Karen Olson - Driven to Ink

I was too tired to lie. “A friend of the family. I really want to say hello to them. See how they’re doing. See if they need anything.”

“I can’t let anyone up who’s not family,” she said curtly, turning back to her computer.

I stood there, shifting from one foot to the next. I didn’t want to leave yet, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I would still have to pay five dollars for an hour of parking even if I was here only ten minutes.

Well, maybe that did have something to do with it.

“Is there any way I can get word to them?” I persisted.

The woman rolled her eyes at me. She didn’t even pretend to hide it.

“You’re not family,” she said flatly.

I tried the only other thing I could think of. “Dr. Colin Bixby, is he on shift tonight?” I kicked myself for even asking, but he might be able to actually tell me something if he was here.

She rolled her eyes again. I pretended not to notice.

After a minute, she picked up the phone and spoke so softly I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I didn’t want to know what she was saying. Finally, she put her hand over the receiver and asked brusquely, “Name?”

“Brett Kavanaugh.”

She went back to her phone, then hung it up and pointed behind me. “He’ll meet you outside the emergency room.”

Which was all the way around the building. I trudged along the sidewalk and finally saw the bright lights streaming out onto the pavement. Colin Bixby stepped out from behind a shadow.

“Twice in one day? And you’re now harassing the staff?”

I couldn’t tell whether he was teasing me.

“I could file a restraining order against you, you know.” I saw the smile then, the one he tried not to show.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I said. “I didn’t know what else to do.” I told him about trying to see how Lou Marino was doing and wanting to see Rosalie.

“They told me you were asking about a patient,” he said. “But I don’t know why you asked to see me.”

“You’re the only doctor I know over here. I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

“So you figured dropping my name would get you in?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

He ran a hand through his dark, spiky hair. Even in the shadows he was hot. I felt I needed to say something.

“I’m sorry, you know, about before.”

He gave a short laugh. “You mean when you thought I was going to kill you?”

“I was sort of a mess then,” I said.

“No kidding.” From his tone, I could tell he thought I was still a mess.

“A lot had gone on.”

He nodded, his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat now. “So tell me what you were doing over there at the lab this afternoon. Really.”

“It’s like I said. A guy’s body was found in my car along with a dead rat. I thought maybe it could be traced to Dan Franklin. I wanted to talk to the guy. But now he’s missing, and someone tried to run me and Bitsy over when we were out in the parking lot, so maybe someone doesn’t want me asking questions.”

“What? Someone tried to run you over?” Concern laced his voice.

“It was a blue car; that’s all I know.”

“Maybe you should stop asking questions,” he suggested.

No kidding.

Before I could stop it, I yawned.

“And maybe you need to go home,” he added.

“I want to find out about Lou Marino,” I said. “And see Rosalie. Then I’ll go.”

“Promise?”

I couldn’t see through the shadows whether he was kidding me or really did want me to leave. Bitsy was right. I did screw it up with him. And I had no idea how to put it right.

“Scout’s promise,” I said, holding up my hand and forming a “V” with my fingers.

“That’s the Vulcan sign,” he chided.

“So sue me,” I said.

He laughed. Really laughed. “Why is it I like you?”

He liked me? Could’ve fooled me.

But then he stopped laughing.

“I can’t let you in to see Lou Marino’s family,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Because Lou Marino died half an hour ago.”

Iwrote a note to Rosalie saying I was sorry and to please tell Jeff I’d call him in the morning. I gave it to Bixby, and he said he’d deliver it.

And then he kissed me good-bye.

Not like the fireworks kiss we’d shared a few months back, but his lips lingered on the corner of mine a tad longer than I thought they would. I felt a spark. It was small, but it was there. I swear.

He didn’t say he’d call me.

Baby steps.

I pulled into my driveway at the same time Tim did.

We met in the kitchen, where I slung my messenger bag over a chair and shrugged off my jean jacket. He slipped off his sport jacket and tossed it on another chair.

“How was your day?” he asked.

I thought about the question and how I’d answer it. I finally said, “Well, interesting.”

“Interesting how?” He took two beers out of the fridge, took the caps off them, and handed me one. I don’t normally drink beer-I prefer wine-but it seemed like the thing to do right now.

“I’m not sure where to start.”

He took a slug of his beer and set it down. “So start at the beginning.”

With all that had happened, I’d lost track of the time line. When I rewound my memory, it landed at the wedding chapel with Jeff Coleman. I didn’t want to tell Tim about that little adventure. And then there was the visit to the university lab. Another thing Tim didn’t need to know about.

Although, leaving those two things out meant that a lot of other things had to be omitted, and suddenly there wasn’t much to tell at all.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again.” Tim’s voice shook me out of my thoughts.

“Doing what again?” I asked as innocently as I could.

“Sticking your nose into police business.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“But I can tell. What have you been up to?”

“I don’t know why you think I’m doing anything.”

Tim snorted. “It’s not all about you, Brett.”

I knew that, but why did it feel like it sometimes?

“I think something might have happened to this guy Dan Franklin. Ray Lucci used his name when he came into my shop for a tattoo. He’s another Dean Martin impersonator. He also works at the university. He’s an animal-lab technician. He works with rats.”

Tim sighed. “How did you find out he worked at the lab?”

I couldn’t very well tell him I’d seen Dan Franklin’s wallet and his university ID, so even though I’d dismissed trying to pull a fast one and telling Tim that I’d forgotten Franklin told me on the phone yesterday, I reconsidered and said, “He told me. When he called me back after we left a message because we didn’t know Ray Lucci had used his name.”

“Why have you made Franklin your own personal crusade?”

I shrugged. “Considering what’s going on with all those Dean Martin impersonators, it seems like we need to find him soon. Someone might be gunning for him, too.”

Tim closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. “We? We need to find him?”

So I felt as if I had a personal stake in this. But I didn’t say anything because Tim was looking pretty angry at the moment, and the last time I’d seen him like that was the time I told his girlfriend that he was out with another girl. It wasn’t malicious. I was just a kid and didn’t realize it was a no-no. But it hadn’t mattered to him. I’d screwed up.

And it looked as though I did again.

But I couldn’t let it go.

“You know Lou Marino died after getting hit by a car tonight, right?” I asked.