Ink Flamingos

Chapter 27

Sherman Potter? In handcuffs? “What are you talking about?” I asked her.

Melanie’s eyes flicked to Jeff.

“This is my friend, Jeff Coleman.”

Jeff gave her a short nod of acknowledgment, and she looked back to me. “Come on back,” she said, leading us through a hall to a door. She pushed it open, and we stepped inside.

The rest of the band-Cara, Tiffany, and Josie-turned around. They’d been facing a long mirror, putting on makeup and primping their hair.

“You actually felt you could show up here?” Tiffany demanded, brushing her long, dark locks that bounced back with a curl.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I said. “I really don’t know what’s going on with my brother arresting Sherman Potter.”

“He just walked in here and read him his rights and slapped cuffs on him,” Josie said. She held two drumsticks and was absently tapping her knees to music inside her head.

“What for?” Jeff asked.

All heads turned toward him, and I noticed they were all assessing him. And then dismissing him. Guess he was too old for them. I’d have to tease him about that later.

“Daisy’s murder,” Melanie said. “They charged him with Daisy’s murder.”

“But I thought she died from that tattoo,” I said.

Melanie nodded. “That’s right. That’s what they told us, too. But I guess there were fingerprints or something. I didn’t get all of it; Sherman told us to call his lawyer and make sure we went on on time.”

The show must go on and all that, I guess.

“Where’s Ainsley?” I asked.

I didn’t think it was a trick question, but all four girls gave each other a look before Cara spoke up. “She never showed. Sherman kept calling her, but I guess she never picked up. We don’t know where she is.” Instead of concern, however, I heard relief in her voice. None of these girls wanted to share the stage with a stranger.

“You have to believe me. I had nothing to do with Sherman being arrested,” I said.

Tiffany finally put down her hairbrush. “It would be good for you to have someone else arrested, though, wouldn’t it?”

She thought I had something to do with Daisy’s death. Because of that stupid blog. “Listen, I’m a victim here, too,” I tried, noticing Jeff’s eyes get a little wider. I’d have to talk to him about that later. I proceeded to tell them about the blog and how I’d been set up. “I had nothing to do with any of that,” I concluded.

The four girls exchanged glances, as if deciding whether I was telling the truth. Finally, Cara spoke up.

“Daisy liked you, Brett. She trusted only you to do her tattoos.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d been struggling with the same thing ever since I’d heard about Daisy. “This has been bothering me, too,” I admitted. “But if Sherman did it, well, she’d trust him, wouldn’t she?”

Another look exchanged. This one I couldn’t read.

“Daisy was quitting,” Josie said, the drumsticks now in her lap, still. “She was going out on her own.” Her tone was sharper than cut glass. She wasn’t happy with Daisy’s decision. And from the look on everyone else’s faces, neither were they. But Sherman Potter had someone lined up to take her place already; he’d even been using that as a line to pick up girls at Cleopatra’s Barge. I didn’t see why he’d have to kill Daisy. It didn’t seem he really had a motive. But these girls might.

However, Cara put that idea to rest.

“I already told everyone else tonight, after they took Sherman away, that he threatened Daisy.”

“Threatened her how?” I asked.

“She told me he said he was going to take her for everything she had. That he’d get her on breach of contract. She came out here early to tell him to go ahead-she was done as of right then.”

So maybe Daisy had confronted Sherman Potter in that room at the Golden Palace. The one that was registered to Ainsley Wainwright. And then he’d killed her and moved to the Venetian. Ainsley, his new lead singer, must have been there, too, since she was probably the woman who the police had thought was me at first.

But how did Daisy end up being tattooed? The scenario made sense until that point.

“Did you ask Sherman about that? Did Daisy confront him?” I asked.

Melanie nodded. “We talked to Sherman not long before your brother showed up. He said he didn’t threaten her, and he never saw Daisy that day. He’d been tracking down gigs for us.”

“He said we didn’t need her,” Cara added. “That she was overshadowing us.”

And it would give him a way to get his lover into the band.

“Did any of you tell my brother any of this? What Daisy told you about Sherman?” I asked, my eyes skipping from one face to the next. They all shook their heads.

“He’s our manager,” Josie said. “We need him.”

“You need to tell my brother what you know,” I said. “What if Daisy was right? You’re taking his word against hers, and the Daisy I knew wasn’t a liar. You can always get another manager.”

None of them looked as though they believed me.

“She was going to quit,” Josie said quietly, and by pointing out Daisy’s betrayal, I could see how hurt they were. How Daisy would never be able to make it right with them.

The big security guard stuck his head in the door. “Five,” he said, then disappeared.

I thought about Ainsley the blogger. Also dead. And I remembered what Tim had asked me.

“What’s Ainsley’s last name?” I asked.

They all looked at me as if I had three heads, but Cara said, “Wainwright. Her name is Ainsley Wainwright.”

I couldn’t breathe for a second. Okay, so that could not be a coincidence. And it probably wasn’t a coincidence that Ainsley was conveniently missing the same day another Ainsley Wainwright was found dead in her apartment across town. Since blogger Ainsley was dead, it only figured that Sherman’s Ainsley had taken her identity for some reason. But when had she taken it? Sherman Potter seemed like he’d known her longer than just a day or so, which was how long the blogger had been dead.

I needed to let Tim know what was going on, what these girls had said about Daisy and Sherman, and about Ainsley Wainwright.

Before I could take my cell phone out of my bag, though, yet another burly security guard stepped into the room and nodded at the girls. They all shuffled to their feet, Josie’s drumsticks now tapping the air.

“We’ll talk after,” Melanie promised as they left the room.

Jeff and I stared at each other a second before that first security guard came back in. “I can take you to your seats,” he said gruffly.

“I need to make a call first,” I said, now pulling my phone out and punching in Tim’s number. The guard didn’t look all that happy with me.

“You can’t stay in here,” he argued.

I shrugged at Jeff, my phone to my ear, as we allowed ourselves to be herded out. It was louder out here, though, the music blasting, and I could barely hear the phone ringing. We turned a corner, and I thought I saw someone familiar up head. Familiar in that she was a tall redhead. Walking very briskly away from us, so I only saw her back.

I dropped my phone from my ear and cocked my head toward her, asking Jeff, “Look familiar?”

He didn’t seem to hear me, since he was one step ahead of me, sprinting forward, but he didn’t get too far before the security guard stepped in front of him.

“Can’t go down there.”

If looks could kill, the guard would be so dead. But he was a lot bigger than Jeff, and it seemed that he clearly meant to keep him from going farther. Jeff’s mouth set in a grim line, his fists clenched, but he didn’t try to get past the guy.

The security guard flicked his wrist, to indicate we were to follow him. The sounds of the arena faded as we went through a side door and down a long hallway. We hadn’t come up this way, and it seemed that he was purposely leading us away from the woman we’d seen.

I felt like I was living that scene in This Is Spinal Tap where the band was wandering around not able to find the stage.

Just when I thought we would never see any other human being again, we turned a corner and the security guard pushed open a door.

And shoved us out into the night, slamming the door shut behind us.