by one, I opened them, revealing the same sort of chaos that had been inflicted on the staff room, only this time, ink was smeared everywhere.
By the time I reached my room, I was numb. As I absently began picking up the ink pots, I heard a small sound.
It wasn’t out front; it was from somewhere in here.
It sounded sort of like a cat’s meow, but how would a cat get in here?
Same way whoever tossed the place did, I guessed.
I picked my way through the mess, following the noise to the waiting area across the hall.
The sofa was askew, away from the wall, more on an angle than usual.
Something was behind it.
It was larger than a cat.
I saw a foot move, and I froze.
I still had my bag slung over my shoulder, and I grabbed at it so I could get my phone.
“Brett?”
The voice was barely above a whisper, and if I’d been breathing I might not have heard it. I dropped my bag and went to the sofa, pulling it back.
Ace rolled out from behind it, landing on his back, his nose crushed, blood smeared across his face and matted in his hair. An arm draped across his chest, and his eyes sought my face.
“Brett?” he whispered again.
I knelt down next to him, touching his face, his shoulder. “What happened? Who did this to you?” My other hand reached for my bag, my phone, to call 911.
“Big guy. Eagle tat. He didn’t think I was here. I surprised him.”
Matthew. Where I had felt numb just moments before, now the rage began to take over.
My fingers found my phone.
“What did he want?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger. “What was he looking for?”
Ace tried to shake his head, but he moaned again with the movement. “Don’t know. Didn’t say. Slugged me; I hit my head. Went out awhile, I think.”
“Don’t say anything else,” I said as his voice faded even further. I punched numbers into the phone and told the dispatcher I needed an ambulance.
My next call was to Tim.
“Someone broke into my shop,” I said without identifying myself.
“What? Brett?”
“He beat up Ace, left him here, destroyed the place.”
“Slow down, Brett. What’s going on?” Tim’s voice was hurried, full of concern.
I took a couple deep breaths and told him what I’d found here.
“You called an ambulance?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Ace had closed his eyes again, his head lolled to one side. “I hope they get here soon. Ace needs help.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t touch anything; don’t disturb anything.” And he ended the call.
I sat by Ace, watching him struggle to take breaths. My chest was heavy, my stomach in my throat. Guilt took over the anger. I should’ve been here last night, not gone off on that wild-goose chase to Viva Las Vegas. This was my shop; Ace was paying dearly for my selfishness. I had no business looking for Elise Lyon. What had I been thinking?
The mall outside was waking up, shops opening. I could hear gates being raised, then finally, knocking on the glass. I got up and let in the paramedics and the gurney, leading them to Ace in the back.
When they put the oxygen tube in his nose, Ace audibly sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. I should’ve gone over to the oxygen bar and gotten one of those for him.
The paramedics pushed me back, and I just watched from a few feet away, until more heavy footsteps invaded the shop. Two uniformed officers, three mall security guards, a crime scene forensics guy, and Tim came down the hall. I pointed all of the former to the staff room; Tim stayed outside with me.
“Tell me everything, from the time you got in,” he instructed, a little pad ready for his notes.
I went through all of my steps until he showed up.
Our backs were to the front door, and I didn’t see her until I heard, “What’s going on?”
Bitsy’s eyes were wide as they took in the paramedics, Ace on the gurney, Tim acting all coplike.
Quickly, I told her what happened before turning to Tim. “Ace described the guy who was here, the guy who beat him up.” I paused. “It was Matthew, Kelly Masters’s brother.”
“How do you know that?”
“He said he had an eagle tat on his neck. He was a big guy. I’ve seen Matthew. And Matthew’s been following me around.”
Tim sighed. “Do they think you’re hiding a million bucks in here or something? Is that why he broke in?”
His words stopped me for a second, and I frowned. Did someone think there was something in my shop that was worth all this? But what would it be? I had nothing of worth in here. There hadn’t been enough cash in that safe to warrant taking it. Of course, he couldn’t have known that until he got out of here and opened it.
