Shot Through Velvet (21 page)

“You’re talking payoffs,” Trujillo said. “Pojack’s not smart enough. Is he?”

“So say my sources.” Harlan Wiedemeyer smiled. “I have no proof. Yet.”

Pojack is venal enough
. “But Crystal City is not a done deal,” Lacey said. “It can’t be. Claudia wouldn’t sell out the paper and move us to—”

“Pojack doesn’t care,” Trujillo said. He was an instant believer. “Don’t you see? He starts telling people the big ugly plan, and the dissidents start quitting. Attrition! Payroll costs go down, Crystal City sweetens the deal, and things start falling his way. He doesn’t have to
be
smart. He just looks smart to the board. He embarrasses Claudia Darnell with this announcement
after
she leaves the room. She’s got other troubles, so he seizes the moment to lay the groundwork to move what’s left of
The Eye Street Observer
across the river. And pocket his payoff. Have you seen those buildings in Crystal City? They don’t begin to compare to ours. And they’re across the freaking river! In Virginia!”

Lacey was starting to buy Wiedemeyer’s dark tale, and it gave her a headache. She found it perfectly believable that Walt Pojack could conspire against Claudia Darnell and everyone who worked at the paper just to grab a payoff and run. Was she becoming as cynical as Damon Newhouse, seeing a conspiracy behind every bush? Or could it all be true? Maybe.
Definitely maybe.

The atmosphere turned sour. It was impossible for reporters who had made their careers and reputations in the District of Columbia to picture the newspaper moving across the Potomac River, to the ghastly Crystal City business ghetto. Reporters stood up and filed out while Walt Pojack was still talking. The noise of chairs and feet and unhappy voices began to drown him out.

“How could you possibly move
The Eye Street Observer
off Eye Street?” Wiedemeyer shouted over the din. “It would be a completely different animal. You’d have to rename the whole newspaper.”

“To what, Harlan?” Lacey yelled back, as loud as she could. “
The Crystal City Curmudgeon
?”

“
The Crystal City Cadaver
,” he shouted. “It’ll be dead on arrival!”

Chapter 19

Murder victims might turn blue, newspapers might fail, weasels might conspire with bastards, but Stella Lake was getting married. And that was a
real
world-class crisis.

Lacey headed to her friend’s apartment directly after work, still in her suit. If she went home first she was afraid she would sit down and fall asleep and never get up again, and Stella would hate her.

Stella lived in a large midcentury brick building lost in a canyon of similar apartment buildings on Connecticut Avenue, above Dupont Circle. A cab dropped Lacey off at the circle drive in front. She pushed through the heavy wood doors and pine-cleaner-scented lobby. The familiar concierge waved her on upstairs.

She met Nigel Griffin coming out of Stella’s apartment.

“Do calm her down, Smithsonian,” Griffin said. “I’ve been having a bit of fun with Stella about Mum, you know, and now she—Stella—is, well, you know how she is.”

“I know how
you
are.”

“Be a pal,” he pleaded, as if they were pals.

The Englishman was wearing his usual uniform of slacks and a navy blazer, no topcoat in sight. Nigel was good-looking in a sort of effete British way, if you went for that kind of thing. Tall, thin, longish medium-brown hair, English-movie-star features. Cute accent. Stella had gone for it in a big way. Any fool could look good in a navy blazer, Lacey thought, but she was of the opinion that if a man looked good in his jeans, he would look good in anything. Like Vic. So far, she had never seen Nigel in blue jeans.

Nigel’s smug act drove Lacey crazy, but he’d taken a dive over a cliff for Stella, which counted for something. Quite a lot, actually. And he had popped for a very impressive platinum and diamond engagement ring. Lacey had to give him points for that. He was off crutches now, still walking a little stiffly from his twisted ankle. Where once Lacey suspected him of complete disregard for anyone but himself, she now saw him look at Stella with a kind of adoring awe. Griffin was a man in love, or at least deep infatuation. A reformed “man slut,” Lacey sincerely hoped.

Nigel Griffin called himself a “stolen-jewel retriever.” In reality, he was some kind of specialized insurance investigator. He’d spent his teen years forming a sticky-fingered attraction to jewels and gaining expertise at lifting them from unsuspecting victims. After a major run-in with the police, he parlayed those skills to his advantage, finding stolen goods for big-ticket insurers. Lacey didn’t quite trust his reformation. She still thought of him as a jewel thief at heart, working whichever side of the fence paid better. But Stella loved him, and that counted for a lot with Lacey. Not everything, but a lot.

