Driven to Ink

Chapter 23

I grabbed Bitsy’s arm and yanked her out of the way as I dove onto the hood of a Dodge that had seen better days. The blue car screamed past, and I looked up too late. All I saw was a shadow of the back of a head in the rearview mirror as the car sped away.

I thought about how someone had used my car to try to run down Will Parker. But I wasn’t a Dean Martin impersonator.

But then my memory flashed on something else. A blue car. The one in Dan Franklin’s driveway. Had Franklin really been home after all, hiding out and watching me and Jeff? Had he followed me?

I slid off the hood and brushed dirt off my skirt as I asked Bitsy, “Are you okay?”

She had flattened herself against the Dodge’s grill.

“It was close enough so I could feel it,” she whispered. All color had drained from her face. “Did you see who it was?”

“No.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

“It went by so fast it was a blur. I didn’t notice the number.”

As Bitsy brushed at her slacks, I could see her hands were shaking. “Why would someone do that?” she asked.

Why, indeed? Because we’d been questioning Rosalie about Dan Franklin? Because I’d been asking everyone about Dan Franklin? Because I’d almost broken into his house? Because Jeff Coleman and I had stolen his bank statement out of his mailbox?

“Who knew we were coming here?” Bitsy asked.

“Colin was the only one who knew, and we ran into him here,” I said.

“Maybe he called someone after he left us,” Bitsy suggested, and her eyes grew wider. “Maybe he was the one driving that car.”

“Oh, give me a break. That’s ridiculous.”

“He’s still really upset with you,” she reminded me.

“But enough to try to run me down? No, this has to have something to do with Dan Franklin. Bixby was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

That’s right. She doesn’t. And I usually don’t, either. But I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice: think that Dr. Colin Bixby was out to kill me. In retrospect, it didn’t make sense the first time, and it didn’t make sense now.

And then I remembered another blue car. Will Parker’s blue car. The one he wanted to whisk me away in.

Had that been Will Parker? Had he found out that it was my car someone used to try to run him down, so he was reciprocating?

“Will Parker drives a blue car,” I said softly.

Bitsy whirled around on her toes. “Aha! Like I said, no coincidences. What did you do to him?”

“What do you mean, what did I do to him? Nothing. He’s coming in for a tattoo touch-up. He seems like a nice guy.”

A nice guy who just happened to have an appointment at the Venetian a couple hours after I met him at the wedding chapel. Who just happened to decide to come talk to me. Did he really have an appointment, or was he stalking me? Did he follow us here?

No, it was more likely Franklin. Although I couldn’t seem to get Parker out of my head, either.

There were too many blue cars. And too many weird things going on. I wished I’d gotten the license plate. Then we could narrow this down.

We began walking to the Jeep, our eyes skirting the parking lot, making sure that blue car didn’t come back. When we got to the Jeep, we scrambled up inside, strapping the seat belts across us. I put the engine in first gear as we went toward the lot’s exit.

Bitsy’s feet weren’t touching the floor, so she pulled her legs up and tucked them under her.

“What’s the game plan?” she asked.

“I think we should talk to the cops.”

She snorted. “About what? That a grown man hasn’t been to either of his jobs in a couple days? That he hasn’t been home? The cops won’t take us seriously. They’ll say, Maybe he’s holed up in a casino somewhere, losing all his money. Not like that hasn’t happened around here.”

“You’ve proved my point. We don’t have to go running around after Dan Franklin. Someone tried to run us over.” The light turned green, and I lifted my foot off the clutch and gave the Jeep some gas. “I think that was a definite signal that we should stop snooping around.”

“You like snooping.”

“Not when someone tries to kill me.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “That means we’re close.”

“Close to what?”

“Finding out who the murderer is.”

“And you’re suddenly Jessica Fletcher?”

She smoothed out the front of her shirt and grinned. “I love Angela Lansbury.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, I know. You’re scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“To find out what’s going on. The police will say that Dan Franklin’s a grown-up and they won’t bother looking for him. But he did have a dead rat, which means that maybe there was something going on, something that does need to be investigated.”

“But that’s what the police are for.” I pulled into the parking garage at the Venetian. Our conversation was going in circles, as we were, heading up to the sixth level. I eased into a parking spot, and we both climbed out. I locked the doors, and we headed to the elevator.

We were both quiet, and I knew she was thinking about this crazy mess, too.

We walked along the canal, the gondolas passing, music emanating from the square. I wondered whether Will Parker had gotten the job.

“Earth to Brett.” Bitsy snapped her fingers up near my chin somewhere. That was as far as she could stretch.

Ace was sitting at Breathe, the oxygen bar, a tube up his nose. It seemed a tad unsanitary, but who was I to bring that up?

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he opened his eyes, smiling. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello yourself. Who’s at the shop?”

He looked from me to Bitsy, then shrugged. “Joel.”

“Is it time for you to go back?”

Ace sat up a little straighter and made a face at me. “You’ve been gone ages. I just finished a tattoo. I need a break.” And he leaned back and closed his eyes again.

Bitsy and I started toward the shop. It wasn’t worth getting into. He was right. I had been gone too long, and it was time for me to shoulder my responsibilities.

Joel was at the front desk, tapping his fingers on the sleek mahogany to the stylings of Lady Gaga, his new latest favorite singer. I wasn’t so sure about his musical inclinations, but if I had my way, we’d have Springsteen all day, every day.

“Hey there,” he said, looking up.

“Thanks for holding down the fort,” I said, slinging my messenger bag on the floor.

Bitsy walked around and picked the bag up with one finger, handing it back to me. “Staff room.”

“Right.” Bitsy had rules about keeping order.

Joel put both hands on the desk and heaved himself up. Despite his Atkins loss, there was still a bit of weight to deal with.

Bitsy slid into the chair, her feet dangling. She looked up at Joel, a scowl on her face. “Didn’t anyone answer the phones while we were gone?”

Joel sighed. “Ace and I both had clients. The phone rang once, but I couldn’t run out, and I guess Ace couldn’t either.”

“What would’ve happened if someone came in?” she asked.

Joel shrugged. “The buzzer would’ve sounded and I would’ve gone out to see who it was. No one came in,” he added defiantly.

The phone was blinking with one message. Bitsy hit the button.

The voice bounced off the wall behind us.

“This is Dan Franklin. You have to stop looking for me. I’m fine. Leave Rosalie out of it.” And then the message ended.