The phone at the front desk rang, and Bitsy went to answer it. The paramedics were rolling Ace out through the shop. Tim stopped them and started asking Ace some questions.
“Brett?”
I heard my name and realized Bitsy was indicating that the call was for me. I squeezed past the gurney and Tim and took the phone.
“Brett Kavanaugh,” I said, trying to sound professional even though my world was falling apart.
“Kavanaugh?”
I didn’t have time for this. “Jeff? I can’t talk now. My shop got broken into and Ace got beaten up—”
“I need to see you,” he interrupted.
“I can’t. Didn’t you just hear me? My shop is a mess. Ace is a mess. I can’t leave.”
“Believe me, Kavanaugh, you want to see me, too.”
Something in his tone made me pause. “Why?”
“I know why Matthew broke into your shop.Two o’clock, at that little crepe place in Paris. Be there.” He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
How did Jeff Coleman know it was Matthew who’d broken into my shop?
Chapter 47
Tim had taken my statement; his forensics people dusted for prints, leaving black dust on top of the mess. It was barely noticeable.
“Sorry about this,” Tim said softly, crooking his arm around mine and squeezing my hand. I knew he wasn’t just talking about the fingerprint dust.
I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.
“He was looking for something,” Tim said.
“He took the safe. Maybe he just wanted money.”
“But he doesn’t know what’s in the safe. Maybe he thinks there’s more than money in there.”
I had a hard time with that. We were a tattoo shop. What would be in our safe? We never even had that much cash around. We usually just took credit cards.
I also had a hard time thinking that Matthew had just been hanging around waiting to break into my shop. What did he expect to find here? Elise’s tattoo drawing had already been on national TV; I’d already found the Murder Ink address on the back.
Both Matt Powell and Chip had been here. Chip just whined about Elise; Matt looked at my drawing for Elise and then it was inked on his chest after he was dead.
What did Jeff Coleman know? I thought about how he wanted me to meet him in two hours.
“I know where Coleman is,” I told Tim. “He wants to meet me at that crepe place in Paris.”
Tim pulled away from me and nodded. “It’s about time you were straight with me about him.”
“He says he knows why Matthew broke in.”
“You can’t trust him.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I tried to sound cynical, but I was just too spent, so it didn’t have the effect I’d been going for.
“I’ll go meet him. I’ll take him in, and we’ll get to the bottom of everything.”
Tim was making sense, but something tugged at the back of my brain. Even though he seemed convinced that Jeff was the key in all this, I still wasn’t. He saw me hesitate.
“What?”
“Why don’t I go meet him, talk to him, and then you can show up, say you followed me?” His expression told me he was dubious. “Listen, Tim, if he’s innocent in all this, like he says, I’m still going to have to deal with him from time to time. I’d rather it didn’t look like I ratted him out completely.”
Tim sighed. “I see what you mean, and maybe this can work to our advantage.”
I didn’t like the way he said that. “What do you mean?”
“You can talk to him, get him to talk to you. He obviously feels like he can trust you.”
Slowly, his words penetrated, and I had a sinking feeling in my gut.
“You want me to get him to admit to something.”
“Do you think you can?”
“Maybe. He’s told me some stuff, but nothing incriminating against him. I mean, he told me someone took the gun from his shop. His mother left the door unlocked.” As I said it, again I was struck by how silly that sounded. How guilty it could sound.
“Just get him to talk,” Tim said. “Once he starts, it’s possible he’ll spill everything.”
I nodded. “Okay, fine, but how will you know? He’s been pulling these disappearing acts, one minute there, the next minute gone.”
Tim was quiet for a second, then, “We’ll wire you.”
“I offer up Jeff Coleman and suddenly you turn me into Sammy the Bull?”
“It’s the only way we can get him on tape to incriminate himself. And the only way I’ll let you go.”
“You’re not my mother.”
