He got it halfway up without even touching my skin, and I managed to pull it up and out near my neck. He fastened the mike on my blouse and started to lead me toward the sofa when the door opened.
The Asian woman who glided into the room was half a foot shorter than I was, with sleek black hair pulled into a tight chignon at the back of her head. Her handshake was firm.
“Alison Cho, 20/20,” she said. “Where are we doing this?” She fingered the long strand of pearls that rested gently against a filmy cream-colored silk blouse. She may have been short, but she had a certain presence, a charisma about her that no doubt would be picked up by the camera.
“Where’s Diane Sawyer?” Bitsy’s voice echoed across the shop and bounced off the wall.
A flash of something-annoyance-was gone in a second before Alison Cho turned to Bitsy and smiled. “I’m doing the interview,” she said firmly, ignoring Bitsy’s expression, which clearly relayed that this was unacceptable, and turned to Joel and Ace, shaking their hands. Someone handed her a water, but she didn’t open it.
They’d set up a chair for her across from the couch, and I settled in, jostling the black box at my waist a little. I shifted so I wouldn’t lean against it, acutely aware that I couldn’t slouch, trying to keep my back ramrod straight.
“Don’t look directly into the camera,” she advised.
I had no intention of looking at it at all.
Alison Cho had no issues with looking at the camera, though.
“Today we’re speaking with Brett Kavanaugh, owner of The Painted Lady tattoo shop in Las Vegas, where Elise Lyon was last seen alive.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, and it made me shiver.
Alison swung her head around and looked me straight in the eye. “What was her demeanor that night? Did she seem well? Or agitated?”
“She was fine. Relaxed.”
The voice that came out of my mouth didn’t sound like mine; rather, it was like I was somewhere else and hearing myself through a tunnel. My heart was pounding, and I hoped I wasn’t sweating through the purple top.
“She came in for a devotion tattoo, correct?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“Please explain what that is.”
“It’s a tattoo that has the name of a loved one on it. Kelly-I mean Elise-wanted the name in a heart with two clasped hands.” Maybe more information than anyone needed, but Alison seemed interested.
“She made an appointment for the tattoo?” she prompted.
I nodded again. “For the next day. But she didn’t show up.”
“And no one saw her again,” she said ominously to the camera. “We have a copy of the devotion tattoo Elise Lyon requested,” she said, holding up the sketch I’d drawn. Elise’s original drawing was still in my bag, where I’d put it before heading to Murder Ink last night.
I instinctively glanced at Bitsy, who was frowning. She probably gave the sketch to the producer, thinking he’d put her on camera, and then he screwed her.
But Bitsy wasn’t the only one getting screwed.
Chip Manning was, too.
Because the camera zoomed in on my sketch. Complete with the “Matthew” inside the heart.
Alison Cho didn’t notice. She put the piece of paper in her lap and thanked me for my time.
It was over.
I stood up, trying to yank the mike and wire off my person, and was happy to see the producer come over to me. I assumed he’d help me out, but his mouth was set in a grim line.
“That drawing. It was the wrong one.”
Alison’s head snapped back. “What?”
“It was the wrong drawing.” He looked at Bitsy, who’d come up next to me. “Why didn’t you give me the right one? Was it because we didn’t put you on camera?”
So Bitsy’s attitude had not gone unnoticed.
From the look on her face, I could see she was going to say something she’d probably regret, so I jumped in. “It was the right one.”
His gaze moved from Bitsy to me. “But it said Matthew. Not Chip, or even Bruce.”
“That’s right.” I met his stare.
“You mean she wanted a tattoo with another man’s name on it?” Alison was justifiably curious, her journalistic instincts kicking into full gear.
I took a page from Tim’s playbook. “No comment,” I said.
Alison Cho looked like she’d just landed an interview with Osama bin Laden. “Do the police know about this?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I can’t say anything else.”
Alison turned to the producer. “Get the police spokesman on the phone. We need to get over there now and find out what this is about.” She looked at me one last time. “This is your chance to have another few minutes on TV.”
I tossed the black box to the producer. “I didn’t want the ones I just had.”
She smiled. “Suit yourself. Thank you for your time, and for letting us disrupt your business.”
She was nice, I had to give her that, but I was glad when they were all gone and the shop was quiet.
“Do you think they’ll get anything out of the police?” Ace asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. Maybe the cops will want the media’s help in finding her, and this was a pretty interesting clue.” I thought about the two Matthews again. If I’d found out about them so easily, then it wouldn’t take the police long, either.
Ace and Bitsy moved the furniture back to where it belonged, and I grabbed the Ann Taylor bag. I needed to change before my first client came in. I didn’t want to risk getting ink on my new trousers.
I had to admit that I was liking them. I wondered how they’d look on TV tonight.
Just as I was about to go into the bathroom to change, the phone rang on the front desk. Bitsy was in the staff room with Ace and Joel, so I picked it up.
“The Painted Lady,” I said.
“Kavanaugh?” I recognized Jeff Coleman’s voice.
“Yeah? What do you want?”
“I really thought I could trust you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a good thing I’ve got better friends than you, friends who look out for me.”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t point out that we weren’t exactly friends.
“Cops. They’ve got a warrant. They want to arrest me in Kelly’s murder.”
Chapter 15
“Where are you, Jeff?” I asked.
“No need for you to know that.”
“I didn’t say anything. I haven’t even seen my brother since yesterday morning,” I said. He didn’t have to know I might have told Tim if I’d seen him.
Jeff was quiet a moment, then, “There’s something going on.”
“No kidding.”
“Someone’s setting me up. I heard the cops found my fingerprints in that car, the rental car. Couldn’t have. I haven’t seen Kelly. Didn’t know she was in town.”
“I believe you, Jeff.” I didn’t know what else to say. And strangely enough, I did believe him.
“There’s something else, Kavanaugh.”
I didn’t like it that he called me by my last name, but he was a man on the run, so could I take that away from him?
“What is it?”
“That rich bitch? Guess the cops also want to talk to me about her.”
“But I thought you hadn’t met her.”
“They found her driver’s license with Kelly.”
“I saw that on the news.”
“What’s going on, Kavanaugh? You show up at my shop last night and my whole world collapses. You’re bad news.”
“It’s not my fault,” I insisted. “Listen, Jeff, what can I do to help? Want me to talk to Tim? Where are you?”
He was so quiet I’d thought he hung up for a second, then, “There might be something you can do. But it’s not talking to the cops.”
I was afraid to press him, to find out what he wanted me to do. I shouldn’t have been so generous, but it just slipped out. The sisters had taught us to be magnanimous to those who were in need.