Karen Olson - Ink Flamingos

“I guess that’s it, then?” I asked, leaving the question open and hoping he’d disagree.

“I came by because I felt this had to be done in person,” he said, his eyes soft and full of regret. I’d hurt him before, had promised him I wouldn’t again, and here we were.

I hung my head and sighed. “I’m sorry. There were extenuating circumstances, but I understand.”

“Extenuating circumstances? There are always extenuating circumstances with you.” He started toward the door, but then turned back. “The only real surprise was that it wasn’t Jeff Coleman. Just some stranger.”

And he walked out.

Past said stranger, who had, unfortunately, arrived and was leaning against the front desk whispering with Bitsy.

For a second, I thought Harry was safe.

Until Colin realized who he was and slugged him.

Colin had probably been wishing he could hit me, but it was easier to hit Harry. Because Harry really didn’t know what was going on until Colin was gone, outside, walking along the canal and out of sight.

Harry rubbed his jaw. “Who was that?”

“Brett’s boyfriend,” Bitsy said.

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected.

“Can’t blame him,” she said.

I didn’t, either, but I didn’t really need to hear it right now. Harry was looking at me like I should say something to him, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home and lock the door and go to bed. But I had another client coming in, and the best I could do was turn on my heel and go into the staff room. Joel had been leaning against the doorjamb, watching, and he followed me in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing my back as I sat slumped over in the chair.

I nodded. “I know. It’s all my fault.”

“You know, Brett, you and Bixby were on borrowed time.” Joel was referring to how I’d accused him of wanting to kill me several months ago. We’d had a reprieve since then, clearly, but that had always been floating around somewhere in the background. Trust was not one of our strong points.

I remembered something. “He said he was surprised it wasn’t Jeff. You know, in the pictures with me. Ridiculous.” I snorted out a short laugh.

I noticed Joel had not joined in and frowned.

“You know, Brett, I’m a little surprised, too.”

Me and Jeff? “You have got to be kidding me,” I said incredulously. “Jeff Coleman? I mean, the guy is a, well, you know.”

“What? A damn fine tattooist? A guy who took a bullet for you?” Joel’s voice was soft, but his meaning was loud and clear.

Fortunately, my cell phone rang at right that very minute, saving me from saying something I might regret.

“Brett Kavanaugh?” The voice was a woman’s, a little breathy, and for a second, I froze, the image of my impostor in my head.

“Yes?” I managed to squeak out.

“This is Melanie. Melanie Black. Daisy’s friend.”

Relief rushed through me. Melanie. Right.

“Hi, Melanie, thanks so much for calling me back.”

“I don’t have much time. We’ve got a concert tonight.”

“You’re going on?”

Such a slight hesitation, but one nonetheless. “Yeah. Sherman thinks we should do it for Daisy.” I could tell from her tone she knew Sherman wasn’t thinking about Daisy, but probably dollar signs.

“ Quick question, then,” I said. “I met up with Sherman yesterday. He was with someone named Ainsley. Said she’s the new lead singer.”

“That’s right,” Melanie said, and I could hear resentment. “She’s singing with us tonight.” She didn’t want to sing with Ainsley.

“Sherman said Daisy was leaving the band, that this was all lined up before she died.”

“Um, well, yeah, she sort of mentioned something, but we didn’t think she’d really leave. And then suddenly Ainsley showed up out of the blue. That’s why Daisy was in Vegas early. She said she had something to do here, but she didn’t tell me what it was. I think maybe she might have said something to Cara, but Cara closed up tight when we heard about Daisy and hasn’t talked to anyone.” Melanie hadn’t taken a breath the whole time she was talking and when she finished, I could hear her let it out.

“Have you talked to the police?” I asked.

“They were here this morning asking stuff about Daisy, like did she have any enemies, did we know of any problems in her life, that sort of thing.”

“So none of you are suspects or anything, right?” I had to ask.

“Why would we be? We were all in New Jersey when Daisy was killed.” She paused. “What do you know about it?”

Uh-oh. “Nothing. I hadn’t heard from Daisy since October. Hadn’t seen her at all.”

“But they said she had a tattoo.” I could hear the accusation in her tone.

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“I saw that blog.”

Okay, so now everything was on the table.

“I don’t know anything about that, either,” I said. “To be perfectly honest, someone’s impersonating me. The police are trying to find out who.”

“Why would someone impersonate you?” Melanie asked.

I didn’t want to say that I was being framed in Daisy’s death. I didn’t think I had to say it. But I did.

There were a few seconds of silence, then, “Do you want to come tonight?” Melanie asked. “Maybe Cara would talk to you.”

“You believe me that I didn’t have anything to do with Daisy?” So I needed the validation. Sue me.

“Yes. Listen, Brett, I know you were one of the few people Daisy trusted and you wouldn’t hurt her. And if you can find out who’s impersonating you, we’ll find out who killed Daisy. So come tonight, okay?”

I hadn’t seen the Flamingos perform since last spring, when Daisy gave me front row tickets. I took Joel, who has this affinity for girl pop singers: Miley Cyrus, Katy Perry, Taylor Swift. Most men might be embarrassed about that, but not Joel. He liked to put his iPod in the speaker in the staff room and play it loudly while he worked. The Flamingos were a step up from pop, but only a little step, so it was good enough for him.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“When you get to the MGM, give them your name and they’ll bring you backstage, okay?”

Backstage? I could live with that.

“And you can bring a friend if you want.”

I hadn’t wanted to ask.

“Thanks, Melanie. I’ll see you tonight.” As I hung up, I realized I wouldn’t see only Melanie. I’d also come face to face with Ainsley Wainwright again. While Joel would kill me, I should tell Tim about the invitation and he should come with me.

I quickly punched his number into my cell.

“I was just going to call you, Brett.”

“Why?”

“We found that blogger. Ainsley Wainwright.”

I caught my breath. “How?”

“Some computer mumbo jumbo. I don’t understand it. All I know is, we traced the IP address-that’s computer talk.” He paused. “It’s not an exact science, and if we hadn’t had a break, we would’ve needed a court order to track it to a specific address.”

This was getting way too technical for me.

“So?” I prodded. “What was the break?”

“We knocked on doors.”

“Seems like pretty basic police work.”

“Yeah.”

I was about jumping out of my skin. “When you finally found her, what did she have to say for herself?”

“We didn’t talk to her.”

“She wasn’t there?”

“Yeah. She was.”

I started having a bad feeling about this.

“Brett, she was dead. Had been dead for at least a couple days.”

If Ainsley Wainwright had been dead for two days, it meant she could’ve died the same day as Daisy. But then who had posted those pictures of me and Harry? I wasn’t the only one being impersonated, it seemed. Tim agreed with me.