“Where the heck do you think you’re going?” Calypso sprinted to catch up with me as I steamrolled south down the Boulevard.
“Isn’t it obvious? To visit the tattoo parlor where your friend works.” I managed to hold back a frustrated sigh. “She’s got answers we need.”
“Duh. I know that.” She put her hand on my arm. “Before you get all fired up to get answers, I have a question for you.”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I could feel it in my bones that the tattoo artist had the key to unlocking this maddening case. I hated the thought of being delayed even a minute or two, though.
“Okay, what’s your question? Can you make it quick?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms. “Do you, by chance, know where Dix’s studio is?”
“Of course. I know all the businesses in town.” I shot off the reply without a second thought. I had to know all of the businesses because of my annual fundraising efforts for the 9/11 Memorial Observance. I pulled my arm out of her grip and started to turn away from her.
And then I stopped in my tracks.
“Actually, now that I think about it . . .”
“Ha!” She poked me in the arm. “I knew it. That’s what you get for going off without thinking, Ms. Cobb. I remember someone telling me more times than I can count, ‘Think before you act.’ Ring any bells?”
My cheeks started burning. It didn’t get much more embarrassing than to have your own words come back to haunt you. Still, my pride wasn’t important right now. I straightened my arms and placed my hands out, palms down, while I took a deep, cleansing breath.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone off half-cocked. If you don’t mind, would you care to serve as my guide?”
“Absolutely.” Calypso gave me a big grin as she looped her arm through mine. And turned me around. “You were going the wrong way. She’s only been in business six weeks, so I’ll give you a pass this time.”
“Thank you.” A wave of relief ran through me, like a cold glass of water on a hot afternoon. “So where is it?”
She pointed toward the north end of town. “She’s almost at the end of the business district. A block off the Boulevard, where the smoke shop used to be.”
I cringed. It was a gut reaction. I hated cigarettes. The damage they did to smokers and nonsmokers alike made me wonder why anyone would choose to put one of those things in their mouth. Nevertheless, I accepted the fact that smoking was a personal choice.
A foolish one, but one that was perfectly legal.
Calypso rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen. She completely renovated the place. You’d never know tobacco was sold there. Shoot, half the time, she has an essential oils diffuser going. Sometimes, when I’ve had a rough shift at the Pub, I’ll go there to chill out.”
We crossed a side street without slowing down. Calypso’s reassurances had me back in game-on mode. I asked her if she thought Dix would be open to talking to me.
“Don’t worry. She’s a straight shooter. Be forewarned, though. She’ll try to talk you into some ink before she coughs up any intel.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
I’d pulled off a lot of outlandish stunts during my investigations. Breaking and entering, lying to the authorities, getting myself taken hostage and forced into the trunk of a car. Getting a tattoo shouldn’t be a big deal.
If only I weren’t such a chicken when it came to needles.
A few minutes later, we arrived at our destination. The last time I’d been this way, the storefront windows had been covered in grime. The black paint on the wooden door and trim was faded and peeling. Weeds were popping up in the cracks in the sidewalk. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.
“Are you sure this is the same place as the smoke shop?” Now, I could see my reflection in the spotless windows, at least in the areas where community-related posters had been hung. All remnants of peeling, dingy paint had been removed and covered in an attractive shade of cobalt blue.
“Seeing is believing, am I right?” Calypso chuckled as she opened the door, reveling in my wide-eyed and slack-jawed expression. “Welcome to Bella Inkworks.”
It was every bit as impressive inside as it was outside. The floor appeared to be original pine hardwood that had been restored to a glossy finish. The walls were painted in the same cobalt blue as the exterior trim. Abstract artwork from local artists hung on the walls. Can fixtures provided lighting without being either too bright or too dim. It was perfect.
A woman with shocking pink hair popped her head up from behind a partition. “Calypso, what is up, sister?”
“Stopped by to say hi and show off your enterprise to one of our community leaders.”
“Nice.” She grinned. “Almost finished with this client. Gimme five and I’ll be with you.”
I got settled in a funky rattan chair by a counter that must have been the check-in station. While we waited, I flipped through a three-ring binder. It was filled with tattoo designs of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were simple, like a green three-leaf clover no larger than my thumb. Others were massive and as intricate as an M. C. Escher piece.
“Find anything you like?”
I raised my head, and my gaze fell on the woman who’d greeted us. She was dressed in a plain orange T-shirt, black leggings, and running shoes.
We shook as I introduced myself. “This is some amazing stuff. Have you done all of it?”
“About half. But I can do anything you see in there. For the right price, of course.” She smiled. It was a friendly one. This was a woman I wanted to get to know.
“How about this one?” I flipped to a page near the front and pointed at one that had caught my attention. It was a semicolon, a punctuation mark that symbolized my love of the written word along with a strong suicide prevention message: Your life is not over. “Can you do it on the inside of my right wrist?”
“Totally. I’ll give you a new customer rate. Sixty bucks, if you want to do it right now.”
Why not? It was a cool way to say something important. It was also a way to show a local business my support. And I might get valuable case intel in the process.
“Let’s do it.”
I was filling out a form when Calypso sidled over to me. She nodded toward a sign on the counter. “You know this is cash only, right?”
“Yep.” I took three twenties out of my card case and placed them on the counter. I didn’t bother telling Calypso that the day before I’d stopped by the bank to get cash for the honeymoon. A woman needed to have some secrets, after all.
