Grave Apparel (74 page)

Authors: Ellen Byerrum

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General

BOOK: Grave Apparel

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Lamont put his notebook
away.
“She’s
a material witness in an assault, which could be connected with the murder of her
mother.
At the
very
least she may
know
her
mom’s
drug con nections, and odds are
that’s
probably who killed
her.
This kid is a person of
interest.”
Lamont got to his feet.
“You
know
the drill, Smithsonian.
You
got information on this, you call me.
Your
memory suddenly
improves,
you call me.
You
see that kid, you call me.
You
got some kind of
wacky
fashion
clue, you call
me.”
He lifted himself to his feet. “I got a feeling
we’ll
be talk ing soon. Sooner the
better.”

She
stared
him
down.
“Jasmine
Lee
did
not
attack
Cassandra.”
“Hell, I
know
that, Smithsonian!”

Lacey
straightened her shoulders and stood up. “What about your
Detective
Charleston? Where is he in all this?”

Broadway
Lamont smiled his broad pearly smile.
“You
call me. Detective Charleston, he don’t understand fashion
clues
like
you and me. And I’m
working
a homicide. Homicide out ranks assault.
You
call
me
, you got it?” He plucked the
last
canapé
off
Lacey’s
plate and lumbered
off
through the
crowd.

Lacey
knew
she
would
have
to call Lamont
eventually,
if and when Jasmine
resurfaced.
But she
wouldn’t
be responsible for splitting up those
two
little girls.
They
would
be
taken
into custody and put into some kind of
juvenile
detention hell before being parceled out to a state
facility.
They’d
be scared to death, despite
Jasmine’s
veneer
of toughness. Jasmine and Lily Rose
didn’t
seem to
have
much in the
world
besides each
other,
a tipsy lady who let them sleep on her couch and in her laundry room—and a stolen
shepherd’s
robe.

What if
Lacey
or Mac could get to them
first?
Mac
was
al ready
invested
in their future, along with his wife. If Mac and Kim could get to them,
they
would
have
a home, a Christmas tree, and most of all, a safe
haven.
Lacey
had to
find
Jasmine and
convince
the girls to trust
her.
But
how
could she tell them their mother
would
never
be coming home? She
fished
her cell phone out of her purse, just in case.
Lacey
was
lost in thought when she
looked
up and
saw
Henderson
Wilcox
standing there. It felt
like
déjà vu.

“You
look
like
you’ve
lost your best
friend,”
he said.

Lacey forced a smile. “Oh, not me. Having a swell
time.

Nothing more fun than a
Washington
cocktail
party.”

“And
it’s
an honor to
have
one of
Washington’s
leading jour nalistic lights with
us.”

Who?
Where?
Me?
Apparently this kind of asskissing
was
his idea of idle
flattery.

“Yeah.
Right. I’m a little surprised to see you here,
Wilcox.

I thought
you’d
be at the hospital with
Cassandra.”

“She
needs
her
rest.
She’s
going
home
tomorrow.
We’re
thinking of taking a
few
days out of
town.
But I’m here because my
family
knows
the
Bentleys.
I
couldn’t
very
well
beg
off.”
He nudged
her.
“And
you seem to be a special friend of our host
too.”

So
that’s
why
he’s
sucking
up
to
me,
to
get
to
Jeffrey,
she thought.
I
should
have
known
it
wasn’t
my
charms.
Any
guy
who’s
sweet
on
Princess
Cassandra
of
the
Planet
Catastrophe
won’t
see
much
in
me.
She
decided
to
change
the
subject
completely.

“The police
didn’t
charge
that
alleged
stalker,
you
know,”
Lacey
said.

Wilcox’s
expression
hardened. “So she told me. But
it’s
only a matter of
time.”

“Do you think
she’ll
ever
remember what happened? Who
attacked
her?”

He shook his head. “The doctors
don’t
think so. But the im portant thing is
that’s
she’s
getting
better.
She’ll
be our Cassan
dra
again,
the
same
as
ever.”

Yeah,
that
would
be wonderful,
Lacey
thought
grimly.
“Un settling that the guy is still out there,
don’t
you think? Maybe
he’ll
try
to
get
to
her
again.”

Wilcox
downed
his champagne. He set the glass on a pass ing
waiter’s
tray and took a fresh glass. “Then
we’ll
just
have
to
make
sure
she’s
safe until
he’s
put
away.”

“How
do you
explain
the Christmas sweater she
was
found wearing?”

“The sweater?” He
looked
blank. “I
don’t
know.
The guy
obviously
had
some
sort
of
twisted
fixation
on
her.
Or
on
Christmas. Who
knows.”

“Funny
Christmas
fixation,”
Lacey
said.
“That
stalker
of
hers is
Jewish.”

“You
don’t
say.”
He
moved
on
smoothly.
“The
important
thing is that Cassandra is going home
tomorrow.
She’s
all I care
about.”
His
eyes
followed
an
attractive
young
woman
in a
fitted
Nancy
Reagan red wool suit.

“So
how
long
have
you
two
been together?”

He dragged his attention back to
Lacey.
“About
three years
now.
We
met
at
Gaia.
We’re
both
very
passionate
about
the
planet, both
very
politically
engaged.”
He shifted the subject
again.
“We’re
a
political
family.
You
know
my
brother,
don’t
you,
Senator
Pendleton
Wilcox?
Let
me
introduce
you.”
He
steered
Lacey’s
elbow
to where his elder brother
was
holding court. Suddenly she
was
tired of men grabbing her
elbow.
She shook his hand
off.
Don’t
handle
the
reporter!
The
younger
Wilcox
stepped back as the Senator turned to them.

“Miss Smithsonian, a
pleasure,”
the Senator said, looking over
her
shoulder
for
someone
more
important.
His
mouth
formed
a
cold
toothy
smile.
To
Lacey
it
looked
like
the
devour
ing
maw
of
a
predator.
“And
what
is
it
that
you
do
again?”

“I’m
a
reporter,”
Lacey
said.

“Really?” His ears
pricked
up.
“For
The
Post
?
I
haven’t
seen you at the Judiciary Committee hearings,
I’d
have
noticed you,
believe
me.
What’s
your beat
again?”

“Not
The
Post
.
The
Eye
Street
Observer
. And my beat
is
fashion.”

“Ah.
The
Observer
.
Right.
And
the
fashion
beat
must
be
so—” The Senator shot a look at his younger brother that said
clearly,
You
idiot! Why
are
you
wasting
my
valuable
time
with
this
insignificant
peon?
“Nice to meet you,
now
if
you’ll
excuse
me, I—”

Lacey
turned on her heel.
When
you’re
being
cut
dead,
she thought,
always
try
to
get
in
the
first
cut!
She
walked
away
as fast as her boots could
travel.
Jeffrey
Bentley Holmes
inter
cepted
her.