Ink Flamingos

Chapter 20

Jeff 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.

“Just a little bodyguard duty,” he quipped, flashing a grin.

Bitsy’s eyes skirted from him to me. “Your client is already here. She’s on the couch in back.”

I was happy for the distraction.

“Thanks for the escort,” I said to Jeff, wishing I could make some sort of joke or something, but my heart wasn’t in it.

This time he did lean toward me, his fingers brushing my cheek. “You know the number,” he said, then whirled around and walked out, a quick nod to Bitsy, who sat with her mouth hanging open.

“What’s up with you and Jeff Coleman?” she asked. “It’s like you two called a truce or something.”

“Or something,” I said absently, not wanting to get into it with her. I started back toward my client, so I could get to work, but then remembered and turned around. “Has Harry been in yet?”

Bitsy shook her head. “Haven’t seen him at all. This isn’t normal. I hope he’s okay.”

I had no idea what Harry’s reaction to the pictures of us would be, but I pushed everything out of my head as I went back to greet Katie North, my client. She’d come in two days ago and wanted a butterfly on her upper back. I’d drawn up a design that she loved: a classic Monarch, with orange and black markings, its wings spread wide to make a real statement.

“Come on back,” I said as I approached her. She was sitting on the black leather sofa, leafing through a tattoo magazine.

Katie jumped up with a wide grin and followed me into my room. I motioned that she should sit while I went out to get the stencil from her file in the staff room.

“You’ll be facedown,” I explained, showing her how the chair would lie flat, sort of like a massage table. It would be easier for me to tattoo her that way. It would also be more comfortable for her. It wasn’t her first tattoo (she had the Little Prince on her upper arm), but the butterfly was a lot larger and would take longer.

Joel was in the staff room working on a stencil for one of his clients. He looked up when I came in and gave me a concerned expression.

“Are you okay? We all saw the blog with the pictures of you and Harry.”

I caught my breath and bit my lip. He noticed, got up, and gave me a hug. “It’ll be okay. Your brother will find whoever it is who’s doing this. Don’t worry.”

I nodded and pulled away just as my cell phone started to ring. I still had my bag over my shoulder and I slung it onto the light table as I rummaged for the phone. I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” I asked tentatively, Joel watching.

“Brett? It’s Harry.”

“Hey there,” I said, uncertain what he was calling me about, and then wondered how he got my number. Bitsy, probably. “What’s up?” I tried to make my voice light, but it didn’t really work.

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Your message. You said you had something important to tell me, that I should call right away. What’s wrong?”

What was wrong was that I couldn’t have left him any sort of message. Because I didn’t have his number.