Grave Apparel (28 page)

“Vic
helped
me,”
she said.
“A
lot.”

“And
he
can
help
you
again,”
Nadine
laughed.
“I
couldn’t
believe
you tackled
Southern
Living
’s
famous
pecan pie
cake.
It’s
a
killer.”

“I
couldn’t
either.
We
got carried
away.
Didn’t
we,
Vic?”
“Count me
in,”
Vic
added. “It
was
pretty ridiculous, though.

There
was
batter on the ceiling.
We
used kitchen implements, no,
wait,
scientific
apparatus,
I had
never
seen before. It
was
like
a science
fiction
movie.
Attack
of
the
Pecan
Pie
Cake
From
Outer
Space.
”

“But with a
happy
ending, and no blood
spilled,”
Nadine said. “It
was
worth
every
second. People are still talking about you
two.
And your dessert
was
good
too.”

“Nadine,”
Danny
said,
“don’t
tease the young people. Some times
they
don’t
understand your sense of
humor.”
He
winked
at
Lacey.
Nadine paid no attention to him.

“Seriously,
Lacey,
it
was
fabulous,
and another spectacular dessert
would
just send your reputation
over
the moon. What do you say?”

Maybe it really
was
alien mind control,
Lacey
thought, that made her
buy
the
expensive
pie pans and the cooling rack and all the rest and spend hours making that
infamous
pecan pie
cake.
A cooling rack! No, the truth
was
she’d
wanted
to impress
Vic’s
mom, and apparently it
worked.
All too well.

“I’d
say
you’ve
got my
number,
Nadine. But I
couldn’t
pos sibly do it without
Vic’s
help. And he can clean
cake
batter
off
my
ceiling.”

Nadine laughed. “His
exwife
couldn’t
even
bring
anything
to a boil. Except my
blood.”

“Mother,
you are
shameless.”
Vic
wrapped his arm around
Lacey’s
shoulders.
“She’s
just teasing us.
You
don’t
have
to
make
dessert.
We’ll
just pick something
up.”

Lacey
looked
at Nadine, the cat who caught the
canary.
Vic’s
mother smiled and rolled her
eyes.
“Um,
I’ll
have
to
take
a peek at some cookbooks,
Nadine.”

“Yeah,
maybe we can try something
really
complicated this
time,”
Vic
said.

“Christmas will be such fun with you there,
Lacey,”
Nadine went on
blithely.
“We
can talk girl talk. Recipes, clothes, men, those interesting little murders
you’re
always
getting
involved
with.
You
must tell me simply
everything.”

Vic
groaned.
“Dad,
help
me
out
here.
How
about
some
wine? All around?”

“Sean
Victor
Donovan,
you
know
I
can’t
be held responsible where your mother is concerned. This poor girl of yours is on her
own,
son,”
he said.
“Heaven
help
her.”

“I
know,”
Sean
Victor
said.
Lacey
had learned at
Thanksgiv
ing that nearly
every
male in the
Donovan
family
was
named Sean something. His dad
was
Sean Daniel.

“Lacey
can
take
care of
herself,”
Nadine interrupted.
“She’s
a resourceful girl. Just
give
her a steak knife or hairspray or something, she can turn
anything
into a weapon.
For
that mat
ter,
any
woman
can,
can’t
she?
Now
Lacey,
you simply must tell me more about all these
adventures
you’ve
been
having.”

My
brain
just
froze.
“I’m really looking
forward
to the con cert
tonight,”
Lacey
said.
“I’ve
never
been to the
Folger
before.”
“Let’s
take
our seats, shall we?”
Danny
Donovan
ushered them up the stairs to the front
row
of the
balcony
of the small theatre.

“We’ll
talk
later,”
Nadine assured her as the lights dimmed.
“You
and I are going to
have
such fun.
Pay
no attention to our
stuffy
menfolk.”

Inside
the
theatre,
dark
wooden
galleries
were
aglow
with
greenery wrapped in white lights
overlooking
the stage.
Carved
wooden
figures
around the room appeared to guard the quiet space, and the ceiling featured a mural of a unicorn.

