Ink Flamingos

Chapter 42

It had to be Sherman Potter’s Ainsley. I said as much, and Jeff nodded.

“The room was in her name. Wainwright.”

I frowned. How did he know that? He saw my expression and smirked.

“I told you, Kavanaugh, I have my ways.”

Instead of getting irritated as usual, though, I remembered how Daisy had been found in a room that was reserved for Ainsley Wainwright. I reminded Jeff of that.

“And since Ainsley Wainwright is dead, the girl you saw must be her twin sister.”

“She’s got a twin?” Jeff asked.

Oh, right, I hadn’t told Jeff about that yet. I nodded.

He chuckled. “How on earth do you know these little tidbits of information, Kavanaugh?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

He laughed out loud.

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe we should go up there,” I suggested. “Maybe it’s time to find out what’s going on.”

“You think they’ll tell you?” Jeff asked, taking a drink of his coffee.

Who knew? But it would be better than sitting here, doing nothing.

Jeff stood up. “Okay, let’s go.”

What?

“Let’s go up there,” he said. “Let’s find out what this is all about.”

I thought he was joking, until he put his hand under my elbow and pulled me up. “Come on.”

I looked over at Sylvia, who was still eating her pie. She waved a hand at us. “I’ll hold down the fort here. I might try the peach pie next.”

Sure. Why not? Jeff and I walked out of the restaurant and toward the lobby.

“You’re sure they’re up there,” I said.

“I saw them go in.”

“So tell me how you found out the room was in her name.”

Before he could answer, a young, petite blonde scurried toward us, a big smile on her face. As her eyes flicked to me, the smile faded slightly; then it blossomed again when she looked at Jeff.

“Do you need any more help?”

So that’s how he’d done it-how he’d found out the room was in Ainsley’s name. He had a mole at the front desk. A woman who clearly had the hots for him. What was it with women who worked at hotel front desks? Were they really so easily swayed by a flash of a smile that they’d give up room information? Although frankly, I could understand giving up information to Harry. He was young and had those swaggering good looks. But Jeff?

For the first time I attempted to see Jeff Coleman through another woman’s eyes. We’d started out antagonistically as competitors, when he was all caught up in his ex-wife’s murder and I helped him out, and then we slowly, very slowly, became friends. So I’d never looked at him objectively before.

I knew what he looked like, of course. He was a little shorter than me-not that that bothered me, and it was obvious it didn’t bother him, either-with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut, maybe ten years older than my own thirty-two years. The lines in his face showed that he’d lived hard at some point, not to mention the cigarettes, but they gave his face some character, I realized. He’d bulked up a little bit in the last months, as though he’d been working out, but I never said anything because I knew he’d twist it all around and say something all smart-alecky about it. But looking at him now, I saw a different Jeff, a guy who was in good shape, good-looking in a rugged sort of way, actually, someone I might have noticed if I hadn’t been so competitive and he hadn’t been so annoying to start out.

And I felt a flush crawl up my neck when I thought about that kiss again. I had liked it more than I was letting on to myself.

Which was probably why I felt a sudden flash of-dare I say it-jealousy as this young, cute woman batted her long black eyelashes at Jeff and he flirted back.

The emotion caught me by surprise, and I caught my breath. And wouldn’t you know it, Jeff was on to me. He winked at me before turning back to the blonde. I’d totally missed her name, but it’s not as though I’d ever need it.

“We’ve got a singer in the nightclub here tonight,” she was saying, clearly an invitation. For him, not me. She hadn’t given me another look.

“Anyone I know?” he asked. His voice had gotten softer, and there was a distinct Southern lilt to it now. Great.

I wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat. I shifted from one foot to the other, but almost fell over when she answered.

“The Flamingos’ new lead singer. She’s doing a solo gig.”

“Ainsley?” I croaked.

It was as though she’d just noticed I was there. “No, not Ainsley,” she said, frowning. “It’s Ann. Ann Wainwright.” She studied my face for a second, then said, “I know you, don’t I?”

Uh-oh. I hoped she didn’t read the blogs. Or the newspapers. I tugged on Jeff’s shirtsleeve. Time to go.

Fortunately, he agreed with me. He nodded at her and said, “I’ll see if I can make it.”

“She starts at eight.”

“Okay,” he said, as if he’d really show up, and then we turned toward the elevators. One was opening just as we approached, so we hopped in.

“So at least we know Ainsley’s sister’s name now,” I said. “But why not reserve the room in her own name, since that’s the one she’s using tonight? Didn’t you say the room was reserved under the name Ainsley Wainwright?”

Jeff shook his head. “I never said that. I didn’t get a first name. Just the last.”

“Losing your touch?” I teased.

He shrugged, his eyebrows rising slightly in his forehead, his lips curving into a sly smile. “What do you think?”

“Okay, so you made quite the impression on that little thing back there,” I said.

“All for the cause, all for the cause.”

The elevator doors slid open. We were on the nineteenth floor. It was shabby up here; a moldy odor hung in the air. The carpet was gray, but I couldn’t tell if that was the original color or whether it was supposed to be white but had gotten dirty. Jeff took my arm and led me to the left, pointing at the room numbers on a sign.

“Down here.”

The hallway was a maze of turns. It felt as though we were walking blocks. The odor grew stronger the farther away from the elevator we got.

“You got a little jealous back there, didn’t you?” Jeff teased.

I didn’t answer.

He stopped at a door, a DO NOT DISTURB Sign dangling from the knob. “This is it.” He reached out and put his knuckles to the door, but as he knocked, the door moved. He gave it a little push and it opened.

We exchanged a glance.

“Wasn’t closed properly,” he said, as if setting up our explanation to the police as to how we ended up breaking and entering. Tim would not be pleased, regardless.

I hung back as Jeff put his head around the door. I could see the corner of an unmade bed, sheets in a pile on the floor at the foot of it, a leg hanging over the side.

“Stay here,” Jeff whispered as he went farther around the door.

I didn’t want to be out here all by myself, so I followed him, but stopped when I saw the naked man sprawled across the bed.

And the tattoo of a flamingo on his arm.