Grave Apparel (82 page)

“What are you doing?” Jasmine crept out from behind her hay bale.

“Not sure. Maybe something to
slow
him
down.
If he gets
any
closer.”

“The
Santa
Dude?”
Her
eyes
were
grave.
Lily
Rose
was
right behind
her.

“Yes.
At my signal, I
want
you
two
to run out the back
way,
okay?
Don’t
wait
for me. If I’m not with you, just run and
don’t
stop. Run to the big grocery store
way
down
the street and get help. Got that?”

“Got
it,”
Jasmine said. The girls nodded and
watched
with big
eyes
as
Lacey
poured twenty dollars’
worth
of
Styletto’s
shampoo
over
the
straw
in the front of the stable.

“Now,”
Lacey
whispered. “Hide and stay put until I signal, or he goes
away.
Not a
word,
and
we’ll
be
safe.”

“Not a
word,”
Jasmine put her
finger
to her lips. “Not a
word,”
Lily Rose repeated.

All
three
of
them
crouched
down
behind
the
hay
bales.
Lacey’s
hands were shaking,
but
the girls seemed to
have
com plete
confidence
in
her.
She wished that made three of them. They
heard
Wilcox
making
his
way toward
them,
his
shoes
scuffling
on
gravel
and trash,
first
on the
sidewalk
and then on the church property and the
vacant
lot
next
to it.

“You
think you can hide from me, Smithsonian?” His
voice
was
a
low
growl.
“From me?
You’re
not going to mess this up for me! Not
now!
Not
like
this!”

Lacey’s
mouth
went
dry.
His
voice grew
slightly
louder, then softer; he must be
walking
around the little church, search ing for a
way
in. The girls were looking at
her,
holding their breath,
straw
sticking out of their clean
hair.
Lacey
shook her head:
Wait!
He
was
walking
away,
still
growling
threats and curses. Lacey took a long
slow
breath and tried to
visualize
where his
voice
was
coming from. He
was
heading
away.
They
were almost safe. Then something terrible happened.

Lily Rose sneezed.

Lacey
felt her heart stop. Maybe he
hadn’t
heard. Maybe the wind had smothered the sound, or the hay bales. Maybe it only seemed
like
the
world’s
loudest sneeze to
her,
echoing
off
the
walls
of the little stable. Then she heard
Wilcox
laugh
softly.
He turned around.

“So there you are. Hiding
like
dogs in the
manger.”
Foot
steps on the
gravel
moved
closer to the back of the little stable.
Lacey
wondered
if she could lift one of the hay bales to
throw
at him. One of them
budged
when she pushed it,
but
it
wasn’t
much of a weapon. Her foot
bumped
into something. Peeking out from under loose hay
was
a
shepherd’s
staff,
roughly made, just a long stick rounded at the top. It might
have
gone with Jas mine’s
robe.
Lacey
picked
it
up
and
thanked
some
helpful
angel, or
Pastor
Wilbur
Dean, for
leaving
it behind.

“Want
some
candy,
little
girls?”
He
laughed
again,
just
out
side.
Lacey
was
getting sick of the sound of his
laughter.
Why
is
this
so
funny
to
him?
she
wondered.
What
kind
of
psychopath
is
this
guy?
“A
candy cane?
They’re
making them bigger this
year,
biggest candy canes you
ever
saw,
the better to bash your

heads in, little girls. Big girls too.
Sorry,
I
don’t
have
a candy cane for you. But
I’ve
got something
better.”
He banged on the
back
wall
of
the
stable
with
something
long
and
heavy,
his
Maglite.

Lily
Rose
looked
like
she
might
sneeze
again.
They
crouched
down
in
their
hiding
place,
ready
to
run.
Lacey
waited,
clutching her
staff.

“Answer
me when I talk to
you,”
Wilcox
demanded with a kick to the
wall,
one
wall,
then the
other.
“I’m not someone you ignore!” He
waited
for an answer; he made no
move
to the front of the stable. Apparently he
wanted
to flush them out the front
like
a flock of pheasants. “Come out of
there.”

