Veiled Revenge (27 page)

“She said I should get away from my troubles for a little while. And you know what? How long have I lived in Washington and I’ve never been to Mount Vernon? And then I have a massage scheduled for later, and tomorrow it’s mani-pedi time. Please, Lacey? You are the best maid of honor
ever
!”

“I’ll pick up the dress. That’s all? Need a pint of my blood too?” She stuck out her arm for emphasis.

“You’ve been so great, Lacey. I totally appreciate this, believe me.”

“No problem. Everything else okay?” Lacey asked.

“To be honest I’m still a little worried that someone’s after us. I mean, sure, it could be a fluke, that limo crash. I still feel a teensy bit uneasy, you know? Like when the DC sniper was out there and you just didn’t know who was going to be shot next.”

“All I can tell you is that Vic and Turtledove are working on it.”

“And another thing, I haven’t heard from Marie today. Have you?”

“I’ll give her a call,” Lacey said.

“And Brooke, I love her to death, but she drives me crazy,” Stella said. “I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her. Is she going to have a pink bridesmaid’s dress or not?”

“Chill, Stella. I saw it yesterday. It’s so pink she’ll never live it down.”

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t.” Stella giggled a little too gleefully and gave Lacey a big hug.

“We’ve heard there will be a memorial service of some kind next week,” Gwendolyn said. “And a cocktail reception. For Mr. Leonardo,” she added, for Nadine’s benefit. “The poor unfortunate man who died the day after the bachelorette party.”

“I’ll be on my honeymoon,” Stella said. Lacey knew she wasn’t eager to be anywhere near Leonardo, living or dead.

“I’ve offered to represent Stella at the sad event,” Gwendolyn said. “Happy to be of service.”

Of course you are
, Lacey thought. A wedding and a funeral? Perfect bookends for Lady Gwendolyn’s big Washington weekend.

“Perhaps you could accompany me, Lacey,” Gwendolyn said.

Lacey could feel her smile start to wobble. And Nadine burst out laughing.

 * * * 

After everyone left, Lacey collapsed on the sofa, put her feet up, and called Vic. “Any word?” she asked.

“Game on. Natalija’s just made contact with Thibodeaux.” He sounded edgy. Lacey sat straight up.

“She called him? What are you going to do?”

“Let them arrange to meet. This afternoon. The cops will take her down the moment she shows. And Forrest and I will be there to make sure it happens.”

“Oh, Vic, that will be a huge relief! I’m supposed to pick up Stella’s dress from Alma Lopez, but I could do it tomorrow. Where do you want me?”

“Out of harm’s way. Doing your dress thing with Lopez sounds all right. She’s way out in Arlington, right? But no other errands today, please, and stay in touch. Stella should give you a medal of honor after all this is over. For being maid of honor above and beyond the call of duty.”

“I’ll settle for a few weeks of peace while she’s on her honeymoon. They’re going to the British Virgin Islands, and I wish the Virgins luck. So you really think it’s okay for me to go to Alma’s? Without either Turtledove or you?”

He paused. “Natalija sounded intent on seeing Thibodeaux, so he’s our bait. Miles away with Alma might be the best place for you to be. Check in with me, watch the traffic, have your cell phone handy. Text me—I’ll see your message even if I can’t answer. I checked out your car before I left this morning. It’s okay. And my guys have been watching your building, but I’ll have to pull them off today. By the way, I understand it’s been coffee club time out on the balcony. What did my mom have to say?”

“She’s bursting with curiosity.”

“As usual.”

“It’s nothing compared to the dress. What if it turns out to be as awful as I think it’s going to be?”

“Stella will love it, no matter how awful it is. Take a picture. After we take down Natalija, we’ll have a good laugh. And we’ll celebrate.”

Chapter 31

Alma Lopez had come through for Lacey once again, even though she’d been pressed into service at the last minute. Again.

Lacey was more than aware that Alma’s eleventh-hour rescue of Stella’s wedding dress was a personal favor she’d better not ask for very often. She pulled her little green vintage BMW out of the apartment’s parking garage to run up to Alma’s bungalow. Stella’s emotional turnaround and having the gown finished with
one whole day
to spare before the wedding made it seem like Lady Luck had finally made her entrance.