In no time at all, I was behind the partition, seated in an adjustable chair that reminded me of a dentist’s chair. Calypso perched herself on a stool a few feet away. She had her phone out, ready to memorialize the occasion with photos.
Dix was busy organizing her ink and tattoo gun when Calypso tapped me on the elbow. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the process, I’d forgotten for a moment the whole reason we were here.
“So, Dix. I’ve heard you do henna tattoos as well as permanent ones. Is that true?”
“That it is. Are you having second thoughts? Now’s the time to say so.”
“No. I saw a booth at the Fourth Fest doing henna ones. I take it that was you?”
“Yep. They’re popular with the teenage crowd. It was a good way to get the word about the studio out, too. My advertising is strictly word of mouth and social media right now.”
“The hustle never ends.” I held my breath while she prepped my wrist area with an alcohol swab, then placed a piece of paper with the outline of the semicolon on my skin. “Were your customers only young ones, or did you have people of all ages?”
“Most were under thirty, but I had a few older customers, too. Why do you ask?” She traced the outline of the tattoo with a black marker.
I didn’t want to lie, so I told her the reason we’d come to see her.
“Wow. Looking for a killer and willing to get inked for answers. Respect.”
Taking her comment as approval to ask questions, I forged ahead. “A witness saw a man with collar-length hair. He was wearing a baseball cap and had a tattoo on his upper arm. Does any of that sound familiar?”
“Kind of, maybe.” She applied another round of disinfectant. “Any idea when this dude may have been by?”
“No, sorry.” I gritted my teeth when she picked up the tattoo machine. Silver in color, with a sharp tip at one end and a rotary motor on the other, it called to mind visions of an electric-powered fountain pen straight out of a steampunk novel. “The guy we’re looking for is named Jackson Michaels. Jax for short. He’s in his fifties. Does a lot of carpentry and handyman work in the area.”
“Carpentry, huh? Let me think. Okay, here we go. This will sting a little. Some people say it feels like getting a bunch of tiny pin pricks.”
“It’s not bad. I barely felt mine,” Calypso said. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll get you some ice cream when we’re done.”
“In that case, fire away.” I closed my eyes and let Dix go to work.
The procedure felt like I was on the receiving end of hundreds of minute electrical shocks. It was more than a tickle but didn’t rise to the level of being painful. More uncomfortable than anything else.
Halfway through the process, Dix paused.
Figuring she was taking a quick rest, I opened my eyes. She’d placed the machine down and was staring at something above my head. “Something wrong?”
“No.” She did a little drum roll with her fingers. “I think I remember the guy you’re asking about.”
The rest of the procedure flew by in the blink of an eye. I was so excited, I didn’t feel a thing as Dix filled in the tattoo with black ink. Before I knew it, she was wrapping the area with a protective covering.
“Be sure to apply a skin protection ointment at least daily for the next two weeks.” She got to her feet. “Now, about this guy you’re looking for. Let me check my records. Back in a sec.”
While we waited for Dix’s return, Calypso peeled back the bandage so we could get a good look at my new ink. It also gave us a chance to take a few photos of it.
“You need to remember to keep it good and moisturized. And before you get all panicky, if you take care of it properly, you won’t need to keep it covered Saturday. Nobody will even notice it’s there.” Calypso covered it back up. “Any questions?”
My mind reeled. I’d been so focused on the potential to get some answers from Dix, I hadn’t given the wedding any thought. Then I chuckled.
“You’ve seen my wedding ensemble. I think I’ll be okay.”
Dix returned with a piece of paper in her hand. “Normally, I wouldn’t share this information. Client confidentiality’s important. Given the circumstances, though, I can make an exception.”
I gazed at the document in her hand. It was like I was Ursi, and the page was a bird she wanted to go after. Before I could extend my hand, Dix pulled it close to her chest.
“Easy now. Here’s what I can tell you. Everyone that day had to sign one of these so I could keep things straight. Your guy signed the form ‘J. Mike.’”
“Holy cats. That has to be Jax. He must have hidden the rifle in his guitar case.” A surge of energy blasted through me, like a light switch being turned on. We had our shooter. “Can you tell from the form what time he had the tattoo done?”
“Midafternoon, I think.” She pursed her lips. “The more I think about it, the more I remember this guy. He was definitely older. He didn’t have a gun with him, though. He had a guitar case. And his hat wasn’t a single color. It was red in the front, white in the middle, and blue in the back. He was wearing a T-shirt, too. It was gray with something patriotic on it, an eagle, I think. He was all in on the holiday theme.”
“The hat and shirt don’t match our gunman,” Calypso said and scratched her head. “The lighting wasn’t the best at nine. Do you think Gail could be mistaken?”
I launched myself out of the chair. “No. Jax must have changed his outfit before setting up for the shot. Between that and hiding the gun, gotta give him points for the misdirection efforts.”
I thanked Dix for the information and the tattoo. The woman had been more than valuable, but, for her own safety, I didn’t want to involve her any more. A killer was still on the loose, after all. I didn’t want word getting out how much help she’d been.
Once we were back outside, Calypso put her hand on my arm. “You’ve got that look in your eye. Like a bloodhound on the scent. I get the feeling that you’re gonna pass on the ice cream I promised you.”
“On the contrary, my dear Calypso, I think taking time to sit down and enjoy some ice cream sounds perfect.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Because while we have our ice cream, we’re going to design a trap that’s going to catch our murderer.”