Ink Flamingos by Karen E. Olson Page B

car was still in the parking garage at the Venetian. Had he not seen me get out of a cab last night? We’d been so distracted by the pictures on the blog that I’d forgotten to tell him I’d need a ride to work.
    He’d made coffee, at least, so I poured myself a cup and sat at the table. The laptop was still there, so I booted it up. Maybe I shouldn’t look at it again, but I wanted to. Maybe I’d get some sort of clue about why she was doing this, now that I had a clearer head after sleep and coffee.
    The page hadn’t even popped up when I heard the doorbell.
    I got up and peered out the window. A metallic orange Pontiac sat in the driveway.
    I glanced down at my pajamas and T-shirt that had a cartoon lobster on it and the words “I love Cape Cod” underneath. At least I was covered up.
    I opened the door.
    Jeff Coleman grinned when he saw my T-shirt, but he didn’t say anything about it. He pushed his way in, and I shut the door after him.
    “Tim called you,” I said, my powers of deduction hard at work.
    “Said you needed a ride. I’m your ride. Just dropped my mother over at the community pool.” Jeff had gone into the kitchen and around the table to see the laptop. “Tsk, tsk, Kavanaugh. You really want to be doing that with Harry Desmond? He’s a loser.”
    In the light of day and with a head clear of absinthe, I tended to agree. But then I remembered something.
    “He’s unemployed, right?”
    “As far as I know.”
    “Well, he’s getting money from somewhere,” I said, telling him about the wad of bills in Harry’s wallet.
    Jeff was quiet for a second as he contemplated that. “I can check around,” he said. “Maybe he’s working, and we’re not aware of it.”
    “He’s always at my shop these days,” I said, not wanting to get into how Jeff could “check on things.” He had connections I’d be better off not knowing about.
    “What’s this chick’s angle?” Jeff asked, changing the subject and pointing at the picture of me and Harry in the bar. “I mean, I don’t get why she’s all hot and bothered by you. Unless, of course . . .” His voice trailed off and a leer crossed his face.
    I slapped his arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
    “Your mind was most definitely in the gutter last night,” Jeff said, his finger on the picture of Harry and me kissing on the bridge.
    So sue me.
    “And absinthe, Kavanaugh? Really? You should know better.”
    “I already got read the riot act from Tim, so leave me alone,” I said, embellishing a little. Tim had been concerned, not angry. He’d told me to be cautious. “Why did you leave, anyway? I mean, you were so dead set against me going out with Harry in the first place, but then you left me alone with him.”
    “From the look of things, I should have stayed,” Jeff said. He shrugged. “I guess I figured you’re a big girl and can take care of yourself.”
    I hated to think how close I’d come to not taking care of myself last night. I’d acted stupidly, allowing Harry to buy me that drink. And then actually drinking it. I know myself better than that.
    Jeff’s expression changed slightly and he said, “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It happens to the best of us.”
    “But it usually doesn’t happen to me.”
    “We all have our moments. Really, don’t worry about it. You’re home, you’re safe, nothing bad happened.”
    I cocked my head at the laptop. “Except that. I can’t figure out what it means, though. Why is she stalking me?”
    “Maybe she’s jealous.”
    I snorted. “I met her, Jeff. Believe me, she can’t be jealous of me.”
    “Are you sure about that?”
    It was the way he said it that made me take pause.
    “You know something,” I said.
    “After you and lover boy left, I went into Cleopatra’s Barge.”
    Butterflies started crashing around in my gut. “And?” “I met a woman there.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine, be that way. I don’t really want to know about your