Though she couldn’t imagine why Rene Thibodeau was going along with this, she had faith in Vic’s plan. Maybe Rene hoped Natalija could prove her innocence somehow? Or maybe he would do anything to see her again.

It was a beautiful day to drive the George Washington Memorial Parkway. Lacey opened the windows and turned the music up. She sang along to a CD of Josephine Baker songs from the 1930s. Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel of her endless maid of honor duties, Lacey felt better than she had in days.

When Lacey arrived at her seamstress’s house the side door was slightly ajar. The house was quiet. She didn’t hear the radio tuned to the classical PBS station Alma loved and always kept playing as she worked. Lacey rang the bell and knocked on the open door, but there was no answer. Had Alma stepped out for a few moments to a neighbor’s?

Arlington wasn’t a small town; people didn’t leave their doors unlocked. Lacey wondered what was wrong. She couldn’t leave without checking. At the very least, she could pick up the dress.

There was a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, though. She tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t go away. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Vic that she was at Alma’s, asking him to send Turtledove. She pushed the door open with her foot, phone in hand.

“Alma, it’s Lacey. I’m here to pick up Stella’s dress.” Lacey peeked through the doorway to the living room, to the left of her sewing studio, but she didn’t see anything. “Alma, are you there? Anybody home?”

There was no answer.

She took another step inside and scanned the sewing studio. A vision of white caught Lacey’s eyes, like a blizzard had struck inside the room. White strips, white shreds, and fragments of white silk and organza and pink satin hung over lampshades, decorated the tables, and covered the floor. Lacey gazed at the garment rack where Stella’s dress should be hanging. The white satin hanger was empty.

Stella wouldn’t be wearing the gown now.

Someone had shredded the wedding dress, as if all the rage in her body and soul had found its object in that dress. Natalija Krumina must have made her way to Alma’s studio, somehow, and brought her fury with her.
How did she know? And where’s Alma?

Lacey held her breath. She stood still, tensed for something to happen. She called Vic: no answer. He must be on the road. Or perhaps on the stakeout, where he couldn’t afford to have a phone jangling. She texted him again, a single word: NATALIJA.

It was eerily quiet. Lacey could feel a thumping in her chest, a surging fear, or maybe it was Natalija’s rage, hanging in the air like a dark fog. The woman’s attacks were increasingly messy and brutal: poisoning the wrong person, missing three targets at the Arts Club, sabotaging Vic’s brakes, and shooting Kepelov in the street like a dog.

But going after Stella’s wedding dress? That’s really low
.

Natalija didn’t want to merely kill—she wanted to inflict pain, physical and psychic. Lacey inched slowly toward the wall behind the sewing table, so no one could surprise her in the open doorway. It was the wall that held the huge Peg-Board with all of Alma’s sewing tools. There were many pairs of scissors, something Lacey had used before in self-defense, but she didn’t want to get anywhere within scissor distance of Natalija. She looked at a heavy steel T-square, the one Alma used to measure fabric on her sewing table, to make sure her cuts were straight. Over three feet long, it vaguely reminded Lacey of a pickaxe.

“Alma?” Still no answer. Lacey prayed the seamstress was alive. Was she tied up somewhere, or had she fled the scene and run to the police? The woman who had been stalking the wedding party was still there—Lacey could feel it. Her knees were shaking. She gulped down a deep breath of air, then another. Her voice was steady when she called out.

“Natalija!”

The double doors of Alma’s clothes closet burst open and Natalija Krumina emerged, grinning, blocking Lacey’s way to the side door and wielding a long chef’s knife in her hand. The blade gleamed in the light, the way the madness gleamed in her eyes. Gone were the frowzy wig and fake nose she had worn as the waitress Tilda, and her heavy eye makeup enhanced her best feature and made her look even more exotic. But as she turned toward the light, Lacey recognized the scar that marred one side of her face.

“Lacey Smithsonian. I’m so glad it’s you who came for the gown. I thought it would be the bride. Sadly, you will not bring back a wedding dress for your friend Stella.” She kicked the snowstorm of white silk and shreds of the lost dress floated in the air.

