Grave Apparel (33 page)

“Lacey
was
just
telling
me
all
that
on
the
way
over,”
Vic
added
decisively.
“Now
how
about
that
hot
chocolate?
We’ll
walk
you
ladies
to
the
Caddy,
and then
we’ll meet
you
somewhere.”

“How
about
that
Love
Café
on
U
Street
that
sells
those
CakeLove
cupcakes?”
Nadine said. “I hear
it’s
very
popular and the
cupcakes
are simply to die
for.”

As they stepped
away
from the Nativity scene, Lacey
re
minded herself to
keep
her
eyes
peeled for the flash of blue andwhite stripes of a
shepherd’s
robe on a streetwise
boy
who

liked
to
take
short cuts through
D.C.’s
alleys.
This neighbor hood
was
full of
alleys.
But she
didn’t
see the robe, or
any
child who
looked like
her little shepherd.

Vic
pulled
Lacey
close.
“Don’t
worry
about
him.
He’s
okay.”

“He’s
just a little
kid.”

“Lacey,
he
lives
in the District and he
wanders
the streets of
Shaw
and
downtown
to Eye Street?
He’s
no stranger to trouble.
He’s
obviously
resourceful.
Why
don’t
we
take
care
of
the
trou
ble at hand?”

“Your
mother and
Brooke’s
mother?”

“Enough trouble for one night,
don’t
you think?”

As
they
started
walking
up the street
toward
the pink
Caddy,
Lacey
could hear the
words
“DeadFed” and “little man” rustle through the small knot of
conspiracy
fans
at the
Nativity
scene.
Oh
good,
the
DeadFed
Social
Club
is
calling
the
meeting
to
order,
Lacey
thought.
Why
wasn’t
I
informed
I
was
on
the
agenda
for
the
evening?

Nadine took the wheel of the shocking pink
Caddy.
Lacey
was giving her and
Trish
directions to the coffee shop on U Street when
Vic’s
cell phone jingled. It
was
business
interrupt ing pleasure,
but
Lacey
thought he
looked
more than a little pleased. He
wouldn’t
have
to eat cute little
cupcakes
and hot cocoa with his mother and her pal.

“I’m
sorry,
honey,
I gotta go handle something and it
can’t
wait.
Can you catch a cab back to Old
Town?”

“She’ll
do no such
thing,”
Nadine said.
“We
wouldn’t
think of
it,”
Trish
added.

“We’ll
give
you a lift back to
Alexandria.”
Nadine
waved
at her pink
Caddy.

“Okay,
I
guess,”
Lacey
said
dubiously.
She
wasn’t
certain she had
ever
ridden in
anything
quite so big. And pink. And proud of itself. “If you really
don’t
mind.”

Vic
looked
distressed by this turn of
events,
but
his phone
rang
again.
He
gave
Lacey
a
quick
kiss,
and
his
mother
a
stern
look.
“I’ll
call
you
later.”
And
then
he
was
walking
briskly
to
ward
his Jeep.

Trish
climbed into the backseat and
Lacey
took the front.

Nadine eased Miss Flamingo
away
from the
curb.
“Now
tell us about the little
boy,”
she said.

“You
don’t
think
it’s
one of
Damon’s
space aliens?”

Nadine laughed. “If you say
it’s
a
boy,
Lacey,
it’s
a
boy.”
“Damon
is
sometimes
swayed
by
his
own enthusiasms,”

Trish
said.

“Putting it
lightly.”
Lacey
tightened the
aftermarket
seat belt
as
Nadine
stepped
on
the
gas.
As
they
rounded
the
corner
and
passed the
alley,
Lacey’s
peripheral vision caught a glimpse of blueandwhite stripes.
“Wait,
Nadine, I
saw
something!” The blueandwhite blur disappeared around the
corner.

“Where?”

“There.”
Lacey
pointed.

Nadine
maneuvered
the big car deftly
down
the street and around the
next
corner to the other end of the
alley.
She idled at the mouth of the
alley.
There
was
no sign of the robe, let alone the shepherd
boy.
“Which
way?
Was
it this
alley,
Lacey?”

A shard of light reflected
off
a
shiny
surface
in the
alley,
probably
broken
glass.
Lacey
peered through the darkness. The flapping tail of a blueandwhite robe could just be seen by the light of a back porch. Then it
was
gone.
“Down
the
alley.”
This
boy
had a real
affinity
for
alleys,
Lacey
thought.

The big pink car turned in and nearly
filled
the
alley
from side to side,
but
the
boy
was
gone. Nadine stopped the car and Lacey got out.
With
Miss Flamingo following her at a
slow
crawl,
Lacey
peered
down
walkways
and around trash cans, the sort of places a
boy
might
find
amusing, a place to elude nosy
grownups.
She called softly to him, so the
boy
would
know
it
was
her and not the Santa Dude
driving
a
fancy
new
pink sleigh. There
was
no sign of him.

The
crew
of the Pink Flamingo repeated their hunt
down
six or
seven
more alleys in the Shaw neighborhood before they
gave
up
on
finding
the
little
shepherd.
They
kept
their
ren
dezvous
with the hot cocoa and the cute little
cupcakes
to lift their spirits. But
Lacey’s
spirits refused to be lifted.

Shepherd
boy,
two,
she thought.
Lacey,
nothing.

“She
wants
to see
you,”
Mac hollered as
Lacey
walked
by his
office
with
her
Monday
morning
coffee.
She
ignored
him.
Mac’s
bellowing
voice
was
part
of
the
normal
background
noise
of
her
morning
ritual:
Coffee,
the
daily
news,
and
her
email, and at least a half hour of peace and quiet before
begin
ning the
neverending
struggle to
find
and polish a “Crimes of
Fashion”
column or a
“Fashion
Bite” before deadline.

Lacey
barely noticed that style wise,
everybody
in the
news
room
was
back to normal after their Christmas party fling with “black tie optional, Santa cap
mandatory.”
She
wore
a vintage blue heather tweed suit, the
jacket
trimmed with a light blue suede collar and
cuffs,
a
copy
of a
Forties
suit of Aunt
Mimi’s.
Mac, no more in
tuxedo
and Santa cap,
wore
a dingy plaid shirt stolen from a depressed lumberjack and a striped
vest
from a singing
waiter.
His pants were a bilious shade of mustard from a desert commando. His tie
was
another clash of colors, not vin tage, merely old. The outfit was topped
off,
of course,
with
blithe indifference.
Why
does
Kim
let
him
dress
himself
this
way?
Lacey
wondered.
She
must
leave
the
house
every
morning
before
Mac
gets
dressed.
That’s
the
only
explanation.
But
doesn’t
she see him
come home looking
like
that?!

“Smithsonian!
You
hear me?”
Lacey
stopped in her tracks,
then
stepped
inside
her
boss’s
messy
office.
Mac’s
bushy
eye
brows
were jammed tight
together.
Bad
sign
first
thing
on
a
Monday,
Lacey
thought.
She
checked
for
signs
of
sugar
inhala
tion,
doughnut
overdose,
muffin
mania,
all
conditions
that
might soften
Mac’s
usual testy mood. Nothing. There
was
only
one
cup
of
java,
black.
Felicity
must
still
be
on
her
baking
strike,
she thought.
Uhoh.

“Who
wants
to see whom? And who cares?” “Cassandra! She
woke
up. And you.
That’s
whom.”

“Me? She
wants
to see me?”
Lacey
sighed
loudly.
“Are
you
sure?
She
doesn’t
even
like
me.”
Probably
wants
to
finish
yelling at
me,
right
where
she left
off
Friday
night.