Karen Olson - The Missing Ink

A woman with platinum blond hair styled in a flip like Marilyn Monroe was right behind him, and he stopped to let her catch up. She wore a tight-fitting dress that hugged all her curves. Chip put his arm around her waist.

I blinked a couple of times. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. They were laughing, her face tinged with a blush as he whispered something in her ear.

He hadn’t wasted any time.

They came closer, and I ducked so I was now eye level with the marble table, the orchids hanging over my head. A quick glance in the mirror told me that hiding wasn’t my number one accomplishment, but insanity might be. However, I stayed put. Especially since Bruce Manning had come around the corner.

From the look on Chip’s face, I could tell he wanted to Be the Table, too, but he wasn’t close enough to blend in. As it was, he pushed the poor girl he was with aside, and she stumbled, slipping on the newly waxed floor and landing with a thud on the other side of my table. She frowned at me as Bruce Manning helped her up. I had stopped breathing.

“Are you all right, young lady?” Manning asked.

“I’m fine-”

“Chipper, I need you upstairs now.” Manning didn’t give two hoots about that girl. His feet started walking away. Chip went after him, scurrying to keep up.

I peered up over the edge of the table. The girl looked perplexed at being abandoned, and I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t afford to have Manning turn around and find me here. I didn’t want to risk getting banned from Versailles a second time. What would happen then? Would he hoist me on top of one of those slot machines and lop off my head? Or would he let the Bastille crowd run me down?

I might have been overreacting, but the man had scared the crap out of me. And even though I was here at Simon Chase’s request, I didn’t think it would bode well for Chase, either, if Manning found me here.

I approached the front desk when I was sure Manning was far out of sight. The concierge recognized me from yesterday.

“You-” he started.

I put my finger to my lips and shushed him. “Minnie to see Mickey,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot.

A knowing look crossed his face, and I began to wonder just why that little code had been devised. Perhaps they thought my tattoo story was a cover for a real painted lady. Great. I totally had to think about renaming my shop.

Unlike yesterday, I was put in the elevator alone. I punched the floor for Simon Chase’s office-I hoped it was the right one, if memory served-and the box lurched upward. When the doors opened, I stepped into silence.

The office was at the end of the hall to my left.

I tapped on the outer door. It wasn’t shut all the way. I peered around it, but saw no one. Penny was probably gone for the day, since it was after five. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

The door to Simon’s office was slightly ajar, but I didn’t hear anything inside.

A cold chill crept up my spine.

Maybe I shouldn’t have put my fingerprints on that door. Because I was having some serious déjà vu.

I strained my ears to pick up any sound at all.

Nothing, except my heart pounding in my chest.

I didn’t want any more surprises. If I tiptoed out of here, no one would be the wiser. I went back the way I came. Because the door was shut, I had to put my hand back on the doorknob.

I twisted it.

Twice.

My hand slid off the knob both times.

Throwing caution to the wind, risking the noise, I jiggled it. But nothing happened.

I was locked in.

A phone rang somewhere in the distance, and I realized it was in Chase’s office. I counted four rings before it stopped.

I tiptoed-as well as one can tiptoe in heels-back over to the door to the inner sanctum. I nudged the door with my toe and it moved inward slightly, enough so I could see most of the office, except for the area just behind the couch. I nudged the door a little more, getting a little braver, since it really did seem as though I was alone.

Still, the blood hammering in my ears meant I was expecting the worst.

A few steps and I was in Chase’s office. I tentatively moved around the couch, sighing with relief when I didn’t see anyone behind it. A quick look around the rest of the room didn’t turn up any bodies, either, and even the bathroom was empty.

It wasn’t until I’d completely cased the joint that I began to realize that I shouldn’t be alone here. I should’ve just stayed outside in the hall.

I went over hypotheticals: a) Chase would show up and apologize for locking me in, even inadvertently; b) Manning would find me and have me arrested for breaking and entering, even though I hadn’t actually broken anything; c) Chip would come in for an afternoon cocktail and demand again that I tattoo his chest.

Of course, Door Number One was the best-case scenario, but with my luck, it would be one of the other two.

I went over to Chase’s long mahogany desk and plopped my butt in his leather chair that felt like butter. I spun around a couple of times like a kid, then took my phone out of my bag.

I hit a few buttons and checked the text messages again, to make sure Chase had asked me to be here in fifteen minutes, which was what I remembered.

That was what the message said, but then I had another, paranoid thought. When Simon Chase had called me at the shop for lunch, I’d jotted down his number from the caller ID and stuck it in my cell phone. Just in case something happened and I had to let him know plans had to change. Right.

I scrolled through my contacts list and found it.

But there was a problem. The number those text messages had come from wasn’t Simon Chase’s. Which was why it hadn’t shown up on my caller ID. I hadn’t even questioned it.

I hate it when paranoia is justified. My chest felt like it had three-ton weights on it. Who had sent me those text messages? But more important, from my new vantage point, I was in a man’s office uninvited.

I surveyed Simon Chase’s desk as I thought about how I’d definitely been set up this time. And for what reason? Why did someone want me to come here? There was no dead body.

The message light on Chase’s fancy phone was blinking at me. Right. The call that had come in while I was hovering outside the door.

I had nothing else to do, so I grabbed a Kleenex out of the box on the corner of the desk, wrapped it around my finger-my prints could still be here from yesterday, but I wasn’t going to take any chances-and hit the button that said MESSAGES. Seemed clear-cut.

“Chase, we need to take care of that little problem.” I recognized Manning’s voice. “Meet me in the lobby at six.”

I glanced at my watch. It was almost six now. Too bad Chase wasn’t here to get his message and take care of whatever it was Manning was concerned about. But how did I know he wasn’t on his way back from wherever he was?

I debated whom I should call. Definitely not Tim. He would arrest me, probably, and keep me under house arrest for the next five years. Joel was always the first person I thought of, and so out of habit I tried his number, even though he hadn’t been answering his cell for a while now.

“Hello?”

Hearing his voice startled me so much I almost slid off that slippery chair.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Didn’t get your messages. I left my phone in the car by accident.”

“Where did you go?” I was acutely aware that my voice was bouncing off the walls echo-style in this room, so I lowered my voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Took Sylvia home, and she ended up making an early dinner for me. She told me some crazy stories about the old days.”