Grave Apparel (15 page)

“I
guess
I
better
go
find
my
little
sugar
cookie!”
He
marched
off,
antlers flashing, candy cane
waving
like
a baton in search of his lady
love.
Who
would,
no doubt,
Lacey
thought, be wear ing that aluminum Christmas tree
LaToya
had hoped
for.

Veteran
police reporter
Tony
Trujillo
found
Lacey
and
Vic
through the increasingly thick throng of merrymakers.
Tony
was
escorting a pale cool blonde in an iceblue dress whose thin straps were struggling to hold up her
cantilevered
bosom. The
blonde
wore
her
hair
in
an
improbable
flip
and
sported
a
chunky
necklace of marblesized
faux
pearls. Another blonde,
Lacey
thought, in a long line of
Trujillo’s
blondes.
Tony
intro duced her as Linda Sue Donahue.

“I’m just dying to get to
know
you,
Lacey.”
Linda Sue
spoke
with
a
soft
Southern
accent.
“Why,
Tony
talks
about
you
all
the
time!
Is
it
true
y’all’re
always
getting
into
trouble?
And
so
creatively?”

“I
don’t
get into trouble nearly as often as
Tony
does,”
Lacey
said.
“For
instance,
he’s
in
trouble
right
now
without
even
knowing
it.”

“Oh my!
You’re
going to
have
to tell me
everything!
But
first
I
have
to run
off
to the little girls’ room to
fix
my
face.”
Linda Sue tottered
off
toward
the restroom on her spike heels
and
Tony
looked
sheepish.
Lacey
lifted her
eyebrow
at him. Her Look
was
getting lots of practice tonight.

“Hey,
Lacey.”
Tony
loosened his collar with his
index
finger.
“I
don’t
know
where she got that
stuff.”

“Really?”
Lacey
gave
in
to
a
grin.
“I
do.
By
the
way,
she
looks
a
little
chilly.
Is
that
the
whole
dress,
or
is
there
more
to
it?”
It
was
even
skimpier
than
Meg
Chong’s
little
silver
number.
“Don’t
worry,
I’ll
keep
her
warm.”
Tony
winked
at
Vic
and
watched
his date
walk
away
with an
appreciative
leer.
Lacey
rolled her
eyes.

“How
soon can I whisk you
away
from here?”
Vic
whis pered to
Lacey.

Tony
stuck his
face
in between them.
“You
guys
can’t
go yet,
everyone’s
got to stick around for the
festivities.”

“What is he talking about?”
Vic
asked
Lacey.

She had
forgotten
to mention the “entertainment” portion of the
evening
to
Vic.
On purpose. “Claudia Darnell
always
makes
some announcement, usually patting us on the back for our hard
work,
blah blah blah.
It’s
considered rude to
leave
before
then.”
“And
the skits, Lois
Lane,”
Tony
prompted.
“Tell
him about the
skits.”

“We
can skip the skits and head for the
bar.”
Vic
looked
from
her
to
Tony
and
back
again,
expecting
an
explanation.
“Some
jokers
on the
staff
think
they’re
the equal of the Capitol Steps comedy
troupe,”
Lacey
said.
“They
are
not.”

“The skits are
killer,
man,”
Tony
picked
up. “Inside
newspa
per
humor.
Satire about politics, journalists, scandals, current
events,
whatever.
Like
the year
Lacey
got the
fashion
beat, you
know,
when the former writer died in her chair? Classic skit. Hilarious. Haunting. Dead editors on stage. The Death
Chair.
Practically
Shakespeare.”

“More
like
the Three Stooges, with an
extra
stooge or
two,”
Lacey
said.
“Tasteless.
Rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. Songs, dances.
It’s
a stretch to call it satire,
Vic,
or
even
funny.
But the good
news
is we can slip out as soon as the lights go
down.”

“Aw,
come on,
Lacey,
it’s
hilarious, man. Unless
you’re
one of the
victims.”

“Got
it,”
Vic
said.
“Any
victims we
know
tonight?”

