Death on Heels (26 page)

“About the cabin Tucker took you to…”

“But I do have photos of the heel.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “Lots of photos, every angle, and comparing it to the heel on my boots. Same size.”

“Okay, we’ll talk about the cabin later.” Vic picked up her camera and clicked through the shots. “Now, you told Firestone you took these photos, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t come up in the conversation. The heel was jammed in a loose floorboard under an old sofa in the cabin. Tucker wasn’t very impressed, honestly. And for the record, neither was your old buddy Rico Firestone. But he hadn’t seen Kitty Fowler’s photo. Vic, darling, is that one heck of a fashion clue, or
what
?” She noticed the glazed look in his eyes. “You’re not impressed either? What’s a girl gotta do?”

Vic whistled. “Who said I’m not impressed? If that heel turns out to be Rae Fowler’s, then she was in that cabin. Or her boots were.”

“At least for a time.” Lacey leaned across the console to kiss him.

“It’s a theory. One hell of a theory. Firestone is a good guy. It was smart sending the Fowlers to him instead of T-Rex. He’ll listen to Firestone. And Firestone will listen to Kitty Fowler. If she IDs the bootheel, T-Rex’ll change his tune, sweetheart. He just won’t tell
you
about it.”

“Cole Tucker is still in love with you,” Vic whispered into Lacey’s hair as they lay on the bed in the motel room.

“I love
you
, Vic darling, but please shut up.”

Lacey had spent a long time under the shower’s wonderful steam. She changed into clean clothes for dinner, but then she made the mistake of sitting down on the bed. It would take heavy equipment to move her. She flopped down and dragged the pillow over her head.

“A man doesn’t do a crazy thing like he did unless he’s in love,” Vic persisted.

“Maybe he’s just crazy,” she said from beneath the pillow. She peeked out. “Are you saying you’d pull a stunt like Tucker?”

“If I had to.” Vic was mock-sulking.

“For heaven’s sake, Vic, what’s your problem? I’m fine, I’m back, we’re together. No harm done. At least not much.”

“I should have been with you, not Tucker.”

“Yes, dear.”
But we never would have found that cabin and that heel.

“You know we’re supposed to meet up with your lawyer and the home team tonight?”

“Of course, dear. Why don’t you come over here and hold me for a while?” She inched over. “I forgot to tell you something else. Douglas MacArthur Jones and Tony Trujillo are coming to town, and my nightmare will be complete.”

He was silent for a moment, smoothing her hair away from her face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

She smiled and kissed him. “Aw, shucks, Detective Donovan. After a day like today, that’s mighty nice to hear.” Lacey closed her eyes and Vic snuggled next to her. “And I don’t even smell like a sweaty palomino anymore, do I?”

“You’re
my
sweaty little—”

She laughed. Lying there, wrapped tightly in Vic’s warm arms, with a thousand responsibilities, an innocent man hunted for murder, and far too many people expecting her presence far too soon, Lacey Smithsonian fell asleep, as if, for that one moment, she had not a care in the world.

“You’re late,” Rose announced as Lacey and Vic arrived at the Blue Ox restaurant. Rose looked like she had just awakened from her own long nap.

“But I’m alive,” Lacey said, kissing her mother’s cheek. “And isn’t that the important part?”

“Vic called to say you’d be late,” Cherise said. “We’ve only been here ten minutes. You crazy kids probably needed a little time to yourselves, didn’t you?”

Lacey just smiled. The décor at the Blue Ox was down-at-the-heels, the drinks weak, and the steaks barely passable. But it was seldom crowded, which was why Vic picked it. Dodd Muldoon knew Lacey had sworn never to set foot inside the place. The local and out-of-town media would most likely be at the Italian or Mexican restaurants downtown. Under the circumstances, it was almost private.

“I’ve been in contact with your fan base back home,” Ben Barton noted.

“Did you mean back home on Planet Earth,” Lacey asked, “or on Brooke’s Conspiracy Planet?”

“My sister thinks those are the same planet. I promised you’d ring her tonight. Stella will be there too. If you don’t call first, they’ll conference-call
you
.”

“You have the nicest friends, Lacey,” her mother said. “You really should call them.”

Ben hid behind his menu. “And you might want to check out Conspiracy Clearinghouse.”

“What did that maniac Damon write now?” Lacey
sucked in a deep breath. According to Brooke, Damon was in a slump. He needed a fresh story.

