Grave Apparel (39 page)

Lacey
crossed
Washington
Circle and
was
walking
briskly
down
K Street when her cell phone rang. She
retrieved
it from
her
purse,
noticing
that
Cassandra’s
cell
phone
number
ap
peared in the
display.
“Hello?”

“You
said I
was
a
boy!
I’m not a
boy!
I’m a girl! My name is Jasmine. Does that sound
like
a
boy’s
name to you?”

A
girl?
Lacey
recognized the little
shepherd’s
voice.
That
tough
little
shepherd
boy
was
a
girl?
“Excuse me?”
A
girl
run
ning alone down an
alley
in
Shaw last night?

“You
heard me. A
girl.”

“You’re
the little shepherd?”
Lacey
shook her head to clear it and realized she must look
like
every
other nut
walking
down
the streets babbling into a cell phone.
“You
were wearing the
shepherd’s
robe, I mean. I
was
hoping
you’d
call back.
You’re
all right?”
Lacey
stopped and stood on the
sidewalk
in front of a popular Thai restaurant. She
didn’t
want
to lose the
kid’s
at tention. “Where did you get the robe?”

“Around.”
The girl
was
obviously
upset, and
Lacey
wanted
to
keep
her on the phone.
“And
I’m not Hispanic. I’m a mutt,
my
mom
says,
and
that’s
a
good
thing.
Chinese,
black,
and
white. Are you blind or something?”

“I
never
said you were Hispanic. The police thought
you
were.”

“That’s
stupid. I’m not Hispanic! I am what I am!”
“Jasmine,
do
you
read
The
Eye
?
Is
that
where
you
read
this?”
Lacey
hoped the kid
was
not yet another
fan
of DeadFed dot com.

“Yeah,
I
read.
I
can
read,
you
know.
I’m
a
great
reader.”
She
sighed, a
grownupscanbesotiresome
kind of sigh. “I called ’cause you got it wrong about me being a
boy.
And I
wanted
to see if that lady is okay yet.
Your
friend
Cassandra.”

“I
didn’t
write the
story,”
Lacey
protested.
“And
Cassandra is going to be all
right.”

“But you said you were a
reporter.”

“I am,
but
one of the police reporters wrote the
story.
I write about
fashion.
Clothes.”

“Why
did
they
think
I’m
a
boy?”
The
voice
was
deeply
of
fended and suspicious.
Lacey
wondered
what this tough little girl
would
think about
Damon’s
little man and
evil
alien
dwarf
theories.

“It
was
dark.
You
were wearing a
shepherd’s
robe.”
“Shepherds can totally be girls! I’m a girl!”

“Yes,
of course, shepherds can be
girls.”
Lacey
was
happy
to
know
that
feminism
was
not
dead,
but
not
so
happy
that
a
twelveyearold
girl could
make
her feel
like
a fool. “I’m
sorry.
What’s
your last name, Jasmine?”

“It’s
Lee. Jasmine
Lee.”

“Jasmine Lee is a beautiful name.
You
know,
with that hood
halfway
down
your
face,
I
couldn’t
see you
very
well. It
was
hard to tell what you
looked
like
in the
dark.”

“Maybe you
couldn’t,”
she conceded. “I do that on purpose sometimes. I
don’t
need
anyone
gettin’ in my
business.”

“And
you
didn’t exactly
introduce
yourself.”

“I had things on my
mind.”
Jasmine seemed calmer
now.

Lacey
hoped Jasmine
wouldn’t
ask for a retraction in the
paper.
It
was
much safer if the Santa Dude still thought she
was
a
boy.
“I see you
kept
the cell
phone.”

“What cell phone?”

“I
don’t
know,
maybe the phone
you’re
talking
on.”
Lacey
heard a giggle on the other end.
“Never
mind. But you should
know
that the battery will run
down
and the phone will die. Maybe
very
soon.”

“So? I can use a pay
phone.”

“So
maybe
I’d
like
to
talk
to
you
again.
Do
you
have
another
number where I can reach you?”

