Karen Olson - Driven to Ink

“Not my place. Are you okay?”

“It’s not the kind of news I was expecting.”

I wanted to talk to him more about it, how he was handling knowing he had a half brother whom he’d never get to know, but sitting here on the Monorail with Tim watching me didn’t seem like the right time. Jeff was the first to change the subject, though.

“So why are you heading to the wedding chapel?”

“I think you were right when you said you thought Dan Franklin was the killer. I ran into him a little while ago, and he ended up taking off. We’re following him. We think he’s heading to the chapel.”

“You think?”

While the Monorail glided along its track, I managed to put the story in a nutshell by the time we reached the Convention Center station.

I was so immersed in my conversation that when Tim yanked me by the arm and pulled me up, I shrugged him off at first. But then I saw the look on his face and where he was looking. Outside the Monorail window.

Dan Franklin was striding across the parking lot at the Convention Center.

“Change of plans,” I said quickly to Jeff as Tim and I got off the Monorail. “He got off at the Convention Center. We’re following him now.”

We went through the automatic glass doors and spotted the escalators that would take us down to the first level and the parking lot.

“I’m just about there,” Jeff said.

“What?”

“While we’ve been talking, I’ve been driving. I wasn’t too far away. I was heading to my mother’s; she’s staying over at Rosalie’s, and she needs a change of clothes.”

I didn’t much care about Sylvia’s wardrobe at the moment.

“I’ll see you in a minute.” And Jeff ended the call.

Tim and I were running now. Dan Franklin was over near the Courtyard by Marriott, on East Desert Inn Road. So far I didn’t think he’d seen us. I shoved my phone in my bag, which was slapping against my hip as I ran.

A blue car swung around into the Marriott lot near Franklin, parking sideways. Something was wrong with the car on the side facing away from us, but I saw it only a split second, and it hadn’t totally registered.

Franklin waved at the driver, who climbed out.

As Tim and I drew closer, I could see who it was.

Will Parker.

And I remembered that Joel said Will Parker had been in the shop with Ray or Dan that day. So that song and dance Will told me about him and Dan having a tiff over Snowball the Rat might have been fabricated. Otherwise, why would Parker be here now?

Will Parker spotted us, and he must have said something because Dan Franklin turned around. We were gaining on them. But then Parker got back in the car, and it shot off, leaving Franklin in the wake of its exhaust. So maybe they weren’t best friends after all.

Franklin didn’t even try to run this time. In seconds, Tim had Franklin’s arms pinned behind him.

“Call Flanigan,” Tim said to me in his best cop voice, reciting the number so I could punch it in my cell. He held his free hand out and took the phone. “Kevin? I’ve got Dan Franklin.” Silence, then, “We’re at the entrance to the Courtyard by Marriott parking lot.” He handed me back the phone.

“You can’t hold me,” Franklin said. “Who do you think you are?”

“You’re wanted for questioning in Ray Lucci’s murder,” Tim said.

“What are you charging me with? I want to call my lawyer.”

“We’re not charging you,” Tim said calmly. “We want to find out what you know about Ray Lucci. Ask you some questions.”

Franklin sighed and hung his head. “I should’ve known he’d get at me, even after he was dead.”

“Get at you how?” I asked.

Franklin’s head snapped up. “You have no authority to ask me anything.”

Ouch.

“Where did Parker go?” Tim asked, taking over.

“Parker?”

“Don’t play stupid. That won’t help you.”

“He was here to take me to work.”

“To the chapel?” I asked.

Franklin nodded. “I’ve got a shift in about half an hour. I called Will, and he said he could pick me up here and take me over.”

“Where’s your car?” I asked.

“It’s in the shop.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why ?”

“Just answer,” Tim ordered.

“Timing belt,” he said. “Supposed to pick it up tomorrow.”

“We’ll need to know which garage,” Tim said.

As he spoke, Jeff’s familiar gold Pontiac swung in next to us and he climbed out. He assessed the situation and asked Tim, “Need any help?”

As if on cue, a police cruiser turned in. And just my luck, Willis was the cop on call. He glared at me, as if he was expecting to find another big gun on my person.

“Take Brett back to her shop,” Tim instructed Jeff. “And I’ll need to talk to you later.”

Jeff’s expression didn’t change, but his eyelids flickered slightly.

I jumped in. “Won’t Flanigan need to talk to me about my conversation with Dan?”

Tim nodded. “Later. But for now, he’ll have other questions for him. And if you’re right about that one issue”-I knew he meant the money-“we can verify that pretty quickly.”

Sure they could. They were the cops.

“But aren’t you supposed to keep watch over me?” I asked, unwilling to leave because I didn’t want to miss anything.

“Take her,” Tim told Jeff, “back to her shop.”

“Come on, Brett,” Jeff said, taking my elbow and indicating I should follow him.

“Tell Rosalie I’m sorry,” Franklin said then.

We all stared at him.

“About Lou,” he added quickly. “Tell her I’m sorry about Lou.”

He certainly wasn’t doing himself any favors saying anything like that.

Jeff held the door to the Pontiac open for me, and I settled into the seat, watching Tim and Willis and Franklin. As Jeff got into the car and started the engine, I asked, “Do you really think he did it?”

He didn’t answer as the car moved out of the lot, passing a Chevy Impala that looked remarkably like Tim’s, Detective Kevin Flanigan at the wheel. Flanigan caught my eye, and I could see that he might not have been too happy about Tim taking over this whole Dan Franklin thing. Maybe we should’ve called Flanigan from the get-go, when we were following Franklin on the Monorail.

“You’re really under lock and key, aren’t you?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, looking out the window. We were across the street from the Stardust, and I could see the Circus Circus big top a block or so up to the right.

Jeff was about to turn left onto the Strip, but I put my hand on the steering wheel.

“What?” he asked.

“Let’s make a stop,” I said.

His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. “I told your brother I’d take you to your shop. He won’t trust me ever again if I don’t do that. And what is it he wants to talk to me about?”

I sighed. “I had to tell him about the ten-thousand-dollar withdrawal.”

“You told him we stole his mail?”

I shook my head. “No, no, I sort of glossed over the details.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “Glossed over them how?”

“He knows you were involved.”

He chewed on his lip for a second, then said, “But you left out most of the details, didn’t you?”

“Does it matter? They’ll check his account, and then they won’t need us,” I said, trying to convince myself. “But for now, I think we should go to the wedding chapel.”

He grinned.

“Kavanaugh, I didn’t think you cared.”

I slugged him on the shoulder. “I don’t mean we should get married or anything.”