Ink Flamingos Read Online Free
Author: Karen E. Olson
apparently they take pictures of people’s tattoos on the Strip.”
“So you don’t know this Ainsley Wainwright?”
“No. Never heard of her. Or him. Joel and I couldn’t figure out if it was a man or a woman.”
“Woman,” Tim said automatically.
My little nondetective antennae went up. “How do you know it’s a woman?” I asked slyly.
“Never mind,” he said sharply. “Don’t you have a client to get back to?”
I knew when I was being dismissed, even on the phone.
“I’m sending Flanigan over to talk to Bitsy. She’s got your schedule, right?”
“Flanigan? Does it have to be Flanigan?” Detective Kevin Flanigan and I had crossed paths not long ago, and it was not a pleasant experience. He always looked at me as though I were guilty of something. Even when I wasn’t.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said and hung up.
I stared at the phone a second before setting it down. The TV was still on; Joel had stopped paying attention to me and was watching the coverage of the breaking news about Dee Carmichael. I didn’t have time to join him, so I started for the door. Patty was probably wondering whether I’d ever come back.
“Brett, I know how he knew Ainsley Wainwright is a woman.” Joel’s voice stopped me, and I turned around.
“How?”
He pointed at the TV. “They just reported that Daisy checked into her room at the Golden Palace using the name Ainsley Wainwright.”
Chapter 3
I f I didn’t get to Patty now, I’d have to reschedule her. I stored away what Joel said and went back to my room, where Patty was texting someone, iPod earbuds in her ears, clearly not missing me very much at all.
I’d finished outlining the American flag around the heart and needed to start with the colors. Patty was an Iraq war veteran, just twenty-nine, and she’d seen more in two years than I’d seen in my entire life. The flag was her homage to her service, the heart reminding her of humanity and the fragility of life.
She glanced up at me as I came in.
“Thought you ran away.”
I sat down and pulled on my gloves. “Don’t worry about me,” I said, picking up the tattoo machine and dipping the needles into the red ink. I swiveled around and settled my foot on the pedal on the floor. The machine kicked in with a whir, and I put the needles to Patty’s skin. She flinched slightly, then relaxed. Sometimes they can’t stop flinching. Makes my job harder.
As I worked, I thought about Daisy Carmichael. Obviously, she wasn’t Ainsley Wainwright. Maybe Ainsley had checked into the room and then Daisy came to visit her. Maybe Ainsley did the tattoo color. And then somehow Daisy died. Had she been murdered? It seemed a possibility. She was a young woman, younger than me by a couple of years, which would put her around thirty, maybe.
Had she killed herself? No. I couldn’t buy that. Why get color in a tattoo and then kill yourself? Wouldn’t you want to enjoy the tattoo for a while? Plus, she was at the top of her game, the top of her career. She always seemed like a happy person, someone who didn’t take her fame for granted.
And then I had another thought. The picture on the blog was taken before the body was found, on the Strip, outside. Had she had the tattoo colored in and then gone out for a stroll on the Strip, where Ainsley snapped her picture, then back to the hotel and died?
Seemed doubtful. The sequence of events didn’t make sense. And it also wouldn’t explain the inks and needles in the hotel room.
I thought about the questions Tim had asked. Sounded like there might definitely be another tattoo. Maybe the flamingo had been colored in a while back, and someone gave her a new tattoo in the hotel room.
I was doing it again. I was getting way too interested in something that wasn’t my business. But I couldn’t help it. I was sort of involved. Tim’s phone call and Flanigan’s impending visit were indications that I wasn’t totally out of the clear on this one.
It was
“So you don’t know this Ainsley Wainwright?”
“No. Never heard of her. Or him. Joel and I couldn’t figure out if it was a man or a woman.”
“Woman,” Tim said automatically.
My little nondetective antennae went up. “How do you know it’s a woman?” I asked slyly.
“Never mind,” he said sharply. “Don’t you have a client to get back to?”
I knew when I was being dismissed, even on the phone.
“I’m sending Flanigan over to talk to Bitsy. She’s got your schedule, right?”
“Flanigan? Does it have to be Flanigan?” Detective Kevin Flanigan and I had crossed paths not long ago, and it was not a pleasant experience. He always looked at me as though I were guilty of something. Even when I wasn’t.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said and hung up.
I stared at the phone a second before setting it down. The TV was still on; Joel had stopped paying attention to me and was watching the coverage of the breaking news about Dee Carmichael. I didn’t have time to join him, so I started for the door. Patty was probably wondering whether I’d ever come back.
“Brett, I know how he knew Ainsley Wainwright is a woman.” Joel’s voice stopped me, and I turned around.
“How?”
He pointed at the TV. “They just reported that Daisy checked into her room at the Golden Palace using the name Ainsley Wainwright.”
Chapter 3
I f I didn’t get to Patty now, I’d have to reschedule her. I stored away what Joel said and went back to my room, where Patty was texting someone, iPod earbuds in her ears, clearly not missing me very much at all.
I’d finished outlining the American flag around the heart and needed to start with the colors. Patty was an Iraq war veteran, just twenty-nine, and she’d seen more in two years than I’d seen in my entire life. The flag was her homage to her service, the heart reminding her of humanity and the fragility of life.
She glanced up at me as I came in.
“Thought you ran away.”
I sat down and pulled on my gloves. “Don’t worry about me,” I said, picking up the tattoo machine and dipping the needles into the red ink. I swiveled around and settled my foot on the pedal on the floor. The machine kicked in with a whir, and I put the needles to Patty’s skin. She flinched slightly, then relaxed. Sometimes they can’t stop flinching. Makes my job harder.
As I worked, I thought about Daisy Carmichael. Obviously, she wasn’t Ainsley Wainwright. Maybe Ainsley had checked into the room and then Daisy came to visit her. Maybe Ainsley did the tattoo color. And then somehow Daisy died. Had she been murdered? It seemed a possibility. She was a young woman, younger than me by a couple of years, which would put her around thirty, maybe.
Had she killed herself? No. I couldn’t buy that. Why get color in a tattoo and then kill yourself? Wouldn’t you want to enjoy the tattoo for a while? Plus, she was at the top of her game, the top of her career. She always seemed like a happy person, someone who didn’t take her fame for granted.
And then I had another thought. The picture on the blog was taken before the body was found, on the Strip, outside. Had she had the tattoo colored in and then gone out for a stroll on the Strip, where Ainsley snapped her picture, then back to the hotel and died?
Seemed doubtful. The sequence of events didn’t make sense. And it also wouldn’t explain the inks and needles in the hotel room.
I thought about the questions Tim had asked. Sounded like there might definitely be another tattoo. Maybe the flamingo had been colored in a while back, and someone gave her a new tattoo in the hotel room.
I was doing it again. I was getting way too interested in something that wasn’t my business. But I couldn’t help it. I was sort of involved. Tim’s phone call and Flanigan’s impending visit were indications that I wasn’t totally out of the clear on this one.
It was