“Each and every one of them!” Wiedemeyer grinned.
Lacey gently wrested her away from
The Eye
’s documenter of doom. She dared not dwell on the havoc Lady G and Wiedemeyer could wreak if they teamed up.
“What a charming little man. I do hope we run into him again,” Gwendolyn said.
Lacey escorted Gwendolyn and Stella across Farragut Square. Someone had built a snowman beneath the statue of Admiral David Farragut, mimicking his telescope-in-hand pose with a tree limb.
The women had barely settled in at the Firehook Bakery with their coffee and blueberry muffins when Lady Gwendolyn Griffin launched into her purpose: to pump Lacey for information on D.C.’s mean streets and slimy underbelly.
“The timing of our trip simply couldn’t be better,” Gwendolyn said. “I had heard something of your exploits from my Nigel. All the excitement last month, leg injuries all round, and the betrothal. And your sharpshooting. Well-done, my dear! However, I had no idea you’d be involved in yet another murder. And so soon. How nice.”
“It’s not like I plan these things.”
“I understand the funeral is tomorrow. You’ll be attending, I presume?” Gwendolyn had an unhealthy gleam in her eyes.
“Well, I do need to cover it for the paper. . . .” Lacey tried to think of a way to head Gwendolyn off at the pass, but she was waving a copy of Lacey’s own story in front of her. Stella shook her head as if to say,
What can I do?
“I believe killers often attend their victims’ funerals, do they not? Where is this Black Martin, Virginia? Is it far?” Gwendolyn inquired.
Lacey tried to catch her friend’s eye, but Stella was deliberately avoiding eye contact. “Far. Far away. About two or three hours southwest from here.”
Gwendolyn leaned forward, clutching the paper. “Your story says the widow intends to have an open casket. Good lord! Do you mean to say she is going to put that freakish indigo man on display for all and sundry to gape at?”
“I don’t believe that will happen. I’m sure she was just carried away by the moment. Surely she’ll reconsider and do the right thing, especially after he’s been through an autopsy. Don’t you think?”
“How disappointing. I should so like to see that. It’s a shame we have no time to attend, to see whether the widow does or does not. I’ve sometimes daydreamed about being a widow. Purely hypothetical, of course.” Gwendolyn added sugar and cream to her tea. “I trust we can count on you to tell us all about it? In living color, as it were?”
“No problem.” Lacey started to relax. “Color commentary, my specialty.”
“What is your professional opinion, Ms. Smithsonian? How soon will this dreadful serial killer strike again? Soon, I suppose?” She took a bite of her muffin. “This is delicious.”
“Lady G says this is just the first of many blue bodies to come,” Stella said.
“It’s obvious this is a fetish killer,” Gwendolyn said. “They strike again and again, with savage brutality.”
“A fetish killer?” Stella said. “I’m so glad you’re having a good time, Lady G.” Gwendolyn smiled her approval.
“This is an isolated case. So far as I know,” Lacey said.
“This is what we know,” Gwendolyn continued. “The Black Martin Avenger makes a trophy of his kill. He straps the victim to the heavy machinery, he binds him with velvet, a soft, sensual material, and then mocks the victim by dyeing him blue. The mockery is the tip-off. Don’t you see? He’s clearly sending a message. And he’s keeping some souvenir in his lair. A deep, dark blue souvenir, I suspect, in a deep, dark blue lair.”
“Perhaps you should write one of those gory thrillers yourself.”
Gwendolyn giggled with delight. “I’m sure I could, if only I had the time to sit down and do it. Now, you two think about this killer. I’m going to find the loo.”
Gwendolyn exited, leaving Lacey openmouthed. Stella put her hand on Lacey’s arm. “I know I totally owe you. But really, I think she’s enjoying herself. Don’t you?”
“She’s a bloodthirsty old thing, isn’t she?”
“Totally. And I’m completely terrified of her, but it’s a little weird,” Stella said. “I don’t think she hates me. Not yet anyway. I never thought I could get along with someone like Lady Gwendolyn. And my guy’s
mother
? Who woulda thought?”
“I suspect, Stella, you are her own priceless exotic souvenir.”
“Good thing, huh? If it keeps her from sabotaging me and Nigel.”
