Shot Through Velvet (34 page)

Vic drove the little Bimmer down the G.W. Parkway toward Old Town. The moon hung low in the sky, spilling silver light onto the Potomac River. A few boats were docked near Indigo Landing restaurant, some still wearing Christmas lights.

There was something else bothering Lacey. “This might sound crazy, but . . .”

“You’re kidding? Something might sound crazy in a case where one man is shot to death and dyed blue and another is shot to death holding a blue velvet ribbon? And the one overwhelming connection between the two is Lacey Smithsonian? Darling, tell me what might possibly sound crazy.”

“Is this that mockery thing I’ve heard tell of?”

“I learned it from the best.”

“Pojack wouldn’t call me on his own. I’m the last reporter on earth he’d want to talk with. And why fire me in person? Weasels have other weasels do their dirty work. But I was so freaked out, I didn’t stop to think about it. What if someone
made
him call me?”

“Like with a gun to his head?” Vic considered it. “I like that. Our unknown suspect, the Velvet A, for lack of a better name, forces Pojack to have you come to
The Eye
, then kills the guy so that fashion reporter Lacey Smithsonian will be sure to find the body wrapped up with a blue ribbon.”

“But why me?”

“Maybe it was a gift for you, Lacey. Pojack was going to RIF you, and now he’s gone. Like Rod Gibbs.”

“I don’t like the way that sounds, Vic. But there is the ribbon.”

“You’re the only one outside of Tazewell Flanders and Claudia Darnell who would immediately understand the significance of the blue velvet ribbon.” Vic pulled over into one of the little parks overlooking the Potomac. “Say it’s all true. This killer wants publicity. He gets lucky, he gets you on the story. Now he wants you to write more about it. He’s playing you, and he’s moved onto your territory to do it.”

“Am I safe or not?”

“He didn’t stick around to harm you. This time. But he does want to use you.”

“Like any source does.” It was a common problem for reporters; they always had to ask what their news sources really wanted. This, however, was an extreme case.

“Darling, the killer is on the move and you’re part of the game plan, because he likes what you’ve been writing. But what if Lacey Smithsonian starts writing something the Velvet A doesn’t like? You’re not safe.”

The wind was whistling outside the car windows, sounding to Lacey like eerie laughter. The trees waved back and forth in the gusts. “One more thing bothers me. Claudia told me she’d take care of Pojack.”

“You think she could have killed him?”

“Harlan saw her leave
The Eye
just before I got there. Her office is right across from Pojack’s. And he was holding a blue velvet ribbon. She was the only person who knew about the ribbon and also had a strong motive. Besides
me
.”

“Why kill him on her own territory? She’s smarter than that.”

“Smart people do stupid things.”

“True.” Vic looked tired and worried. The one curl he had so much trouble with fell over his forehead. “I hate this. It’s all getting way too close to you.”

Lacey played with his curl and kissed him. “I’ll be careful.”

“I really want you to come stay with me until this is all over,” Vic said. He kissed her hand. “My place is more secure. I can keep you safe. Please, darling.”

Lacey had a moment of panic. It felt like too much commitment too soon. Where would this lead? To sharing a toothbrush? And packing up her things seemed impossible at the moment. Her closet was a mess. Her shoes were all over the floor. She was still only half unpacked from their overnight in Black Martin. Her wardrobe needed serious remedial attention. She wished she had someone to do it for her. Someone like a Clothes Whisperer.

“Stay with me, Lacey.”

She met his eyes. “Can I bring Aunt Mimi’s trunk?”

“Darling, you can bring her whole elephant.”

Chapter 31

“Why do we have to talk about murder and bake a cake at the same time?” Vic was pouring flour in a measuring cup. Lacey thought he looked adorable, a big boy playing house in her tiny kitchen. And he was complaining like one too.

“It’s called multitasking, honey,” Lacey said.

“And why did it cost eighty-seven dollars for the ingredients for just one cake?”

“Because it’s for your mother.” She measured out the white and brown sugars and stared at the recipe. There were too many steps. It was ludicrous. They needed a squadron of helpers. Or one Felicity Pickles.

“And why couldn’t we have baked this at my place? My kitchen is bigger.”

