The Missing Ink

Chapter 46

I tossed and turned all night. I could’ve blamed the heat, but the air-conditioning was doing a fine job keeping the house cool. When I did drift off, images of Simon Chase and Jeff Coleman and, oddly, Willis floated through my dreams. At one point I was giving Elise a tat in the shape of a guillotine.

It was a relief when I woke and saw the sun streaming through the miniblinds.

Tim was already gone. I’d promised to tell him when I’d heard from Jeff again, but he wasn’t making it easy for me. Sure, I could’ve told him last night, right after Jeff called me, but everything was running around in my head and I wanted to let it settle a bit first. I toasted a bagel and made some coffee, thinking about Simon Chase’s cell phone. I’d had suspicions about him all along, but deep down I’d hoped I was wrong, that it was all a mistake. But if he really did make that appointment for Jeff, he was definitely guilty of something.

I took a shower and threw on my usual uniform of a print cotton skirt and a navy tank top. I debated Sylvia’s offer to ink my other arm. But what would I get? I paid homage to the Impressionists on one arm; what about my neoclassicists this time? But I couldn’t exactly see The Oath of the Horatii or the Death of Socrates as appropriate, but David’s Bonaparte Crossing the Alps at the St. Bernard Pass could be pretty cool, with Napoleon on the horse going up the mountain. I would have to make the stencil myself, though. I didn’t really trust Sylvia, who worked with flash only, to design something.

I didn’t hit any traffic on the way to the Venetian and ended up being the first one there. That was unusual, but Bitsy probably had a late night last night at Viva Las Vegas.

I lifted the gate and let myself in through the glass doors. I walked by the front desk, stopping when I saw that the purple orchids on the desk had fallen over, the flowers out of the pot, like they’d been pulled out. What was this? I glanced around, but nothing appeared out of place. Nevertheless, I was cautious as I went to the back of the shop and opened the door to the staff room.

It was a shambles.

File folders, papers, and stencils were strewn on the floor, the file cabinet drawers yawning wide; boxes of baby wipes were tossed here and there, with wipes loose and wet clinging to the floor and the light table. Packages of disposable razors, needles, and latex gloves were scattered over every surface. The refrigerator door was open-the contents of some Chinese takeout from a couple days ago spilled across the shelves, and soda cans had been opened and upturned to create a sticky brown mess that seeped to the floor. Toilet paper had been unrolled in the bathroom, covering much of the tiny floor space.

I dropped my head into my hands and fought back a sob.

This wasn’t supposed to happen here. Not at the Venetian. Not with the security, not with the way these shops were locked up every night. How could this have happened?

Panic rose in my chest. I waded through the mess and stooped down to look under the light table, where we kept a small safe that held all our cash until Bitsy could get to the bank. It was gone. Granted, Bitsy had gone to the bank yesterday, so there wasn’t much in there, but it was still a crime.

I couldn’t breathe.

I stepped back out into the hall, noticing now that the doors to all the rooms were shut. One by one, I opened them, revealing the same sort of chaos that had been inflicted on the staff room, only this time, ink was smeared everywhere.

By the time I reached my room, I was numb. As I absently began picking up the ink pots, I heard a small sound.

It wasn’t out front; it was from somewhere in here.

It sounded sort of like a cat’s meow, but how would a cat get in here?

Same way whoever tossed the place did, I guessed.

I picked my way through the mess, following the noise to the waiting area across the hall.

The sofa was askew, away from the wall, more on an angle than usual.

Something was behind it.

It was larger than a cat.

I saw a foot move, and I froze.

I still had my bag slung over my shoulder, and I grabbed at it so I could get my phone.

“Brett?”

The voice was barely above a whisper, and if I’d been breathing I might not have heard it. I dropped my bag and went to the sofa, pulling it back.

Ace rolled out from behind it, landing on his back, his nose crushed, blood smeared across his face and matted in his hair. An arm draped across his chest, and his eyes sought my face.