“I’ll
call
you.”
Lacey
sighed.
Cagey
kid!

“Jasmine, about that
shepherd’s
robe—”

“Maybe I
like
it. Maybe
it’s
pretty.
And I
like
the
hood.”
“It
was
stolen from a church. Right?”
Lacey
assumed there
wasn’t
a
vast
number of blueandwhite
shepherd’s
robes flood ing the streets of the District.

“It’s
borrowed!
I am
borrowing
it! Besides, statues
don’t
get cold.
Everybody
knows
that.”

“That’s
not what I mean, Jasmine.
You
saw
the Santa Dude. That means the Santa Dude
saw
you.
Wearing
that robe. I
don’t
want
to scare you,
but—”

“You
don’t
scare
me,”
the girl protested, although there
was
a tremor in her
voice.
“Like
you could scare me.
I’ve
seen
way
scarier
stuff
than the Santa
Dude.”

“But you still
don’t
want
him to
find
you.
You
saw
what he did and he might remember that robe. He might come after you with another giant candy
cane.”
Lacey
paused for a minute. “I
saw
you last
night.”

“No
way!”
There
was
surprise in the
voice.

“In
the
alley
near
the
church.”
Lacey
took
a
chance
she
hadn’t
imagined it. “I tried to talk to
you.”

“I
didn’t
see
you.”
“I
was
in a
car.”

“A
car? A really big pink car?”

“That was
me,”
Lacey said. “So it was you in the
alley.”
There
was
no response on the other end. “Do you
live
near the church?”

Several
ladies who left the Thai restaurant stalked
off
on
their stilettos.
Spicy
Thai aromas
filled
the
air,
reminding
Lacey
it was time for lunch. A blueandwhite Metropolitan
police
cruiser glided
by.
Jasmine
was
silent.

“The Santa Dude is a dangerous
man,”
Lacey
said.
“He’s
bad,”
the girl agreed.
“And
crazy.”

“The
police
would
like
to
know
what
he
looks
like.
So
would
I.”

“I
don’t
talk to
police.”
She said it as if
Lacey
were a com plete idiot.

“Why
not?”

“It’s
my
policy.
My
personal
policy,”
Jasmine
said,
as
if
she’d
given
it a great deal of thought. “Police
don’t
care about you.
You
talk to police and then you need a
lawyer
and
every
body
knows
they’re
bad
news.”

“They’re
not all bad. My best friend is a
lawyer,”
Lacey
said.

A little
crazy,
but
a good
lawyer.

“Whatever.”
Now
there
was
a bored note to the
voice.
“The police just
take
you
away
and lock you
up.”

“Why would
they
take you
away?”

“Because
they
just
do.”
The girl
was
getting impatient. “I
have
to go
now.”

“Wait,
Jasmine, where do you go to school?”

“I
don’t
have
to tell
you.”
The attitude
was
back. The girl
was
a tough cookie.

“Where do you
live?”
“I think
you’re
nosy.”

“I’m a
reporter.
I told you,
that’s
what I
do.”

“That
sounds
dumb.”
The
girl’s
sigh
was
extravagant.
“Maybe you should go to school and be something
else.”

Lacey
ignored that advice.
“You
said statues
don’t
get cold, Jasmine. Do you get cold?” There
was
no
answer.
“I could
buy
you a
new
coat,”
she
offered,
“a really
warm
coat.
Warmer
than
that
shepherd’s
robe.
We
could
make
a
trade.”
Jasmine
said
nothing,
but
Lacey
could tell she
was
thinking about it.
“You
give
me the robe and
I’ll
get you a
brandnew
coat.”

“Really totally
new?
Not from some dirty old thrift store?” she inquired, interested.
“Any
kind I
want?”

Lacey
hoped Jasmine
didn’t
have
a taste for mink. She
won
dered if this bribe
would
really
work,
and then she
wondered
if it
was
ethical.
For
heaven’s
sake,
this
is
a
child,
not
a
story.
“Any
kind you
want.
Would
your mother be okay with that?”