of it, he was getting the entire cast of the original Star Trek on his abdomen.
To each his own.
“Hey, if it isn’t the famous Brett Kavanaugh,” Jeff said. “Slumming, are we?”
The Star Trek kid looked over at me. “Painted Lady, right?”
I recognized him now. We’d kicked him out last month when he showed up drunk and definitely underage with a bunch of his friends.
I ignored him, concentrating on Jeff. “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions.”
Jeff’s machine stopped whirring.
“You want to ask me some questions?”
“Is there an echo in here?”
Jeff studied the Star Trek tat for a second. “Let’s take a break,” he told the kid as he peeled off his latex gloves and swung his leg over the swivel chair he was sitting on.
Jeff Coleman was a slight guy, shorter than me by a couple inches, and skinny. His arms were covered with ink, and I could see it just around the collar of his T-shirt, hinting at the tats on his torso. He was older than me, maybe around forty, and the lines in his face indicated he’d lived hard. The buzz cut on his head was salt-and-pepper, and his beard was scruffy, as if he hadn’t shaved in a day or so.
He grabbed a pack of smokes and indicated I should follow him outside.
“What’s up, Kavanaugh?” he asked as he lit a match, touching it to the cigarette that was now balancing precariously between his lips.
“Have you seen the news? The girl who’s missing from Philadelphia?”
He blew a perfect smoke ring, his eyes never leaving my face as he leaned his shoulder against the side of the building.
“Saw it. Also saw you. She was in your shop?”
I nodded.
“Figures. Girl like that wants a custom design.” He took a long drag off his cigarette. “What does she have to do with me?”
“The address of your shop was on the back of the drawing she gave me.”
The smoke curled out of his nose and from between his lips. “Really?” His demeanor didn’t tell me whether it was a surprise or not.
“She didn’t come in here, did she?”
“And take one look at my flash and decide to go upscale instead?” Jeff chuckled.
“Come on, Jeff, I’m serious. Can you let the competition go for a few minutes?”
He studied my face for a second, nodded, and took another drag off his butt. “Okay. No, she didn’t come in here. Although I wish she had. You’re getting some great free advertising.”
If I couldn’t explain how I felt about that to my own staff, how could I possibly explain it to Jeff Coleman? I let it alone, let him think what he wanted. Elise Lyon may have written down the addresses of more than one shop—it had been only half a piece of paper, after all—and stopped checking out any others once she came into The Painted Lady.
Jeff tossed his butt on the sidewalk and ground it with the heel of his boot. “Is that all, Kavanaugh? Or do you want some ink as a souvenir of your walk on the dark side?” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but on him it looked more like he’d just bitten into a lemon.
I was about to say “thanks for nothing,” but then I had another thought. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag, hitting a couple of buttons, and watched the picture of Kelly Masters pop up. I held it up so he could see.
“What about her? Did she ever come into your shop?”
Jeff’s face turned white and he froze.
“What happened to her?” he asked, his voice tight, as if he were afraid to take a breath.
I didn’t want to say. But maybe I’d get a straight answer if I did.
“She’s dead.”
He swallowed. “How?”
“Not sure. How do you know her?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jeff, she’s dead.”
“Murdered?”
Tim hadn’t said as much, but I was willing to bet something had gone down. “Yeah, possibly.”
Jeff pulled another cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it, his hands visibly shaking. I watched him take a long drag and then let it out slowly. As the smoke hung in the air between us,
To each his own.
“Hey, if it isn’t the famous Brett Kavanaugh,” Jeff said. “Slumming, are we?”
The Star Trek kid looked over at me. “Painted Lady, right?”
I recognized him now. We’d kicked him out last month when he showed up drunk and definitely underage with a bunch of his friends.
I ignored him, concentrating on Jeff. “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions.”
Jeff’s machine stopped whirring.
“You want to ask me some questions?”
“Is there an echo in here?”
Jeff studied the Star Trek tat for a second. “Let’s take a break,” he told the kid as he peeled off his latex gloves and swung his leg over the swivel chair he was sitting on.
Jeff Coleman was a slight guy, shorter than me by a couple inches, and skinny. His arms were covered with ink, and I could see it just around the collar of his T-shirt, hinting at the tats on his torso. He was older than me, maybe around forty, and the lines in his face indicated he’d lived hard. The buzz cut on his head was salt-and-pepper, and his beard was scruffy, as if he hadn’t shaved in a day or so.
He grabbed a pack of smokes and indicated I should follow him outside.
“What’s up, Kavanaugh?” he asked as he lit a match, touching it to the cigarette that was now balancing precariously between his lips.
“Have you seen the news? The girl who’s missing from Philadelphia?”
He blew a perfect smoke ring, his eyes never leaving my face as he leaned his shoulder against the side of the building.
“Saw it. Also saw you. She was in your shop?”
I nodded.
“Figures. Girl like that wants a custom design.” He took a long drag off his cigarette. “What does she have to do with me?”
“The address of your shop was on the back of the drawing she gave me.”
The smoke curled out of his nose and from between his lips. “Really?” His demeanor didn’t tell me whether it was a surprise or not.
“She didn’t come in here, did she?”
“And take one look at my flash and decide to go upscale instead?” Jeff chuckled.
“Come on, Jeff, I’m serious. Can you let the competition go for a few minutes?”
He studied my face for a second, nodded, and took another drag off his butt. “Okay. No, she didn’t come in here. Although I wish she had. You’re getting some great free advertising.”
If I couldn’t explain how I felt about that to my own staff, how could I possibly explain it to Jeff Coleman? I let it alone, let him think what he wanted. Elise Lyon may have written down the addresses of more than one shop—it had been only half a piece of paper, after all—and stopped checking out any others once she came into The Painted Lady.
Jeff tossed his butt on the sidewalk and ground it with the heel of his boot. “Is that all, Kavanaugh? Or do you want some ink as a souvenir of your walk on the dark side?” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but on him it looked more like he’d just bitten into a lemon.
I was about to say “thanks for nothing,” but then I had another thought. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag, hitting a couple of buttons, and watched the picture of Kelly Masters pop up. I held it up so he could see.
“What about her? Did she ever come into your shop?”
Jeff’s face turned white and he froze.
“What happened to her?” he asked, his voice tight, as if he were afraid to take a breath.
I didn’t want to say. But maybe I’d get a straight answer if I did.
“She’s dead.”
He swallowed. “How?”
“Not sure. How do you know her?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jeff, she’s dead.”
“Murdered?”
Tim hadn’t said as much, but I was willing to bet something had gone down. “Yeah, possibly.”
Jeff pulled another cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it, his hands visibly shaking. I watched him take a long drag and then let it out slowly. As the smoke hung in the air between us,
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