Chapter 37
“It had this triangle in space with a rainbow off to the side that you could see through some kind of brick wall that had been partially torn down,” Matt described to Wyatt, who sat at his computer in the Desert Flowers office, intently digitally re-creating the image from Matt’s memory on his screen.
“The triangle was a little smaller,” Matt said as Wyatt began shrinking the image. “Yeah, that’s more like it.”
“That looks ridiculous!” Iris snorted. “Who would be dumb enough to have that put on his arm?”
“Whoever attacked me must be a Pink Floyd fan, too. That looks like some kind of odd mash-up of two of their most popular albums, Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall,” Matt said.
Wyatt added a few finishing touches and then wheeled back in his office chair so they could all get a good look. “How’s that?”
“Perfect,” Matt beamed. “Kid, you’re a genius.”
“Now that we have the tattoo, what do we do with it?” Violet asked.
“I can run a Google image search to see if any tattoo shops in the area have that same design or something similar on their Web site. It’s pretty elaborate and well done, so I’m hoping an artist would like to showcase it. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Give me a few minutes,” Wyatt said, swiveling back around to get started.
“I’m just so proud of him,” Violet gushed.
“We have a devotee to seventies psychedelic rock. Well, I suppose that’s something,” Poppy sighed. “At least it’s more than we had last night.”
Violet put on a pot of coffee and the team took a break as Wyatt worked furiously to come up with some useful information. Before she even had a chance to pour cream into Iris’s cup, Wyatt was spinning back around in his chair, a triumphant look on his face.
“Off-Melrose Tattoo Shop,” he cried.
“Where’s that?” Violet asked, handing Iris her coffee.
“Off Melrose!” Iris snapped. “Where do you think?”
Violet narrowed her eyes, perturbed. “I mean, what city?”
“I’m assuming LA,” Matt answered.
Wyatt nodded. “I traced the image and found maybe six or seven shops in the country that specialize in that signature style, but only one located in California. And the shop in LA is the only one with the exact same image, triangle, rainbow, wall and all.”
“That’s got to be the place!” Matt said, clapping his hands together.
“The owner of the shop who does most of the tattoo designs is a woman named Kale,” Wyatt said, bringing up an image of a raven-haired, ghostly pale creature with heavy mascara and a lip ring, wearing a black tank top and sporting arm sleeves of tattoos from her shoulder blades to her wrists.
“Kale? That’s a name?” Iris laughed. “What are the names of her parents, Romaine and Butter?”
Matt, leaning over Wyatt to read the text underneath her photo on the shop’s Web site, said, “Apparently she’s quite well respected in the tattoo community.” He whipped around to Poppy. “You up for another road trip to LA?”
Poppy did not even have to answer him. She just grabbed her purse and they hurried out, promising to be back by mid-afternoon. Traffic was light on the 10 freeway, and when they arrived in Los Angeles, and parked on a side street across from the Off-Melrose Tattoo Shop, it was just opening for the day. Poppy checked her watch. It was going on noon. Artists, from her experience, were rarely early risers.
Poppy and Matt scurried across the street and entered the ramshackle store to find Kale sweeping the floor with a broom and dustpan. She didn’t even look up at them. “Have a seat, I’ll be right with you.”
Poppy and Matt plopped down in a pair of rickety plastic chairs and perused photos of Kale’s past work hanging on the walls. Matt spotted a framed photo of the Pink Floyd–inspired design toward the end of the wall near the restroom and nudged Poppy, gesturing toward it.
Kale took her sweet time. After dumping the dust bunnies in a bin, she disappeared inside her office to make a phone call. The front door swung open and a young man in his early twenties, rail thin, drawn face, tired eyes, with spiky blond hair and a ring of thorns tattooed around both biceps, ambled in, carrying a Starbucks cup. He glanced at Poppy and Matt. “Kale here?”
“Yes, she’s in the back,” Poppy said politely. “She told us to wait.”
The young man nodded, then strolled past them and down to the office. Poppy assumed he must work at the shop. She managed to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation between Kale and this kid, recounting their previous evening, hanging at some dive bar, partying too much, Kale complaining of a massive hangover. Poppy impatiently checked her watch, but Matt gently placed a hand over her wrist, signaling her that Kale was finally coming out to deal with them. The kid stayed in the office.
“Which one of you is here for a tattoo?” Kale asked.
Poppy stood up. “Actually, neither of us. We were wondering if you could answer a few questions.”
“And who are you?” Kale asked suspiciously.
“Poppy Harmon. This is Matt Flowers. We’re from the Desert Flowers Detective Agency.”
Kale was suddenly on guard. “Detectives?”
“Yes,” Poppy said, pulling the printed image of the tattoo Wyatt had re-created out of her purse. “We were hoping you could tell us who—”
“I’m backed up with appointments today so I’m sorry I can’t help you,” Kale said evenly.
