The Missing Ink

Chapter 35

Someone was playing games with me. At first, I thought it was Bitsy or even Joel, but in light of the discovery of Matt Powell’s ink, this was more than a sick joke. Elise was missing and Matt was dead. What did that mean for me? Who was sending me a message? And, more important, why?

Springsteen’s “Jungleland“ blared from my bag, startling me. After a second, I realized what it was and pulled out my cell phone.

It wasn’t a call, but a text message.

Meet me in my office. 15 min. Simon.

He must have seen my cell number on his caller ID.

I eased the Mustang out of the parking spot and wondered how I could go up to Chase’s office without Manning seeing me. I pulled into another spot and texted back: Banned how will I get there brett.

Within minutes, Springsteen belted out “Jungleland” again and I read, Minnie mickey.

That old song and dance? Really? I tossed the phone into the seat next to me and peeled out of the garage. A small part of me-a very small part, but a part just the same-was tingly with the thought of seeing Simon Chase again. So I wasn’t sure if he was a murderer, and I knew he was a playboy, but he looked mighty fine.

No Dodge Dakotas followed me as I made my way to Versailles, and once I got there, I saw a small sign for self-parking, so I veered to the right before the valets caught sight of me. The parking garage was surrounded by those hedge animals, and I kept close to the edge, just in case Bruce Manning happened to look out a window and see me coming.

The lobby was more difficult.Those mirrors showed hundreds of me, and if circumstances were different, I might be making sure my hair and makeup looked good. As it was, I ducked behind one of those big flower arrangements when I saw Chip Manning emerge from the hallway where the elevators were tucked away.

A woman with platinum blond hair styled in a flip like Marilyn Monroe was right behind him, and he stopped to let her catch up. She wore a tight-fitting dress that hugged all her curves. Chip put his arm around her waist.

I blinked a couple of times. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. They were laughing, her face tinged with a blush as he whispered something in her ear.

He hadn’t wasted any time.

They came closer, and I ducked so I was now eye level with the marble table, the orchids hanging over my head. A quick glance in the mirror told me that hiding wasn’t my number one accomplishment, but insanity might be. However, I stayed put. Especially since Bruce Manning had come around the corner.

From the look on Chip’s face, I could tell he wanted to Be the Table, too, but he wasn’t close enough to blend in. As it was, he pushed the poor girl he was with aside, and she stumbled, slipping on the newly waxed floor and landing with a thud on the other side of my table. She frowned at me as Bruce Manning helped her up. I had stopped breathing.

“Are you all right, young lady?” Manning asked.

“I’m fine-”

“Chipper, I need you upstairs now.” Manning didn’t give two hoots about that girl. His feet started walking away. Chip went after him, scurrying to keep up.

I peered up over the edge of the table. The girl looked perplexed at being abandoned, and I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t afford to have Manning turn around and find me here. I didn’t want to risk getting banned from Versailles a second time. What would happen then? Would he hoist me on top of one of those slot machines and lop off my head? Or would he let the Bastille crowd run me down?

I might have been overreacting, but the man had scared the crap out of me. And even though I was here at Simon Chase’s request, I didn’t think it would bode well for Chase, either, if Manning found me here.

I approached the front desk when I was sure Manning was far out of sight. The concierge recognized me from yesterday.

“You-” he started.

I put my finger to my lips and shushed him. “Minnie to see Mickey,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot.

A knowing look crossed his face, and I began to wonder just why that little code had been devised. Perhaps they thought my tattoo story was a cover for a real painted lady. Great. I totally had to think about renaming my shop.

Unlike yesterday, I was put in the elevator alone. I punched the floor for Simon Chase’s office-I hoped it was the right one, if memory served-and the box lurched upward. When the doors opened, I stepped into silence.

The office was at the end of the hall to my left.

I tapped on the outer door. It wasn’t shut all the way. I peered around it, but saw no one. Penny was probably gone for the day, since it was after five. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

The door to Simon’s office was slightly ajar, but I didn’t hear anything inside.

A cold chill crept up my spine.

Maybe I shouldn’t have put my fingerprints on that door. Because I was having some serious déjà vu.

I strained my ears to pick up any sound at all.

Nothing, except my heart pounding in my chest.

I didn’t want any more surprises. If I tiptoed out of here, no one would be the wiser. I went back the way I came. Because the door was shut, I had to put my hand back on the doorknob.

I twisted it.

Twice.

My hand slid off the knob both times.

Throwing caution to the wind, risking the noise, I jiggled it. But nothing happened.

I was locked in.