Death on Heels (24 page)

“Says you.” She sat down again. “Rico, do you have any idea what kind of shoes those women were wearing when they disappeared?”

“No, we don’t know. We don’t really care. If they turn up, fine. If not, that’s fine too. Tucker—the
killer
probably destroyed them. Taking them probably was just a control measure to make them even more helpless. And anyway, you women, you change your shoes a lot, don’t you?”

I tried.
“You going to tell the media what I’ve told you? About the heel and the cabin?” She hoped not. She still had a story to write.
I want to tell it my way.

“Why would we?” Rico Firestone fiddled with his coffee cup. “Hey, I know the sheriff here can be a little hard to talk to. But if there’s anything else you want to tell
me
, this would be a good time. Are you sure you’ve told us everything?”

Aha,
Lacey wondered,
is this good cop–bad cop?
Did the sheriff stomp out of the room just so Rico could take his shot at making me betray Tucker?

“What do I know? I’m just a fashion reporter.” She shrugged elaborately.

The door opened and T-Rex popped his head in. “Get out,” he snarled to Lacey. “Your lawyer is here.”

My lawyer? Maybe he means Tucker’s lawyer, Karen Quilby?
“You’re giving me a lawyer?”

“Hell no. This one just showed up out of the blue, and I’m not interested in any more headaches today. You are headache enough without a fancy-ass lawyer to piss me off.”

Lacey stood. She gazed at the silver-trimmed bootheel sitting alone and unloved on the table. No one seemed interested in it but her. She reached for it.

“Leave it,” T-Rex commanded. “If it is evidence, and I’m not saying it is— Well then, it’s
evidence
.”

The first thing Lacey saw as she left the interview room was a pair of perfectly polished black wing tips. Then a perfectly tailored, charcoal gray, three-piece suit. A perfectly crisp pale blue shirt and a perfectly tied blue-and-gray-striped tie. She blinked and gazed at the man’s face. He smiled.

“Ben? Benjamin Barton? Oh. My. God. What on earth are you doing here?”

Lacey was stunned to see her friend Brooke’s younger brother, attorney Benjamin Barton of the fine old D.C. law firm of Barton, Barton & Barton, standing before her in the Yampa County Justice Center. Ben was a perfect example of his type: tall, blond, fit, good-looking, and very
Gentleman’s Quarterly.
He looked like an elegant alien from a sartorially superior planet, with no rough edges to give him character.
Yet.

T-Rex appeared right behind her. “Your
lawyer.
I understand he’s imported from back East.” Now free of the burden of Lacey Smithsonian, the sheriff practically skipped down the hallway. He spun around, happy as a wild horse. “We’re done, Ms. Smithsonian. But if I have questions, I want answers. Pronto. Understand?”

Lacey turned to her attorney.

“Naturally, Sheriff,” Ben Barton said, “my client and I look forward to assisting your investigation in any way we can. Within the letter and spirit of the law.” He smiled broadly at the sheriff and squeezed Lacey’s arm meaningfully.

“Like he said,” Lacey said.

“Adios, Miss Fashion Reporter.” T-Rex disappeared into his office. “Don’t quote me.”

Lacey whistled under her breath. “Ben? What just happened?”

“Without me and the services of Barton, Barton and Barton, you’d probably be enjoying the dubious hospitality of the county for the next twenty-four hours. Until sometime tomorrow, about cocktail hour.”

“I’m grateful.” She’d heard Brooke talk about her whip-smart little brother Benjamin, and she’d met him a few times, but had never seen him in action before. Ben had always seemed a bit bloodless for Lacey’s taste. A bit too pale, a bit too smooth. Yet as a lawyer, he was reputed to be sharper than glass. He had to be, to hold his own with his sister, Brooke. Lacey was very glad to see him.

Benjamin was forever finishing up Brooke’s legal briefs and grunt work to pay her back for something or other. But brother and sister lived by the Code of the Bartons, and they never squealed. Brooke was big on codes, like the Pink Collar Code, which required fealty to one’s female friends.

“I simply mentioned your sterling record of assisting the police in various other murder cases, leaving out how you did it with your—
fashion clues
. I also pointed out,” Ben continued, “that you couldn’t be helpful behind bars. And that jailing reporters for any reason is always trouble, especially in election years. I guaranteed the sheriff I would make sure it was
much
more trouble than it was worth. It’s like arresting the First Amendment.”

