Grave Apparel (37 page)

Lacey realized she had
never
considered what
Cassandra
Wentworth’s
life might be
like
outside the
office,
but
if she had, Markham and
Townsend
certainly
fit
the
profile.
But it
was
past lunchtime and
Lacey
was
starving. She had no desire to hang around chatting in a hospital
corridor.

“Nice to meet you. Gotta
run.”

“That
gargoyle
of
a
nurse
told
us
she
finally
woke
up,
but
she
won’t
let us see
her,”
Markham said.
“I’ve
been
waiting
around here for hours to see
her.”

“Actually,”
Wendy
broke
in,
“we’ve
both been here
off
and on for days,
ever
since it happened. Did she say
anything?
What did she tell you?”

“Not much. She
was
cold. She
was
thirsty,”
Lacey
said,
but
toning up her
jacket.
She left out
Cassandra’s
royal
command to get to the bottom of her assault.

“That’s
it?” Markham said.
“Didn’t
she say
anything
about

what happened to her? Or who did it? I mean, this could be po litically
motivated.
An attempted
assassination.”

“She says
everyone
loves
her,”
Lacey offered
cheerfully.
“She has
powerful
enemies,”
Markham continued without listening to
her.
“This could be
very
personal. And
it’s
really a
hate
crime
against
all
progressive
thought.”

“An
attack on Cassie is an attack on all of us at Garrison of Gaia,
Alex,”
Wendy
Townsend
put in. “The personal is politi cal, the political is personal.
You
know
that.”

“She says she
doesn’t
remember
anything
at all from Fri
day.”
Lacey
eyed
the nearest
elevator.
She
was
at least ten yards
away
and these
two
were directly in her path.
Maybe
if
I
make
a
run
for
it?

“Nothing?”
Wendy
slid back into her line of sight.
“Are
you
sure?”

The
toxic
jungle
gardenia
scent
was
too
close
for
comfort.
Lacey
could feel her sinuses clogging.
Is
perfume
environmen
tally
correct?
Lacey wondered.
Must
be
organic.
Really
or
ganic.
“Why
not
go
and
ask
her?”

The
elevator
doors opened. A man rushed out and ran
to
Wendy
and spun her around. He
was
about
sixtwo,
wearing a tailored gray suit, an
expensive
haircut
over
a bland
face.
Fit looking,
Lacey
thought,
but
soft,
like
a
college
athlete out of training.
Moneyed.
She
pegged
him in a similar genus,
liberal
,
but
of the species
limousine.

“How
is she? Is she
off
critical? What did she tell you about the attack?” The man
looked
from
Wendy
to
Alex,
but
it
was
Wendy
who answered him.

“She
doesn’t
remember
anything
about
it.”
Wendy
pointed to
Lacey.
“That’s
what
she
says.”

“Dude, what are you doing here?” Markham put his hand on the taller
man’s
chest.

“Cassandra! I’m concerned about Cassandra, of
course.”
He took
Markham’s
hand
away
easily and
looked
hard at
Lacey,
who noticed this big guy
didn’t
call the patient
“Cassie.”

“Really,
Henderson?”
Markham
narrowed
his
eyes.
“I
thought you
two
broke
up.
You
dumped
her,
for some
woman?
We
had to mop up the mess, remember?”

“A
misunderstanding,”
the man he called Henderson replied.
“We’re
getting back
together.”

“Oh really! When did that happen?” Markham bristled. “Be fore or after you cheated on her?”

“That’s
between us and none of your
business!”

Lacey
tried to process all this surprising information. A Cas sandra with actual friends? A “Cassie”? A Cassandra with an actual
boyfriend?
A jealous and concerned
boyfriend
wearing a
suit?
A
boyfriend
who
wasn’t
the
geeky
Peter
Johnson?
To
quote
Cassandra,
“What kind
of
crazy
world
is
this?”

