The Missing Ink

Chapter 34

Because of the quality of the ink, Chip couldn’t possibly have done the job himself. And I couldn’t be sure whether the tat was done before Matt was killed or posthumously. If the skin was alive, it would be pink around the edges. I didn’t know what it would look like if a corpse was inked.

I heard heavy breathing.

Bitsy was looking over my shoulder at the screen. She tapped it with her finger a few times.

“That’s your drawing. Why does it say ‘Elise’?”

“Someone stole the idea.”

“Copycat.”

No kidding.

I twisted a little in the chair so I was at eye level with her. “You didn’t show this to anyone else, did you? I mean, besides 20/20 the other day.”

Bitsy’s chin went up in the air slightly, put out that I would even suggest that. “I didn’t.” It was the emphasis on the “I” that made me take notice.

“Who did, then?” My attempt to keep my tone light wasn’t very successful, and she frowned.

“Ace had a difficult client.”

“Difficult in what way?”

“Difficult in that the guy didn’t know what he wanted except he wanted his girlfriend’s name in a heart. You should be happy. Imitation is the purest form of flattery.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who was the client?”

She sighed and went back to the file cabinet, dragging that stool after her. She climbed on top of it, pulled out the top drawer, and shuffled around in the papers until she held up a manila folder. “Here it is.” She hopped down off the stool and flipped through the file. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s right. After all the crap he put Ace through, he never did get the ink.”

“What’s his name?”

“Matthew Powell.”

I hung my head back and stared at the ceiling. “You’re kidding.”

“No, should I be?” She shoved the folder in front of me, on top of the computer keyboard.

I glanced at the page of notes Ace and Bitsy had both made, as well as the information Matt Powell had provided. “He had a pretty good memory,” I said, pointing at the screen. “He must have taken the design and had it done somewhere else.”

Bitsy’s eyes grew wide. “That’s him? That’s the guy?”

I nodded. “He’s the guy I found at Versailles. When did he come in for the tat?”

“It was a couple days ago.”

It could explain how Chip had seen it, but when I thought about it further, why would Matt have shown his devotion ink to his boss when he was messing around with his boss’s fiancée?

Maybe Chip had seen the ink and killed him. That would explain the blood on his shirt. But I was still stymied as to how he could’ve gotten the tattoo needles. They’re just not something that’s in everyone’s medicine chest or utility closet. Sure, you could order them off the Internet, but that took some thought, and it would take at least a day or two to get them.

I needed Elise. She held the key to all of this, since she was where it all started. But where was she? Had that actually been her blood in the trunk of Kelly Masters’s rental car? And if so, was she dead somewhere or had she escaped?

I was going at this all wrong. I kept focusing on the results of Elise’s actions, not on what made her run in the first place. That could tell me everything. And it just might stop these bodies from popping up.

I had half a mind to call Tim, but he’d just tell me again to mind my own business and stay out of his. Problem was, when I’m the last person to admit seeing a missing woman and I encounter a dead person who is somehow linked to that same missing woman, it becomes more of a personal quest to find out exactly what’s going on.

“Joel’s still not here,” Bitsy announced, her words interrupting my inner monologue. “What do I do with his client?”

I pushed back my chair and got up. “I’ll take him. But keep trying Joel’s cell. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Every time the phone rang, I jumped. Which wasn’t exactly comforting to the guy who was under my needle. He’d conceded to my replacing Joel, but there was that tinge of uncertainty, confirmed whenever I turned off the machine to see if I could hear whether it was Joel on the phone.

Bitsy wasn’t as concerned, but two hours later it was clear that Joel was most definitely missing.

“What is it about this place?” Ace muttered. “Are we all going to end up going missing? Is it going to be some weird thing, like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers or something?”

“If it was Invasion of the Body Snatchers, there would be two of each of us,” Bitsy said matter-of-factly, as if this were a definite possibility. “There would be pods all over the place.”

“Listen, guys, I know I haven’t been around much the last couple of days, but I think I know where I can at least find out where Joel might be,” I said, planning to take a trip over to Murder Ink. I’d run into Sylvia over there before; why not tonight?

“He’s a big boy, Brett,” Ace said. “Don’t you think he can take care of himself?”

No, I didn’t. And the look on my face must have said it all, because they both nodded.

“Call us when you find him,” Bitsy made me promise as I went out the door.

A long line of tourists waited for a gondola ride just across the canal from the shop. St. Mark’s Square was bustling more than usual tonight. I heard some opera singers in the distance; a musician playing a mandolin stepped into my path. I moved around him, eager to get on my way.

I smelled food, a mix of Chinese, beef, and chocolate that was not entirely unpleasant, and for the first time since my huge lunch I felt hungry. The thought of lunch made me think again about Simon Chase. He said he hadn’t seen Elise, but I had seen him talking to Kelly’s brother, Matthew.

Bruce Manning had said I was banned from Versailles, but he didn’t say I couldn’t call over there.

I punched the numbers for information and got Versailles’s main line. I asked for Simon Chase, expecting to hear his secretary Penny’s voice on the other end when it picked up.

“Yes?”

It was him. Chase. Answering his own phone.

“Oh, hello,” I said as casually as I could.

“Yes? May I help you?”

He hadn’t recognized my voice. A slight disappointment rushed through me, but then I admonished myself. Why would he recognize my voice? After only one dead body and a lunch?

“It’s Brett.”

Silence, then, “Oh, yes.”

“Manning kicked me out. Said I couldn’t see you, either.”

“Oh, yes,” he repeated. “I’m sorry about that.” There was something funny about his voice, something not normal. Sort of like my Madonna accent.

“I forgot to ask you something at lunch.”

“I’ll have to get back to you.”

Because I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, I got it. “Is Manning there with you?”

“That’s right. I’ll call you back.” And the phone went dead.

Rejection in any form is never easy, and I told myself I shouldn’t take this personally. I stuck my phone back in my bag and walked into the parking garage. I stiffened when I saw movement to my right, but it was only a family of four heading back to their car. My Mustang was just to the left.

I unlocked the door and slid onto the seat, sticking the key in the ignition. But before I turned her over, a flap of paper stuck under my windshield distracted me. I hated those flyers for local businesses, especially in a mall parking garage. I leaned around out the window and snagged it, ready to crumple it up and throw it on the floor.

But the image on it made me stop.

It was my drawing of the devotion tat. But instead of “Elise” or “Matthew,” it now said “Brett.”