“‘Lacey Smithsonian, wearing her pink spurs, kidnapped by the very accused-mass-murderer-cowboy whose innocence she had trumpeted, makes a daring escape and rides bareback on a winged pink unicorn to the Old West hamlet of Sagebrush, Colorado, to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.’ I paraphrase,” Ben said.

“Damon is deranged,” Lacey said.

“Damon is hilarious. I’d love to see your pink spurs, sis,” Cherise said. “They’d go with my blue boots.”

Ben set his menu on the table. “It is unfortunate that he believes everything he writes, and that he is dating my sister. The funny thing is Brooke is brilliant and lucid in every other respect. Well, nearly every other.”

“Where’s Smithsonian?” a booming voice interrupted the table. “I’m here to retrieve
The Eye Street Observer
’s missing scribe.”

“Mac. Imagine seeing you here.” Nothing would surprise Lacey at this point.

Douglas MacArthur Jones had arrived from Washington, D.C., and he was ready to play cowboy in his sweater vest and corduroy pants. Behind him, Tony Trujillo was dragging a couple of extra chairs to the table. At least Trujillo looked at home on the Western Slope, in his jeans and ever-present cowboy boots. Today’s pair were tooled burgundy cowhide.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“It wasn’t because you answered your phone.” Mac scowled.

“I turned it off,” Lacey said.

“Mac Jones,” Rose said, “my daughter was worn out. She needs rest.”

Mac pressed on. “So Trujillo and I asked around about where all the reporters were hanging out. Figured you wouldn’t be giving them any tips. We looked for the places they wouldn’t go. Blue Ox was number one on the list.”

“What’s the story, Lois Lane?” Trujillo said, pushing
his chair between hers and Vic’s. “Safe and sound? Leads on the escaped cowboy? Has he been in contact?”

Lacey shook her head. “No. He doesn’t know my number. Or that the cops retrieved my cell phone, after he threw it out the car window.”

Trujillo was jotting down notes in his slender reporter’s notebook. “Tucker really threw your phone out the window? Some friend. And the cops really gave it back?”

“Lacey, you can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” Ben cautioned.

“Sure I can. Do you think I’m going to let those other media monkeys steal my story? I can tell part of it.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as Brooke.”

“Of course they gave it back,” Mac said. “She answered my call. Before she turned it off. I’m sure she’s going to turn it back on.”

“I heard he stole some funky car,” Tony said.

“
Borrowed
,” Lacey amended. “That’s what Tucker says. Tasso Petrus’s bakery truck, an old Jeep Cherokee with antlers on the grille. Can’t miss it. Tasso probably has it back by now, unless the sheriff is holding it for evidence.”

“Cool. I’ll try to find a picture of it. So, Lacey, how did Tucker do it anyway? How’d he manage to get out of the shackles and overpower the deputy and grab you
and
escape from a courthouse crawling with cops and spectators and media? I’m having some trouble with this. You help him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tony. It all happened so fast.” Lacey’s blood pressure was rising. “And it’s
my
story.”

“It’s
our
story,” he said.

“You have enough for now, don’t you?” Lacey asked him. “Smithsonian safe and sound, details to follow.”

“Get pictures!” Mac ordered Trujillo.

Tony opened his canvas messenger bag and took out a big digital camera, a Nikon DSLR. “Hansen gave me a loaner. He says hey, by the way.”

There was no way to get out of a photo for her own newspaper. Lacey flashed an obligatory smile and gave him two thumbs-up.

Rose and Cherise jumped in behind Lacey. “I want copies of those pictures! I just wish your father were here. I don’t know when we last had a family photograph.”

“Possibly under happier circumstances,” Cherise said.

“What could be happier than finding out your daughter is alive and well, after being kidnapped?” Rose said. “And the whole family together? Almost. We can Photoshop your father in later.”

“Just like real life,” Cherise said.

“And Dad will only get the abridged version of events, right?” Lacey said.

“I don’t know, Smithsonian.” Tony frowned at her. “You look pretty good for going through such a grueling ordeal. Can you look a little more abducted?”

“You don’t want her to look defeated, do you?” Mac said. “
The Eye Street Observer
is not defeated! Our Smithsonian is not defeated!”

“Okay, okay.” Trujillo put the camera away. “I’ll go file my story. I’ll be back for drinks.”

“What’s good here?” Mac flipped open his menu.

“Nothing,” Lacey said.

