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Lacey sagged against Vic and held on tight. It was the longest weekend in the world.
Saturday afternoon, on the heels of submitting her official statement to Detective Lamont, she filed her first teaser story about the Centipede, master spy and master costumer, while she was still at the theatre in the upstairs lobby.
To Yuri Volkov’s immense relief, Broadway Lamont finally hustled a shackled Nikolai Sokolov out of the theatre an hour before the donor gala started. Volkov explained to his well-heeled guests, DeeDee told Lacey the next day, that the police crime scene tape that still covered the costume shop and the wardrobe closet was just a surprise sneak preview for Kinetic’s next show. Lacey was sure he’d come up with something. Perhaps Crime and Punishment, the Musical!
After the D.C. Metropolitan Police released the newspaper crew, Lacey met with Claudia at The Eye and filed her official story, with more background material. Mac worked it over on the spot and sent it to The Eye’s production department to remake the front page for the Sunday edition. Lacey’s story ran at the top, above the fold: SEVEN DEADLY LENINS HIDDEN IN A HEM.
Trujillo had never come through, so neither did his double byline. That byline now read: Lacey Smithsonian, Observer Staff Writer. Not “Fashion Reporter.” Not “Ghettoized Chick Stuff Writer.” There would be more stories to come. If Sokolov had his way, they might never end. But Lacey felt sure the Feds would soon shut down his channels of communication.
Hansen had caught a picture of Nikolai Sokolov on his feet, handcuffed and shackled, gazing ardently at Lacey. In his melting makeup and battered matador costume, he looked like the saddest of sad clowns. Mac ran it with a simple cutline:
Master spy Nikolai Sokolov, allegedly “the Centipede,” collared by Eye Street Observer reporter Lacey Smithsonian.
The picture wasn’t so bad, she thought. At least I wasn’t on my butt this time.
Hansen’s other photos from the theatre sale, including frames of Lacey and LaToya, ran on the inside spread, as well as archive photos from the original production of The Masque. And to Lacey’s horror, there was that alarming photo of her, the one Hansen had taken at the Baltimore HonFest. She was in Stella’s full crazy-lady makeup, looking like a diva in a bad Italian film, face to face with the late Amy Keaton, Sokolov’s last victim. I hope.
It seemed a bizarre coincidence that her front page story would run in the same edition with the feature article she’d written on Nikolai Sokolov’s costumes for the LifeStyle section. Claudia added her own Publisher’s Notes to both stories to link them together. She also allotted much more space for photos than usual. She promised to run everything past the paper’s attorney later Saturday evening, but Lacey knew Claudia usually got her way.
The sensational news about the Centipede was online by midnight Saturday night. Claudia promised them a big celebratory dinner for the following weekend. Unless they were all in jail.
Late that same Saturday evening, Lacey and Vic rendezvoused at Vic’s offices with the Troika, Gregor, Olga, and Marie. Turtledove joined them, bringing with him the Red Dress of Death from the Undisclosed Location. Lacey brought out the jeweled mask and set it on the conference table next to the dress.
She knew she didn’t have much time before the first early print edition of The Eye Street Observer would hit the newsstands. She didn’t know how much later the call would come from agents of the US government. And who? Vic’s money was on the FBI. Gregor said it might be some agency they had never heard of and that officially did not even exist. Whoever they might be, they would want to scoop up the sparkling crimson items she held in her hands. She would have to turn them over eventually, she knew, but not before she had more photographs, many more. And more time to explore them, with her eyes and hands. And her EFP.
Vic, Turtledove, and Lacey took hundreds of photos of the dress, the mask, and the medals, with Olga stage managing. Backwards and forwards, upside down and inside out, in room light, floodlights, and black light. The photographs would make it very hard for anyone to deny this costume had ever existed.
Wearing white gloves, they carefully examined the remaining seven Lenin medals, the scratches and symbols, the marks on the back of each medal. Comparing them with the symbols on the mask, there were seven matches. Gregor said it was some kind of code in Cyrillic characters.
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before,” Gregor said.
“We didn’t have the mask before,” Olga sniffed. “The key. I told you the ciphertext was useless without the key.” She was still irritated that she wasn’t in on the takedown of Nikolai Sokolov.
Marie did not faint that evening, but she did go into a light trance. She told them afterwards she had seen the ghost in red, the spectre who had appeared to her at the theatre. This time, the crimson ghost saw Marie and she no longer seemed lost. She smiled and waved goodbye.
The team knew more than they did before. Still, they did not crack the code. Olga said there was simply not enough of it, they needed more text. Another problem was there seemed to be many more coded names on the mask than the seven medals in the dress could account for. The Kepelov siblings said they would consult a friendly cryptographer with photos of the code for further enlightenment.
