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.”
“He got released from the hospital this morning,” DeBurra said.
I nodded, not sure where this was going.
“He left alone.”
“Maybe she’s meeting him at his place.” Although that’s not what she told Bitsy on the phone.
Frank DeBurra leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. His eyes met mine.
I had a bad feeling.
“Charlotte Sampson is wanted for questioning in an incident at a pawnshop this morning.”