He conceded, but it was difficult for him.
I indicated my skirt and tank on the table. “Bring those with you, okay? I want to be comfortable when we go see Jeff.”
It was hot outside, and the silk top was sticking to my chest. The dragon looked like it was crying, but it was just tears of sweat. I was afraid my trousers would have sweat marks all over them, and in unfortunate places. By the time I reached Versailles, my makeup had slid off for sure, making me feel as if I looked like one of those melting faces at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
It’s a dry heat.
Right.
I didn’t go straight to the restaurant when I got to Versailles. Jarred by the mirrors and my reflection, I found the ladies’ room tucked in a little corner just past the front desk around the corner from the casino.
A very busty young woman with a tall wig of white hair piled on top of her head was applying a thick layer of red lipstick. Her face had been powdered almost as white as the wig. She grinned at me when I walked in.
“Nice tat,” she said, lifting her short skirt-she must be one of those cocktail waitresses-and showing off Sylvester the cat and Tweety Bird on the side of her thigh.
I’d admonished Tim for thinking that there was some sort of tattoo “club,” but anyone with ink invariably noticed everyone who shared their penchant for the needle.
I ducked into one of the stalls-not your typical restroom stall, either, but one with a white-paneled door and gilt knob. The toilet was European, with a little golden bulb you had to pull up on in order to flush. I was surprised there wasn’t a bidet.
The cocktail waitress was still primping when I emerged and surveyed my face in the mirror. It had melted a bit, and I rummaged in my bag, pulling out a small Baggie with some lip gel, blush, foundation, and mascara. My hand caught on the red patent-leather pumps, and I dropped them on the floor.
“Great shoes,” the waitress said, “but your face is a mess.”
Nothing like being blunt.
“Let me help.” She frowned at my Baggie, then washed my face with a wet, cold towel-a real one, not paper-pulling the remains of my makeup off. “Have to start over, sweetheart.”
Within seconds, she’d put foundation on, then a little blush. She took my mascara wand and expertly created lashes where there had been none. She squirted some hair gel from her own bag and ran it through her fingers and then through my hair, making it spiky. It matched the tats and the rows of silver earrings in my ears, but not the purple silk blouse.
“I feel like two people,” I said, mostly to myself.
She laughed. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” I said, holding out my hand. “Brett Kavanaugh.”
“Robbin Seipold.”
I took one of my business cards out of my bag and handed it to her. “Robbin, come into the shop and your next tat’s on me. For making me look great for my date.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Really?”
I held my finger and thumb an inch apart as I smiled. “A small one.”
“Better than nothing,” she said with a grin. “Lunch date, huh? I’ve got one after work. Rich guy.”
“Better rich than poor.”
“This one’s really rich. Runs this place. I brought him a cocktail and we got to talking. And then he asked me out.”
It had to be Chase. Who else ran this place?
I kicked off my sandals and stuck my feet into the red shoes, my lunch date even less appetizing now.
“Hey, Robbin, really, stop in when you want,” I said, eager to get out of there.
My mood didn’t improve, either, as I approached Giverny.
Standing just beyond the restaurant entrance was Simon Chase.
He was arguing with the bald tattooed guy. Matthew.
Chapter 28
I hid behind a huge plant in the hall, watching them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, even though I was trying. People were passing me, talking, laughing, interrupting.
“What are you doing here?”
I stiffened, turning slowly, not recognizing the voice.
Chip Manning’s head was cocked to one side, a twitch playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re that tattoo woman. You found Matt yesterday. You saw Elise.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you hiding?” He peered past me, not waiting for an answer, then chuckled. “Checking up on Simon?” He stepped closer to me, and I could smell the booze on him, but he wasn’t acting drunk. It might just be left over from yesterday.
“I’m meeting him for lunch,” I tried to say casually, but it felt like I had a piece of wool wrapped around my tongue.
“Then why are you spying on him?”
“I’m not spying on him. I thought I saw something on the ground over here.” I made a stupid show of looking around, then putting my hands up and shrugging. “Guess not.”
“Elise spied on him, too.”
A little tidbit of information I hadn’t asked for, but it was interesting all the same. “Really?” I prodded.
“She was crying when I met her. He broke her heart.”
I made a little “mmm” sound.
“And then she fell in love with me. Elise had a habit of falling in love with the wrong men.”
“Until you.”
He looked a little startled by that, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him before. “Well, yeah, I guess so, sure.”
He didn’t sound so sure to me, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Still haven’t found her?”
His eyes skirted around me, past the plant and over to where Chase was still arguing with Matthew. “No. Police say she could be anywhere.”
“Not in Vegas anymore?”
“Might not be.” He was still focused on Chase.
“Do you have any idea why she left in the first place?”
His gaze swung back to me, his face dark with rage. “Why would I know that?” And he stormed off, leaving me more than a little confused. What had just happened here?
I should’ve asked him about Matt, his driver, but I’d lost that chance. I mulled over his comments about Simon Chase and Elise. So he’d broken her heart. He probably broke Kelly’s heart, too. Maybe worse.
I shivered, and it wasn’t just from the air-conditioning.
Sister Mary Eucharista was sitting on my shoulder again. She didn’t think it was a good idea to have lunch with Simon Chase, or to have anything to do with him ever again.
I debated taking her up on her advice. I had no business prying into Simon Chase’s life, running around trying to find out what I could about a missing woman. I had my own business to run.
But my curiosity was getting the better of me, not to mention my hormones. I watched Simon Chase from my hiding spot and remembered the way his eyes twinkled. Oh, why not. I’d get a nice meal out of it, anyway.
Just as I decided I’d come out of hiding, Matthew whirled around, his face looking much like Chip’s had just seconds ago. He saw me, his expression changing with the recognition, but just shook his head and walked away. Chase had already gone into the restaurant; he didn’t see me-or Matthew’s reaction to me.
The entrance to the restaurant had frosted-glass walls with illuminated Monet water lilies reflected on them, sort of like a very upscale and tasteful PowerPoint presentation. I walked in, and the water lily theme was repeated along the far wall, with realistic weeping willow trees adorning the far corners of the room. The ceiling was painted like the sky, with clouds and a hint of sunset. Illusion. It was all about illusion.
Chase was talking with the maître d’. His face brightened as he saw me, and he lightly touched my shoulder and gave me a kiss on each cheek-very European. I smiled and hoped I didn’t look as flustered as I was. His touch had sent an electric shock through me, despite my resolve to resist his charm.
This wouldn’t do. I was here to find out if he was a murderer. I couldn’t get all warm and fuzzy just because he turned me on by just looking at me. Granted, it could be argued that the way he looked at me would’ve unnerved any woman.