Perhaps Nicky Sokolov was right about there being other trophies. Other dresses. It would have to be a puzzle for another time, as Lacey pointed out to them, because newspaper deadlines wouldn’t wait.
And thank God, she thought. Nothing would ever get written without a deadline.
***
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, LACEY’S story appeared to come as a complete surprise to several government agencies, including the CIA and the FBI. When reporters asked them, Lacey included, they had few comments to offer on the record. The dress and the mask and the mythical Centipede were simply “fantastical” and “a conspiracy theory” and “complete fiction,” but they clearly still wanted to get their hands on them. One agent told Lacey off the record, “I don’t know whether to arrest you or hire you. You got a resume?”
Late Sunday evening, Broadway Lamont informed Lacey that the Feds had finally wrangled Sokolov into their custody after he had spent twenty-four hours in dead silence in the company, and at the expense, of the Metropolitan Police.
“They showed up ’bout fifteen minutes after this Sunday morning surprise of yours hit. But it took ’em all day to get through the paperwork. I made sure they dotted every last I. And by the way, where are those damn Lenin medals, that red mask, and that red devil dress? I don’t recall you coughing up those crucial items of evidence at the theatre when I rode in with my cavalry.”
“Gee, Broadway, my mind just goes blank when I face a killer. Sorry. I hope they’re not lost. But if the dress ever somehow made its way into your custody, how soon would the Feds get their hands on it?”
“Get something out of a D.C. police evidence locker? And me, cooperate with the Feds? You know how ‘cooperative’ I can be. Could be a long damn time. And you know that Centipede character, you just be glad he’s locked up, wherever he is now. He’s on the late-stage obsession scale where you’re concerned.”
“I am glad. Believe me.”
She and Vic worked out an immediate delivery via the reliable Turtledove to Detective Lamont, whereby they could truthfully tell the Feds, whenever they called, that they had no idea where the dress and the mask were now, and they should probably contact the Metropolitan Police for further information. After all, the police had secured the crime scene.
A Sunday afternoon tweet from the White House said The Eye Street Observer was a “failing newspaper” and the story was merely “fake news.”
In response, Claudia Darnell wrote a fiery online editorial that Sunday evening, defending freedom of the press. She pointed out that Smithsonian could have died unmasking the Centipede, and had certainly risked being abducted, simply while doing her job as a reporter, her job to bring the truth before the American people.
LaToya Crawford was alternately annoyed at not being included in the story and relieved to know she had been spared from putting a dress with that bloody history on her body. And she swore to Lacey that such a thing would never happen, now or in the future, because LaToya Crawford was absolutely done with “funky old clothes” that “God knows who” had worn before her.
“But it seems to me,” LaToya complained, “I’m out some serious cash here. I bought that dress fair and square!”
“Have you still got the receipt? When they’re finished with it, if they ever are, you might get it back. Maybe you could have my buddy Kepelov broker a deal for you, with the Spy Museum or someplace like that,” Lacey suggested.
“You think? Or you think the damn Feds are going to squabble over it till the cows come home?”
“Maybe you could send them a bill.”
“If I do, I’m going to mark it up a thousand percent. For my pain and suffering. And for yours too, Smithsonian.”
Yuri Volkov continued to deny to reporters that he knew anything about Nikolai Sokolov’s homicidal history. “I thought the bad things that happened were coincidence,” he was quoted.
No one believed him, but no one was arresting him yet. However, because the D.C. police had waited until after Kinetic’s opening night to question him, Volkov gave Broadway Lamont complimentary tickets to the show.
Volkov called Lacey that afternoon to complain about the “inconvenience” she had caused him. Following her Sunday stories in The Eye, his new show, The Turn of the Screw, would be in such demand that the run would have to be extended. They would have to find an alternate space to present their next production. He was also afraid the theatre would be put on the Washington, D.C., Spy Walking Tour. “With busloads of people taking pictures. Of my theatre!”
Life’s a bitch, isn’t it? She had the feeling he wasn’t really complaining. He just wanted to talk to someone who understood what had happened.
Finally, that Sunday night in June, she and Vic were alone on her balcony. The evening was sultry, warm but comfortable. Fireworks were bursting into the air across the Potomac River at National Harbor.
“What’s the occasion?” Vic asked.
“There never is an occasion with them. It seems to be random. But I feel like a celebration tonight. Unfortunately, darling, we’re out of champagne.”
Vic winked and stepped inside to assemble some margaritas, since the Russians had depleted the bubbly supply.
Lacey’s landline rang. She stepped through the French doors, but something made her stop. She didn’t want to answer one more phone call tonight. She let the machine pick up, and she listened as it recorded.
