Tim rolled my fingers in the ink and pressed them one by one onto the print sheet.
“You might want to take a close look at Chip’s shirt-tails,” I whispered.
“What?” He stopped midhand.
“Stains. Red stains. I don’t know if it means anything.”
Tim glanced back at the trio on the other side of the room, Chip’s snores now resonating through the air. “You know what you’re implying, right?” His annoyance came through, but there was also a tinge of curiosity.
“He knew that a Matthew had captured Elise’s heart. Maybe he thought it was his driver,” I suggested.
Tim finished up with my hands and gave me a cloth to wipe my fingers. I needed more than that. I needed some soap and hot water. I also realized I needed a bathroom.
“Take a look,” I whispered.
Tim’s expression changed slightly as he approached Manning, and I asked Simon if there was a bathroom I could use. He directed me to a door in the corner.
I was almost afraid to actually use the facilities. The sink was a crystal bowl that sat demurely on the blond marble vanity, a gold faucet perched over its top. I hoped it wasn’t real gold, but I wouldn’t count it out. This place had cost a fortune, and it was obvious no expense was spared.
I scrubbed my hands until they were red but with no more sign of ink. As I turned the water off, I lingered a moment to savor the decor. The door wasn’t all that soundproof, I discovered to my chagrin, but it allowed me to eavesdrop.
Tim was trying to get Chip’s fingerprints while he was passed out.
Manning was arguing that he couldn’t do that legally; he’d call his lawyers and slap a suit against him.
Simon Chase’s soft English murmur was indecipherable, but both Tim and Manning quieted down.
I stepped out of the bathroom to see all eyes on me.
“We’ll get out of your way now,” Tim said to Simon Chase, shaking his hand. He turned to Manning. “I’m sending a uniformed officer down here to wait for your son to wake up. We’ll want to ask him some questions.” Tim indicated that I should follow him, so I did, tossing back a quick, “Thanks,” to Simon Chase, who gave me another wink that made me blush.
“Can I go home?” I asked Tim once we were back out in the hallway, heading toward the elevator.
Tim bit his lip, like it was a tough decision to make. Then, finally, “It doesn’t look good, you know, the needle, the gloves.”
“You can’t possibly think I killed that guy, do you?”
Tim’s mouth set in a grim line. “No, I don’t think you killed him. And we’ve questioned the guy at the front desk and the elevator guy who brought you up here. They verify the time you came in. We’ll check the video, too.”
The video of the front entranceway, which would show what time I came in. The illusion was also one big Candid Camera, the black domes in the ceiling catching it all. I couldn’t fault Tim for having to double-check. It was his job.
Tim was still talking. “But I want you to promise to go straight home. Otherwise, I’ll put out an APB on you. I’ll be there in a few hours, and we can talk then.”
“It did look like blood, didn’t it, on Chip’s shirt?”
Tim stared me down before saying again, “Go straight home now.”
He thought it was blood, too. He also didn’t think I had anything to do with what happened to Chip Manning’s driver, Matt. Otherwise he wouldn’t let me go anywhere.
“I might stop for something to eat,” I said, realizing I was starving.
“Make it takeout.”
Tim took the elevator back up, and I took it down into the massive, mirrored lobby. The flashing lights of the slot machines reminded me of the guillotines Simon Chase had told me about. I couldn’t leave without seeing those.
I followed the tasteful, yet at the same time gaudy, path through the casino a little ways. Despite the elegant and over-the-top decor in the hotel, this was a casino: loud, patterned carpeting meant to lift your gaze up to the machines and tables, where you’d lose all your money in a matter of seconds. Or in the unlikely chance that you’d hit the jackpot, like the guy over to my left, a guillotine blade would come crashing down on top of the slot machine, the whine of the bells and whistles announcing that today there was a winner.
It was pretty cool, the guillotine.
The cocktail waitresses all had high white wigs decorated with buttons and bows, their breasts bulging out of the white satin corsets, the skirts hacked off to reveal shapely legs in white fishnet stockings and four-inch white patent-leather heels.
I wondered how they could move in those costumes, but they seemed to have it all under control.
I started back out, pondering where I’d get a bite to eat. I was thinking of something more than a burger-I had just been fingerprinted by the police, even though it was my brother, and I needed a civilized meal to remind me that I wasn’t some sort of criminal.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t see him at first.
But then I did.
Out of the corner of my eye. He was standing behind one of the guillotines, his shaved head with the eagle tattoo giving him away. I lifted my hand without thinking about it, then caught myself midwave.
He took a step toward me.
And I ran.
Chapter 23
He was gone by the time I went back with a security guard, who proceeded to give me the riot act about how I shouldn’t cry wolf, because he didn’t have time to run around looking for big, bald, tattooed guys who weren’t there.
I thanked him for his time and gave the valet my ticket for my car.
What was this guy watching me for? If he was Kelly’s brother, as I imagined he was, it also brought up another question that kept circulating in my head: What was the connection between Kelly and Elise Lyon? I found it hard to believe that Elise had come here to abandon Chip, met up with Kelly, and they decided on a lark to switch identities.
Well, then again, it was Vegas. Weirder things had happened.
But I wasn’t sold on the idea.
I needed to find Jeff Coleman. In addition to wanting to find out if he’d set me up, or, as he’d told me, someone was framing him, I also wanted to quiz him a little more about Kelly Masters. He might know something he wasn’t aware of.
Unlike the tattooed guy, I wasn’t afraid of Jeff Coleman. Even if logic told me maybe I should be a little warier than I was. But it was Jeff. His bark was worse than his bite.
I’d told Tim I would go home. And I would.
After I went over to Murder Ink to interrogate Jeff’s staff about his whereabouts.
Just call me Miss Marple.
I climbed into my Mustang after tipping the valet a dollar. He stared at it with pursed lips, and I had the sense that I might not get great service the next time around. Maybe I should’ve played one of those slots and tried for a couple extra bucks.
I’m just not that into gambling.
I kept looking in my rearview mirror to see if I was being followed. I wasn’t quite sure what to look for, since I was being followed-by a lot of other cars that weren’t familiar to me. Matthew could be in any one of them, and I wouldn’t be the wiser.
I hooked my cell phone into my hands-free and called the shop.
“Everything okay?” I asked when Joel answered. “Where’s Bitsy?”
“She ran out for some takeout for dinner.”
On cue, my stomach growled.
“Where are you?” Joel’s voice was full of worry.
I told him about what had happened, now that I was out of earshot of anyone but my own self. He had appropriate “ohs” and “ahs” and caught his breath when I described Matt Powell’s body and then Simon Chase.
“He sounds dashing,” Joel said of the latter.
“Dashing” was a good word. I had to remember that one.
“So where are you heading now?” Joel asked when I was finished with my story.