Just like a man,
she thought. “Because you don’t have the twenty-five cake pans and bowls and beaters and sifters and mixers and measuring spoons it requires. You don’t have even one cake pan. Now, Vic darling, please measure out the baking chocolate. I’ll get the sour cream.” Lacey had taped the recipe to the cabinet next to the stove. She pointed to it. She was elbow deep in cake dough when the phone rang. Lacey cleaned off her hands and told Vic to keep working.

“Hello?”

“What happened?” Brooke never said hello. She thought it was a waste of time. “Did Pojack give you your walking papers?”

“No, someone gave him his walking papers. He’s dead, Brooke.”

“O.M.G. No one ever tells me anything. Is this on
The Eye
’s site?”

“Maybe, but there is nothing like reading real newsprint. You should buy a subscription.” Lacey heard Brooke’s laptop clicking in the background.

“Found it. Hang on.” Brooke was silent for at least five seconds while she scanned Trujillo’s story. “We’re coming right over.”

“
We
means with Damon?”

“That’s right.”

“No, Brooke, wait—” The phone went dead. “Uh oh.”

“What?” Vic looked up from the batter.

“Brooke’s on her way over with Captain Conspiracy.” Lacey put the phone down and sank into a chair.

“The Conspiracy Cavalry to the rescue?”

“Apparently.”

“Maybe they can help you pack your things.”

Lacey stood up and returned to the kitchen. “First things first. We put the cake in the oven.”

“Who else knows about the velvet ribbon in Gibbs’s coffin?” Vic asked.

“Just us and the cops. And Claudia. I e-mailed her. She may have told Tazewell Flanders.”

“All right. Our so-called Avenger was at the funeral,” Vic said. “He or she may or may not have killed Gibbs. He or she may or may not know that the cops know about the ribbon and were all over the casket. The ribbon may be a warning of more deaths to come. Or a private joke. Or a deliberate misdirection. Or maybe the ribbon is his personal signature, for his private amusement. Or maybe it’s his signal to you, because he knows how you like that kind of thing. Fashion clues.”

“I don’t like this game anymore,” Lacey said. “The reporter is not supposed to be part of the story. Let’s bake a cake.”

 

Brooke and Damon arrived at Lacey’s apartment door just as the cakes were coming out of the oven.

“You’re telling me Lamont released you?” Brooke was asking her. Lacey got the impression this was taking some of the fun out of it for Ms. Barton, Esq.

“I was never detained. He added the stick-around-for-my-calls stuff, but that was it.”

“You don’t need an attorney, then?”

“Not at the moment. But knowing me, I’d like you to stay tuned for further developments. You don’t think I killed Pojack, do you, Brooke?”

“Oh, come on. However, sometimes the system has a way of pointing the finger at the innocent. And that’s a good thing. It lets lawyers get rich.” Brooke slipped off her Burberry, and Damon set up his laptop on Lacey’s dining room table. The lid was plastered with stickers advertising such things as
The X-Files
(THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE),
Battlestar Galactica,
and his own baby, DeadFed dot com. That sticker read: THE TRUTH IS IN HERE.

“Damon, what are you doing?” Lacey asked. Vic came out of the kitchen to see what was going on. Damon’s fingers were flying over the keyboard.

“Sending out an SOS to our DeadFed friends list. Chatter’s been low about our Velvet Avenger, but this will bump it up.”

“Hold on, partner,” Vic said. “Can you do that without writing about the murder today at
The Eye
?”

Damon stopped typing and considered Vic with some suspicion. “Why? Is there a connection? Trujillo’s story suggested it, but he didn’t quite come out and say it.”

“Lacey?” Brooke asked. Neither Lacey nor Vic said anything.

“So there is a connection,” Damon said. “Even better.” He resumed his mad typing.

Lacey put her hand on his. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

He leaned back and smiled. “There’s got to be a connection. A murder at a factory where Claudia Darnell is a partner? A murder at
The Eye
, where she’s the publisher? It couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“Sure it could,” Vic said.

“But it’s not. And you don’t want me writing about it?” Damon paused, fingers in the air above his keyboard, ready to attack. “Why?”