“That’s good. Can I quote you?”

“No. No quotes without clearance. I am your attorney now. Anything you tell me is under attorney-client privilege. And vice versa. Now, I must ask. Are you all right?” He frowned. “You were kidnapped, is that right? By an acquaintance. Were you harmed?”

“Depends on your definition. Abducted, yes. Publicly humiliated, yes. And forced to ride a horse two days in a
row, after not being in a saddle for about seven years. But I am fine. Better now that you’re here and I’m out of there.” She took Ben’s arm and headed for the exit, watching for T-Rex at every turn.

“Let’s not rule out posttraumatic stress syndrome. I think we should contact a physician.”

She laughed. “Benjamin, the only thing I’m suffering from is the no-hot-shower syndrome. And the dumb-ass county sheriff syndrome.” Lacey was acutely aware of her general state of dishevelment beside her very crisply tailored attorney. Luckily, everyone in the Justice Center seemed to be familiar with
eau de cheval
.

He sniffed delicately. “You’re sure?”

“It’s the horse,” she explained. “Now, why are you here, Ben?”

“You have to ask?” He had a funny expression, bordering on a smirk. “Brooke issued an edict. Here I am.”

“So you owed her one. What does Brooke have on you?”

“After this?
Nothing
.” He pulled out a smartphone that looked like a
Star Trek
communicator and aimed the camera lens at Lacey. “Smile.”

Lacey covered the thing with her hand. “You will take a picture of me this way on pain of
death
, Benjamin Barton.” He put the phone away.

“I’d say under oath that you look pretty great. Under the circumstances. Brooke just wants to know that you’re okay. She wants evidence.”

“You can take photos for Brooke later. After I scrub the horse off.”

“Very well. Brooke promised me this would be a colorful place. She was right.”

Ben seemed oblivious to the interested stares from the female deputies and secretaries. In Washington, Ben might turn heads with his looks and his razor-sharp style, but he was still just another lawyer in the world capital of lawyers. In Sagebrush, Colorado, he was as exotic as a movie star.

“How did you know I was in trouble, and how did you get here so quickly?”

“Her Majesty Queen Brooke contacted me as soon as she heard you were taken hostage. She’s very plugged in, you know. It’s killing her not to come here and impose her iron will on the unsuspecting natives. For once, she had to stay and work on an important settlement.”

“Must be super important.”

“Too many zeroes to count, Lacey. She couldn’t escape this time.” Ben straightened his tie. “And I was already packing to go skiing in Aspen later this week. The timing worked out.”

“You bring a three-piece suit on a ski trip?”

“Not usually, but Brooke told me to dress to impress. However, perhaps I should have toned it down a bit.”

“No, you definitely impress. I’ll talk to the paper. Maybe
The Eye
can pay your fee.” She didn’t want to even think about how expensive this could be.

He waved his hand. “The firm of Barton, Barton and Barton is pleased to represent you pro bono.”

A chill ran down Lacey’s spine. “Pro bono. Oh, dear. Why? What’s the catch?”

“You’re a friend. This is a high-profile case, and I’m the firm’s criminal defense specialist now. I’m your man.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were, Lacey. But with your unexpected involvement, anything may happen, and I’m betting this case has potential for more media attention. Your abduction even hit
The Washington Post
.” He frowned. “Not the front page.”

“Metro section?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Style section, inside. Under an ad.”

“Figures. They would never put an
Eye Street Observer
story on the front page.”

“Just two paragraphs, but still.” Ben looked at his watch. “I’m here to help and see how things work out. At least until they catch your missing cowboy, or I go skiing. I’m flexible.”

“Flexible enough to represent Tucker?”

“Cole Tucker, the suspect? Tell me more.”

Lacey stopped Ben with a hand on his arm. “Benjamin,
you must understand one thing. Cole Tucker is not a killer. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Again? Sure. I’m your attorney, so let’s say I accept your theory of the case. Provisionally.”

“Tucker’s attorney is fresh from the bar exam. And there’s something very funny about the evidence they’ve got.”

“Funny how?”

“It’s based on an anonymous tip to a deputy. Ben, there’s no such thing as an anonymous tip in this town. And the same deputy unlocked Tucker’s restraints.”

“Excuse me?”

“Right in front of me. Anyway, you have to think about Tucker.”

“This suspect is really innocent? I must tell you, that almost never happens. It’s all right, though. Even the innocent have the right to a strong defense.”

