Grave Apparel (47 page)

“Henderson and I used to be friends.
We
had a
falling
out.”
“Over
Cassandra?” She stepped
over
a pile of
envelopes.
“Oh God
no.”
He fumbled with the lock on the front
door.

“Work.
Here at Garrison of
Gaia.”
He
gave
her one of those looks
like
he
was
going to share something big, which usually meant it
was
useless information. “Between you and me, Hen
derson’s
really kind of a
screwup.
I
always
had to clean up his messes. He totally fouled up a lawsuit for us. A miracle
the
judge
didn’t
throw
it
out.”

“But you seemed so
unhappy
that he left Garrison of Gaia for a
new
job.”

“I felt betrayed. Just because
he’s
a
screwup doesn’t
mean I
want
to see him change sides, especially when
we’re
so
backed
up
and
shortstaffed.”
Markham
gestured
with
both
hands
spread wide.
“Although
handing the bad guys a major
screwup
might be a good
strategy.
Human nature is
funny,
isn’t
it?”

Through
the
glass
she
could
see
someone
stringing
old
fashioned
Christmas lights in a multitude of colors
over
a store front across the street. The sight cheered her up,
but
it seemed to
have
no
effect
on
Alex
Markham. She
wanted
to flee this cold little
office.
He opened the door for
her.

“I’m
not
really
sorry
to
see
Henderson
go,”
he
said,
“but
he
left
us
in
the
lurch
when we
could
have
used
him,
used
his
connections.”

“So
now
he’s
got a
window
office
on K
Street.”
Lacey
took a mental snapshot of the place. The lobby
looked
just as shabby
as
her
first
impression.
Could
Markham
resent
Henderson
Wilcox
not just for
leaving
them in the lurch,
but
for landing in the lap of
luxury,
while
they
were still toiling in the
fields?
Yes,
human
nature
is
funny,
she silently agreed. “If you think of
any
thing
relevant,
Markham, please call
me.”
She handed him her card. “Listen, I
don’t
presume to think I’m going to
find
out who did this. I’m just
keeping
a promise.
To
Cassandra.”

“Of course. I understand. Maybe
next
time we can discuss more pleasant
things.”
As
they
fell silent, the sounds of lutes and flutes from his Folger Consort CD could be heard.
The
music
was
beautiful and it almost
elevated
the moment. “Music
perhaps.”

Lacey
stepped outside. The door shut behind
her.
She heard the lock turn with a sharp click.

In
Washington,
D.C., you have to
read
the
fine
print.

Ensconced in a
large
green
velvet
chair at
Starbucks,
Lacey
watched
the
D.C.
cops
busily
engaged
in
one
of
their
favorite
activities:
Towing
an
entire
row
of
cars
lined
up
down
the
block. A muscular black cop directed the towing of a silver
Lexus,
and a white cop
was
dealing with the
next
one in line, a black Lincoln limousine.

Poor
suckers,
Lacey
thought.
Not
the
cops,
the
drivers.
No
doubt
they’d
either
not
seen
or
ignored
the
handscrawled
tem
porary
NO
PARKING
signs
taped
below
the
parking
meters,
with
their
barely
legible
blur
of
prohibited
dates
and
times.
These
signs
were
usually
impossible
to
read
until
drivers
were
already
out
of
their
cars,
and
by
that
time,
having
wedged
themselves
into
a
toogoodtobetrue
parking
space
in
the
District,
many
were
tempted
to
take
their
chances.
Just
more
fine
print,
and
Washington
was
full
of
it.
In
due
course
of
events,
D.C.
Park
ing
Enforcement
would
tow
them
away
to
that
Great
Impound
Lot
in
the
sky—or
in
Anacostia
in
far
Southeast,
which
was
nearly
as
distant.
Just
another
day
on
the
job
for
the
only
Dis trict
government
department
universally
acknowledged
to
func
tion
with
chilling
efficiency.
Until
you
asked
them
to
find
where
they’d
towed
your
car,
that is.

Lacey
arranged to meet
Brooke
Barton after she left Garri son of Gaia. If
anyone
could decipher the
fine
print on Cassan dra’s
lawyer
friends,
it
would
be
Brooke,
Lacey’s
favorite
attorney
and slightly
loony
best friend.
They
chose the
coffee
shop near the Capitol on
Pennsylvania
Avenue
because
Brooke
had been attending a hearing on some important matter of na tional
security.

Happily,
Lacey’s
observation
of the
towing
crews
was
inter rupted by
Brooke,
who dashed in the
door,
waved
hello, and rushed to the counter for a double espresso. She
was
looking
very
professional in her gray flannel suit and red scarf,
but
fraz zled as well. She added cream and
sugar.
Lots of cream and
sugar.

“Have
some
coffee
with
your
sugar,”
Lacey
said.
“For
an
al
leged
health nut, you really
know
how
to
fall
off
the
wagon.”

“Why
fall
halfway?”
Brooke
smirked.
“If
you’re
gonna
fall,
why
not
take
a
flying
leap?”

“How
was
the hearing?”

Brooke
moaned.
“Deadly.
Lucky
me, I had to play messen ger service for my idiot colleague who
forgot
his papers.
He’s
got a
sieve
for a brain.
Too
much espresso,
probably.”
Brooke
added more cream to her espresso.

“And
how
is your
brother,
the idiot colleague?”
Lacey liked
Brooke’s
allegedly
brilliant
but
terribly absentminded sibling.

“Benny’s
the same, the twit. He
owes
me bigtime.
Anyway
it
was
a complete
waste
of time,
except
for seeing the Capitol itself.
Always
a kick. So we
wound
up in a
confab
in the Pres
ident’s
Room
off
the Senate
chamber.
The hearing
was
so
riv
eting I
was
able to concentrate fully on the ornate
excess.
Red leather
sofas.”
Brooke
sighed. “Mirrors and murals
everywhere.
If only the
level
of discourse within it could
live
up to that beau tiful
building.”

“And
everyone
wearing a gray suit,
I’ll
bet,”
Lacey
said. “Of course,
but
none so chic as mine, and that reminds me, I
have
to go shopping tonight. Must
buy
useless
expensive
pres ents for
fellow
overpaid
attorneys.
The holidays, you
know.”
Brooke
savored
the
aroma
steaming
out
of
the
cup.
“I
need
something to slap me
awake
after that boring
hearing.”

“We
don’t
do that
awkward
gift
exchange
thing at
The
Eye
.
We’d
be
exchanging
paper clips. Or staples. Or
Postits.”
Lacey
was
grateful that after
coffee
with
Brooke
she could
finally
go home. “So what do you
buy
lawyers
who already
have
every
thing, Miss
Lawyer
Who Has
Everything?”

“Something crystal, something
silver,
something
distilled
and
bottled
in
Scotland.
If
you
have
it
monogrammed,
they
can’t
regift it,
they’re
stuck with it, so you
won’t
get it back
next
year.
I
always
have
it
monogrammed.”