Karen Olson - Ink Flamingos

“I think I have a right to know what’s going on,” I said loudly, with much more bravado than I felt.

At that moment, a familiar Toyota Prius was turning the corner to exit. Joel spotted me, his face lit up, and he pulled into a handicap spot near the guardhouse. As he emerged from the tiny car, the guard who’d approached him seemed a little taken aback by his size and gave him a wide berth.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t park there,” the guard admonished.

Joel shrugged. “What’s going on, Brett?”

I sighed. “They’re ‘detaining’ me,” I said, making little quote marks with my fingers. “I have no idea why.”

I noticed now that a third guard had joined us and opened the driver’s side door. The motor was still running, since I hadn’t shut it off. I had a crazy thought that it was a good thing Sherman Potter’s body wasn’t inside the trunk.

Joel came closer, a frown on his face. He was considerably bigger than the first guard, who seemed very intimidated.

“I think you need to tell the lady what’s going on,” Joel said sternly.

“We need to search the car,” the guard said, as the other two guards were now doing just that.

“What do you think you’ll find?” I asked, hearing a familiar siren in the distance. “Did you call the police?” This was too much.

Joel gave a quick nod at me, indicating I should sidle over toward him. I did. As all three guards were now hunkered down in my car with flashlights, Joel took my hand and we began to slowly back up toward his car.

“I’m breaking you out of here,” Joel whispered.

Sounded like a plan.

The guards were clearly not very good at their job, because they barely noticed what we were up to until we were already in the car and Joel was backing out and then pulling toward the exit. The little Prius didn’t have a lot of oomph, but it had enough, and the guards were too startled to move quickly. They weren’t exactly high-end rent-a-cops.

We passed a police car with its lights flashing as we turned out onto Koval.

“We’d better get lost and quick,” I said, indicating them.

Joel knew his way around the back roads, and soon we were a couple miles away, no sirens anywhere. The guards had not taken his license plate down, hadn’t really paid much attention to his car, because they’d concentrated on him. I had told them, though, where I worked, and I said as much to Joel.

“They probably already knew that. You might want to call Tim,” he suggested.

I’d left my bag in my car, not even thinking. Could this day get much worse?

Joel handed me his phone, and I punched in Tim’s number, knowing I’d be interrupting the interrogation over at the Golden Palace but not caring at this point. The good news was, Tim answered right away because he didn’t recognize the number.

“Kavanaugh,” he said.

“Tim, it’s Brett.”

“Brett?”

“I’m going to tell you what happened, but you can’t interrupt me and you can’t yell at me,” I said, then quickly added, “The security guards at the Venetian stopped me, said they had to detain me, started searching my car, and Joel came, we took off, and now I think the cops are after us.”

He was quiet for a couple of seconds, most likely digesting this new bit of information.

“Did they say why they had to conduct a search?” he finally asked, the restraint remarkable.

“No.”

“Let me see what I can find out. Where are you?”

I glanced around at the street outside and didn’t recognize it. “We’re just driving around,” I said. “I don’t want to go back.”

He must have heard the desperation in my voice, because he said, “Have Joel take you to Murder Ink. But stay put there, okay? I’m worried about all this, that someone’s targeted you for some reason, and until we find out who and catch her, you could be in danger.”

I gave a deep sigh of relief, tears springing to my eyes because he believed me. And then I pounced on the one word that came through loud and clear. “Her. You said her. You think this is Ann Wainwright, don’t you?”

He didn’t confirm anything, just said, “I’ll call you later when I know something,” and then he hung up.

I turned to Joel. “Tim says you should take me to Murder Ink.” Jeff would be surprised to see me, but considering his criminal tendencies, he would be perfectly willing to harbor a fugitive.

Joel gave me a sly smile and pointed the Prius in that direction.

“What?” I asked, when the smile wouldn’t go away.

“You and Jeff. It’s cute.”

Cute? What was cute? Oh, right, that thing . “There’s nothing going on,” I insisted.

Joel’s smile grew into a full-fledged grin. “There’s always been something going on with you two.”

That was for sure, but not the way he thought.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

“Ace is gone,” Joel said, completely switching gears.

I sat up straighter in my seat, the belt pulling against my chest. I stuck my thumb underneath it and loosened it slightly. “Gone for good?” I remembered how he hadn’t been in his room when I left, but it was as if he’d just gone down the walkway to the oxygen bar. It seemed as though he really meant it when he said he quit.

He hadn’t even said good-bye.

“He’ll be back,” Joel said confidently.

“How do you know?”

“He did this once before.”

This was the first I’d heard about that. “When?”

“Right before you took over. Flip told us about how he was selling the business to you, and Ace wasn’t thrilled with the idea of working for a woman.” Joel shot me a look. “I had no problems with it.”

I touched his arm. “Thanks. But what happened with Ace?”

“He left. Said he was never coming back. But he left his paintings. The day before you started, he was there again, never said a word, acted as though he’d never left.”

I mulled that a few seconds. “But this is different.”

“No. It’s not. He didn’t take his paintings.”

I didn’t see the significance of that, but Joel was satisfied, and he knew Ace better than I did. Maybe Ace would be back, after all.

We’d been closer to Murder Ink than I’d thought. Joel pulled into the alley behind the shop, the scent of the Chinese food from the take-out joint next door hanging in the air. He gave me a smile. “You’ll be okay here.”

“I have a client later.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I’ll tell Bitsy everything.” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Everything’s going to be fine. Your brother’s going to catch the bad guy; you can get back to normal. You always do.”

He was right. I smiled back. “Thanks for everything,” I said, climbing out of the car. It felt good to stretch my legs. I was too tall for that car, and I couldn’t imagine how Joel felt, all three hundred pounds of him squished into that little Prius.

I didn’t see Jeff’s Pontiac, but the back door was slightly ajar, so maybe he parked in front today.

I waved at Joel and started to push the door open, but something was jamming it from the inside. I peered around the door and saw what was obstructing it.

Another pink flamingo.

They were breeding like rabbits.

Plastic rabbits.

This one wasn’t wearing a tiara, though, and I couldn’t see any red paint, so obviously whoever had left it did not feel as much animosity toward Jeff as she did toward me. Maybe she’d seen us together at the Golden Palace, before or after she disposed of Sherman Potter. Maybe she knew about our thing .

Joel hadn’t pulled away yet, and I heard his door open.