Four private rooms were closed off in the middle of the shop, and a waiting area fitted with a black leather sofa and glass-topped coffee table was behind the rooms to the left. A staff room was to the right, and an office off that. It was classy, no flash-stock tattoos-lining the walls like in a street shop. We prided ourselves on the custom designs we created. And since Charlotte had arrived, we’d bought a new Apple computer for even more design options. I didn’t have a background in computer graphics-I was a painter-but Charlotte had been teaching herself and had begun to show us some of her tricks. Joel was getting into it more than anyone; he’d started in street shops and didn’t have formal art training like Ace and me, but he somehow managed to take his raw talent and transfer it to the computer.

“So?” Bitsy asked, following me into the staff room, bringing her small stool with her. She needed the stool to compensate for her height, but her habit of dragging it along the floor caused it to squeak in that fingernails-on-the-blackboard kind of way that made me cringe.

“I had to go to the bank,” I said, trying not to meet her eyes as I pulled the bag of bagels out of my messenger bag and set it on 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

He 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 if he’d suck all the creativity out of it and leave us with nothing.

When I settled myself in the leather chair behind the desk, indicating that he should sit on the folding chair across from me, I said, “Okay. What do you want?”

He gave a little snort accompanied by something he probably thought passed for a smile. “I’d like that sketch back.”

Uh-oh. Tim had it. I had a feeling that DeBurra might not like that.

“It’s home,” I said.

“Then can you go home later and get it for me?”

It was the way he asked that made me begin to wonder whether he didn’t already know that Tim had it. That he was testing me, in some sick way.

“I can’t get away today. I’ve got clients coming in.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Not my turn to watch him.” Okay, so it was a little flip, but this guy brought out the worst in me.

He really did smile this time, but it wasn’t a warm smile; it didn’t spread to his eyes. “Funny.”

“I thought you said you didn’t need the sketch.” I couldn’t help myself. Really.

“Maybe I want to frame it and put it on my wall.”

So we were both baiting each other. This wouldn’t get us anywhere. I got up. “Detective, unless you’re here for some practical purpose, I have work to do.”

He stood up. He was wearing the same frayed sport jacket from last night. I wondered about Shawna. She’d been into material things. This guy didn’t look like he could buy a loaf of bread. Maybe he was good in bed.

Yuck. Definitely did not want to go there.

I went over to the door and opened it. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“I need to ask a couple of questions about your employee, Charlotte Sampson.” Frank DeBurra leaned over past me and shut the door again, indicating that I should sit down.

I did because I was too surprised not to.

“What about her?” I asked.

“What do you know of her background?”

I thought about Charlotte, the first time she’d come in for ink. She’d asked me to fix a heart she’d tattooed herself on her wrist, sort of like the one I’d done on my own. She was studying to be an accountant at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. She graduated but admitted she didn’t want to work with numbers; she wanted to work here. I hired her as a trainee.

I didn’t know what this detective wanted with Charlotte, so all I said was, “She was going to be an accountant but decided to become a tattooist.” I had another thought. “Why don’t you talk to her yourself?”

“Is she here?”

His tone was so casual, my antennae went up. Something wasn’t right. I hesitated for a second before saying, “She’s spending the day with her friend Trevor McKay, you know, the guy who got hit with the cork last night.”