“You know, Kavanaugh, you need to get over yourself.”
A bell jingled from somewhere in the distance.
Jeff pushed away from the desk and stood up. I followed him out into the front of his shop.
A young man with a big grin and a mop of dark curls held out his hand. “Bobby Douglas. Am I on time?”
From the look on Jeff’s face, I knew he’d forgotten about his client. As he pointed Bobby to a workstation, he turned to me.
“You have to go on your own. Take the box. No one will stop you.”
He saw me hesitate and chuckled. “It’s not loaded,” he said, reading my mind. “You’ll be fine.”
That’s what he thought.
“I still want to stop at Rosalie’s. Where does she live?” I asked.
Jeff took a deep breath, told Bobby to hang tight, and grabbed a piece of tracing paper and a pencil. He scribbled directions and handed them to me. “She’s out in Summerlin. On the way to Red Rock.”
I put the paper with the directions on top of the box. Granted, Rosalie’s was in the total opposite direction than the police station, but I wasn’t exactly relishing the idea of turning over this gun and explaining everything to Tim right away. The box would be safe in the Jeep. After all, if you looked at it, you’d think it had something to do with tattoos.
As I balanced the box in my arms, Jeff opened the door for me.
“You’ll be fine, Kavanaugh,” were the last words I heard before the door shut behind me.
I put the box on the floor under the passenger seat and found myself looking at it every few seconds. As if it were going to do magic tricks or something and I didn’t want to miss it.
I drove up Charleston, the mountains coming closer and closer as I drove. Despite my trepidation about the parcel I was traveling with, I could feel the muscles in my shoulders and back relaxing instinctively as I gazed at the red-and-brown rocks that pierced the deep blue sky. I wanted to chuck it all-forget about Sylvia and Jeff and Ray Lucci and the other Dinos and that gun-and put my boots on and feel the hard desert under my feet.
The longer I thought about it, the more I wanted to play hooky.
The Red Rock Casino Resort Spa came up on my left. It was out here off the beaten path, away from the Strip and its craziness, almost at the foot of its namesake.
The light was red, and it was a long one. I tapped the steering wheel impatiently. No one was behind or in front of me. On the other side of the four-lane road, a lone blue car sat like I did, just waiting.
That other blue car, the one that came too close for comfort at the university, flashed in my brain. The cars were similar, but I couldn’t say for sure what model the sinister one was. It had gone past so quickly, and I was too busy trying to get out of the way to take notice. This one was a Ford Taurus. Fords and Chevies sometimes have the same sort of body. They’re probably all made on the same chassis.
And then I remembered. Dan Franklin’s blue Taurus. In his driveway.
I leaned forward a little, squinting to see the driver. A shadow was cast across the windshield, obscuring my view.
I knew I was being paranoid, but almost getting run down gave me a pass on that. I might always have a problem with blue cars now. Good thing my car was red. If I ever got it back. If I ever wanted to drive it again after it had been used as a coffin.
My phone rang in my bag, and I leaned over and pulled it out.
“You’ve got a client in an hour,” Bitsy reminded me before I could even say hello.
“I know. I’m on my way,” I lied, my eye on the blue car as my thoughts swirled around in a stream of consciousness.
“Why is Colin Bixby coming in later?”
I stopped paying attention to the blue car.
“Bixby?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“He called and made an appointment for later. I made sure he and that Dean Martin guy weren’t coming in at the same time.”
I was barely comprehending. “Does he want another tattoo?” I asked. “And what’s this about a Dean Martin guy?”
“Who? Oh, the doctor. I don’t know. The Dean Martin guy’s getting a touch-up.”
“Which Dean Martin?” I asked, but then I remembered I’d offered to touch up Will Parker’s tattoo. Bitsy confirmed that it was him.
The light turned green. As I put my foot to the accelerator, the blue car sped through the intersection.
And a police cruiser with its lights flashing came up behind me and indicated I should pull over.
Chapter 34
I hung up on Bitsy, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, eased the Jeep over to the curb, and cut the engine. I leaned over and opened the glove box. A flashlight and a couple of CDs. I didn’t see the registration. Where did Tim keep it?
A glance in the rearview mirror told me the cop was almost to the door. I sat up straighter, looking around for some other hiding place but not seeing anything.
Except the box on the floor. The one that had the big gun in it.
My heart started flip-flopping inside my chest, and I was having a hard time breathing. Especially when I saw who the cop was.
Willis. The fireplug cop who showed up at my house when I found Ray Lucci in my trunk.
So not my lucky day.
I flashed a smile at him, even though I was having a panic attack. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, as if he didn’t know me from beans.
I shrugged, swallowing hard to push back the panic.
“You were not using a hands-free device for your cell phone.”
This was totally why I adhered to the rules of the road. Although people talk on cell phones all the time while they’re driving and there’s absolutely no enforcement, it figured that I’d end up being the poster child for it.
“I was stopped at a light.” Great. The moment my voice comes back it’s belligerent. “I was not driving.”
“You were going through the light, and you were on your phone,” Willis said sternly. “I need to see your license and registration.”
This was the sticky part.
“I’ve got my license,” I said. “It’s in my bag. I’m leaning over to get it.” And I did as I said, sliding my hand in my bag and taking out my wallet. I slipped the license out and handed it to him.
He held it for a second, his eyes skipping around the inside of the car.
“Registration?”
I made a kind of twittering sound. “That’s the problem,” I said. “This is my brother’s Jeep, and I thought the registration was in the glove box, but it’s not, and I don’t know where it is.”
He studied my face a second, probably trying to see whether I was lying, then said, “Your brother’s Jeep?”
I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. “Tim Kavanaugh. Detective Kavanaugh,” I said.
“I know who he is,” Willis snapped at me. “Step out of the vehicle.”
This wasn’t going well. I did as asked and stood by the door as Willis looked around the inside of the car.
“What’s in the box?” he asked.
My chest constricted, and I couldn’t breathe. My mouth was as dry as the desert.
“The box? What’s in it?” he asked again.
I tried to swallow. “Tattoo stuff,” I croaked.
“I’d like to see it.”
Now, I know how to talk to cops. And when a cop wants to see something in my car, I should just let him.
Why hadn’t I gone straight to Tim rather than come out here?
I walked slowly around the Jeep and opened the passenger door. Willis was right behind me. I leaned in and picked up the box, handing it to him.
Willis’s eyes widened when he saw the address on the front.
“This belongs to Ray Lucci?” he asked.
I nodded. “I can explain.”
He flipped up the box flaps and looked inside.
Willis looked back up at me. He held the box with one hand, grabbed my arm with the other, and said, “Let’s go.”