The Missing Ink

Chapter 30

So the cops and Manning were both after Jeff Coleman. Interesting.

“Let me guess,” Joel said, his expression showing his surprise at this revelation as well. “He didn’t want any ink, did he?” The valet had come over, and Joel handed him his ticket.

Sylvia looked slightly uncomfortable and didn’t answer.

“What did he say he wanted Jeff for?” I pressed.

She shrugged. “He didn’t exactly say.”

“What did he say?”

“He came up in one of those big black cars and asked if Jeff was there. I said no, he was out of town. He didn’t like that, but then asked if someone named Ellis, Ellen, something like that, had been around.”

I raised my eyebrows at Joel.

“I told him I didn’t know any Ellis, that Jeff didn’t either, and if he wanted a tat, I could do a nice skull on his chest for five hundred. He left then.”

I could picture Sylvia wielding her tattoo machine, the ink on her arms and chest and legs most likely intimidating Manning and making her look taller than her five-foot frame.

So Manning had wanted to know about Elise. Why would he assume Elise would’ve been to Murder Ink? Unless he knew about Kelly Masters’s connection to Jeff.

The valet pulled up with Joel’s Toyota Prius. I didn’t know how he managed to squeeze his body into the driver’s seat, but somehow he did. He said he wouldn’t drive anything else; he had to conserve energy and use less gas. Water was my issue; climate change his. But I guess you could argue they were one and the same.

I let Sylvia sit up front next to Joel and settled in the backseat, my knees up under my chin. “Where are we heading?” I asked as Joel eased the Prius down the drive and past the hedge animals.

Sylvia shifted in her seat so she could face me. “Circus Circus.”

Joel made the appropriate turn out of the drive. I pondered this. Circus Circus looked on the outside like a red and white-striped circus tent. The big neon sign sporting a clown creeped me out-mainly because all clowns creep me out, one reason why I never go to Circus Circus even though the roller coaster in the Adventuredome is supposed to be pretty cool.

None of us said anything for a few minutes as we made our way up the Strip.

“Uh, Brett?” Joel broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Look out the back, will you?”

Sylvia and I turned at the same time, peering out the back window.

A white Dodge Dakota was behind us.

“Is that the same truck that was following you?” Joel asked.

All big trucks looked alike to me, although the possibility of coincidence was unlikely. Again I tried to see if I could recognize the driver, but the window was tinted slightly and the sun was glaring off it, so it was impossible.

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Who is following you, dear?” Sylvia asked.

“A bald guy with an eagle tattooed on his neck.”

“Oh, that’s just Matthew.”

I remembered that she hadn’t been concerned about him when I’d spoken to her before, either. “What’s his story?”

“He just has a bit of a temper. You have to know how to handle him.”

“How is that?”

“Be nice to his sister.”

Kelly? “You know Kelly is dead, right?” I asked tentatively. That possible dementia kept rearing its ugly head.

Sylvia sighed and shook her head, her expression indicating that I was a sad excuse for a human being. “I wish you wouldn’t doubt me. And I wish you’d come in for that other sleeve. Really, dear, a naked arm is like a naked breast. It just shouldn’t be out in public.”

Joel glanced back and rolled his eyes at me.

We reached Circus Circus, and Joel pulled into the front, even though the self-parking was in the back. The Dakota drove past.

“Maybe it wasn’t Matthew after all,” I said.

“Why would it be Matthew?” Sylvia asked.

“Because he’s following me.” I spoke slowly, as if to a small child.

“But Matthew drives a Harley. He doesn’t own a truck.”

Okay, I guess I should’ve asked Sylvia about that earlier, but it didn’t occur to me that she would know what type of vehicle Matthew drove.

We drove in circles trying to find self-parking. Joel finally gave up and pulled up in front of the hotel entrance. Joel handed the valet his keys, took a ticket, and we headed toward the entrance with Sylvia leading the way, scurrying so quickly I was afraid we’d lose her. Joel was panting by the time we got inside, where the air-conditioning enveloped us and immediately gave me goose bumps.

I took off my sunglasses and sped off after Sylvia, who was navigating the slot machines like a rat in a maze.

“Come on,” I urged Joel, who was huffing and puffing hard enough to blow down a house.

I was dubious about Sylvia’s state of mind, but we had no choice but to follow her lead, to trust that she really was taking us to Jeff and not on a wild-goose chase.

We took the escalator up, turning right at the top. It was set up like Main Street, USA, with fake trees and kiosks selling everything from cheesy jewelry to candy to temporary tattoos.

We reached the entrance to the Adventuredome, a bright, enclosed space that sort of looked like the big ball at Disney’s Epcot, but turned inside out. Carnival rides were laid out in front of us, and we skirted around to the right-it was circular, with rides and booths, the scent of cotton candy in the air. I got caught behind a group of four teenagers jostling one another and laughing. Sylvia’s head bobbed up and down ahead of me as she went around the curve, then disappeared. I turned to Joel, who was barely keeping up beside me.

“Stay here, and I’ll find her,” Joel said.

“No, I want to go with you. This place is a nightmare.” I wasn’t kidding. SpongeBob was bigger than life, right in front of me, advertising his 4-D ride.

“Stay here,” Joel said again. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched his large body lope away until I couldn’t see it anymore.

A stroller slammed into the back of my legs, and I stiffened, sorry I’d let Joel go on ahead. There was no apology from the woman steering the small Hummer. I smelled popcorn and sugar and heard screams from the roller coaster that wound its way across the ceiling overhead. I stared up at it, trying to follow the tracks to see where the twists were, but it disappeared into a fake mountain.

His voice made me jump.

“So, Kavanaugh, who do the cops think killed that guy? You or me?”