Grave Apparel (57 page)

So
I
don’t
have
to
worry?
An
overwhelming
feeling of des
peration
came
over Lacey.
“You
can’t
do
that,”
she
said.
“Really,
it’s
not
that
safe.
How
long
has
your
mother
been
gone? A couple of days?”

“She went
away
with a man a couple of weeks ago
maybe.”
A
couple
of
weeks!
Lacey
sat bolt upright.
“Really,
Jasmine, you
can’t
stay in the laundry room. Where
exactly
is this laun
dry
room,
anyway?”
Yeah,
like
the
kid
is
going
to
tell
me.
Lacey’s
head
was
beginning
to hurt.
Jeffrey
was
listening in
tently.
“Jasmine,
I’ll
get those coats for you
today,
okay? Where can we meet? What time?”

“I dunno.
I’ll
think of a good place.
I’ll
call
you.”

“Where
does
Miss
Charday
live? What’s
her
full
name?

What’s
the address?”

Jasmine yelped. “I gotta go!
I’ll
call you. Just get the coats, okay? Bye!”

“Don’t
hang up, Jasmine!”
Too
late.
Lacey
hit redial on the phone. No
answer.

“Trouble
in
the
town?”
Jeffrey’s
expression
was
full
of
concern.

“A
little. I’m
sorry,
I
have
to
make
one more
call.”

“Of
course.”
He flagged
down
their
waiter
for fresh
coffee.
Lacey
pulled out her notebook. She called
Tony
Trujillo
and
gave
him
Jasmine’s
new
phone
number
to
see
if
he
could
get
an
address. And she
wanted
to
find
a list of recent
evictions
in the
city,
going back
two
weeks.
Tony
thought it might be possible to pry the information out of the U.S.
Marshal’s
office
in D.C., which handled
evictions.
It
was
public information, after all.

And,
Tony
said, he
“knew
a
guy.”

If
Tony
found the
eviction
record and the address, she could go there. Jasmine
wouldn’t
be in that apartment,
Lacey
knew,
but
she might be close
by.
Maybe the
woman
that the girl men
tioned,
this
Miss
Charday,
would
be
in
the
same
apartment
building,
or
nearby.
After all,
how
far
could you drag a TV? But
was
Charday the
first
name or last name? And
how
exactly
was
it spelled, Charday or Sharday? Or
even
“Sade,”
like
the singer?
She’d
have
to
find
her.
Maybe guardian angels were
watching
over
them. And maybe she
would
have
a little chat with Mac.
Let’s
see
if
he
really
is
the
big
expert
on
kids
at
risk.

Trujillo
said
he’d
try to
have
something for her when she got back to the
office,
if miracles really happened and pigs
had
wings. She
clicked
off.
Jeffrey
was watching
her.

“Thank you for being patient,
Jeffrey.”
Her lunch
looked
de licious,
but
she’d
lost her appetite.
“There’s
this kid—”
she
began.
He
took
her hand
again.

“So this is the little shepherd
I’ve
been reading about?
Tell
me all about
it.”

Lacey
was
always
happy
to stay
away
from the
office,
particu larly when the denizens of the
newsroom
were irritated and on deadline. But her kids’
coatbuying
mission
was
an
unexpected
fashion
challenge.
Two
coats, Jasmine had demanded. Pink and blue. The best plan
was
just to
charge
ahead—and hopefully not
charge
too much. The
familiar
awnings
of the
Macy’s
down
town
store were comforting.
Lacey
decided to place her inno cent
faith
in the
children’s
department. Her plan
was
simple. She
would
throw
herself on the
mercy
of
Macy’s.

Lacey
found a sympathetic sales clerk who led her to the
crowded
children’s
winter coat racks. “But what do little girls wear?”
Lacey
asked.

“What’s
she
like?”

“Smart, independent. Almost thirteen, going on twentyone. And she has a sister about ten. I think the coats should be about the same style, so no one thinks
they
got the bad one,
but
pink and blue. Pink for the little
one.”

“Microfiber,”
the
saleswoman
said.
“Easy
care.
Soft.
Warm.”
She took
Lacey
to a rack of
children’s
winter coats and
jackets
in
every
possible color and indicated
two
size ranges. “This is a tough season to
buy
for though. Changeable
weather.
I’ll
let you look around. Call if you need
help.”

The traditional red
wool
coats with black
chesterfield
collars called out to
Lacey,
looking as proper as that photo in the old
issue
of
Life
magazine,
but they
didn’t
feel
that
warm.
The
fluffy microfiber won. If she were a kid, she decided,
that’s
what she
would
prefer.
Besides, she thought a kid might think this
stuff
was
cool. It had “micro” in it.

Following
the
saleswoman’s
size advice,
Lacey
picked
out

two
soft,
puffy
parkas, one a rosy pink and the other a pretty baby blue, both with hoods trimmed in white
faux
fur.
Lacey
hoped
Jasmine
wasn’t
that
particular
about
her
blues.
They
were threequarter length, a style compromise to go with
any
thing. At least
they’ll keep
their bottoms
warm,
Lacey
thought. A little girl of about ten ran past
Lacey,
dragging her mother right to the
puffiest
microfiber
parkas. She grabbed one in lime green. “This one!” the girl squealed.
Lacey
smiled. Her
fashion
choice
was
vindicated.

Luckily
they
depleted her Christmas fund less than
she’d
an ticipated. Normally by this time of
year,
she’d
have
all her pres ents already bought and wrapped. Granted she had been
busy
this
year,
with big stories and world
travel
and a brandnew
boyfriend
and the occasional murder to
solve,
but
was
that
any
excuse?
Her mother
wouldn’t
think so. And what on earth could she get
Vic?
Lacey
hopped on the escalator to the
next
level,
stepping
off
in
men’s
coats. Leather
jackets
caught her
eye.
He had a couple,
but
they
were both pretty beat up.
“Distressed,”
Lacey
called them.
“Experienced,”
according to
Vic.

She spied a
warm
chocolate
brown
jacket
in a
buttery
soft
leather.
Vic
would
look sensational in it. She turned the tag
over
and
saw
a
familiar
designer label. Oh no, it
was
a
Bentley!
That
Bentley.
Step
away
from
the
House
of
Bentley
Collection,
ma’am.
Right
now.
She put the
jacket
back. A
Bentley
leather
jacket
would
so
not go
over
well with
Vic.
And after
having
lunch with an
attractive
male
Bentley
by the name of
Jeffrey
Bentley
Holmes,
Vic
might assume she
was
getting a personal
discount.
That
would
never
do,
and
she
couldn’t
afford
one
without
it.
Sadly,
the
Bentley
jackets
were
the
bestlooking
ones there, with the
finest
tailoring and the
butteriest
leather.
I
give
up.
Maybe
Vic
would
dig
something
in
pink
and
blue
mi
crofiber.
With
the squealing
tenyearold’s
seal
of
approval.

Lacey
circled the floor to the
down
escalator.
She
checked
her cell phone. No messages.

“Say
‘Thank
you
Tony,’
”
Trujillo
said.
He
was
leaning
against
Lacey’s
desk,
his
long
legs
stretched
out
to
show
off
his
new
chocolate
brown
cowboy
boots decorated with
howling
red
coyotes.
He dangled a manila
envelope
in one hand.

“Tony!
Is that for me? Early Christmas present?”

GR
AVE
APPAREL

195

“Maybe.”
He lifted the
envelope
high
above
her head. “Who
wants
to
know?”

“The
woman
who’s
going to stomp all
over
your pretty
new
boots if you
don’t
hand that
over,
whatever
it
is.”
He laughed and tossed her the
envelope.
“So what is this?”