The Missing Ink

Chapter 42

I watched it ease out of the lot, and I didn’t waste any time. While I hadn’t followed it before, I certainly wasn’t going to miss the opportunity now. Especially since Simon was driving, and even if he were mixed up in something criminal, I didn’t think he’d hurt me.

Of course, that’s what abused wives always tell themselves, too.

I pushed my concerns away and concentrated on the Dakota in front of me. He was going about ten miles above the speed limit, which was ten miles above my comfort zone, but I wanted to keep up. I also didn’t want him to see me behind him, so I kept a couple of cars between us. The Mustang was low enough to the ground and the Dakota high enough off it so maybe I was out of his line of sight.

He turned toward downtown, and soon we were heading along the Strip.

I knew where we were going.

The Dakota pulled into the Versailles entrance, and I parked along the side of the road with my flashers on. Pretty anticlimactic. I shouldn’t have assumed he would lead me to Elise and Matthew.

But then a thought crossed my mind.

What if he had?

What if he was hiding them in plain sight?

He was the manager. He could give them a room easily. Granted, Chip and his father were also at Versailles, but the place was enormous. How hard would it be to stay out of someone’s way?

I told myself that as I made an executive decision to go back in there. Even though I was banned. But this time I wouldn’t go through the lobby. I’d go into the casino, where there were plenty of people to mask my arrival and plenty of slot machines to hide behind if I needed to. Granted, I was taller than most women, and I had tats, short bright red hair, and rows of piercings in my ears, but odder-looking people than me hung out in casinos. It was worth a shot.

The room was buzzing with activity, the cocktail waitresses barely able to keep up and keep their bosoms in their corsets. I thought about Robbin, the girl I’d met in the ladies’ room. She had a hot date with the guy who ran the place. Was that why Simon had come back?

A short man with a bad toupee bumped into me.

“Excuse you,” he muttered, wandering away.

I weaved around the slot machines, the flashing lights making me blink, the little musical dinging sounds bouncing off the ceiling. Sheryl Crow was singing about leaving Las Vegas, piped in from undisclosed speakers, no one really hearing it-it was background noise to replace that of the coins dropping into metal bins. I was a little dizzy as I approached the blackjack tables, Tim’s old stomping ground. He could still count cards, but only if there was a one- or two-deck shoe. It looked like these tables had at least six decks. No way to win, every way to lose.

I didn’t like casinos; they had never managed to win me over. I used to like the heavy feel of the plastic cups holding five or ten dollars’ worth of quarters or nickels, slipping the coins into the machines. But now that they’d done away with the coins-you just put in a bill and got back a little ticket that you slipped into a machine like an ATM to get your meager winnings-it had lost any magic for me it might have once held. There were other things I’d rather throw my money away on, like Kenneth Cole shoes. While I’d be poor, at least I’d look hot.

Hot like Simon Chase, who was standing about fifty feet away from me as I stumbled around a slot machine that wore a guillotine hat. Quickly, I ducked back behind it, peering over the top. The woman playing it didn’t even notice, she was so intent on pushing that little PLAY AGAIN button. Another downside to the new ticket system: Put in a bill and there was no reminder of just how much you were losing.

Matthew approached Simon, who looked like he’d been expecting him. They shook hands, Simon nodding, Matthew’s mouth moving. I can’t read lips, so I was at a loss. I could read expressions, and Simon’s was exasperated as he straightened his shoulders and stood taller. I could see his mouth form the word “no.”

So maybe I could read lips a little.

Add it to the résumé.

I scanned the room, looking for Elise. The way Matthew had pushed her out of Viva Las Vegas worried me. Maybe she was in a room upstairs somewhere, locked in, these two guys arguing about her fate. Would she die like Matt Powell? Like Kelly Masters?

As I thought those things, I realized that people didn’t just get murdered for nothing. What did Kelly and Matt know that they had to be killed to keep them quiet? Kelly was pregnant; who was the father? Matt was in love with Elise-the tat told the story.

I couldn’t see Matthew killing his sister. But he might kill Matt. And he had enough tats so he probably knew how it was done.

But the ink was too good, too well drawn.

As my thoughts spun around like the Scrambler, Simon started walking away from Matthew, who began heading in the opposite direction.

Whom to follow?

“You go after Chase; I’ll follow Matthew.” The voice made me jump, and I turned to see Jeff Coleman standing next to me. Some detective I would make; I hadn’t even noticed him there.

“Meet you back here in half an hour,” Jeff said.

I just stood there, and he frowned at me.

“If you don’t go now, Kavanaugh, you’ll lose him.”

As he spun around the slot machine, the guillotine came crashing down and the bells and whistles rang in my ears.