The Missing Ink

Chapter 58

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

“Sylvia, Matthew isn’t my friend.” It was all I could do to keep my voice from shaking. Post-traumatic stress, and all that. I could end up worse than Pavlov’s dogs; just mention the name Matthew and I’d crumble into a million little pieces. At least the dogs got to ring a bell and then forget about it. “When did he take the gun? And why would he set Jeff up for Kelly’s murder?”

“Oh, he didn’t set Jeff up. He just took the gun.”

“But the gun was found in Kelly’s car. So how did it end up there?”

Her smile turned a little sad, like she thought I’d become too dim-witted for this conversation. “Why, he gave it to Kelly, of course.”

I thought my head would explode.

“What for?”

“She never liked having the gun in the shop, you know.”

We were on a carousel, going round and round but heading nowhere except on Sylvia’s own little Magical Mystery Tour. I didn’t think it would do any good to pound my head against the wall.

“How do you know that Matthew gave the gun to his sister?”

“That’s what he told me he wanted to do.”

Just when you think there’s no logic in anything, something coherent pops up.

“Any reason why?”

She patted my forearm. “He said Kelly had gotten into a little trouble.”

That coincided with what Matt Powell had told Jeff. But if her brother gave her a gun, that might indicate something a little worse than just deciding to be a single parent and not bothering to tell Jeff that she was confiscating their embryos for her own use.

We’d walked all the way down to the courthouse, and Sylvia abruptly turned on her heel and started walking back.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Oh, I just like to walk now and then.” She hooked her arm around mine, patting my hand. She was so little; I towered over her. But her hand was warm, comforting. After the day I had, I didn’t mind having a little TLC, even if Sylvia was a little nuts.

“You should let me ink your arm,” she said after a two-block silence as we approached Murder Ink.

I thought about Napoleon. “I’m going to do a stencil,” I said. “I’d love it if you could do it.” I told her what I planned.

She snorted. “Dear, you’re a six-foot-tall woman. You don’t want a five-foot-two man on your arm. Let me do something more appropriate.”

I didn’t want to argue the issue. I wasn’t in the mood. I let her reel off the possibilities as I wondered why Kelly Masters would need a gun.

“I’m going to close up the shop now, dear,” Sylvia was saying as we stood in front of Murder Ink. She unhooked her arm. “Thank you for walking with me. You’re a nice girl.”

“How’s Jeff?”

“He’s fine. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”

I was sure of it, too. He’d become my new best friend. Well, except for Sylvia.

I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, her skin thin and transparent, her wrinkles rippling across her cheeks. Her face was the only place that wasn’t inked.

I glanced back at the shop when I reached my car and watched Sylvia pull open the door.

I was concentrating so much on her that I didn’t see it until it swerved into the Bright Lights Motel lot. The Dakota spun around my car faster than I could move, blocking me from the door so I was trapped.