Death on Heels (28 page)

Hey There, Annie Oakley,
It’s Western Wear, Not a Costume

Yes,
you
, city girl in that fringed leather skirt, those boots, and the turquoise bangles. When you don a Western look, you’re wearing an American classic, a little piece of the frontier, of the Wild West, and the wild imagination as well. Not a Halloween costume.

Forged out of the Old West, when desperados were dandies wearing dusters and carrying silver-tipped canes, many of these iconic Western styles are still embodied by the cowboy, and cowgirl. You can borrow a bit of that swagger for yourself. But be careful, because in the city, a little swagger goes a long way.

Sure, you can slip on boot-cut Levi’s and Wranglers. But there’s more to frontier fashion than jeans. Western Wear—hats, shirts, boots, and jeans—is made with a healthy dose of myth added to rugged functionality. It’s clothing that works hard and captures the imagination while doing so. That’s not fashion; that’s style. A style that’s embodied in movies and TV and music, and cultural phenomena as exotic as rodeo and as country as the Grand Ole Opry. And by
you
, Miss Twenty-First-Century Annie Oakley.

Take the Western shirt, with its distinctive yoke, which is made to fit and flatter a trim torso. The snap-front shirt was designed as a safety feature. Those pretty pearlescent snaps open quickly with a yank of one hand. They’re made that way so a cowboy’s shirt won’t get caught on a fence post or
hung up on the horns of a bull—and take the cowboy with it. But why pearl snaps? That’s where practicality meets style.

The boots are made so a rider caught in the stirrup can slip his foot out and escape being dragged. Though coming home safe from a day on the cattle range is not always a concern, there are American designers in love with the frontier fantasy, who draw on it time and again in their collections. See how Ralph Lauren’s designs ramble from his polo field style and back to the ranch.

Real cowgirls can wear what they want: kerchief, fringed chaps, the works. It’s their life and their lifestyle. But full Western regalia is rarely seen, except perhaps at rodeos and stock shows. If you’re not a cowboy or cowgirl, you should stop at one or two pieces.

The key is to know what pieces to choose, not the entire Sedona Arizona collection. Remember, nothing screams
outsider
as much as putting on the whole little dogie. You don’t want to look like an extra in a cowboy film. Unless, of course, you
are
an extra in a film.

And watch the Native American jewelry. Overdoing the silver and turquoise, with the belt, the heavy squash blossom necklace, the bracelets, earrings, watchband, and collar points, is too much of a good thing, and a sure sign you’re an outsider. Turquoise is like the spice in a dish. Use it to add a dash of clear blue color, not to add a couple of pounds to your outfit.

So wear Western with a clear head and a clear idea of the tradition behind it. You want to evoke the cowboy or cowgirl. Not the rodeo clown.

“What’s Lois Lane get to do that I don’t?” Tony asked Mac.

“You two are worse than children, you know that? My hair is turning gray because of you,” Mac complained.

“You don’t have much hair left, Mac. How can you tell?” Lacey contemplated her screen and willed the words to come, haunted by thoughts from her day and night with Tucker. She had to start with Rae Fowler’s boots. After that, for the longer piece, she could start from the beginning.
We had a history, Cole Tucker and I…
She looked up. “Mac. You said you have a mission for me?”

“Yes, a mission. Something important.” Mac looked worried.

“About the story?” Lacey was feeling mentally drained. Nothing had turned out the way she planned on this trip. And she certainly hadn’t expected her editor to show up with the police reporter in tow and bring the newsroom to her. Luckily her mother and sister were occupied: Cherise was taking Ben to Steamboat, and Rose was checking out the shopping in Sagebrush, which meant Wal-Mart.
Mom loves Wal-Mart.

Lacey needed to find out more about Ally’s boots. Were they as unusual as Rae’s and Corazon’s? She wanted to talk to Muldoon about his fling with Ally and why he was after Tucker’s land. Was he capable of killing? She wanted an update on the status of the Tucker manhunt. Cole was never far from her thoughts. Neither
was Vic. “My brain is full, Mac. I’ve got too many missions already.”

“This is mission critical. We’ve got to go—shopping.”

Lacey stared at him. “Excuse me, did you say
shopping
?”

Mac’s wardrobe was an indictment against shopping. His clothes were an afterthought. Wrinkles and rumples and mismatched colors were his signature style, along with heavily pilled sweater vests. Lacey suspected Mac’s wife, Kim, sometimes allowed him to dress himself particularly badly, perhaps when she was too irritated with him to edit his random wardrobe selections. A wife’s silent payback:
Go ahead, go to work looking like that, see if I care.

