10 Lethal Black Dress (27 page)

CHAPTER 34

The next morning her shoulder
ached
from the rock’s blow. The blood stopped seeping sometime during the night,
though the bandage was soaked through. The rest of her body joined her shoulder
in a conspiracy against her. She was sore all over and jarred by the experience
at Riverbend Park. And the restless night left her feeling hollow-headed.

Sunday morning should have been more relaxing. But wondering
who might be stalking her, ready to throw stones, made her tense.
It can’t
be the same person who was after Courtney,
she told herself.
Or Peter
Johnson?
Subtly engineering a poisoned dress, vandalizing her story in the
paper’s editing queue, and throwing a big rock out of the woods were such
radically different kinds of attacks.
Wonderful. Just how many enemies do I
have out there?

Vic instructed one of his operatives to keep close tabs on
Johnson, who turned out to live in Silver Spring, Maryland, near the Metro
stop. Lacey worried about what this surveillance would cost, but wisely kept
quiet. She knew Vic wouldn’t care about the cost. So far, the initial report
was that Johnson slept late and had a lot of beer cans in his trash.

Lacey’s chosen form of bravado was to greet the day wearing a
light blue sundress with a natural waist and a vintage vibe. She wore a short
navy jacket over it to cover up her bruised and bandaged shoulder, and sandals,
dressy but comfortable. Vic put on black jeans and a pale blue polo shirt and
spent half an hour checking over their cars to make sure no one had tampered
with them. After Mass at a big suburban church in McLean near his townhouse,
they headed to his parents’ house for a late brunch.

Lacey liked Vic’s mother. Nadine could be overwhelming, but sweet,
and Lacey was interested in keeping her future mother-in-law happy. She was
much closer geographically to Vic’s parents than her own. And closer
emotionally, as well.
There, finally a happy thought!

Nadine greeted them with hugs. She was slightly taller than
Lacey and very trim. In her early sixties, she looked at least a decade
younger. Looking at Nadine in her best suburban hostess mode, no one would
suspect she adored rodeos, commotion, and classic cars, especially her giant
1957 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz. Nadine Donovan grew up a cowgirl in Nevada,
though she’d left that life a long time ago. She traded the West for the glossy
patina of the Washington, D.C., matron and a happy life with Vic’s dad, Sean
Daniel “Danny” Donovan.

Impeccably groomed, Nadine wore pale linen slacks and a silk
shirt and pearls. Her dark hair was styled in a smooth bob, just a little
longer than the standard Helmet Head hairdo so popular in the District of
Columbia, and her manicured nails showed off a large diamond ring and wedding
band. Nadine’s wardrobe favored Brooks Brothers and St. John’s knits, but her
pampered exterior belied her steely core.

She took Lacey’s hand and stared pointedly at the empty ring
finger, but said nothing. She knew something was up with them romantically, and
Lacey knew she knew. Nadine smiled.

“No news there, I see,” she said.

“You’ll be the first to know, Nadine.” Vic stepped in and
kissed his mother’s forehead. “When there is something to see.”

“It’s so delightful you could make it today. I know you two
are happy to see me,” Nadine teased. “But what’s the ulterior motive? Anything
new on the lethal lining of the Madame X dress?”

“I’m flattered. You’re keeping up.”

“What else would I be doing?”

“Well, Vic said you might have known a local artist, Jillian
Hopewell,” Lacey began.

“Jillian. Yes. I haven’t heard that name in a while.” Nadine
looked into the distance for a moment. “I knew Jillian. We even have one of her
paintings, a small one. But what does this have to do with your dangerous
fashion beat?”

“You do know her?” Vic said.

“I
knew
her. Men never pay attention, do they?” She
laughed.

“And you have a painting of hers?” Lacey asked.

“In the guest bedroom. It’s an early one. I bought it at one
of her gallery shows. Years ago, now. Your father, Vic, was cruel enough to say
he hoped it would increase in value after she died. He didn’t care for it.
Thought it was too garish. Hence, the guest bedroom.”

“What does it look like?” Lacey asked.

“I’ll show it to you after brunch. A landscape, painted
somewhere around here, along the river. I liked it because of the vibrant blues
and greens. It’s not garish at all. It’s no great work of art, I suppose, but
it’s sweet and soothing, goes well with the room.”

