The Missing Ink

Chapter 48

I froze. “He was with Matt Powell? How do you know that?”

Tim smiled in a way that told me he wasn’t about to tell me anything. “Just ask him, Brett, okay?”

“He’s going to wonder how I know that…” My voice trailed off as the door closed behind them and they were gone.

So the cops didn’t just want Jeff Coleman in Kelly’s murder, but also for Matt Powell’s. Suspicion crept into my head again. He’d sent me over to Versailles. Matt Powell had been inked by a tattooist who knew what he was doing. Did Jeff set me up? Had he been playing me all along, and I fell for his sympathy cry?

Bitsy noticed the shirt didn’t go with the skirt.

“You might want to get a pair of jeans or something.”

I’d spent enough money on clothes the last week. “No, I’m all right.” Although a glance in the full-length mirror showed that I needed a little help from those What Not to Wear people. Even the dragon looked a little embarrassed. I shrugged, as if to say, It’s not my fault; I’m on a mission, and left the shop.

Paris was just down the Strip, and I decided to walk to clear my head, get myself into game mode. I was wearing Tevas, which were good to walk in, although sadly did not add to my appearance.

Most of the people moving down the sidewalk, however, didn’t exactly look like they’d just walked off the set of Sex and the City, either. It was too hot to do anything but melt anyway; everyone just hurried to get to their next air-conditioned space. I stopped a couple of times to hover in the doorways of casinos, letting the cool air wash over me so I could make it the next few feet without passing out. I should’ve brought water.

Which made me wonder if sweating would harm the wire. I hadn’t thought about that, but it was too late now.

Paris is another illusion, like the Venetian or Versailles; it’s got a great shopping area with little Disney-like stores and restaurants and cobblestone streets and trees. A little farther up was the casino that sat underneath a replica of the Eiffel Tower.

La Creperie is a walk-up joint, where for $8.99 you can get an incredibly decadent crepe with any filling you want. I like the fruit ones.

Jeff Coleman wasn’t waiting for me. Glancing around, I didn’t see him anywhere, but that wasn’t a total surprise, since he kept sneaking up on me all over the place. He was probably watching me, just like the cops were watching me-and listening to my stomach growl as I saw someone walk by with a crepe full of ham and cheese.

While the morning had gone in slow motion as I picked up the pieces that were Ace and my shop, now I was literally wired and ready for anything. Food would’ve given me a real boost, but I didn’t want to be shoving crepe into my face when Jeff Coleman jumped out from a corner.

I found a seat at a table in the area next to La Creperie and tapped my fingers as I waited.

And waited.

After fifteen minutes, I said, “I’m not sure he’s coming,” seemingly to no one-although passersby probably would think I was on my cell phone, even though I didn’t have one of those dorky things sticking out of my ear like some sort of Star Trek character. I had no idea where Tim and Nate were waiting. I wondered if this was what their job was like, those stakeouts on TV and in movies that made police work seem so glamorous but in actuality were duller than dirt.

Antsy, I got up and went across the little cobblestones to a shop that sold French cheese and wine. As I browsed, I kept an eye on La Creperie, but there was still no sign of Jeff.

Springsteen sang in my bag. I dug around until my fingers touched my cell phone, and I flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Kavanaugh, you should be arrested for wearing that outfit.”

“Where are you?” I asked. “I’m here, but you’re not.”

“And when you get rid of those cops, I’ll meet you.”

I hesitated a second. “Cops? What cops?”

“Don’t play games, Kavanaugh. I’m not stupid. You never wear shirts like that, although I did like the one you wore on TV.”

He was here somewhere.

“You’re supposed to tell me why Matthew broke into my shop.” I was talking too fast, the words spilling out of my mouth on top of one another. “And why did you meet with Matt Powell at Versailles? What’s up with that?”

“No time for chitchat, Kavanaugh. You’ve got something in your shop they want.”

My chest felt heavy as his words sank in. Tim was right. “But my shop was trashed. Matthew probably got whatever it was.”

“No. He didn’t.”

He sounded so sure.

“How do you know this?” Skepticism seeped into my voice. “I mean, really, how do you know? Do you have something to do with this?”

“I’ve got my ear to the ground, something you should’ve thought of instead of traipsing off and becoming a TV star.”

“I didn’t choose that.”

“Fair enough. But really, there’s something everyone’s looking for, and everyone thinks you’ve got it.”

“What is it?”

Silence for a second, then, “Not sure.”

“Okay, so you’re getting on my case for not keeping my ear to the ground, but that’s all you’ve got?”

He didn’t answer.

“So what about Matt Powell? Why did you meet him? Do you know who did his ink? Was it you?”

“No.”

When he didn’t say anything more, I said, “You don’t know anything, do you? You don’t know what it is Matthew was looking for when he tossed my shop. You don’t know how Kelly got pregnant with your baby.” I was struggling to keep my voice down, but I wasn’t entirely successful. I began walking toward the casino.

“I do know,” he said softly.

“Do know what?” I barked.

“I know how she got pregnant.”

“Well, I think we can figure that out, can’t we?”

“It’s not what you think. Really.” He didn’t sound like himself, and I stopped walking, moving out of the line of foot traffic.

“Then what is it?”

“We had embryos.”

“What?”

“Embryos. For in vitro fertilization. We never used them; she left me before we could. I went to the doctor’s office yesterday. I got one of the nurses to tell me Kelly had three embryos implanted four months ago. One survived.

“The cops were right. She was pregnant with my kid.”