Lacey
waited.
She
wanted
him right in front before she sent
the
girls
out
the
back.
Wilcox’s
footsteps
stopped
and
he
banged
on
the
wall
behind
them
again
and
again,
making
the
girls jump. Jasmine put her hand
over
her mouth to
keep
from screaming, and Lily Rose imitated
her.
Lacey was afraid
he
might come in through the
actor’s
entrance, which
was
on the dark side of the stable. But he changed direction and stomped to the front of the stable, pounding on the
wall
with each step. He reminded her of a soldier of Herod, ordered to kill all the in
fants
in
Bethlehem
in
hopes
of
murdering
the
Child
in
the
manger.

Lily
Rose
sneezed
again.

“That’s right,”
came the answer from the front of the stable. “Sneeze all you
want.
I
know
where you
are.”

Lacey
peeked
over
the
straw.
Wilcox
stood before the stable peering in. His shirt was open and his tie was missing.
The
lethal Maglite
was
in his hands, illuminating the
falling
snow.
He seemed
indifferent
to the
snow
settling on his shoulders
like
a white
shawl,
lying thick on his hair and
eyebrows.
His
face
was
contorted
in
a
grimace
and
his
eyes
were
slits:
the
“squintchy”
eyes
of
Jasmine’s
Santa Dude. This
was
not the wellconnected Henderson
Wilcox
who tried to impress
Lacey
with his K Street
office
and his brother the
Senator.
This
was
a
killer.
He stared at
her,
deadeyed,
more chilling than the
snow.
“What do you
want,
Wilcox?”
Lacey
stood up behind the hay bales, holding the
staff
out of sight with both hands. Only her
face
was
showing.
She nudged Jasmine with her foot and the girls crept quietly out the back to
safety,
and to get help. She hoped.

“Where are the little brats? I
want
all of
you.”

“They’re
right here with
me,”
she lied. “But you
can’t
have
them.”

“You
can’t
stop me, Smithsonian.
With
what, a bale of hay?
You
gonna
sneeze
me
to
death?
You’re
no
detective,
you’re nothing
but
a
twobit
reporter.”

“Be
fair,
Wilcox.
The
paper’s
thirtyfive
cents a
copy.
So
that’s
maybe
twoandahalf
bits.”
The
snow
was
falling
harder.
Vic
must be coming soon, she thought, or the police, or
even
Mac.
And
Christmas.

Wilcox
stopped to catch his breath. He thought he had them
all
bottled
up.
He’s
a
damned
lawyer,
Lacey
thought,
and
lawyers
love
to talk,
don’t
they?
So
let’s
keep
him
talking.

“Why
do
you
want
them?”
Lacey
said.
“They’re
just
little
girls.”

“No
way.
I’m not telling you
anything.
You’re
trying to ruin me, just
like
she tried to do,
but
you
can’t
do it, I
won’t
let you. Come on
out.”

“Who, Cassandra? She’ll remember what you did to
her,
you
know.
Someday.”

“Cassandra will
never
remember what happened.
Trust
me.

She will
never
remember.
I’ll
make
sure of
that.”
“Why
did
you
have
to
attack
her?”

“What the hell
was
she doing there in that
alley?!
And then she
wouldn’t
let go of me! She
never
could let go,
never
stop preaching at me.
You
know
how
infuriating she could be. She grabbed hold of me, all I
wanted
was
to
make
her let
go.”
He
was
just standing there, swinging his Maglite.
What’s
he
wait
ing
for,
Lacey wondered?

“You
were chasing
Jasmine,”
Lacey
said.
“You
knew
who she
was.”

“Anna
Mai’s
little brat.
Throwing
rocks at me in the street?
Trying
to embarrass me right there in
Farragut
Square? In front of the Army
Navy
Club? What if people
saw
that? What if peo
ple
wondered
how
this
filthy
street
kid
knew
me?
What
if
peo
ple started asking about her mother?”