They
sat on
wooden
chairs with red
velvet
seats. From their
vantage
point,
Lacey
could see the entire Elizabethan theatre. She whispered to
Vic
that
they
should see a play there.
Vic
nod ded, smiling.
Lacey
was
thinking,
Romeo
and
Juliet.
On second thought,
A
Midsummer
Night’s
Dream.

The stage set for the musicians
was
simple. A Christmas tree with white lights stood well
off
to one side. The instruments, in cluding flute and lutes, were in place
waiting
for the players. A guest soprano
would
be singing
medieval
carols,
they
would
be transported to a Christmas long ago, and the incident in
the
alley would fade
away,
Lacey
thought; perhaps for a
few
hours
anyway.
The lights dimmed, the stage lights and the Christmas lights brightened. The
first
notes from the lead violinist soared to the ceiling and the carols and the Corelli
worked
their magic. At the intermission in the
exhibition
hall,
Vic
and his dad went to
buy
glasses of wine for the four of them. Nadine took the opportunity to drag
Lacey
over
to a dark
woodpaneled
cor
ner.
“Lacey,
you simply must tell me! When are you going to write your story on this attack in the
alley
last night?”

“How
did
you
know
about
that?”
Lacey
began.
“Did
Vic
tell
you?”

“My
own
Sean
Victor?
No, my son is just
like
his
father,
as silent as the
grave,”
Nadine said. “But
it’s
all
over
Conspiracy
Clearinghouse
today.
You
know,
DeadFed?”

That
damned
Web
site!
Again!
Lacey
thought. “Nadine!
You
don’t
really read that thing?”

“Don’t
I? Of course I
do,”
Nadine laughed.
“And
I just wrote that darling
Brooke
Barton a little check to support
them.”

“Yes,
that
darling
Brooke
Barton
.
.
.”
Lacey
sighed.
Of
course it
would
be
Brooke.
“Wait
a minute!
How
do you
know
Brooke?”

“Oh, her mother is an old friend of an old friend.
I’ve
been hearing about her for years,
but
we actually only met the other
weekend
at
a
Conspiracy
Clearinghouse
fundraising
event.
Lovely
family,
the
Bartons,
and
so
well
connected.
I
met
Brooke
and
her
father,
and
what’shisname,
her
brother.
Brooke
tells me you
two
are thick as
thieves.”

Vic
made his
way
through the
crowd
with a plastic glass of Cabernet Sauvignon for
her.
Danny
followed
with
two
more glasses and handed one to his wife.

“You
didn’t
tell me about your
mother’s
distressing secret
habit,”
she whispered in his
ear,
while his mother
was
busy
with
his
father.

Vic
looked
amused.
“Which
distressing
habit
would
that
be?”

“Now,
Vic.
I
know
there are so
many
of
those,”
Nadine said.
“She
reads
DeadFed
dot
com!”
Lacey
said.
“Why
didn’t
you
say something
about it?
Why
didn’t
you
warn me?”

“And
ruin the surprise?” He brushed her
face
with his hand and kissed her forehead.
“With
Mother,
it’s
usually more fun when she gets to pop the surprise
herself.”

“It’s
just
a
guilty
pleasure,
Lacey,
like
everything
on
the
Web,”
Nadine said.
“It’s
not gospel, I
know,
but
really,
there has to be something other than
The
Post
to read in this
town.
And DeadFed
always
has such an interesting spin on
things.”
Lacey
must
have
looked
dismayed,
because
Nadine
went
on.
“Of
course
there’s
The
Eye
Street
Observer
.
The
Eye
always
has its
own
unique angle,
don’t
you think?”

“That’s
true.”
Lacey
sipped her wine and
checked
her
watch,
wondering
how
long
before
Act
Two.
“
The
Eye
has
its
mo
ments.
And
then
it
has
all
the
moments
in
between
those
moments.”