“Check the threads,
Wendy.”
Markham seemed to be spoil ing for a
fight.
He
fingered
Henderson’s
suit
jacket.
“Just feel the
money.
The
man’s
gone all K Street on
us.”
Henderson re
moved
Markham’s
hand a second time. His
face
was
hard.

“You
abandoned us,
Henderson,”
Wendy
said.
“How
could you? Gaia needs you!”

“Not
everyone
wants
to
live
in
a
crowded
commune,
Wendy,”
he said. “Some of us
have
to be the
grownups.”

“It’s
a group house for concerned
environmental
activists,”
Wendy
snapped. “Not a
commune.”

Henderson snorted. He
looked
at
Lacey.
“And
who on earth is she?”

“She’s
a
reporter,”
Wendy
said.
“Lacey
Smithsonian. From
Cassie’s
paper.”

“Smithsonian. Am I supposed to
know
who you are?” The
newcomer
looked
only
vaguely
interested.

“I
don’t
know,”
Lacey
said.
“Are
you?”

“Cassie
asked
to see her
first
when she
woke
up,”
Markham
said,
as
if
Lacey
weren’t
there.
“We
don’t
know
why
yet.
As
far
as I
know,
they’re
not
even
friends. Are you friends?”

All
eyes
turned to
Lacey.
The
new
man introduced himself. “I’m Henderson
Wilcox.”

The name sounded
familiar,
but
Lacey
couldn’t
quite place him. He had a square
jaw
going soft and pale coloring. His
ex
pensive
threepiece suit
was
a bit snug.
Lacey
introduced her self. “I’m just
leaving,”
she added.

“You
work
with Cassandra?” he
asked.

“At
the same
paper.
I’m a
fashion
reporter.”
Lacey
assumed that
was
enough of an
explanation.

“Oh.”
The three said in unison,
achieving
a ragged threepart
harmony.

“You
weren’t
friends
then.”
The
gardenia
cloud
threatened

again
as
Wendy
leaned
in.
“Why
would
Cassie
ask
for
you
first
and not her friends?”

Markham adjusted his glasses and peered at her as if she were an
exotic bug. “Don’t
you
remember,
guys, this is Smith sonian! The
woman
with all the
lucky
breaks in those murder
investigations.
Cassie’s
told us
all about
her.”

“And
a talent for praising the braindead conspicuous con sumption of a
fashion
industry that
ravages
the planet and
gives
nothing in
return,”
Wendy
Townsend
said.

“Tell
us
how
you really feel,
Wendy,”
Lacey
said.
“Don’t
hold
back.”

“Wendy,
stop,”
Markham said. “She may be just a
fashion
reporter,
but
she’s
broken
some
crime
stories.
That
must
be
why
Cassie called her
in.”

“So
that’s
what
you’re
doing here with Cassie?”
Wendy
was
in
Lacey’s
face,
forcing her to back up. “Finding the slime ball who tried to kill her?”

“Not
exactly,”
Lacey
began.

“The
important
thing
is
to
use
this
politically,” Wendy jumped ahead.
“An
attack on Cassie
Wentworth
is an attack on what she stood
for,
an attack on
Gaia.”

“How
is Cassandra?” Henderson
Wilcox
interjected. “What did she say?”

“She
doesn’t
remember what
happened,”
Wendy
said.
“Ac
cording to
her
.”

“Cassie’s
conscious,”
Markham said, “and she
didn’t
ask for you, Henderson.
How
did you
even
find
out about this?”

“I read the paper too,
like
everybody
else. I called as soon as I heard,
but
they
said no visitors. I took a chance on coming
over
today to see
how
she
is.”
He paused and seemed lost in thought. “I still care for
her.
You
know
that.”

“Do
we?”
Wendy
and
her
cloud
of
jungle
gardenia
turned
to
Wilcox.

The tough nurse strutted past and shushed them
sternly.
“We
have
patients who need their rest! And Ms.
Wentworth
doesn’t
want
to see
anyone
else right
now.
You
got that?” She stared them
down.
They
all nodded.

“Where did you all meet Cassandra?”
Lacey
asked,
edging
toward
the
elevator.