“Where is Alma? Is she safe? What did you do to her?”

Natalija dismissed Alma with a flick of her hand, the hand that held the knife. “She is boring. But you are interesting.”

Back off, try a different tack
. “How did you know about the dress?”

“So easy. A little surveillance, a little spycraft, a little bug in your phone. Workers in your apartment building were stupidly happy to let me in your apartment. Your cousin, I told them.”

“Did you have to destroy the dress?” Lacey edged to her right.

Inching closer, Natalija grinned again, one side of her mouth lifted up into the scar. “No—and yes. I didn’t plan on it. When I saw it, I went maybe a little—crazy.”

Evidently.

“You survived the fall from the riverboat,” Lacey said. “You hit the paddle. Not many people could survive that.” She sidestepped again. And Natalija stepped toward her.

“You ruined my face.” Lacey slowly moved toward the large T-square on the wall. “But I am from tough Latvian and Russian stock.” Natalija pulled her hair away from her face. “You see this scar? This is your fault. Everything is your fault. You ruined my face, my plan, you ruined my life.”

I’m always doing that.
“You did try to kill me, you know,” Lacey said, in what she hoped was a neutral tone of voice.
I’d say we’re about even.

“You deserve to die. You stole my fortune.”

“It wasn’t yours. And I only found the diamonds, I didn’t take them. Now it’s a fight between governments.”

“You think governments care? They do not. They play games with our lives. Why should I care what they do? The diamonds were meant for me!” Natalija shouted. “I lost everything that day, even my beauty. Today you will lose something more.”

The scar was still slightly purple, beneath her makeup, and Natalija’s face was less symmetrical than Lacey remembered it. A broken cheekbone, a broken nose, healed a little off center? Natalija’s once perfectly proportioned face had an asymmetry it hadn’t had before, but it was still compelling. “You’re alive,” Lacey pointed out, but she knew that wouldn’t help.

“Who would want me now?” Natalija danced forward and back, teasing Lacey with the flashing blade, leaving her not knowing which way to turn.

“Rene Thibodeaux.”

She paused and her voice softened. “Rene. He is different.”

“You called him, you set up a meeting.”

“Fools. To get your big bodyguard and your big boyfriend far away from you and your silly bride. Such an obvious trick! I didn’t think you would fall for it. Lucky me. Lucky you. Now we have time to reacquaint ourselves.”

“Rene must have been in your way too. He wasn’t useful to you anymore. After he saved your life. Why didn’t you get rid of him? You had every chance.”

“That is true,” Natalija said. “It would have been easy, he is so trusting. But I think it is bad manners to kill someone who has saved your life. And Rene is a sweet man. He doesn’t even mind the scar on my face. Says it is not so bad.”

“He loves you.”

“I know. I am quite fond of him. Poor man.” If Natalija ended up in prison, where she really deserved to be, Rene Thibodeaux would surely be her constant visitor. “I would never kill him. It would be much simpler for everyone if I had died. That’s what you’re thinking now, isn’t it?”

“You’re a mind reader too,” Lacey said.

“Yes, I am. Better than Gregor’s fat fortune-teller. How could he prefer her to me?”

An age-old question.
“Marie is not a killer.”

Natalija ignored that. “You like my scar? You will have more scars than I do. Of course you will be dead, but not a pretty corpse.”

Lacey fought the impulse to touch her face. S
how her how frightened I am? No way.
“Why not just stay with Rene?” Lacey took another step toward Alma’s big board.

“And live in the swamp? Be a boatman’s pet bird forever? I don’t think so. The diamonds were all I lived for.”

“But you didn’t know where the diamonds were! And I didn’t either, until the pieces fell into place. If you’d killed me then, no one would have found them.”

“No matter. Now I live for revenge. And for the surgery I will have to fix my face. With Rene’s money. Maybe someday I will repay him.”

A truck of some kind screeched to a stop outside and Natalija turned toward the sound. Lacey managed one step to her right before Natalija whipped her head back toward her. Her knife was pointing right at Lacey’s midsection.

“Don’t move!” she barked.