He cracked a smile at that. “I’ll tell Mom if you don’t play nice. And you know I’m her favorite.”
He meant it, too. He’d tell her and I’d catch crap about how I should help my brother, because he was doing the right thing, he should be admired for his public service. Blah, blah, blah.
I had no choice. “Does the tape come off without hurting?” I asked.
Tim laughed out loud. “You stick needles into your skin and you’re worried about a little tape?”
Touché.
“So how does this work?”
“When does he want to meet?”
“Two o’clock.”
Tim glanced at his watch and panic crossed his face. “Have to move fast.” He disappeared into the staff room, where the forensics guys and the uniforms were still doing their thing. When he came out again, he nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour. Be here; be ready.”
And then he was gone.
The other cops left shortly thereafter, and Bitsy and I stared at the destruction, not quite sure where to start cleaning up. We’d called Joel, who was calling Ace’s girlfriend, and he was heading to the hospital. Bitsy had already called our clients who were scheduled for the day and canceled them before locking the doors so no one would see what had happened.
Bitsy sifted through the papers on the floor in the staff room and then began picking up the baby wipes and throwing them into a large trash bag she’d rummaged out of the cabinet. I collected the file folders, putting the scattered papers in piles and then their proper folders. After three-quarters of an hour, it was still a mess, but we were making progress.
“I hate to leave you with this,” I said. “But Tim’s going to be back soon.”
Bitsy shrugged. “It’s okay. Just find out why he did this, okay?”
It was the only reason I’d agreed to Tim’s plan.
“Did you have fun last night?” I asked, trying to lift our moods a little.
Bitsy smiled for the first time since she’d come in. “You missed a great night.” But then both of us realized that because we’d been out playing, Ace had encountered our intruder.
We didn’t have time to contemplate it further, though, because Tim was knocking at the door. I let him in, along with another guy wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Tim introduced him as Nate. He held a case that looked remarkably like my tattoo case. Which reminded me …
“Am I getting my tattoo machine back anytime soon?” I asked as Nate unraveled some wires.
Tim led me to the sofa in the back of the shop, out of sight of anyone passing by the glass doors. “I’ll check on that,” he said absently. He was concentrating on the wires now. “You have to take off your shirt.”
My eyes grew wide and I cocked my head at Nate. “What about him?” I didn’t have much of an issue with my brother doing this, but a stranger?
Tim chuckled. “He doesn’t care.”
But as I slipped my tank top off to reveal my lacy white bra, I could’ve sworn I saw a leer.
The tats didn’t seem to faze him, though. He just started taping the wire to my torso.
“She’s going to need a looser shirt,” he said to Tim, as if I were just some mannequin that didn’t have ears.
“I don’t have one,” I said. “Not here.”
He muttered something I really didn’t hear this time.
Bitsy appeared around the corner. “I’ll go pick up something for her,” she volunteered, and Tim nodded.
“Thanks.”
While Bitsy was gone, Tim and Nate tested the equipment. They had some sort of recorder in the case, and they stood at different places throughout the shop, and I had to say something every few seconds so they could make sure everything worked right.
“Where are you going to be?” I asked, still in my bra, but it had been long enough that I wasn’t self-conscious about it anymore. Sister Mary Eucharista would’ve demanded that I cover myself, but she had never had to wear a wire. God forbid.
“Don’t worry about us,” Tim said.
Nate closed up the case just as Bitsy came back, wielding another Ann Taylor bag. I was going to have to buy stock.
I pulled the blue blouse over my head. It was one of those loose sixties-style shirts with a square neck, and it billowed down to my hips. It had puffy short sleeves that grabbed my biceps with elastic. It totally did not go with the skirt, but Tim and Nate didn’t seem to care. They liked that it covered the wire, and even when I leaned over, it didn’t show anything but a little cleavage. And the dragon.
“Good to go,” Tim said, starting to leave with Nate on his heels.
But at the door, he stopped and turned.
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