Ink Flamingos

Chapter 24

If Ainsley Wainwright had been dead for two days, it meant she could’ve died the same day as Daisy. But then who had posted those pictures of me and Harry? I wasn’t the only one being impersonated, it seemed. Tim agreed with me.

And then I had another thought. “You know, Tim, this woman Ainsley’s supposed to be singing with the Flamingos tonight at the MGM. I met her yesterday. What are the odds that there are two women named Ainsley in Vegas right now? Are you sure that the woman you found in that apartment is really Ainsley Wainwright?”

“What’s your Ainsley’s last name?” he asked, ignoring my question.

I frowned. I had no idea what her last name was. I’d never heard it. Sherman hadn’t told me and neither had Melanie.

“It is an unusual name,” Tim admitted, “but we had a positive ID on the woman in that apartment. And we checked the computer and laptop she had there. She was definitely the one blogging.”

“But not the last few posts,” I said. “That would be impossible.”

His silence told me he knew that.

“I’m going to the concert tonight,” I said. “Melanie says I can bring someone. Want to tag along and check out this Ainsley?”

“Might not be a bad idea. Can we get Kevin in, too?”

Right. Flanigan.

“She said I could bring one person, but maybe we can sneak him in,” I said.

“If anyone can sneak anyone in, it’ll be you,” Tim teased.

We agreed to meet at the MGM at eight, since the concert was at nine. I put my phone down and stared at the light table, the opaque whiteness of it putting my eyes into a spin, but I couldn’t look away.

“Brett?”

I had to blink a few times to put Bitsy into focus. “What’s up?” I asked.

She came in and sat down next to me. “I was going to ask you.”

I told her about my conversation with Tim. “So while it seems it should be over, it’s really not because someone picked up the slack for her on that blog after she died.” It dawned on me, too, that I hadn’t asked Tim how Ainsley Wainwright had died.

“It would seem rather silly to kill a blogger just to take over the blog,” Bitsy said, ever practical. “I mean, you could just start up a new blog, right?”

Which was exactly what that person had done. Ink Flamingos. The blog I was supposed to be writing.

I guess whoever was playing this game had decided that I was more interesting to impersonate than Ainsley Wainwright. I said as much to Bitsy.

She bit her lip. “But first she impersonates Ainsley Wainwright, and now she’s dead,” Bitsy said softly.

Her words sank in slowly, but when they did, they hit my gut like a rock. How long before I was dispensable, too? But what would the motive be? I could see writing that new blog to try to throw the blame over at me. Probably the same reason to post those pictures of Harry and me.

I thought about those first pictures, though, the ones of me on the street that were posted on Skin Deep a few weeks back. I remembered, too, how Jeff had said that Ainsley Wainwright had wanted to interview his mother and take her picture for the blog. At some point that blog was legit. And then Ainsley had died and someone else took over.

It was personal. Someone who knew me. Had been following me. Knew I had done Daisy’s tattoos. A shiver shimmied up my spine.

Bitsy could tell I was spooked. “Don’t go over to the MGM alone,” she said. “Take Joel with you. Or have Tim meet you here and then go over with him.”

Not a bad idea. But Tim wasn’t answering his phone now. I didn’t even get voice mail. I hated the idea of asking Joel to come with me to the MGM if he wasn’t going to come to the concert, too. First it was just me, then Tim, then Flanigan, now Joel. It was turning into a party.

“I don’t want Joel to think he can come to the concert,” I said. “It’s bad enough I’m bringing Tim and Flanigan. I don’t want to push it with Melanie.”

“Then have Harry escort you over.” She didn’t turn away quick enough to keep me from noticing the smile.

“I’m not doing anything with Harry again,” I said firmly, determined not to have a repeat of last night. It had cost me my boyfriend, and I was incredibly embarrassed.

“You won’t drink absinthe again,” Bitsy said, “and Harry knows Sherman Potter. He could get Tim and Detective Flanigan in.”

Bitsy was giving Harry way too much credit. I remembered the way Sherman Potter had looked at him when he’d first answered the door yesterday. We were lucky he even remembered Harry at all, and the way Ainsley had been coming on to Harry, well, I wasn’t sure Sherman hadn’t noticed that. And if he had, he might not want his new lead singer to be performing a duet with his old girlfriend’s kid brother.

No, Harry was out.

I knew what Bitsy was going to propose next, and I had to admit that it was the only thing to do.

“Call Jeff.”

As I listened to the phone ring, I told myself it was merely an escort over to the MGM. Nothing more. While Joel would’ve had to come to the concert, Jeff wouldn’t want to. Jeff was totally into heavy metal: Metallica and Tool and Creed and Alice in Chains. He wouldn’t want to be caught dead at a Flamingos concert.

“Murder Ink.” It was Sylvia. I couldn’t help but think about how Ainsley Wainwright had given Sylvia the option of whether she wanted her body art to be featured on Skin Deep, but I’d had no choice in the matter.

“Hey, Sylvia,” I said. “Is Jeff around?”

“Right here, dear. I understand you’ve got yourself in another pickle.”

Understatement of the year. I decided to downplay it. “Not so much,” I said. It was sort of true. At least this time I hadn’t found any bodies myself.

“Kavanaugh?” Jeff had taken the phone.

I launched right into it, telling him about how Ainsley Wainwright was dead and I had to go to the MGM and I couldn’t go alone and could he possibly come over and give me a little escort in a couple hours?

I heard a chuckle. “Can’t live without me, can you, Kavanaugh?”

I was beginning to seriously regret this. Maybe I should have asked Harry. He would’ve willingly gone along. Problem was, I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. I’d most definitely been on that road last night, since the man could kiss better than anyone I’d kissed in a long time. Even Colin Bixby. But despite the obvious physical attraction, there wasn’t much else there. While back in college I might have gone for the superficial relationship, I didn’t want to do that now. Regardless of what Colin Bixby thought.

So, better to regret calling Jeff and asking him to be my escort than regret something a little more serious with Harry.

“I really only need a ride,” I said, a little more snippily than I should have since I was asking him a favor.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’ll be there.” And he hung up.

Again without saying good-bye.

I had asked Bitsy not to tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t want Joel to feel slighted, and I was afraid Harry would try to convince me he was the best person to come with me. But when Jeff showed up, it raised a few eyebrows.

Harry looked at him like he was sizing up the competition. Great.

Jeff gave him a short nod. I’d had my jean jacket and bag waiting at the front desk, so I grabbed them and I almost made it out before I heard Joel say, “Where are you going?”

I’d had my hand on the door, but paused. “Jeff’s giving me a ride,” I said simply, wishing I could give him more of an answer. I’d tell him the whole story tomorrow, I promised myself as Jeff and I slipped out.

“Surprised to see Harry there,” Jeff said as we turned the corner around the canal, a gondolier singing to his tourist passengers.

“Why?”

“Well, after last night and all.”

I felt my face flush. He kept talking, as though he didn’t notice.

“Asked around about Harry. He’s feeding you a line about being unemployed.”

“I knew it,” I said. “I knew something was up when I saw all that money in his wallet. Where’s he working?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Here and there. Harry’s got a pretty good gig for himself. He does tattoo parties.”

I frowned.

“You know, Kavanaugh. Like Tupperware. Except instead of some plastic container, everyone gets a tattoo.”