“No telling,
but
Lois Lane here is a pretty good candidate. In
fact,
with her track record this
year,
it’s
for certain. There
have
been more bodies, you
know.”

Lacey
rolled her
eyes.
She took
Vic’s
arm and
was
about to steer him to the
buffet,
but
Kim Jones,
Mac’s
petite Japanese American wife, appeared in a break through the
crowds
and took
Lacey’s
elbow.
Always
tasteful, Kim
wore
a dark plum silk
dress,
her
hair
gathered
in
a
low
bun
wrapped
with
a
silk
rib
bon. She
was
afire
with
curiosity.
Mac
was
trailing behind her with a
buffet
plate full of
chicken
wings, his Santa cap slipping.
“Lacey!
What did I hear about a child witnessing the attack tonight?” Kim
asked.
“And
how
on earth did the
boy
get ahold of you?”

Lacey
gave
her
an
abbreviated
version.
“I
couldn’t
get
many
details out of the
kid,”
she said. “But if it
weren’t
for him being in the
alley—”

“But
that’s
terrible! Where were his parents?”

“Like I said, my little shepherd was stingy with
personal
information.”

Mac listened and munched another wing, standing
atten
tively
by his wife. Kim
looked
especially petite
next
to
Mac’s
bulk.
She seemed to
have
a calming
effect
on him.

“And
in an
alley?”
Kim shook her head.

“Boys like to explore all kinds of dirty
places,”
Vic
said.

Lacey
felt her
eyebrow
rise. She tried to control it.

“Maybe,”
Kim said,
“but
behind
The
Eye
Street
Observer
is
no kind of neighborhood for
kids.”
Kim accepted a glass
of
wine from her husband. “Mac and I
love
kids.”

“Kim
thinks
every
kid
should
have
organized
activities,” Mac teased.
“She’d
give
them all little
DayTimers.”

“Ha,
they
already
have
Palm
Pilots and cell
phones,”
Kim
said,
placing
a
gentle
hand
on
Mac’s
arm
and
gazing
fondly
at
him.
Love
is a
funny
thing,
Lacey
thought. “Mac is
terrific
with
children,”
his wife continued. “He coaches Little
League.”

“Little
League?”
Lacey
tried
to
envision
Mac’s
smooth
dome in a baseball cap.

Her editor set his glass
down
on the tray of a passing
waiter.
“Maybe we could get a softball team
organized
at
The
Eye
,”
Mac
suggested.
“How’s
your
pitching
arm,
Smithsonian?”
Lacey
just stared in horror while
Vic
and
Tony
laughed. “Nah,
you’re
probably better at catching those fly
balls.”

“I found her!” Harlan
Wiedemeyer
yelled from one of the bars in the
foyer.
His
voice
carried
over
the
crowd,
which he parted with his candy cane. “I found Felicity!”

Oh,
lucky
us.
Lacey
tried to become
invisible,
but
that
never
worked
for
her.
Harlan had
Felicity’s
hand in a death grip and he
was
dragging her through the
crowd
toward
Lacey’s
little group.

“Here comes
trouble,”
Mac
growled.
He took
Kim’s
arm and
began
to
steer
her
away.

“He’s
not a jinx, you
know,
Mac,”
Lacey
said.
“You
told me yourself
there’s
no such thing as a
jinx.”

“I
know,”
Mac said.
“Don’t
believe
in
jinxes.
Silly supersti tion. But bad things happen when
Wiedemeyer’s
around. And my wife
wants
to dance. Bad things happen when I
don’t
dance with my
wife.”

Kim beamed at Mac and took her
husband’s
hand.
“Happy
holidays!”
They
disappeared in the direction of the music.

Vic
leaned into
Lacey.
“I wish I had a camera when you
two
heard about Mac coaching Little League. The looks on your
faces?
Priceless.”

“Dude,”
Trujillo
said. “Mac as a coach? Hard to wrap your head
around.”

“Even
scarier: A team at the
paper,”
Lacey
said.
“Your
boss is not
exactly
Ivan
the
Terrible,”
Vic
said.