the small table we used for eating. We also had a light table, but that was for work.
“What happened to that?” Bitsy asked, staring at the bag, which had ripped and now bled portions of onion, poppy seed, and sesame seed bagels on the table.
Ripping the bag even further, I saw that the container of cream cheese was also a victim of my fall: It had exploded all over the bagels and the bag, leaving a white, creamy mess.
“I fell.” I lifted my knee to show her my wound.
“You better start at the beginning,” she said, shoving the stool to the side and plopping herself down on one of the chairs as I tried to clean up the bagel mess.
“Well, I stopped for bagels—you know that—and then I got a little distracted by the roulette table.” Her eyebrows went up, but before she could say anything, I continued. “There was a guy there, a guy with a queen-of-hearts playing card on his arm, and I stopped, and he gave me a fifty-dollar chip, and I put it on a square, and it won, and then I played again and again and again, and I won over sixty thousand dollars.” I sank into the chair opposite Bitsy as I took a deep breath.
“No, really, Brett, what happened?”
She thought I was kidding.
So I told her about the guy knowing my name and about running and falling because of the stroller and the woman who looked at me like I was from Mars.
“Sixty thousand?”
I nodded, unable to believe it, either.
“Remind me to go with you the next time you’re playing the tables.”
She wasn’t kidding.
“So how did he know your name?”
“I have no idea. He ran before I could ask him.”
“So he knows that he shouldn’t have known your name.”
“He might be the guy with the cork last night.”
“The guy in the picture you drew?”
“No, a different one.”
She snorted. “So there are two?”
“Maybe.”
It all sounded so far-fetched.
Bitsy got up. “Joel’s finishing up with a client, Ace has gone who knows where, probably that oxygen bar to get his fix, Charlotte called in, said she was going to spend the day with Trevor. Guess she brought him home from the hospital this morning; everything’s fine.”
But everything wasn’t fine. At least not in my world. I was sixty thousand dollars richer because of a stranger who knew my name.
And then I thought of something.
He said he’d gotten his tattoo at Murder Ink. I could call Jeff Coleman and see whether he knew the guy.
Could it be that easy?
Bitsy was picking at one of the bagels, sweeping it across some of the loose cream cheese. She stuck it in her mouth and nodded. “Good,” she said through the poppy seeds.
Nice to know they still tasted okay, even though they looked like a cement roller had run over them.
We heard the front door buzzer, and Bitsy went out to see who’d come in. I took the wad of cream cheese-covered paper towels and threw it in the trash.
“Brett?” Bitsy had returned, sticking her head in the staff room door. “Someone’s here to see you.”
I didn’t have a client scheduled for another hour, but Bitsy didn’t hang around for me to ask who it was. I followed her out.
Detective Frank DeBurra was standing by the door.
Chapter 10
H e was becoming my new best friend.
I didn’t like it.
But I admittedly was curious as to why he would show up both at my house and now here, at The Painted Lady.
“Yes?” I asked. “I thought I answered all your questions.”
His ears were more pronounced now, since his hair was slicked back, like he’d just taken a shower, making him look even more elfin. But a tall elf.
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he asked, shooting a look at Bitsy that I didn’t much like.
Bitsy noticed it, too, and she rolled her eyes at me behind his back. Being a little person, she’s got to deal with that sort of thing a lot more than I do and she’s pretty comfortable in her own skin.
I led Frank DeBurra to the back of the shop, to the office rather than the staff room, as
“What happened to that?” Bitsy asked, staring at the bag, which had ripped and now bled portions of onion, poppy seed, and sesame seed bagels on the table.
Ripping the bag even further, I saw that the container of cream cheese was also a victim of my fall: It had exploded all over the bagels and the bag, leaving a white, creamy mess.
“I fell.” I lifted my knee to show her my wound.
“You better start at the beginning,” she said, shoving the stool to the side and plopping herself down on one of the chairs as I tried to clean up the bagel mess.
“Well, I stopped for bagels—you know that—and then I got a little distracted by the roulette table.” Her eyebrows went up, but before she could say anything, I continued. “There was a guy there, a guy with a queen-of-hearts playing card on his arm, and I stopped, and he gave me a fifty-dollar chip, and I put it on a square, and it won, and then I played again and again and again, and I won over sixty thousand dollars.” I sank into the chair opposite Bitsy as I took a deep breath.
“No, really, Brett, what happened?”
She thought I was kidding.
So I told her about the guy knowing my name and about running and falling because of the stroller and the woman who looked at me like I was from Mars.
“Sixty thousand?”
I nodded, unable to believe it, either.
“Remind me to go with you the next time you’re playing the tables.”
She wasn’t kidding.
“So how did he know your name?”
“I have no idea. He ran before I could ask him.”
“So he knows that he shouldn’t have known your name.”
“He might be the guy with the cork last night.”
“The guy in the picture you drew?”
“No, a different one.”
She snorted. “So there are two?”
“Maybe.”
It all sounded so far-fetched.
Bitsy got up. “Joel’s finishing up with a client, Ace has gone who knows where, probably that oxygen bar to get his fix, Charlotte called in, said she was going to spend the day with Trevor. Guess she brought him home from the hospital this morning; everything’s fine.”
But everything wasn’t fine. At least not in my world. I was sixty thousand dollars richer because of a stranger who knew my name.
And then I thought of something.
He said he’d gotten his tattoo at Murder Ink. I could call Jeff Coleman and see whether he knew the guy.
Could it be that easy?
Bitsy was picking at one of the bagels, sweeping it across some of the loose cream cheese. She stuck it in her mouth and nodded. “Good,” she said through the poppy seeds.
Nice to know they still tasted okay, even though they looked like a cement roller had run over them.
We heard the front door buzzer, and Bitsy went out to see who’d come in. I took the wad of cream cheese-covered paper towels and threw it in the trash.
“Brett?” Bitsy had returned, sticking her head in the staff room door. “Someone’s here to see you.”
I didn’t have a client scheduled for another hour, but Bitsy didn’t hang around for me to ask who it was. I followed her out.
Detective Frank DeBurra was standing by the door.
Chapter 10
H e was becoming my new best friend.
I didn’t like it.
But I admittedly was curious as to why he would show up both at my house and now here, at The Painted Lady.
“Yes?” I asked. “I thought I answered all your questions.”
His ears were more pronounced now, since his hair was slicked back, like he’d just taken a shower, making him look even more elfin. But a tall elf.
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he asked, shooting a look at Bitsy that I didn’t much like.
Bitsy noticed it, too, and she rolled her eyes at me behind his back. Being a little person, she’s got to deal with that sort of thing a lot more than I do and she’s pretty comfortable in her own skin.
I led Frank DeBurra to the back of the shop, to the office rather than the staff room, as