him.” And I told him who was supposed to be the recipient of the Stones logo, without going into the intimate details of my assignment.
Simon Chase didn’t stop the smile this time, which spread from his lips up to his eyes. I was feeling slightly unnerved. It had been a long time since I’d felt an attraction like this, and if my radar was working properly—I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was—it seemed he was reciprocating.
“That particular guest left yesterday, Miss Kavanaugh. I find it difficult to believe he would arrange this, since he knew he would be leaving.”
My mind was racing. Again I wondered if Jeff had set me up. Then again, maybe he’d been set up. He was the one who was supposed to be here, not me. He had told me that he thought someone was framing him in Kelly’s death.
“I’m actually covering for someone else, another tattooist,” I admitted.
“So he’s the one who arranged this?” I could tell that he, too, wondered if I’d been set up.
“I really think he thought it was his client who called and made the appointment,” I said, surprising myself by defending Jeff. But my gut told me Jeff wouldn’t set me up like this, despite our tenuous relationship. Would he? Seemed my gut was a little ambivalent.
“Who’s in there?” I asked.
“So you really don’t know?”
“No. Is it a big secret?”
“I suppose not.” Simon Chase got up and walked around to the window, his back to me for a second before he turned to face me.
“His name is Matt Powell. He’s Chip Manning’s driver.”
Chapter 19
Before I could react, a loud cacophony of cheering swept through the window from somewhere below. I must have looked puzzled, because Simon Chase beckoned me over.
A crowd of what looked like French peasants was racing toward the front of the building. If I wasn’t mistaken, they were waving sticks of French bread.
“What is it?” I asked.
“They’re storming the Bastille. Every afternoon at three. You’ve just missed Marie Antoinette telling them to eat cake.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“This is Versailles. Have you been in the casino?”
I shook my head, unable to rip my eyes away from the production going on outside.
“Guillotines.”
I looked at him then. “What?”
“The slot machines. When you hit a jackpot, the blade crashes down on top of the machine. It’s not real, of course, so no one will get hurt.”
Sometimes the illusions went too far. But he seemed rather proud of his guillotines, so I kept the thought to myself. Instead, I changed the subject.
“So why would Chip Manning’s driver be here?”
Simon Chase took a deep breath. “When your client left yesterday, Chip moved in here. He usually stays in this suite when he’s in town, but his visit this time was, well, unexpected.”
Because he was supposed to be on his honeymoon with Elise.
“You’re the woman on the telly, aren’t you?” Simon had finally made the connection.
“That’s right.”
“You saw Elise.”
“Yes.” I didn’t quite know what else to say. If he’d seen the bit on TV, then he already knew what I knew.
Fortunately, the conversation had to stop at that point, because the elevator doors opened and the footman led two detectives, a couple of crime scene forensics guys like the ones you see on TV, and two paramedics and a gurney into the room.
Simon Chase became all business. He showed them where the body was. One of the detectives tossed a glance back at me, and I recognized him as one of Tim’s buddies. Great.
“She found the body,” I heard Simon saying from the other room.
I felt my stomach drop with those words, and when I saw the detective—what was his name?—come out to talk to me, it got worse.
“What happened here, Brett?”
He was on a first-name basis with me, but I was in the dark about his.
“I was supposed to see someone else, a client, and when I got here, I saw this guy instead.” That was it in a nutshell.
He
Simon Chase didn’t stop the smile this time, which spread from his lips up to his eyes. I was feeling slightly unnerved. It had been a long time since I’d felt an attraction like this, and if my radar was working properly—I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was—it seemed he was reciprocating.
“That particular guest left yesterday, Miss Kavanaugh. I find it difficult to believe he would arrange this, since he knew he would be leaving.”
My mind was racing. Again I wondered if Jeff had set me up. Then again, maybe he’d been set up. He was the one who was supposed to be here, not me. He had told me that he thought someone was framing him in Kelly’s death.
“I’m actually covering for someone else, another tattooist,” I admitted.
“So he’s the one who arranged this?” I could tell that he, too, wondered if I’d been set up.
“I really think he thought it was his client who called and made the appointment,” I said, surprising myself by defending Jeff. But my gut told me Jeff wouldn’t set me up like this, despite our tenuous relationship. Would he? Seemed my gut was a little ambivalent.
“Who’s in there?” I asked.
“So you really don’t know?”
“No. Is it a big secret?”
“I suppose not.” Simon Chase got up and walked around to the window, his back to me for a second before he turned to face me.
“His name is Matt Powell. He’s Chip Manning’s driver.”
Chapter 19
Before I could react, a loud cacophony of cheering swept through the window from somewhere below. I must have looked puzzled, because Simon Chase beckoned me over.
A crowd of what looked like French peasants was racing toward the front of the building. If I wasn’t mistaken, they were waving sticks of French bread.
“What is it?” I asked.
“They’re storming the Bastille. Every afternoon at three. You’ve just missed Marie Antoinette telling them to eat cake.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“This is Versailles. Have you been in the casino?”
I shook my head, unable to rip my eyes away from the production going on outside.
“Guillotines.”
I looked at him then. “What?”
“The slot machines. When you hit a jackpot, the blade crashes down on top of the machine. It’s not real, of course, so no one will get hurt.”
Sometimes the illusions went too far. But he seemed rather proud of his guillotines, so I kept the thought to myself. Instead, I changed the subject.
“So why would Chip Manning’s driver be here?”
Simon Chase took a deep breath. “When your client left yesterday, Chip moved in here. He usually stays in this suite when he’s in town, but his visit this time was, well, unexpected.”
Because he was supposed to be on his honeymoon with Elise.
“You’re the woman on the telly, aren’t you?” Simon had finally made the connection.
“That’s right.”
“You saw Elise.”
“Yes.” I didn’t quite know what else to say. If he’d seen the bit on TV, then he already knew what I knew.
Fortunately, the conversation had to stop at that point, because the elevator doors opened and the footman led two detectives, a couple of crime scene forensics guys like the ones you see on TV, and two paramedics and a gurney into the room.
Simon Chase became all business. He showed them where the body was. One of the detectives tossed a glance back at me, and I recognized him as one of Tim’s buddies. Great.
“She found the body,” I heard Simon saying from the other room.
I felt my stomach drop with those words, and when I saw the detective—what was his name?—come out to talk to me, it got worse.
“What happened here, Brett?”
He was on a first-name basis with me, but I was in the dark about his.
“I was supposed to see someone else, a client, and when I got here, I saw this guy instead.” That was it in a nutshell.
He
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