The Missing Ink

Chapter 36

A phone rang somewhere in the distance, and I realized it was in Chase’s office. I counted four rings before it stopped.

I tiptoed-as well as one can tiptoe in heels-back over to the door to the inner sanctum. I nudged the door with my toe and it moved inward slightly, enough so I could see most of the office, except for the area just behind the couch. I nudged the door a little more, getting a little braver, since it really did seem as though I was alone.

Still, the blood hammering in my ears meant I was expecting the worst.

A few steps and I was in Chase’s office. I tentatively moved around the couch, sighing with relief when I didn’t see anyone behind it. A quick look around the rest of the room didn’t turn up any bodies, either, and even the bathroom was empty.

It wasn’t until I’d completely cased the joint that I began to realize that I shouldn’t be alone here. I should’ve just stayed outside in the hall.

I went over hypotheticals: a) Chase would show up and apologize for locking me in, even inadvertently; b) Manning would find me and have me arrested for breaking and entering, even though I hadn’t actually broken anything; c) Chip would come in for an afternoon cocktail and demand again that I tattoo his chest.

Of course, Door Number One was the best-case scenario, but with my luck, it would be one of the other two.

I went over to Chase’s long mahogany desk and plopped my butt in his leather chair that felt like butter. I spun around a couple of times like a kid, then took my phone out of my bag.

I hit a few buttons and checked the text messages again, to make sure Chase had asked me to be here in fifteen minutes, which was what I remembered.

That was what the message said, but then I had another, paranoid thought. When Simon Chase had called me at the shop for lunch, I’d jotted down his number from the caller ID and stuck it in my cell phone. Just in case something happened and I had to let him know plans had to change. Right.

I scrolled through my contacts list and found it.

But there was a problem. The number those text messages had come from wasn’t Simon Chase’s. Which was why it hadn’t shown up on my caller ID. I hadn’t even questioned it.

I hate it when paranoia is justified. My chest felt like it had three-ton weights on it. Who had sent me those text messages? But more important, from my new vantage point, I was in a man’s office uninvited.

I surveyed Simon Chase’s desk as I thought about how I’d definitely been set up this time. And for what reason? Why did someone want me to come here? There was no dead body.

The message light on Chase’s fancy phone was blinking at me. Right. The call that had come in while I was hovering outside the door.

I had nothing else to do, so I grabbed a Kleenex out of the box on the corner of the desk, wrapped it around my finger-my prints could still be here from yesterday, but I wasn’t going to take any chances-and hit the button that said MESSAGES. Seemed clear-cut.

“Chase, we need to take care of that little problem.” I recognized Manning’s voice. “Meet me in the lobby at six.”

I glanced at my watch. It was almost six now. Too bad Chase wasn’t here to get his message and take care of whatever it was Manning was concerned about. But how did I know he wasn’t on his way back from wherever he was?

I debated whom I should call. Definitely not Tim. He would arrest me, probably, and keep me under house arrest for the next five years. Joel was always the first person I thought of, and so out of habit I tried his number, even though he hadn’t been answering his cell for a while now.

“Hello?”

Hearing his voice startled me so much I almost slid off that slippery chair.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Didn’t get your messages. I left my phone in the car by accident.”

“Where did you go?” I was acutely aware that my voice was bouncing off the walls echo-style in this room, so I lowered my voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Took Sylvia home, and she ended up making an early dinner for me. She told me some crazy stories about the old days.”

“Crazy” was the right word for Sylvia.

“You know, I had to take your client,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry; I forgot about him.”

“I took care of it,” I said, whispering now. I didn’t much care at this moment whether Joel missed a client or not, although we’d revisit this later, when I was out of this jam.

“Thanks. Hey, why is your voice so quiet? Where are you?”

I told him, and I told him how I had ended up here. “I need someone to get me out before Chase or Manning shows up and finds me here.”

“Why would someone pretend to be Chase and ask you to go there?”

I had no clue.

“Why don’t you text back and ask?”

“Now there’s something I hadn’t thought of. Text the murderer, or whoever he is, and ask directly what’s up.”

Joel was quiet a second, then, “Why not?”

Had to admit, the idea was growing on me. But first things first.

“Just come and get me, okay?” I paused. “Tell the guy at the front desk that you’re Minnie to see Mickey.” Considering Joel’s suspected persuasion, that wasn’t far from the truth.

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, it is. But it’ll get you up here.”

“Where exactly do I go?”

I told him which floor and gave him directions to Chase’s office. “How soon can you be here? I really can’t have Chase find me.”

“Why don’t you just tell him what happened?”

“Because that’s like Lucy trying to explain to Ricky why she’s sitting out on the ledge.”

“All right, all right. I’m only about ten minutes out. Hang tight.” And he ended the call.

Hanging tight was about all I could do. Except… well, I was in Chase’s office, and there really should be a twelve-step program for snooping. With nothing on top of the desk, I tried the drawers-forgetting the Kleenex until it was too late-but they were locked. Looked like I wasn’t going to be falling off the wagon.

There wasn’t even a computer or a laptop or anything that looked remotely interesting. Except maybe the bar.

The little fridge wasn’t locked, and it was well stocked with Heineken and Corona. I took a bottle of the latter, twisted off the top, and shoved a slice of lime I found in a little bowl down the neck. It fizzled as it sank, and I took a long drink. It was cold and satisfying. I took another swallow. I’d have to slow down, though, because if I didn’t watch out, I’d end up passed out on the couch like Chip.

Bored, I paced the room, eyeing a door that was probably a closet. I had nothing better to do, so I pulled on the knob.

It was more than a closet. It was the size of my bedroom, with about fifty monitors flickering gray and white images of the casino floor, the lobby, the restaurants, even the restrooms.

Nothing was hidden in Vegas; little black domes in the ceilings of every resort and casino displayed the good, the bad, and the ugly. Everyone was watched constantly. Cheating was not to be tolerated, at least in the gambling sense.

I suspected that this wasn’t the only room with monitors; Versailles probably had a whole floor of security personnel checking them out. This was probably a backup for Chase’s own personal pleasure.

I scanned the casino monitors, watched some people playing blackjack, roulette. I didn’t understand craps, even though Tim had tried to explain it hundreds of times. He said it was the only game you could actually really win.

The lobby flickered with reflections off the mirrors, and something familiar caught my eye. Joel was lumbering through the front revolving door; he made better time than he’d expected. My heart jumped with the thought that I’d be out of here soon and no one would be the wiser.

I was getting used to the silence when the phone on Chase’s desk rang again, the unexpected sound causing me to spit beer on myself. Great. Now I’d smell like a brewery when Joel got here. He’d think I was enjoying myself. Hey, get locked in a casino office and have a kegger.

Chase’s voice blared through the office, and I ducked behind the door before I realized that it was his message machine. I must have hit the speakerphone button earlier. I relaxed a little.

But the next voice made me tense up.

“Simon? It’s Elise. Meet me where the Elvises hang out. Seven o’clock.”

Elise? Elvises?

But before I could wrap my head around it, another noise-a familiar noise-crashed into the silence.

I tightened my grip on the bottle for lack of any other plan.

Because it was the door. The outside door. I heard it open.