“What do you think about her hair?” Lacey was surprised Stella would be seen in public with her soon-to-be mother-in-law with that indescribable hair. After all, she was a stylist; she had a reputation to protect.
“Her hair! Oh my God! Can you believe that frizz? I just have to find the right moment to take her to the salon and introduce her to conditioner. Some product will work wonders. A good cut and color. That shade of dead mouse has got to go. Add some makeup, and who knows?” Stella counted tasks on her freshly rhinestoned nails. “If anyone on earth can make her look human, it’s me. Right?”
“What about the brows?”
“Oh, God. The brows. Those thornbushes have to go.”
Gwendolyn sailed back from the ladies’ room, refreshed. “I’d so dearly love to go to that funeral. Don’t you think there is
some
chance the blue man will be on display? This is, after all, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Not really.” Lacey looked to Stella.
Help me out here, Stella!
“We have so much to do,” Stella said. “With the wedding and all.”
“And Stella is dying to show you where she works,” Lacey said. “She might even be willing to demonstrate her makeover skills. She’s the best, you know.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Gwendolyn said. “I must say these two, my Nigel and Stella, really seem to be rushing things. Hence, I leaped to the obvious conclusion, but Stella assures me she’s not in the family way. Not that that would be a bad thing. It would be wonderful, naturally. I love weddings and babies and so forth. Who doesn’t? But a funeral! Oh, I do love a really good funeral.”
A grandchild would always be welcome, but not quite as much fun as seeing a dead blue guy in a blue coffin. Lacey had to stop herself from laughing.
Stella has met her match.
Chapter 24
“Smithsonian, what are you working on?” Mac was peering over her shoulder at her computer screen, his bushy eyebrows knit together in a frown.
“I have no earthly idea,” Lacey replied. There were too many distractions in the newsroom today, what with unexpected visitors and all. It seemed destined to be the kind of day in which no actual work would get done. And she had an unexpected invitation in her e-mail. She was just reading it when Mac arrived.
“You better get an idea. That’s what we do here.”
It occurred to Lacey that another distraction might be good for her editor. And good for her.
“I have an idea, Mac. Felicity just made cherry tarts. Yum. Get ’em while they’re hot.” She grabbed her coat and purse and notebook, while Mac followed his nose to the tarts. Mac selected the most perfect tart and turned around.
“Cherry tarts! So, Smithsonian—” But she was gone.
An e-mail message from her publisher, Claudia, urged Lacey to meet her at the University Club. Lacey didn’t know what to expect from the encounter, but at least she would get to see the inside of another grand old Washington building. One of the perks of her job, a job she might not have much longer if Walt Pojack had his way.
I’ll be seeing the inside of the unemployment office.
Lacey hailed a taxi on Eye Street. The University Club was only about five blocks from
The Eye
’s offices, just up Sixteenth Street between the
National Geographic
and
The Washington Post
buildings, but with Claudia waiting for her, she wasn’t about to take a leisurely stroll.
The University Club did not disappoint her, with its lush interior, the impressive center stairway, and the powder blue ladies’ room. The entryway and lobby featured beautiful old paneling, plush red carpet, and three impressive crystal chandeliers. She briefly wondered how much the dues were. It didn’t matter; they were obviously about two chandeliers above her pay grade. Her wardrobe might meet the club’s dress code, but her salary never would.
As she walked in, the Taft Restaurant was to her left, and to her right, the club’s library. Two women, deep in conversation, glided past Lacey and turned into the Taft. Lacey was riveted. The not-quite-middle-aged blonde wore a tight faux-leopard-print dress and sky-high matching heels. The other, a brunette of similar age, defied all Washington codes of dress in a hot pink suit and a pink-and-navy hat that looked like a gigantic piece of ribbon candy on her head. High-class working girls? Trophy wives? Divas on tour in a Broadway show? Delicious questions destined to go unanswered.
A hostess ushered Lacey into the red-walled library. Not every library could boast its own bar, but this one did, as well as cream-colored shelves full of books and portraits of club notables. The publisher of
The Eye
awaited her in a wing chair in the corner. Today Claudia was back in top form, wearing a navy pinstripe business suit nipped in at the waist. Every strand of her platinum pageboy was in place, and her ten perfect nails were all present and accounted for. She was wearing her game face.