“Brooke is really going to owe you. Not to mention how much I’m going to owe you.”
And I’m going to owe Brooke, big-time.

“Don’t mention it. After we debrief—”

“‘Debrief’? I hate that word. Can’t we just say catch up?”

“After we
catch up,
I thought I’d check out the spring skiing in Steamboat Springs. It’s closer than Aspen. You’re not planning to get into any more trouble for a day or two, are you?”

“Funny, Ben. Very funny. I’m glad this is both business and pleasure for you. But sure, go skiing. Where are your skis?”

“At that awful motel. Brooke said there were no luxury hotels out here closer than Steamboat Springs. I’m distressed to find she’s right.”

Ben opened the door into the lobby, where Lacey’s family promptly swooped down on her.
Not another family reunion!
Other women might have wanted their families with them at this moment, but all Lacey really wanted was a hot bath and some privacy. And Vic Donovan. She was swept up into a family huddle. Her sister, Cherise, was wearing her new nine-hundred-
dollar cowboy boots, which made Lacey pause. If some killer was after women in fancy cowboy boots, Lacey wanted her sister safely in running shoes. Or combat boots.

“Have they mistreated you here, Lacey?” Rose asked.

“The décor crushed my spirit, but I’m fine, Mom. I just need to get out of here.”

“Of course you do.”

“You didn’t tell Dad—”

“Tell your father about your being kidnapped? Good Lord, no! But it’s been all over the news.” She checked her watch. “He should just be getting settled in Taiwan. Thailand. Wherever. We’ll talk to him later tonight.”

“Mom, I told you she’d be fine,” Cherise said, her eyes filling with tears. Then she saw Benjamin Barton and her attention swayed slightly. She dabbed at her eyes and threw Benjamin Barton her most dazzling cheerleader smile. “Hi, I’m Cherise Smithsonian. I’m the sister who
doesn’t
get into trouble. And you must be?”

Ben seemed a little dazzled himself by the charms of a pretty blond former cheerleader. He held Cherise’s hand perhaps a beat too long. But not too long for Cherise.

“Cherise, nice to meet you. Are you staying in town?”

“Oh, yeah! At that funky little motel. And I thought maybe I’d hit the slopes over at Steamboat. Now that Lacey is safe. She doesn’t ski, you know. But I do. Do you ski?”

Benjamin beamed with pleasure. Lacey whispered in Cherise’s ear, “You are such a flirt, sis. Careful with my lawyer. I might need him again.”

Lacey looked beyond her mother, who was still talking. An exhausted Vic Donovan was leaning by the front door. Their eyes met and Lacey ran to him. He caught her in another crushing embrace.

“I didn’t want to get between you and your mother,” he said softly. “We have to talk, darlin’. Away from here.”

“Oh, Vic,” she whispered. “Could I possibly talk you into rescuing me?”

“I’d like nothing better. But you’ve got quite an entourage. Is that really Brooke’s brother?”

“Can’t you see the resemblance?”

“Now that you mention it. But he seems lucid and normal.”

Rose Smithsonian interrupted the moment. “Vic’s been worried to death about you.”

“I’ve aged ten years,” Vic said.

“What about Cole Tucker?” Cherise asked. “Where is he?”

“Silence.” Ben Barton hushed them all and hustled them out the front door of the Justice Center. “No more chatter about anything related to the case, especially in earshot of the press. We must talk, Lacey. Privately.”

A mob of reporters and photographers was hanging around the entryway, and suddenly Dodd Muldoon was front and center. There were flashing cameras and calls of “Lacey! Lacey! Is it true— Can I have a quote— Lacey, look over here!” Muldoon’s voice cut through the babble.

“Welcome home, Scoop.
The Daily Press
is going to be the first on this story.”

“You’ll never have the whole story, Muldoon. That’s mine,” Lacey shot back. Someone stuck a microphone in her face. She cut through the mob, her bodyguards, Vic and Ben, clearing a path for her. Her mother and sister trailed behind.

Ben said in her ear, “Lacey, my best legal advice is that you stay out of trouble.”

“Good luck with that, Ben,” Vic said. “That’s always my advice to Lacey too.”

She glared at both of them.

“Don’t irritate or engage the media,” Ben continued, “and stay available for the sheriff. Don’t say anything, but be polite. Now, I know it’s not what Brooke would do. She’d think of something completely cockeyed and land you both in jail, and in the headlines.”