Ink Flamingos

Chapter 18

The girls’ hands moved to their mouths, and the brunette’s eyes moved to her bag. Hmmm. Bet there was something illegal in that bag.

“Where is he?” Tim asked.

I pointed to the stall. Tim sauntered over and was about to knock when the door opened and Jeff Coleman came out. “It’s about time,” he said. “It was a little too close in there.” He winked at the two girls at the sink. “Hey there.”

They stared at him, mouths wide open. Okay, so there was no girl in there getting rid of last night’s cocktails after all. They’d get over it.

Tim indicated the crime scene guys should go into the stall. He turned to me as they did so, and said, “Okay, you need to tell me everything.”

The girls at the sink had gathered up their things and were about to skirt out, but I stopped them by putting my hand out. “You need to talk to these girls, too. They talked to Sherman Potter last night at Cleopatra’s Barge.”

Tim’s expression went from surprised to guilty that he hadn’t stuck around long enough to pleased that maybe he’d have a couple of witnesses after all. He showed them his badge.

“I’d like to ask a few questions, if I might,” he said. “I’m Detective Kavanaugh.”

They giggled as they checked him out. Okay, so even though he’s my brother, I have to admit that he’s a good-looking guy. He looks younger than his thirtyeight years, with his freckles and boyish grin. And he’s buff in all the right places, since he practically lives at the gym when he isn’t working or at home.

We’re actually sort of carbon copies, except I’m a lot skinnier, with more angles, and I don’t have the freckles. I replaced them with the tattoos, instead.

Tim turned from the girls to Jeff. “Can you wait till I talk to them?”

Jeff nodded. “Is it okay if Brett and I get a cup of coffee? There’s a buffet just off the casino.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll be there in a few.”

I was surprised he said okay, especially since I was with Jeff, but I wasn’t going to jinx the moment and tugged on Jeff’s arm so we could go before Tim changed his mind.

Jeff and I walked in silence to the buffet, where we got a couple cups of coffee and settled in at a table near the door, so Tim could find us easily.

I took a few sips, thinking about Ainsley Wainwright. “The woman you met up with last night couldn’t be the woman I met yesterday in Sherman Potter’s hotel room,” I said.

“Why not?”

“She was just out of the shower,” I said. “Her hair was wet, and it didn’t look like a wig to me.”

“It could’ve been. Those wigs are pretty fancy these days.”

“Maybe,” I said, then remembered something. “You said that dragon wasn’t real. Were you just sitting there, checking out her chest?”

Jeff smirked. “Give me a little credit, won’t you? I could tell right away. I didn’t need to stare at her chest.”

“A lot of guys wouldn’t have a problem with that,” I said.

“Yeah, but maybe I’m not that sort of guy.”

I tightened my hands around my cup and frowned. I had no idea how Jeff Coleman was with women other than me. With me he was always making some sort of smart-aleck comment or teasing. I didn’t remember him ever focusing on my chest or my butt or any other part of my body, except for my tattoos. The ones that weren’t on my chest.

So maybe he wasn’t that sort of guy.

But true to the Jeff Coleman that I knew, he leaned toward me and grinned. “You’re never going to figure me out, Kavanaugh. Have to keep you on your toes.”

I rolled my eyes at him, something I did frequently and he no longer paid any attention to. But it made me feel better to do it.

“No coffee for me?”

I looked up to see Tim standing behind me.

“It’s just over there,” I said, indicating the coffee bar. “Help yourself.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes as he went off for his own cup.

“Why do you think my impostor ditched you last night?” I asked Jeff, watching Tim out of the corner of my eye.

“Maybe because I started asking her about her tattoos. Maybe because she thought I’d look too closely. Like you thought I should’ve.” His eyes focused on my face as he drank from his cup.

I mulled that a second. “If she didn’t recognize you, then she can’t know we’re friends, which means if she’s going to impersonate me, she hasn’t done her homework.”

“Or maybe she just decided to start impersonating you. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

True. I’d been unusually busy at work lately and didn’t have time for much except work and sleep.

Work.

It was almost noon. I had to call Bitsy.

Tim slid into the seat next to me as I pulled my cell out of my bag. I held it up. “I have to call the shop.”

“Why don’t you go out where it’s not so loud,” Tim suggested, “and I’ll talk to Jeff first, go over everything again, while you’re gone.”

I regretted my decision to call Bitsy. I wanted to hear what Jeff had to say, but then realized Tim probably wanted us separated so he could get each story without anyone interrupting. Or me interrupting, more likely.

I nodded and got up, going toward the restrooms that were in a quiet corner of the restaurant. There was actually a bank of pay phones here, which surprised me. I hadn’t seen a pay phone in a long time. Since everyone had cell phones now, why would we need them?

Unless you lost your shirt-and cell phone-gambling, and you needed to call home. Or your bookie.

I punched in the number for the shop.

“Where are you, Brett?”

Right. We had caller ID now, with some new package Bitsy had negotiated.

Quickly, I told her about my impostor and how Jeff and I had come over to Caesars and found the impostor’s stuff in the ladies’ room.

I heard a short intake of breath. “For someone who wasn’t going to get involved anymore, you sure are involved again,” she said sharply.

“Hey, this time it’s not my fault. Someone’s wandering around impersonating me and taking pictures of me. It’s creepy.”

“I saw something online this morning,” Bitsy said, her voice going down in volume.

I felt the panic rise in my chest. I specifically hadn’t told her about my night out with Harry.

“It’s that blog,” Bitsy was whispering now. “It had pictures of you. What happened last night?”

I really didn’t want to revisit my absinthe-laced evening.

When she realized I wasn’t going to answer, she continued. “I got an e-mail. From our Web site’s contact page. No indication who it was from. All it had was a link. To that blog. The one we saw yesterday.”

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.