Karen Olson - Pretty In Ink

“I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“Does she?” I asked. “Do you? You could be charged with obstruction for hiding her.” I was repeating what DeBurra had said to me, and I didn’t catch myself in time to stop.

“Don’t pull that cop talk on me, Brett. I know what I’m doing, too. And not for nothing, but when she’s ready to tell me what’s going on, she’ll tell me. I’m being patient with her. I’m not going to bug her about it.” He really turned his back on me now, dismissing me.

It felt like I had a hundred-pound weight on my chest. I was just trying to do the right thing and help the girl. Sister Mary Eucharista had taught me well. But she didn’t tell me how to do the right thing when no one else was cooperating.

Joel agreed to follow me home to make sure I got there okay. Ace and I didn’t talk for the rest of the night, and I let Bitsy go early because she had a date.

I had a million things swirling around in my head: Rusty Abbott warning me about accidents, the toothless guy at Pawned, Charlotte and Ace and their discreet romance, Trevor’s untimely demise, Dr. Colin Bixby. The latter was the most pleasant place for my thoughts to hang their hat, but even he got pushed aside when I flashed back on that sketch of Wesley Lambert. What role did he have?

My cell phone rang. I had it hooked up to my hands-free device.

“Want to stop for a bite?” Joel’s voice came through loudly.

“I just want to get home.”

“You wouldn’t know that by the way you’re driving.”

So I went the speed limit. Sue me.

“You know, if anyone wanted to follow you, it would be so easy,” Joel continued.

“You must be hungry. You’re grumpy.”

“Come on, stop for something. There’s a little Mexican place not far off the exit.”

I knew it. And the power of suggestion had my stomach growling. The noodles were a few hours ago. “Sure, fine.”

“Nachos,” he said, drawing the word out.

I was also thinking margaritas. That would be a nice way to top off the day. So I mentioned it.

“Way too many calories,” Joel said. “I’ll go through a week’s worth of points.”

“And nachos are fat free? Give me a break.”

I pulled off the highway and turned off the exit.

“It’s just up there,” Joel said when the strip mall came into view.

“I see it.”

I ended the call and threw the hands-free unit on the passenger seat as I pulled into the parking lot. The lights were still on, the neon advertising Corona beer.

But as I was about to get out, a glance in the sideview mirror made me freeze.

Detective Frank DeBurra was walking up to my door.

I lowered the window, waiting for DeBurra like he was going to ask for my license and registration. Joel had already gone inside, not noticing I wasn’t behind him.

Some bodyguard he turned out to be.

“Miss Kavanaugh, can you get out of the car?” DeBurra’s voice was low, measured.

“What, was I speeding or something? Am I under arrest?” I should know better than to question a cop. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to behave with one. But DeBurra got my hackles up.

“Just get out of the car, please.” His tone was laced with exasperation.

I had that effect on some people.

I opened the door and climbed out, smoothing my skirt, pulling down on my tank top, which had started to ride up over my abdomen.

“Are you following me?” I asked. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have asked Joel to come along. DeBurra would’ve been my shield against Rusty Abbott.

“Have you heard from Miss Sampson?”

That old song and dance. Should’ve known.

“I’m going in for some nachos now. I haven’t seen Charlotte all day. I have no idea where she is.” None of what I said was a lie.

“Her friend Trevor McKay is dead.” It sounded even more final the way he said it.

“I know,” I said.

“I know you know. You were at the hospital. You spoke to Dr. Bixby.”

I shifted a little. “Yeah. I wanted to see how Trevor was. But he was dead before I got there.” I added that last part in case he thought I had something to do with Trevor’s demise.

“And you went to two pawnshops.”

I tried to keep my anger out of my voice. “Have you been following me all day?”

“What’s your relationship with Jeff Coleman?”

This had gone on far enough.

“I’d love to stand here and play This Is Your Life , Detective, but my friend is in the restaurant and I really want a margarita right now. Unless you’re going to charge me with something, then I’m going inside.” I started walking even as I spoke.

DeBurra fell into step beside me. “I can arrest you-for obstruction. But I won’t.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” I said, the attitude slipping out because I was unable to stop it.

“I think you’ve had contact with Charlotte Sampson today. And I think you’re keeping it from me.”

I stopped short and whirled around to face him. “You know, Charlotte’s the one who was threatened. It’s not as if she committed a crime or anything. You should be trying to find the guy who threatened her, not acting as if an innocent girl was guilty of something.”

As I spoke, an expression crossed his face that I couldn’t read. I began to wonder whether she was guilty of something, regardless of what that pawnshop guy said. That would explain why she was hiding, why DeBurra was going after her like a dog after a bone.

DeBurra gave a short snort. “So you don’t know where she is, do you?”

I sighed. “No, I really don’t. I’m telling the truth. I did talk to her, but she won’t say where she is. I’m doing my best.”

“Miss Kavanaugh, if you were doing your best, Charlotte Sampson would be turning herself in.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. But there’s just so much I can do.”

“It’s for her own good,” DeBurra said.

“Like I don’t know that.”

“No, really,” he said, his voice lower now, like he was going to tell me a secret.

I leaned forward slightly to hear him better.

“Charlotte Sampson got mixed up with the wrong people. Wesley Lambert, for one. And her life may be in danger.”

First Wesley Lambert gets involved with the wrong people, and now Charlotte. What was Lambert involved in? If it was drugs, like Kyle suggested, how did Trevor’s brooch come into play? And then warning Eduardo that he’d send a message to Trevor. Sort of like how Rusty Abbott was warning me through Jeff.

“I haven’t seen her,” I said again and pushed my way past DeBurra.

I’d taken about three steps when I heard his voice behind me.

“I’m going to be your shadow. She has to show up eventually.”

That was going to be a royal pain. But I didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge that I’d even heard him. Instead I went inside and found Joel already chewing on chips and salsa at a table near the back. A margarita sat on the table.

I slid into the chair across from Joel and took a sip. Smooth, tart, perfect. I smiled. “Thanks.”

“Where’d you go?”

I told him about my close encounter of the irritating kind with Frank DeBurra. He murmured appropriately throughout.

“What’s up with this guy Lambert? Is he a drug dealer or does he just deal in gaudy jewelry?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I think he’s the guy in the pawnshop who threatened Charlotte.”

“What does he want?”

I had no idea.

A waitress came over and set down a gigantic plate of nachos slathered in cheese and chili. Joel thanked her politely before taking a handful onto his plate. I suddenly wasn’t very hungry anymore, but I needed something in my stomach to soak up all that tequila; otherwise, the good detective who’d vowed to keep following me would have a legitimate excuse to pull me over on my way home.