Lacey reflected that Stella might actually have a lovely Valentine’s Day this year
. Well, good for Stella, with her hearts, flowers, and chocolates. And diamond ring. I should probably call in sick that day and refuse to answer the phone or the door.

“Smithsonian, you there?” Griffin brought her back to the present.

“I hope you’re not just playing with her feelings,” Lacey said.

“You’re really checking to see if my intentions are honorable? Again? Stella and I nearly bloody died for each other. Remember?”

“There is that,” Lacey admitted. But if Nigel hadn’t been the kind of man who broke unsuspecting women’s hearts, he and Stella might not have been on that cliff. It was the plummy English accent, she thought. Women fell for it.
Literally.

Lacey would never forget that snowy day in January when they all ended up on the cliff above the Potomac River at Great Falls. Lacey and Brooke had raced there to try to save Stella from a killer, but they weren’t able to keep her from going over the cliff. To his credit, Nigel dove right in after her. Stella broke her leg, Nigel wrenched his knee and ankle. They had all done things that day they had probably never dreamed they were capable of. Lacey shook her head to clear her thoughts. They were all safe now—that was the important thing.

“Do you think I’d be asking my parents—my bloody
parents
—to come from bloody England to meet my Stella if I wasn’t crazy for her?
Crazy
being the operative word here. And I bought her the ring. I didn’t steal the bloody thing, you know. You saw it, Smithsonian. Is that a bloody great ring or what? And they’d kill me if I married her without telling them.”

“Bloody well scared, aren’t you?” Lacey allowed herself a smile at his expense.

“Terrified.” He leaned against the wall and ran his hands through his hair. “Do you know she’s the only woman I’ve ever asked Mum to meet? I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid them meeting all the others.”

“I’m impressed.” Lacey inched her way to Stella’s door. She felt uncomfortable chatting with Nigel when he started to seem human. It was out of character for him.

“Mum is terribly excited. It’s the never-introducing-her-to-a-girlfriend-before thing, I suppose. The prodigal-son-getting-married thing. And really, the Gorgon is not all that bad. This engagement is awfully big for them. The poor old things had given up hope, lost in despair. All that rot.” He looked directly at Lacey and gave her his puppy dog eyes. “Perhaps I’ve been telling Stella a bit too much. Now she’s terrified of my mum. Not that I’m not. A little. With good reason. Please help, Smithsonian.”

Griffin patted his jacket for a pack of cigarettes, but Stella had convinced him to give up smoking. He settled for a stick of gum. “It was just a bit of teasing. The Gorgon is formidable, but not—
evil
. Not exactly.”

“Why do you call your mother that?”

He looked blank. “What? The Gorgon? Dunno. Always have. Dad calls her that. Affectionately, you know.”

“Do you call her that to her face?”

“God, no. Don’t want to be thrown in the dungeon. It’s damp down there.”

“You’re a card, Nigel.”

Stella opened her apartment door. “Lacey, where you been?” She looked from Lacey to Nigel. “Oh, that’s so cute. You two are getting along. Bonding. You are adorable, you two.”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions,” Lacey said, scooting past him into Stella’s doorway.

“A temporary truce.” Nigel kissed Stella good-bye again. “Someday, Smithsonian, we’ll actually be friends.”

“When we’re eighty,” Lacey called out.

“Or ninety,” he rejoined. “If we live so long.”

“Both of you here, in my hour of need,” Stella said. “Nigel, honey, you sure you can’t stay?”

“Later, love. Must get the home front ready for the ambassador and Lady Gorgon. Cheers!” Another passionate peck on Stella’s lips and he was gone.

Stella let out a sigh of contentment. “He’s so adorable.”

“Yeah. It’s the accent.”

“That too. And the sex.” Stella, who had dyed her hair every possible color, including blond, black, red, and purple, now sported short tousled cupid curls in a warm chestnut brown. It suited her—not in the same way as her usual short spiky hair in a rainbow of radical colors—but the curls reflected the softer side of her personality.

But cute and cuddly her outfit was definitely
not
. Stella paired a shocking pink satin bustier, which raised the Girls to new heights, with a short, tight red cardigan and a short black leather skirt. One leg showed off a red patent-leather stiletto. The other leg sported a new walking cast, which finally freed her knee. Stella demonstrated bending it.

