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Mac, Tony, Wiedemeyer, and LaToya! Lacey’s potential story was becoming a circus. She wanted out of the lion’s den. The article wasn’t even written, she already felt exhausted, and yet she had nothing to write. A woman was dead, it was murder or it wasn’t, and an old dress was involved, or it wasn’t.
She’d already turned in a “Fashion Bite” and some news briefs that morning. Therefore she declared herself at liberty to flee the scene of the “Crimes of Fashion.” Besides, it was five o’clock. She grabbed her bag and loped out of the newsroom, making a break for freedom.
Vic wasn’t expected at Lacey’s office on this Tuesday afternoon, but there he was, waiting for her downstairs in the lobby. At the sight of him she felt her lips lift into a smile and her face light up. The weight of that heavy red dress slipped right off her shoulders. She concentrated instead, and gazed with satisfaction, on Vic Donovan. He was looking splendid in khakis, a light blue shirt paired with a dark blue tie, and a Brooks Brothers blue blazer slung over one shoulder. Lacey decided he must have had a business meeting with a client.
Or a photo shoot with Brooks Brothers.
He returned her smile. He reached for her hand and kissed her with conviction, before the moment turned serious.
“I understand the woman who tangled with your LaToya is dead.”
“Word travels fast,” Lacey said. “And hello to you too, darling.”
“Sorry.” He drew her into a tight hug and whispered. “Hello, sweetheart. So tell me about this other fine mess we’re into.”
“We? Vic, how sweet. You used to warn me off things you thought might be dangerous. Now you want to jump right into the swamp with me.”
“I have found out, like most reasonable men, that resistance is futile.”
“Careful, darling. You’re sounding mighty romantic. However, we don’t know if this is dangerous. We don’t actually know anything, in fact.”
As he opened the lobby door for her, he put up his hand and started counting fingers. “Let’s see. We’ve got two women in a tangle over a dress, your basic apartment break-in with your not-so-basic freaky dress display, and one newly dead woman, maybe an accident, maybe not. What do they have in common, class? Oh, wait, I know! One ridiculous red dress. With a killer backstory.”
“When you put it that way, it does sound dangerous,” Lacey said. “Do you have the killer dress?”
“I do. And I checked out your apartment, just to make sure no one else has.”
“You don’t trust all those fancy locks and alarms you installed?”
“Trust, but verify. They’re doing their job. Your shabby little abode above the river is secure.”
They strolled to his Jeep through Farragut Square, where he’d snagged a rare parking space.
“Do you have dinner plans?” she asked.
“I do. I have a date. With a lady. Could I interest you in being the lady?”
“You certainly could. And I have an idea about afterwards.”
“Afterwards? What could top a date with my lady?”