There were two thumps from inside the deep closet in answer. Lacey realized the seamstress was alive. Lacey’s relief was palpable, but there still was a madwoman in the room.

“Alma, are you all right?” There were more kicks.

“No tricks, Lacey Smithsonian.” Natalija stepped forward again, waving the knife.

Keep talking.
“Why did you send me the shawl?”

“A little test, to see how smart you could be. You were lucky with the diamonds.” Natalija shrugged. “I have to admit, you are clever. I didn’t think you would figure out the puzzle in the shawl. Well done. It is good to have a worthy adversary.”

“Were you a spy? Like Kepelov?” No matter how often Lacey heard there were more spies in Washington, D.C., than any other place on earth, it was still hard to believe. She wondered where Natalija learned so many ways to kill.
Was she born that way? As long as I keep her talking, at least we’re not fighting hand to hand. And where’s Vic?!

Her phone was buzzing in her jacket pocket, but this wasn’t a good time to take a call.

“I was not like Kepelov! He was old-school KGB. He has gone soft, predictable, while I have special skills and talents. When I make people die, I make it look random.” The corners of Natalija’s smiling mouth reminded Lacey of a jolly death’s head. “Poison, cars, guns, knives, different method every time. All part of my catalogue.”

Natalija charged forward and Lacey jumped back, bumping into the board full of tools. She pulled down the big steel T-square and swung it at Natalija like a double-bladed ax. The T-shaped bar at the business end wasn’t sharp, but Lacey hoped it could do some damage, if she found room to take a real swing with it. The only thing she was sure of was that it was longer than the deadly blade Natalija brandished at her. But Natalija dodged, laughing.

“What are you going to do, measure me?”

“Maybe,” Lacey said.
And keep you talking until someone gets here!
“What happened with Leonardo? The man who got the nicotine in the neck.”

“That idiot! The poison kiss was meant for the woman Gregor loves. Not my fault that stupid man grabbed the shawl after I so carefully inserted the capsule. Dancing with the shawl like a lunatic.” She sliced the air in front of Lacey’s face with her blade. “He got what he deserved. He was too stupid to live.”

“I don’t know, Natalija. That kind of mistake is messy. Your skills must be rusty. See how many of us you missed. Kepelov is alive.”

“Shut up!” Natalija lunged suddenly.

Lacey swung her weapon in front of her. It was heavier and more unwieldy than she expected, but it made a very impressive
swish
.

Natalija dodged to the right. She was lithe and agile with her long blade, like a cat with sharp claws, playing with a mouse. Lacey flashed back to that final fight aboard the riverboat, and her stomach knotted. Natalija had moved then with the same catlike grace.

Lacey swung the T-square again and nailed Natalija on her knife arm. Natalija leapt, the knife still moving, narrowly missing Lacey’s face. She rocked back on her heels, the steel edges of the ruler cutting into her hands.

“You’ll pay,” Natalija said. “Your face first. Your man won’t even know your corpse.”

“You’re weary, Natalija.” Lacey hoped it was true. “You can’t keep this up.”

Sweat glistened on Natalija’s forehead. Both were breathing hard and Lacey gasped for air. She fell back, closer to Alma’s leaning Peg-Board, heavy with the tools of the seamstress’s trade.

“After you, your unfortunate seamstress will go next,” Natalija said. From the closet there came a furious thumping on the wall from the imprisoned Alma. Natalija laughed. “Perhaps with her long knitting needles. I have never used those, but I think they will be most exciting.”

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” Lacey asked, disgusted.

“I don’t hate it, you know? I have a certain talent.”

Natalija cut a figure eight in the air with her knife, and then with a lightning-quick lunge drew the blade across Lacey’s arm. It stung and instantly drew a line of blood. Natalija’s face was hot with joy. “The next slice will be on your face,” she announced. “Shall we be twins?”

The sound of Natalija’s laugh made Lacey cringe, and she almost dropped the T-square in pain and surprise. She wanted to let go, but she held tight. She thought distractedly of the gold Saint Christopher medal around her neck, ironically the patron saint of safe travel.
Safe travel out the door is all I ask.
She had only time enough to murmur
please
.