“Ow. That hurts.”

“Wearing that shoe and that cast together is dangerous, Stella. You could fall. Remember falling off that cliff? That one heel is nearly as high.”

“What are you talking about? I gotta look good for Nigel’s mother. And I have to decorate this sucker.” Stella kicked up her cast. “I just got it yesterday and it’s too plain Jane for me, but now at least I can bend my leg. Everybody has to help me paste some jewels on it. Don’t you totally love glue guns?”

“More rhinestones?”

“It’ll be a work of art, Lace. I’d rather be a rhinestone chandelier than hide my light under a brown paper bag, or however that goes. Come on in. I’ll fix your favorite. Hot chocolate and amaretto.” It wasn’t really Lacey’s favorite, but it was a cold night and Stella loved it. “And surprise!”

Stella opened the door wide to reveal another friend, Marie Largesse, of Old Town Alexandria and formerly of New Orleans. Marie was a self-described professional psychic, though Lacey had her doubts about that. Marie was raking long, red nails through her hair. Her impressive tattoos, including an Eye of Horus on each shoulder, were covered up for the cold weather. Nevertheless, she didn’t need them to draw the eye, with her cascade of curly black hair and her milky skin. The woman was luxuriously large, extravagantly curvy, and proud of her size in a way that made people think of her as bountiful and abundant, not fat. Tonight she was wrapped in swirls of royal blue and purple fabric, which ended in a flared skirt that danced around her violet suede boots. Lacey was delighted to see her.

“Marie, what a great surprise! I didn’t know you’d be here.” Lacey found herself being hugged hard.

“That, sugar, is why I am the psychic and y’all are the reporter. I see y’all are
not
staying out of trouble.”

“Psychic vibrations?”

“No, I read your story in the paper.” Marie chuckled, low and throaty. “But Lacey, I fear y’all are not through with blue velvet. It’s positively raining blue velvet.”

“Is this a message from the stars?” Lacey asked.
Or the weather report?
Marie was usually better with the weather than human events.

Marie nodded gravely. “I’m seeing ribbons of blue velvet. Ribbons and ribbons and ribbons. Careful, cher, that y’all don’t get ‘tangled up in blue,’ as they say.”

There was only one blue velvet ribbon that Lacey knew about, but Marie’s vision was acute enough to give Lacey chills, and she’d had enough of those lately.

“Well, there is no blue velvet here,” Lacey said. “But I’ll take that hot chocolate.” The coffee table was full of burning candles. Everything in the apartment that wasn’t pink or red was jet-black. Stella loved her punk princess atmosphere. “Stella, the place looks, um—This is your new sofa?”

“Yeah, real leather. And so red!” Stella stroked it with her pink-tipped fingernails, at the same time showing off that impressively large but tasteful diamond. One point seven-five carats. “It’s like my accent color. Nigel helped me pick it out. I figured since we’re going to be married, maybe he’d like some say in the matter. He wanted black leather. I wanted red. You like the red?”

“Red as can be,” Lacey agreed. “Poor Nigel. Now, what about Nigel’s mother? Marie, what do you think? Are you getting any vibes on the Gorgon?”

Marie pressed her fingers to her forehead and grimaced. “Nothing. My radar must be down. The Eyes of Horus are half-closed.”

“Well, you’re not fainting, so it can’t be that bad,” Lacey said. Marie famously went limp whenever her visions involved blood or violence.

“It’s not bad. It’s totally wrong!” Stella hollered from the kitchen.

Marie glided down on the red sofa, creating a pop art collection of bright colors: blue, purple, red. “I don’t know. I just have the feeling that Gwendolyn and Stella will turn out to be the best of friends. Far-fetched, I know. But the oracle is the oracle.”

“Yeah, me and Eleanor freakin’ Roosevelt. Can you see it?” Stella returned with a pot of hot chocolate, a bottle of amaretto, and mugs on a tray. There were also chocolate cookies and a heart-shaped box of truffles.

“It’s going to be a chocolate kind of night?” Lacey took the tray from Stella. “Sit down, please. Your mismatched footwear is disturbing me. You already have one leg in a cast. Let’s not make it two.”

Stella plopped herself down beside Marie while Lacey placed the tray on the coffee table. “Yeah, my doctor swears this sucker will be off before the wedding. So I can wear some killer stilettos. You know, Nigel is so much taller than me, I gotta wear heels. I want to look him square in the eye when I say ‘I do.’ ”