Karen Olson - The Missing Ink

“Kelly and I were over a long time ago,” he said. “As were Elise and I.”

“Did you see Elise when she came to town?” I asked as the waiter took our salad plates away.

Chase poured more wine for each of us-had I really finished the glass?

“I haven’t seen Elise in over a year,” he said. “She wouldn’t exactly seek me out.”

“What happened between you?” I wanted to see if he’d corroborate Chip’s story.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me for a few seconds, then, “What happens to any relationship when two people have nothing in common except great sex?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and he asked another question before I could.

“Is that what happened with you and Paul Fogarty?”

I caught my breath. How had he known about Paul?

He was smiling, his eyes flashing. “You’re not the only one with a computer and resources, you know, Miss Kavanaugh.”

The filet arrived then, medium-rare, bursting with juices, on a bed of mashed garlic potatoes, the horseradish sauce not overpowering but complementing the meat. I didn’t want to tell him anything about Paul-or our sex life, which was none of his business, thank you very much-but that sabotaged my own questioning. We ate in silence, each sneaking little peeks at each other over our forks.

We were at an impasse.

He knew it, too.

“Dessert?” he asked, pouring more wine.

“I’m stuffed,” I said. “I need to get back to the shop.” As I said it, I looked at my watch. Two thirty. I was supposed to meet Joel out in the lobby at two. My face gave me away.

“Do you have a train to catch?”

I put my napkin on the table next to my plate. “Actually, I really do need to get back. I’m late as it is.” I tried a smile on for size. “I’m the boss. I can’t have my staff doing all the work while I’m out playing.”

I stood up, and Chase stood up, too, walking around the table and taking my arm, again sending a spark through my skin. His lips brushed my cheek, and I could feel desire rush through my body.

“I hope we can do this again,” he whispered.

“I don’t see why not,” I said, my voice tinged with that faux accent. “Thank you for everything.” I didn’t trust myself to look at him before I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair and stumbled on those high heels out of the restaurant. I could feel his eyes on my back the whole time.

I hadn’t learned much. And I’d forgotten to ask about Matthew.

I had just reached the lobby when a hand clamped itself hard around my shoulder.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Bruce Manning didn’t bother to disguise his irritation.

“I was just having lunch,” I said. “Can you take your hand off me?”

He didn’t move it. “The last time you were here, someone turned up dead. You spoke to my daughter-in-law and she disappeared. I see a pattern.”

I wasn’t so sure. It was tenuous at best. But his grip was strong, and I was trying not to flinch.

“Future,” I said.

“Future what?”

“She is your future daughter-in-law. She hasn’t married Chip yet.”

The semantics escaped him as he scowled. “I see you’ve bewitched my manager.”

Bewitched? What century did he live in?

“I’m no witch,” I said, twisting my shoulder to try to release his grip.

“You’re as bad as she was,” he muttered, the pressure tightening and pain shooting through my arm.

“Who?” I asked when I caught my breath. “Did you hurt Elise, too?”

“I don’t like your insinuation. I’d like you to stay out of my hotel and casino. I’d like you to tell my manager that you can’t see him anymore. If I see you, I’m going to call the police.” His voice was low, but he kept his face neutral. Anyone watching us probably wouldn’t suspect he was threatening me.

“You don’t scare me,” I whispered.

“I should. Now get out.” And as quickly as he’d grabbed me, he released me, my arm dangling by my side.

I reached up and rubbed my shoulder. It had gone slightly numb. “I’m waiting for someone to pick me up.”

But Bruce Manning had already dismissed me and walked away-toward Simon Chase, who was watching the whole thing. Manning flicked his hand at Chase, who turned to follow him, but not before I saw his raised eyebrows, a question as to whether I was all right. I nodded.

I didn’t care that Bruce Manning was one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. All I cared about was that he’d hurt me, in public. I could try to press charges, but I’d be laughed out of court. I’d be a fool to go up against him; it would be his word against mine.

Still, I could tell Tim and maybe he’d be able to give me some advice.

I moved farther into the lobby, glancing around for Joel. I didn’t see him. But I did recognize the woman hovering behind the gigantic spray of flowers.

Sylvia Coleman.

“Your young man came to the shop,” Sylvia said when I approached her. “Dear, do you know he’s gay?”

It took me a second to realize she was talking about Joel. “He’s not my young man.”

She grinned. “That’s a relief.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

I wondered again about dementia. “Joel. My young man. He was supposed to meet me here.”

“Oh, yes, dear, I know. He’s in the men’s room.”

Why was she here? Did Joel bring her? Why had he gone to Murder Ink? We were supposed to go to that Super 8.

As I was asking myself those questions, he somehow managed to appear without my noticing his approach. “How was lunch? Did you have the filet?”

I tugged on his arm, asked Sylvia to excuse us a moment, and led him a few feet away. Keeping my voice low, I asked, “What’s going on? Why are you here with Sylvia?”

“I just thought I’d run past there before I picked you up to see if I could get any more information. She was hanging around, bugging everyone.”

“So you decided to do them a favor and have her tag along with you so she could bug us?”

“She said she’d bring us to Jeff.”

That stopped me. Okay, I could live with this. “He’s not at the Super 8?”

“No. Why would he be there?” Sylvia’s voice startled me. She’d sneaked up behind us. “It’s not nice to keep secrets,” she admonished me.

No kidding. But there were a lot of them floating around these days; what was another one?

“You can take us to him? I really need to talk to him,” I said.

Sylvia grinned. “He wants to talk to you, too.” She looked up at Joel. “Him, well, not so much.”

“She’s not going without me,” Joel piped up.

Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, then maybe no one will go.”

At that moment, I saw Bruce Manning out of the corner of my eye. He was heading back our way with Simon Chase. I grabbed elbows and steered Joel and Sylvia through the lobby and out the front revolving door.

“What’s going on?” Joel asked.

“Let go of me,” Sylvia demanded, trying to wrench her arm free.

Who was bullying whom now? I dropped their elbows and apologized. “It seems I’ve been banned from Versailles,” I said with a slight twitter. “Bruce Manning has made me an enemy for life.”

“Oh, dear, he’s full of hot air,” Sylvia said, pooh-poohing me. “He’s a nice man, just a little too full of himself sometimes.”

“And how do you know Bruce Manning?” I asked sarcastically.

“I happen to know him at least as well as you probably do,” Sylvia said, puffing up her chest. “He was just in the shop this morning. He wanted to know where Jeff was, too.”