“We got a shopping mission, Smithsonian.”

“A mission for what?”

“Jasmine and Lily Rose want—cowboy boots.” He shrugged helplessly.

“Oh, Mac. I don’t know. I’ve just about had my fill of cowboy boots.” Her editor looked crestfallen. His bushy eyebrows made sad frowns over big brown puppy-dog eyes. She sighed. “Okay, okay. If it’s for the girls.”

Jasmine and Lily Rose, Mac and Kim’s soon-to-be-officially-adopted daughters, had Mac wrapped firmly around their little fingers. Lacey and Mac had both played parts in rescuing the mixed-race daughters of a murdered Asian mother and a long-missing black father from a hellish life of homelessness. Mac was of mixed parentage himself, black and white, and Kim was Japanese American. They understood the girls’ struggle to find their place in the world.

Lacey remembered the night they had come to an understanding: Mac and Jasmine, face-to-face and glower to glower. Though Lacey couldn’t hear what they said, she would never forget the moment she saw fierce little Jasmine nod and then place her small hand in Mac’s large one. She was the big sister, “totally almost thirteen,” who had to protect her ten-year-old sister, Lily Rose. In that moment, Jasmine decided she could trust Mac to help her carry that burden.

The girls instantly fell for Mac’s wife, Kim, and she for them. Kim had always wanted children, and the girls were her ready-made family.

But after so much deprivation, Jasmine and Lily Rose were enjoying having a mom and dad who would cave in to nearly their every desire. They were good girls, happy and well behaved, and not quite spoiled rotten. But possibly, Lacey suspected, drunk with girl power.

“I’m glad they didn’t ask for a pony. Do you know what sizes they wear?”

“Here, got it somewhere.” He fumbled in his pockets and came up with a crumpled paper. He handed it to Lacey.

“Why cowboy boots?”

“No idea. They were really worried about you going out in cowboy country, Smithsonian. I was telling them about how cool cowboys were, so they wouldn’t worry so much—you know, the Code of the West and all that stuff—and well, one thing led to another.”

“Tony is the boot expert.” She could just see Trujillo preening in his boots du jour. “You should make him go shopping with you.” Tony gave her a look of horror.

“Yeah, but you’re the
girl
expert,” Mac said. “Trujillo can come along too.”

“Cowboy boot shopping? You and Lacey?” Trujillo asked with interest. “You know a good boot place?”

“A legendary boot place, but we’ll have to go to Steamboat Springs. Mac can buy us a decent lunch there too.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Mac said.

“No lunch, Mac, no boots. Now, do you know what the girls want? Color and style preferences?” The girls had been on a major pink and blue kick, but that mania might have run its course. They might be into yellow and lavender this month.

“Cowboy boots. That’s all I got. Those are my marching orders.”

“Why don’t you call and get some more specifics?” Lacey suggested.

“Right. I’ll see if I can catch them. They’ve got some
sort of teacher workday, so the kids are out of school.” Mac pulled out his cell phone, called, mumbled a few words, and handed the phone to Lacey. The girls were on speakerphone.

“Lacey! We heard you were kidnapped,” Jasmine yelled at the phone. “Did he hurt you? Were you scared?”

“Are you okay, Miss Lacey?” Lily Rose chimed in. “We said prayers for you.”

“You did? I’m sure that helped. Everything is fine, girls,” Lacey answered. She eyed her grumpy editor. “Well, at least back to normal. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“We could have helped,” Jasmine insisted. “We wanted to come with Mac! But he said we had to go to school.”

“And we’re not even in school today!” Lily Rose giggled.

“I’m sure you could have helped me.” Lacey was smiling. “But you have to go to school tomorrow. Listen, we’re calling because Mac says you need some new boots.”

“Cowboy boots,” Jasmine emphasized. “They have to be
cowboy
boots.”

“What color?”

“Any color, really, it’s okay. Just cowboy boots.”

“I want mine
exactly
like Jasmine’s,” Lily Rose piped up in the background.

Jasmine sighed. The kind of sigh that only a big sister can sigh, deep and world-weary. Lacey knew that sigh. She had sighed that sigh. “She copies everything I do!” Lacey heard giggling in the background. “You
do
, Lily Rose, you
do
.”

“Please, Lacey,” Lily Rose said. “Please! Pretty, pretty please! Exactly like Jasmine’s.” She started to giggle again. She was in the giggling stage.

