The Missing Ink

Chapter 62

“You could’ve called and told us what was going on,” Bitsy scolded.

“I thought you’d had enough excitement yesterday,” I said. I’d just gotten back from bringing Ace home from the hospital. Somehow he’d managed to bribe a nurse into giving him his own private oxygen tank. Never underestimate the power of a handsome face. Even after its nose gets crushed.

Joel handed me a doughnut and a cup of coffee. “Our lives are boring,” he teased. “We can always use a little more excitement.”

“Do you think Elise really loves him?” Bitsy asked. “I mean, that guy’s definitely not in her league.”

“I think she thinks she does,” I said. “She finds out her fiancé is having a baby with another woman, a guy who’s so totally not what her family would want for her pays attention, offers her a shoulder-and a lot more than that-and she thinks she’s in love. It’s happened before.”

“What about the blood you saw on Chip’s shirt?” Bitsy asked.

“It was red ink.”

“Tattoo ink?” Joel asked.

“No, from a pen.” The ink splatter made me think of something else. I showed them my leg, where Chip inadvertently had drawn the black line. “What should I do here?” I asked Joel. “I’ve got to cover it up somehow.”

Joel studied the short line, nodding. “How about a quote? Isn’t Macbeth about murder? ‘Out, out damned spot,’ or something like that?”

I shook my head, but couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, by the way, we need to talk about Charlotte Sampson. How she wants to train here. I almost forgot all about her.”

“She’s coming in day after tomorrow for an interview,” Bitsy said.

“Sounds a little formal,” I said, looking at Joel. “What do you think?”

He shrugged. “She’s a nice kid. Can she draw?”

Bitsy was one step ahead of him, pulling some sketches out of a file folder. “She dropped these off.”

They were good. Really good. Bold use of lines and color, geometric shapes, butterflies, flowers, even a portrait. She must have taken some art classes in between all that math. Seemed like a no-brainer to me, and from the way Joel was nodding, it could be unanimous.

I sipped my coffee and heard the front door open. I stepped out into the hall. Jeff Coleman stood awkwardly next to the front desk, staring at Ace’s paintings. He grinned when he saw me.

“So, Kavanaugh, this is your shop.”

He’d never been here before.

“That’s right,” I said.

He walked toward me, sticking his head into a couple of the rooms. “Swanky. Just like I expected. No self-respecting tattooist works like this.”

“Want some ink as a souvenir?” I teased.

He grinned. “I just wanted to thank you for talking to your brother, clearing everything up.”

“Well, it all sort of cleared itself up,” I said. “I’m sorry about Kelly.”

His face softened for a second. “Thanks, Kavanaugh.” He spotted the box of doughnuts and Bitsy and Joel in the staff room. “Doughnuts? Really? I don’t think I can deal with this. It’s way too clean-cut for me.” He started backing up. “Oh, by the way, my mother wants you to come by. Said something about a date with Napoleon.” He frowned. “Sometimes I just can’t figure out what she’s talking about anymore, but she swears you know what it means.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I do. And tell her I’ll call her next week. But she’s going to have to come here.”

“She won’t like that. And you won’t be able to change her mind.”

Maybe not. But maybe if I promised her a ride in a gondola she might.

Jeff gave me a little punch on the arm. “It’s been real. Later, Kavanaugh.”

I watched through the glass doors as he walked along the canal and across the footbridge and out of sight.

Napoleon. Now that would be a nice leg tat.