“Lacey, I’m so glad you could make it.” Claudia smiled broadly.
As usual, I wonder if I had some choice in the matter.
Lacey smiled back. “What did you want to see me about?” She couldn’t stand the suspense, particularly after Walt Pojack’s nasty crack about the paper not needing a fashion reporter. She hoped this wasn’t about her résumé.
“I wanted to discuss this Rod Gibbs mess outside of the office. It’s a very curious affair.”
Lacey relaxed slightly. “Everyone is curious about it. But I’m a little surprised we published one of the photos of the body.”
“We had to run it. Otherwise the world—and
The Washington Post
—would think we were hiding the truth. Either way it was dicey. Now we can be accused of mere sensationalistic journalism.” She smiled. “Again. I’d rather go with sensationalism than cover-up any day. At least the public knows we’re still here. We’re still a newspaper.”
Did that mean Lacey’s job was safe? She tried to put it from her mind.
A waitress carrying a silver tray approached their table quietly. She set down cups and saucers on the small table in front of them. She poured coffee and left the pot and a plate of cookies. Lacey tried the coffee.
Mmmm, real coffee, not newsroom sludge.
“Lacey, is Honey Gibbs really planning to have an open casket for Rod’s funeral? After the autopsy? That can’t be true, can it?” It seemed to be the question of the day. “She’s not going to put him on display, is she? Like—like a prize blue marlin?”
“That’s what Honey told me, so that’s what I wrote. She seemed serious at the time, but she might change her mind. I was planning to go to the funeral for a follow-up.” Lacey Smithsonian was not about to miss a blue guy in a casket, open or closed.
“You don’t intend to unmask a killer while you’re there, do you?” Claudia smiled.
Lacey wasn’t sure whether Claudia was teasing. “Nope, not a chance. I have no idea who the killer is. I just want to follow up on my story.”
“That’s good. I’ve decided not to attend,” Claudia said. “It will be a zoo, and I think it best not to add any more fuel to the fire. Keep your eyes and ears open. I expect you to report back to me.”
“That’s my job.” Lacey paused for a minute. “Claudia, I have to ask one thing. I ran into Walt Pojack this morning.”
“That man!” Claudia snorted. She played with a large cocktail ring on her right hand. “I imagine you have all kinds of questions. I’ve been getting them all morning. All I can tell you is that his announcement about moving to Crystal City was very premature.” She lowered her voice. “As I said, I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire.”
“Then the move is not a sure thing?” Lacey held her breath.
“Nothing is a sure thing at this point. Crystal City is just one train of thought. I want to stay right where we are, but I’m exploring every option.”
“But why Crystal City?”
A look of annoyance crossed Claudia’s face. “Walt’s idea. He has a line on a building we can get very cheap. He has both the State of Virginia and Arlington County throwing tax incentives at us to move. He’s working all the angles for us, and he’s been lobbying for it for a while now. But I’m not at all convinced that move would be wise in the long run.”
Lacey nodded. Some kind of power struggle was playing out on the sixth floor of
The Eye
. Was Pojack sneaking around behind Claudia’s back, making deals, trying to force her hand? Wiedemeyer’s theory was gaining credence.
“A lot of people are alarmed about his big announcement,” Lacey said.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of Walt Pojack,” Claudia said. Lacey just hoped Claudia would win this battle.
Claudia glanced up over Lacey’s head. Lacey turned to see the third Dominion Velvet partner walk through the door. Claudia put out her hand and he clasped it.
“Tazewell, good of you to come. I want you to meet Lacey Smithsonian, our lead reporter on Rod Gibbs.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, and shook her hand, but Lacey guessed that
pleased
was the last thing Congressman Tazewell Flanders was. His smile merely twitched the corners of his mouth. Lacey wondered if he had been Botoxed. She was willing to bet on it. But at any rate, he wasn’t going to waste a campaign smile on her.
Flanders dressed in a navy bespoke suit, crisp white shirt, and dark red tie. His politician-issue tan was buttery, his brown hair streaked with gold strands, and his teeth were whitened. He certainly was ready for his close-up, and his yet-to-be-announced, highly anticipated campaign for governor of Virginia.