Lacey put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She knew how insistent little sisters could be. Especially when it came to things like copying big sis. “Would it be so terrible, Jasmine, if they were the same? Or similar?”

“They could be exactly
similar
, but not exactly the
same
. Lily Rose is such a little copycat.”

“I’m not a copycat!” Lily Rose protested. “I just want cowboy boots like hers. ’Cause Jasmine has
excellent
taste!”

“What if there aren’t any excellent boots that are exactly the same?” Lacey asked.

“Well…then maybe they could be similar,” Lily Rose agreed. “But
exactly
similar.”

“Are you gonna go shopping with him, Lacey?” Jasmine asked. “Because Mac is really smart, but he doesn’t exactly understand about clothes and everything, you know? Our dad needs a little help with style. You know our dad.”

Lacey felt herself tearing up. Mac was suddenly alarmed. His eyes narrowed.

“Smithsonian, what’s the matter? What’d she say?”

She sniffed back the tears and whispered, “Jasmine just called you ‘dad.’”

Mac grinned. He coughed to cover his own emotions. “Yeah, they’ve been doing that a lot.” Mac looked fit to bust with pride.

The world is a mysterious place,
Lacey thought.
And sometimes wonderful.

“Yeah, Miss Lacey,” Lily Rose piped up. “Our dad is the best ever, but Mom says he is a fashion
disaster
!”

“Get enough shopping, you boys?” Lacey smirked. “Are Sundance Jones and the New Mexico Kid ready for a style showdown at ten paces?”

Lacey turned around in the passenger seat to observe Mac in the back, under a load of boxes and bags. He couldn’t quite wear his new black cowboy hat in the backseat. It was too tall. He was admiring it in his hands. He had a silly grin on his face.

Tony was driving their rental SUV back to Sagebrush. He had succumbed to two pairs of boots, one in Colorado rattlesnake hide and one in Burmese python. He might not get the chance to shop at the legendary F. M.
Light & Sons again, he said, and a man couldn’t have enough really good boots, could he?

“I gotta hand it to you guys. I am impressed. And they say men aren’t interested in shopping.” Lacey looked at Mac’s hat again and snickered. She already knew that Tony Trujillo was a proud male peacock, with his never-ending selection of exotic boots, but Mac Jones? Shopping for Western jeans, hats, and boots, and actually having fun? Mac had untapped sartorial potential. He was well on his way to becoming a dude. All hat, no cattle.

At first, Mac had stood rooted to the wooden floor, staring at the wall of cowboy boots at F. M. Light & Sons in Steamboat Springs, the historic Western wear outfitter, famous for its ancient yellow and black signs along Colorado roads, and for its Wall of Boots. The boots stretched from the front of the store to the back, marching in neat rows nearly from floor to ceiling, and there were hundreds of pairs. So many choices. Mac had picked up a pair and grunted at the price tag, but he couldn’t resist all that craftsmanship. And the smell of exotic leather.

And Trujillo had been a seductive Pan, piping a Western song of boots and saddles. Lacey doubted that Mac had ever spent so much money on clothes in his life. He was sporting his new black cowhide boots with his baggy old corduroy pants. But in his shopping bags he had black jeans and blue jeans and a couple of Western snap-front shirts—and in his hands, that handsome black cowboy hat.

Lacey had talked Mac into buying at least one thing for Kim. He settled for a women’s navy blue Western-style shirt, with pink piping and pearl snaps. Lacey steered him away from the garish red and black ladies’ shirts with embroidered red roses along the yoke and sleeves. She was sure Kim would never wear something so loud, but she thought the girls might like their mom to wear the blue and pink shirt—it matched their new pink and blue cowboy boots. Pink boots with navy blue embossed tulips for Jasmine, and their reverse, navy boots with
pink tulips for Lily Rose. “Exactly similar, but not exactly the same,” as the girls had requested. Lacey also eased Mac away from the bolo ties with their gaudy silver and turquoise slides.

“Nothing like that place in D.C.,” Mac said, his voice filled with awe. “So how come you didn’t buy anything, Smithsonian?”

“How could I? I had to watch your every move, to prevent a fashion disaster.” Lacey had examined the Wall of Boots to see if there were any like Ally’s. There was no exact match, but Lacey was pretty sure they’d been expensive. The boots on display didn’t tell her anything. She didn’t know if it was the boots that drew the killer, or something else about the victims and the boots were simply trophies.