“What do you remember about the artist?” Vic asked.

“I used to talk to her at events, gallery openings, things
like that. She came to some of my soirees. We were friends, I suppose. Jillian wasn’t
a very warm person and she always looked ill. There was a gray cast to her
skin. As I said, it wasn’t too long after we met that she died. She had a
terrible cough, though she didn’t smoke. There was a strange intensity about
her that drove some people away, I think. Of course she’d had three or four
husbands, so there was something that drove them to her as well. More than
anything, I think, she wanted to be remembered, to be a great artist. At any
rate, the art world doesn’t take too kindly to woman artists, as you know.”

“There’s a blanket statement,” Vic said.

“True, nonetheless. Wait, come to think about it, I met her
for the first time many years before that. When her name was Jillian Holstein.”

“Holstein?” Lacey said. “I didn’t find that on the Web.”

“A different husband. That one didn’t last long. There were
several other married names, I’m thinking, before Hopewell. That was her last
name. Sounds more hopeful than Holstein, don’t you think?”

“Maybe she didn’t care for the dairy cow connection,” Lacey
suggested.

“Who would?” Nadine said.

Lacey planned to keep her own name after the wedding. While
she thought Donovan was a lovely name, and in Washington she was forever having
to explain that she bore no relationship to the famous museum, Smithsonian was
her name, and her byline, and she planned to stick by it.

A Cockney ancestor of hers named Smith changed the family
name upon immigrating to America, because he thought Smithsonian sounded
richer, classier, tonier. America was the land of opportunity, and so the
English Smiths took the opportunity to become the American Smithsonians. All
except for Lacey’s Great-aunt Mimi. Mimi fell in love with that hit movie of
her era,
Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.
In fact, she went to Washington
herself, and changed her name back to Smith.

Lacey pushed the name-changing issues from her mind.
Getting
married is so complicated.

“Jillian died in the late Eighties, I believe, though it might
have been later,” Nadine was going on. “By then she was gaunt. Like a walking
skeleton. Every time I saw her she looked worse. Terrible to watch.”

“Do you remember anything else about her?”

“She really could paint, until she grew too weak. She always
took great pride in her color sense. Her hero was Cezanne, as I remember. She
loved the Impressionists.” The same information as the postcard. “What’s this
all about?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Don’t nothing me, Lacey Smithsonian. Something’s up. You
pull a name out of a hat from years ago and say it’s nothing?”

“I saw her work at an art gallery show in Old Town. Last
Friday, with Brooke.”

“Jillian, in a gallery showing? After all this time?”

Vic handed her the postcard. “We think it looks like
Riverbend Park,” he said.

“Her Riverbend collection,” Nadine said, studying the
postcard. “She was painting those landscapes for years, all up and down the river.”

“We were there yesterday, at the park,” Lacey added.

Nadine gave them a coy smile. “Lovely place for a cozy
picnic. Are the bluebells in blossom?”

“Could have been cozier. We had company. And someone threw a
large rock at Lacey’s head,” Vic said.

“For the record, it didn’t hit my head.” She winced at the
memory. Her shoulder ached. “I’m all right.”

“Well, hell! Who would do such a thing?” Nadine asked. “Is
this about that awful dress?”

“We’ve been asking ourselves the same question,” Lacey said.
“Vic took out after whoever it was, but whoever it was got away.”

“Was it a big rock?” Nadine said.

“Big enough to throw and big enough to hurt,” Lacey said.
“Winged me on the shoulder.”

 “My God, what if it had hit you in the head and given you a
concussion?” Nadine said. “Thank goodness Vic was with you.”

“Or she could have gone into the river and over the falls,”
Vic added.

“You two optimists keep chatting,” Lacey said. “I have a
headache coming on.”

“Oh dear,” Nadine said, concerned. “Do you need to lie down,
dear? Can I get you something?”

“I don’t have a concussion. I’m fine. I’ll just have an
impressive scar to show off. Besides, Vic cleaned it and kissed it and it’s all
better.” She kissed him on the cheek and headed for the sofa.