Poppy glanced around the shop incredulously. “But there is no one here.”
Kale shrugged. “Believe me, there’s going to be a line outside around the block in about five minutes.”
“Well, this won’t take long—”
Kale cut her off. “Sorry.”
Poppy sighed, frustrated.
“How much?” Matt suddenly asked.
“For what?”
“A tattoo,” he answered.
“Depends on what kind and how big. Small ones start at a hundred and fifty.”
“Done. I’d like to get one.”
Poppy’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
Matt did not strike her as the tattoo type.
“Poppy, why don’t you leave me here, go do some shopping, and come back in a little while when I’m done,” Matt said before whispering under his breath, “I got this.”
“Okay,” Poppy said, hesitating, and then she left the shop. She drove around the city for an hour, stopping at a few clothing stores on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, establishments she had frequented regularly during her time as a TV actress but now scoffing at the exorbitant price tags, killing time before returning to the Melrose area. The streets were much busier now, and Poppy had a challenging time finding a parking space, but after paying the meter for an hour, she returned to the shop.
Kale had been right. There was now a line out the door with people waiting to get tattooed. She entered the shop to see Matt sitting in a chair with his shirt off as Kale busily drew a design on his upper left arm with her inks and needles. Poppy could see Matt wincing in pain a couple of times but otherwise maintaining a brave face. He had always told her he had a very low threshold for pain.
Kale finished her work finally, and stepped back and inspected it, satisfied.
Matt nodded appreciatively, then stood up and reached for his wallet in the back of his pants.
Poppy could not see the design as he was turned away from her.
Matt showed Kale the printed image of the Pink Floyd tattoo. Apparently now with a fresh sale, she was more open to answering questions.
“Yeah, I’ve done that design a few times,” Kale said.
“Do you keep records? Can I have their names?” Matt asked.
Kale burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? Look around. We’re a small operation. I don’t keep tabs on everybody who comes in here. I only remember tattoos, not faces.”
The spiky blond-haired kid emerged from the office and looked briefly at the image Matt was still holding up for Kale. “Unless they’re famous, like that one guy.”
Poppy snapped to attention. “What do you mean? Did someone famous come in here and get that particular tattoo?”
“Yeah, remember, Kale? I mean he’s not that big of a deal, not like it was Ryan Reynolds or somebody like that, but I’ve seen this guy in a couple of movies. What did he say his name was?”
“I don’t remember,” Kale said, thoroughly disinterested.
Poppy tried an educated guess. “Chase Ehrens?”
The blond kid brightened. “Yeah, him! How did you know?”
“Zip it, will you?” Kale barked at the young man before turning to Poppy and spitting out, “I don’t feel comfortable discussing my clients. They have a right to privacy.”
“Kale, we’re looking for Chase Ehrens because he physically attacked me, tried to kill me, and there is a strong possibility he may have had something to do with the murder of Danika Delgado.”
“I love her! She’s so hot!” the kid cried before realizing the inappropriateness of his comment. “I mean was. That was a real sad story.”
A light went on in Kale. She may have been trying to stay true to her professional ethics, but there was a hint of empathy at the mention of Danika. “He was in here recently with his girlfriend, or at least I assumed she was his girlfriend. I had never heard of him, but a few of the customers were buzzing about him being in the shop. When we were done, I remember thinking how odd it was he let his girlfriend pay for the tattoo. I mean, if he was such a big movie star like everybody said, why not pay for it himself?”
“Did she pay cash?” Poppy asked.
Kale shook her head. “No, I think she used a credit card.”
“Then you must have a record of her name.”
Kale wavered, not quite prepared to be that helpful.
Matt opened his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“A hundred and fifty.”
Matt handed her two one-hundred-dollar bills.
“I’ll get you some change.”
“No, keep it,” Matt said, locking eyes with her.
Kale finally relented. She took the bills and slid them into the register before asking, “So is this Chase guy really as bad as you say?”
Vigorous nods from both Poppy and Matt.
Kale reluctantly got onto her desktop computer and scrolled down a bit before she came up with a name.
Tracy Watson.
Her zip code to verify was 92202.
Somewhere very close to Palm Springs, California.
Poppy was confident Wyatt could locate her.
They thanked Kale and left the shop, walking a few blocks to where Poppy had found a parking space for her car.
Matt turned to Poppy with a grin. “You haven’t asked to see it.”
“See what?” Poppy asked, perplexed.
“My tattoo!”
“Oh . . . I’m not sure I want to.”
Matt lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal three small flowers on his bicep.
Poppy chuckled. “What made you choose flowers?”
“Not just any flowers. Take a closer look. There’s a poppy, a violet, and an iris.”
Poppy erupted in laughter. “I guess now you’re stuck with us forever.”