“On the plus side,” Vic commented, “it probably won’t kill you.”

“Fine. I’ll take the meat loaf,” Mac decided.

Lacey felt a breeze. Someone new came into the dining room. She turned around in her seat to see CBI Agent Rico Firestone at the door. She got to her feet.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she said to curious stares. Vic followed Lacey into the lounge where Firestone sat at the empty bar and ordered a beer.

“Rico, are you looking for me?”

He cleared his throat. “Lacey. Howdy, Vic. Thought you’d like to know Mrs. Fowler identified that bootheel as belonging to her daughter.”

“I knew it!” Lacey rejoiced, but sadness immediately followed. She and Rae had been in the same cabin. A cabin Tucker knew about.

“Their photograph cinches it?” Vic asked him.

“Looks like a match. New evidence.” He nodded to Lacey. “We’re taking a team to go over that cabin tomorrow, see if we can find anything else.”

Lacey leaned against Vic. “You know where it is?”

“Cabin with a dead coyote on the fence post?” Rico Firestone smiled briefly. “T-Rex said he knows which one it must be. Let me caution you, this doesn’t go anywhere near exonerating Cole Tucker. Fact is, it might go the other way. But it’ll help us get a better idea of how and where those women spent their last days.”

“Who knows about the heel?” The thought nagged at Lacey: If the killer caught wind of it, he’d destroy the evidence ahead of the cops.

“I can’t plug all the holes in the wall.” Firestone leaned against the bar. “The official word is that we’re going to search the cabin where you were held by Tucker just to get a bead on where he went. We’re not releasing any information on that heel.”

“You taking the posse?” Vic asked.

“No way. Forensics is CBI’s show.” Firestone picked up his beer mug. “That heel? Turning up all the way out near the Sand Wash like that? When the victims were dumped closer to the city? Just plain weird. Good find.”

“It’s nice to be noticed,” she said.
Fashion clue!

“What are you writing?” Firestone wanted to know. Lacey shrugged and smiled. “I’d appreciate it, Lacey, if you wouldn’t reveal the information. Not till we get a chance to process the cabin ourselves. Don’t want a lot of souvenir hunters trampling a possible crime scene.” He sipped his beer.

“My story won’t appear until tomorrow online and in the paper after that.”
The CBI better get cracking.

He nodded slightly. “By the way, I just talked to an old friend of yours.”

“An old friend?”
I can hardly wait.
“Really? Who?”

“Guy named Broadway Lamont.”

“The big man himself.” Firestone must have called the D.C. homicide detective for a reference. “Did he vouch for me?” Lacey knew that could go either way.

“Sort of. He also said you could be a real pain in the, um, the neck. And he alleged—how did he put it? ‘Smithsonian’s got a murder mojo.’ That true?”

“No.” She sniffed. “What can I say, Rico? It’s good to have friends.”

Lacey and Vic turned to go, but the mirror behind the bar suddenly showed another face at the door, one that looked remarkably ducklike. Lacey jumped. Grady Rush stared at her. She imagined it was with malevolence.

“You all right, sweetheart?” Vic said.

She spun on her heel and headed back to their table, but she couldn’t help but pass Grady. He was halfway between the bar and the dining room, standing in the narrow passageway.

“Hey, Lacey. Glad to see you’re okay.” Grady’s eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d already downed a few drinks. He grabbed her arm. His fingers dug into her flesh. There would be a bruise. “Cole could have killed you, you know. Like those other ladies. Man like that’s got no conscience.”

“Bull. You know Tucker and you don’t believe that.” She shook off his arm and backed away. It seemed to her that Vic should be with her, but she looked behind her and saw he was with Agent Firestone. They were watching.
Do they want to see how I react to Grady, or how he reacts to me?

“We’re going to get Cole Tucker and bring him back here. You can depend on that, Lacey.” His voice rose. His breath reeked of liquor. “After what he did to me, I’m going to get him. Dead or alive.”

She stared him down. “Who was it that called you about the evidence on Tucker’s property, Grady?”

His eyes took in the room, as if he wanted to make sure who was around to hear his answer. “An anonymous tip. I brought it to the sheriff. Just doing my job.”

“And you don’t know who it was?”

“Like I said. Anonymous.”

“I don’t believe you. Who set up Cole? Was it you?”

Grady’s answer took a few seconds longer than necessary. “We got Tucker dead to rights.”