Karen Olson - The Missing Ink

I considered telling him the truth: that I’d gotten locked in Simon Chase’s office, heard Elise’s message, then hightailed it over here because Bitsy was on the inside when it came to Elvis. But it sounded a little deranged. So I settled for, “Bitsy wanted to come to karaoke night. I saw Elise in the ladies’ room, but she left in a hurry. With Kelly Masters’s brother. Matthew.”

Silence. So long that I thought I might have lost the connection.

“Hello?”

“I’m here, Brett. He’s not bothering you again, is he?”

“No, but he’s got Elise Lyon.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but I wasn’t too successful.

“And they left?”

“I thought about following them.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed? Why would I do that? Because I’d gotten in over my head on this one?

Tim spoke before I could answer. “Don’t play hero, Brett. Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. I think they left on a bike.”

“A bicycle?”

“Motorcycle,” I said sarcastically. “There are almost as many bikes here as there are Elvises.”

“Which direction?”

“I don’t know. Looked like they were heading back downtown, but who knows?”

More silence.

“She looked scared,” I offered.

“Did you talk to her?”

“No.” But something tugged at my brain. Why had she run from me? And what was Simon Chase’s role in this? He was nowhere to be seen. He’d gotten me up onstage, singing, and then took off. Leaving Elise to Matthew.

Maybe he hadn’t seen her.

Or maybe he’d set her up. Maybe he and Matthew were in cahoots together.

Cahoots? What was I, a hundred years old?

My thoughts jumbled around like the letters in Boggle. I’d seen Simon with Matthew, outside Giverny before our lunch date. Maybe I wasn’t so far off in my suspicions.

This time Tim thought he’d lost me .“What’s going on, Brett?”

“Umm, well, you might want to talk to Simon Chase again,” I said, throwing caution to the wind and any possible romance out the window.

“Why?”

“He was here, too. I think he was meeting her here.”

“How do you know that?”

Uh-oh. How to get out of this one? “He might have said something.”

Even more silence. “You know, Brett, I can’t bring someone in and question them just because my sister might have suspicions. I need more than that to go on.”

I knew that. I also knew that if Tim called Simon in now, Simon would know who’d ratted him out.

Simon Chase emerged from around the far corner of the building. Quickly, I ducked behind a pickup truck that was taller than me, and I watched him scan the parking lot.

Was he looking for Elise and Matthew? Or for me?

“Listen, Tim,” I said, “maybe I’m wrong. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.” I started to flip the phone shut but heard him saying, “Brett? Wait.”

Lifting the phone back up to my ear and keeping an eye on Chase, I said, “Yeah?”

“That tat. On Matt Powell. What did you think?”

“Professional. Definitely not a scratcher. It looked remarkably like my drawing.”

“Remarkably?”

“Almost identical, except for the name. Apparently Powell came in looking for a tat like that and Ace showed it to him by accident. We’ve got a file on him. On Powell, not Ace. But Ace didn’t do the ink. I don’t know who did.”

Simon Chase was now weaving through the bikes in the lot, getting closer. I ducked a little lower, but not too low, so I still could see him through the window of the truck.

“Do you think Coleman did it?”

“I don’t know, Tim,” I said, lowering my voice a little so Chase wouldn’t hear me. Voices can travel on that still desert air pretty easily. “I have to get going.”

“Okay, sure, but, Brett?”

“Yeah?” Chase was getting closer.

“Powell’s ink? It was done after he was dead.”

I closed my phone, pondering Tim’s words, but not distracted enough to realize I had to duck down farther so I couldn’t see Chase, because I didn’t want him to see me.

I squatted behind the truck, praying that he’d just go inside and stop trolling the lot.

Sister Mary Eucharista wouldn’t be happy with me for making such a selfish prayer, but it was called for at the moment, and I hoped God wouldn’t mind. I spent most of my school days hoping God wouldn’t mind one thing or another, so it was sort of habit for me.

Footsteps stopped on the other side of the truck. I leaned against the hot metal, holding my breath, realizing that for the second time that day I was hiding from Simon Chase. It pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn’t get another one of those kisses.

And sitting there, not breathing, I knew I wanted another kiss. Only this time it could be longer so I’d have more time to enjoy it.

I mentally slapped myself. One moment I was thinking the guy was a possible murderer, the next I was hoping to get to know him better, even in the biblical sense. Especially in the biblical sense.

I was a sucker for a bad boy.

Especially when he was hot.

Like Simon Chase.

I was a lost cause.

I was also moments from being discovered.

Sweat dripped down between my breasts, but I wasn’t sure whether it was from the heat or anxiety. Probably both. I was also incredibly uncomfortable in this position. These trousers were definitely done for.

Springsteen started blaring. I hadn’t shut off the cell phone. Stupid me. By the time I muted the thing, noting that it was Tim again-he’d just have to wait-Simon Chase was leaning over the hood of the truck, staring down at me with a grin on his face.

“What are you doing down there?” he asked, holding out his hand to help me up.

I took it. What else was I supposed to do?

“Dropped my keys,” I said, cleverly having taken them out of my bag as I shut the phone. I dangled the keys in front of his face. “Silly me.”

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. But to his credit, he didn’t call me on it, just said, “You have a very… well, interesting voice.”

He was referring to my karaoke attempt inside. My speaking voice was just fine, thank you very much.

“I’ll get you back for that someday,” I said.

“I certainly hope so.”

The flirting was back; the darkness from before had vanished like Elise and Matthew. Which reminded me…

“She left.”

“Who?”

“Elise. With Matthew. What’s going on? Why did she want you to meet her here?”

Simon shrugged. “Talk about old times?”

“How old were those times, really? Didn’t seem like they were too old,” I said.

He stepped closer and ran a finger along my jawline, his face close, his eyes smoky. “They’re old enough,” he whispered and leaned in, this time really kissing me, not like that little peck outside the elevator.

His hands slid around my torso, one landing on the dragon’s tail, the other on the lily just under my breast as we each leaned closer, our bodies pressing against each other, neither of us wanting to come up for air. I let my fingers do a little walking under his ever-present suit jacket, outlining the muscles that I’d seen in that picture on my Google search.

Someone shuffled by. “Get a room,” he said loudly as he passed.

Proper Catholic embarrassment caused me to pull away, even though I didn’t want to. The disappointment in Simon’s eyes was obvious.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you,” he said.

I didn’t trust myself to say what I’d wanted to do since I met him, because I might just actually tell him.

“Bet you say that to all your girls,” I tried lamely.