“Lacey Blaine Smithsonian, this is your mother! I called your cell phone but you didn’t answer. Isn’t your cell phone working? Call me. I saw the newspapers. It’s even in the Denver paper.”
Rose had an online subscription to The Eye, much to Lacey’s dismay. Her mother’s voice continued. “What on earth are you up to now, Lacey? Russians? Killers? Theatre people? And you didn’t call me? Your sister and I could have helped you, you know, we could have flown to Washington, we’ve done it before when you needed us. But no, you never call. I’m so disappointed. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“You could have fooled me,” Lacey said aloud to the answering machine.
“That picture of you in the newspaper: Is that an engagement ring on your finger?!”
Praise for Ellen Byerrum’s Crime of Fashion Mysteries
“Devilishly funny. Lacey is intelligent, insightful and spunky... thoroughly likable.” (The Sun, Bremerton, WA)
“Laced with wicked wit.” (SouthCoastToday.com)
“Fun and witty... with a great female sleuth.” (Fresh Fiction)
“A load of stylish fun.” (Scripps Howard News Service)
“Always well-written, entertaining, and stylish.” (More Than a Review)
“Skewers Washington with style.” (Agatha winner Elaine Viets)
Killer Hair (also a movie)
“Girlfriends you’d love to have, romance you can’t resist, and Beltway-insider insights you’ve got to read. Adds a crazy twist to the concept of capital murder.” (Agatha winner Sarah Strohmeyer)
Designer Knockoff
“Clever wordplay, snappy patter, and intriguing clues make this politics-meets-high-fashion whodunit a cut above the ordinary.” (Romantic Times)
“A very talented writer with an offbeat sense of humor.” (The Best Reviews)
Hostile Makeover (also a movie)
“Byerrum pulls another superlative Crime of Fashion out of her vintage cloche.” (Chick Lit Books)
“As smooth as fine-grade cashmere.” (Publishers Weekly)
“Totally delightful... a fun and witty read.” (Fresh Fiction)
Raiders of the Lost Corset
“I love this series. Lacey is such a wonderful character... The plot has many twists and turns to keep you turning the pages to discover the truth. I highly recommend this book and series.” (Spinetingler Magazine)
“Wow. I loved it! I could not put it down! I loved everything about the book, from the characters to the plot to the fast-paced and witty writing.” (Roundtable Reviews)
Grave Apparel
“A truly intriguing mystery.” (Armchair Reader)
“A likeable, sassy, and savvy heroine, and the Washington, D.C., setting is a plus.” (The Romance Readers Connection)
Armed and Glamorous
“Whether readers are fashion divas or hopelessly fashion-challenged, there’s a lot to like about being Armed and Glamorous.” (BookPleasures.com)
Shot Through Velvet
“First-rate... a serious look at the decline of the U.S. textile and newspaper industries provides much food for thought.” (Publishers Weekly, starred review)
“Great fun, with lots of interesting tidbits about the history of the U.S. fashion industry.” (Suspense Magazine)
Death on Heels
“Terrific! A fabulous Crime of Fashion Mystery.” (Genre Go Round Reviews)
“I loved the touch that Lacey was a reporter trying to track down a murderer, but could always be counted on for her fashion-forward thinking as well. If you haven’t yet picked up a Lacey Smithsonian novel, I suggest you do!” (Chick Lit+)
“Lacey is a character that I instantly fell in love with.” (Turning the Pages)
Veiled Revenge
“An intriguing plot, fun but never too insane characters, and a likable and admirable heroine all combine to create a charming and well-crafted mystery.” (Kings River Life Magazine)
“Like fine wine that gets better with age, Veiled Revenge is the best book yet in this fabulous series.” (Dru’s Book Musings)
Lethal Black Dress
“Only a fashion reporter with a nose for vintage dresses could sniff out the clues in this brilliantly conceived murder mystery.” (Nancy J. Cohen, author of the Bad Hair Day mysteries)
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Praise for The Woman in the Dollhouse
“AN INGENIOUSLY CRAFTED psychological thriller that bewitches on page one and continues to mesmerize until its shocking conclusion... we can’t imagine a better read. Byerrum has deftly structured a compelling narrative that never lets go. You won’t either, by the way. This is one book you’re practically guaranteed to finish in record time.” (Best Thrillers.com)
“Reminiscent of the best of gothic suspense fiction, readers will be thoroughly entertained by Tennyson. Her strong will and even sharper wit ensure that readers will be cheering for Tennyson to break free and discover the truth. That the book starts with such a vulnerable beginning only makes the crafty conclusion all the more satisfying.” (Kings River Life Magazine)