“Brett?” he whispered again.

I knelt down next to him, touching his face, his shoulder. “What happened? Who did this to you?” My other hand reached for my bag, my phone, to call 911.

“Big guy. Eagle tat. He didn’t think I was here. I surprised him.”

Matthew. Where I had felt numb just moments before, now the rage began to take over.

My fingers found my phone.

“What did he want?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger. “What was he looking for?”

Ace tried to shake his head, but he moaned again with the movement. “Don’t know. Didn’t say. Slugged me; I hit my head. Went out awhile, I think.”

“Don’t say anything else,” I said as his voice faded even further. I punched numbers into the phone and told the dispatcher I needed an ambulance.

My next call was to Tim.

“Someone broke into my shop,” I said without identifying myself.

“What? Brett?”

“He beat up Ace, left him here, destroyed the place.”

“Slow down, Brett. What’s going on?” Tim’s voice was hurried, full of concern.

I took a couple deep breaths and told him what I’d found here.

“You called an ambulance?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Ace had closed his eyes again, his head lolled to one side. “I hope they get here soon. Ace needs help.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t touch anything; don’t disturb anything.” And he ended the call.

I sat by Ace, watching him struggle to take breaths. My chest was heavy, my stomach in my throat. Guilt took over the anger. I should’ve been here last night, not gone off on that wild-goose chase to Viva Las Vegas. This was my shop; Ace was paying dearly for my selfishness. I had no business looking for Elise Lyon. What had I been thinking?

The mall outside was waking up, shops opening. I could hear gates being raised, then finally, knocking on the glass. I got up and let in the paramedics and the gurney, leading them to Ace in the back.

When they put the oxygen tube in his nose, Ace audibly sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. I should’ve gone over to the oxygen bar and gotten one of those for him.

The paramedics pushed me back, and I just watched from a few feet away, until more heavy footsteps invaded the shop. Two uniformed officers, three mall security guards, a crime scene forensics guy, and Tim came down the hall. I pointed all of the former to the staff room; Tim stayed outside with me.

“Tell me everything, from the time you got in,” he instructed, a little pad ready for his notes.

I went through all of my steps until he showed up.

Our backs were to the front door, and I didn’t see her until I heard, “What’s going on?”

Bitsy’s eyes were wide as they took in the paramedics, Ace on the gurney, Tim acting all coplike.

Quickly, I told her what happened before turning to Tim. “Ace described the guy who was here, the guy who beat him up.” I paused. “It was Matthew, Kelly Masters’s brother.”

“How do you know that?”

“He said he had an eagle tat on his neck. He was a big guy. I’ve seen Matthew. And Matthew’s been following me around.”

Tim sighed. “Do they think you’re hiding a million bucks in here or something? Is that why he broke in?”

His words stopped me for a second, and I frowned. Did someone think there was something in my shop that was worth all this? But what would it be? I had nothing of worth in here. There hadn’t been enough cash in that safe to warrant taking it. Of course, he couldn’t have known that until he got out of here and opened it.

The phone at the front desk rang, and Bitsy went to answer it. The paramedics were rolling Ace out through the shop. Tim stopped them and started asking Ace some questions.

“Brett?”

I heard my name and realized Bitsy was indicating that the call was for me. I squeezed past the gurney and Tim and took the phone.

“Brett Kavanaugh,” I said, trying to sound professional even though my world was falling apart.

“Kavanaugh?”

I didn’t have time for this. “Jeff? I can’t talk now. My shop got broken into and Ace got beaten up-”

“I need to see you,” he interrupted.

“I can’t. Didn’t you just hear me? My shop is a mess. Ace is a mess. I can’t leave.”

“Believe me, Kavanaugh, you want to see me, too.”

Something in his tone made me pause. “Why?”

“I know why Matthew broke into your shop.Two o’clock, at that little crepe place in Paris. Be there.” He hung up.

I stared at the phone.

How did Jeff Coleman know it was Matthew who’d broken into my shop?