“Another exciting near-death escapade. I should go picnicking
with you two.” Nadine made herself comfortable on the sofa next to Lacey and
sorted through the newspapers on the coffee table. “Your father and I have had
our share of scrapes and we came out all right in the end.” She opened the
LifeStyle section in
The Eye Street Observer
.

“What are you looking for?” Vic said.

“What Lacey wrote today. If she’s in trouble, it’s probably
because of something she wrote, don’t you think? Goodness, I never would have
guessed that writing about clothes could be so dangerous. It makes them ever so
much more interesting.”

“Fashion is murder in this town,” Lacey commented dryly. Her
shoulder started to itch. Nadine scanned Lacey’s story on the substitute lining
in the Madame X dress.

“Very interesting, and very clever of you to put this all together,
Lacey, but what on earth does your Riverbend Park experience have to do with
that dress?” she asked.

“No idea. But there might be a connection, somehow. My friend
Marie Largesse would say that the universe sometimes demands synchronicity.”

“Your Marie would also say it demands sustenance. Shall we
have brunch?”

Nadine led them into her formal pink dining room. The
sweetness of the soft color was cut by the dark mahogany dining furniture.
Brunch was set up on the buffet with pink patterned china plates, napkins and
silverware, goblets for orange juice, and cups for coffee from the silver
coffeepot. The selections included an egg casserole, sausage and bacon,
biscuits with butter and honey, and a selection of jams.

“Wow,” Lacey said. “Quite a spread.”

“Don’t let it fool you, it’s all a big show. She’s just
putting on airs,” Vic joked.

“Don’t be impertinent, Sean Victor.”

Vic’s dad entered, looking spiffy in his khakis, a pale blue
shirt, and Top-Siders. Danny Donovan had a full head of white hair, he was as
tall as his son, and he had the same green eyes.

“So nice of you two to join us.” He winked at Lacey and gave
her a big hug in greeting.

“This is lovely,” Lacey said. “You must have gone to so much
trouble.”

“Not at all. Help yourselves. Now tell me all the latest
intrigue,” Nadine said. “And what is the connection between this universal
synchronicity and people throwing rocks at other people?”

#

After brunch, Nadine led the way upstairs, over a lovely
oriental carpet runner that led to the guest bedroom. Decorated as if it came
from the pages of
Architectural Digest
, the room featured ivory grass
cloth on the walls, deep green drapes, and a queen-sized bed with a padded
green velvet headboard, flanked by matching ivory porcelain lamps on matching
bedside tables. A comfy leather armchair deep enough to get lost in cozied up
to a bookcase full of books.
Okay, Nadine, you just won me over. I’m moving
in.

“I change the covers and pillows, depending on whether the
company is male or female,” Nadine said.

“And if she has two people staying,” Vic said, “the female covers
always win.”

“I don’t mess with it,” Danny said. “Decorating the house is
Nadine’s territory.” Vic confirmed this to Lacey with a look.

“It’s very pretty,” Lacey said. “I’d love a room just like
it.”

Nadine indicated a small painting over the dresser. “There it
is. Our painting by Jillian whatever-her-last-name-was at the time.”

Lacey leaned in to get a closer look. In the lower right-hand
corner was the tiny signature. “Jillian Hopewell.”

There was something about the painting that was familiar. The
scene, but there was also something different. It was delicate and reminded
Lacey of Japanese prints. She took a closer look. It wasn’t painted on canvas.

“It’s silk,” she said at last. “She painted this one on
emerald green silk.”

“Oh yes. Didn’t I tell you?” Nadine played dumb. “She’d been
experimenting on different mediums. Canvas, wood, tile, fabrics. Not velvet, I
am happy to say. An Impressionist Elvis on black velvet is just too awful to
think about. But this was so delicate and bright. No idea what I paid for it.
Probably not very much, I’m sorry to say.”

“It’s a little too bright, I always thought,” Danny said.
“Looks good in here, though. Where I don’t see it.”

Vic stared at it. “I remember this now. It looks like this spot
could be up around Riverbend too.”

Lacey retrieved from her purse the small scrap of silk that
she’d been given by Lola Gallegos. She compared it to the background of the
painting.

“It’s a color match.”

“My goodness, do you suppose it’s from the same material as
the dress?” Nadine’s eyes were bright.
She’s been waiting all through brunch
to spring this on me,
Lacey thought.