Designer Knockoff (26 page)
“Thank you, Miguel.” She hugged him. He lifted the lid to reveal the thinnest silk in a pattern of swirls in blues and greens and black. It came with a price tag of two hundred and fifty dollars. It would be beautiful with a jade-green Bentley suit. He interrupted her thoughts.
“I don’t know why I forgot about this, except that I had my own insignificant troubles. Robbed. Beaten. Unemployed. Underappreciated.”
“It’s okay; your head was being kicked in. I’m not surprised a few little details got kicked out of it.” Lacey noticed that most of the bruising had faded; there were just a couple of sickly yellow patches left. Was he wearing cover-up? “But did you see her that morning? Do you remember her coming in?” He shook his head. “I have to call Mac.”
He handed her his cell phone. “Here, use mine. Dial. Press this button. Smile. Welcome to the phone of the future.”
Naomi popped her head in the back room while Lacey dialed. “What are we up to? May I help?”
Miguel steered her back into the salesroom. “Just clearing out a few personal things. Lacey has to make a call.”
“Mac, it’s Lacey. I’m at Bentley’s Boutique on Wisconsin in Chevy Chase. Can you send Hansen here for a photo?”
“What’s up, another funny hairdo?”
“I’ve got something potentially very big. But it’s mine, my story.”
“Explain yourself.”
“It’s something about someone who disappeared and recently resurfaced. Got it? I’m on an unsecured cell phone. Just send Hansen; we need a photo.”
“I don’t get it. Is this a fashion photo?”
“There is a fashion angle. And this person who resurfaced—get it?—we may have some insight into her last day. I can’t take it with me, so I need a photo. Good enough for you?”
“Why are you talking in code? It is code, isn’t it? Damn it. Oh, all right, I’ll send Hansen. Keep it nailed down, Lacey, whatever the hell it is. I’ll find Hansen. You said the store’s on Wisconsin?”
“Right over the D.C. line.”
“Hansen or his replacement will be there in half an hour. Depending on traffic.”
Lacey handed back the phone and wandered around the store while she waited. Miguel went out for coffee, and Naomi subtly bullied a few people into making purchases they hadn’t quite intended.
Accessorize!
Lacey thought about the scarf. The Bentley’s exclusive silk scarf collection was displayed in a glass case. She imagined that Esme wanted to wear something to the committee hearing to signal to the Bentleys how much she wanted that job with the fashion empire. With the borrowed Bentley suit it would be perfect. That made sense, but the scarf would have been a large purchase for an intern. But didn’t Marcia say Esme was expecting an expensive present from Van Drizzen?
Accessorize!
Lacey thought about the scarf. The Bentley’s exclusive silk scarf collection was displayed in a glass case. She imagined that Esme wanted to wear something to the committee hearing to signal to the Bentleys how much she wanted that job with the fashion empire. With the borrowed Bentley suit it would be perfect. That made sense, but the scarf would have been a large purchase for an intern. But didn’t Marcia say Esme was expecting an expensive present from Van Drizzen?
The front door opened to the sound of a tinkling bell. Lacey looked up to see Miguel strolling in with several skim-milk lattes. He was handing them out to Lacey and Naomi when she sighted Hansen walking past the front windows. There were more tinkling bells as the photographer, wearing his trademark dual Nikons and camera bag and blue jeans, strode in, followed by Tony Trujillo.
Trujillo? What’s the big idea? This is my story!
Trujillo? What’s the big idea? This is my story!
“I asked for Hansen. Are you two a package now?”
“Hey, Smithsonian.” He stopped at a display for sunglasses and tried on a pair. They set off his even white teeth as he grinned at her. “Stylin’! What do you think?”
Hansen waited for some instruction while Naomi sidled up to Tony and purred. Tony often had that effect on women. Miguel looked a little put-out.
“They’re fabulous,” Naomi said, picking up an even more expensive pair. “Try these.”
Tony took off the shades and turned his attention to Lacey. “What’s up?”
“I told Mac not to tell anyone.” He turned his hundred-watt smile on her.
“Look at it this way: He didn’t tell Peter Johnson, who is still in a sniffling snit about yesterday’s addition to his story. I, on the other hand, take no offense. So what is it?”
Lacey pulled him into the back room, leaving Miguel and Naomi to gossip over lattes.
“I’ve got a lead on what Esme planned to do her last day,” she offered.
“And I got an interview with her folks,” he countered.
“Double byline.”
“Of course. Explain.”
“Esme planned to come here that day to buy the perfect accessory to make an impressive show at the Appropriations Subcommittee hearing the following day. Her housemates had tried to cut off free access to their closets, but she wanted to continue to impress the Bentleys. And she had managed to put her competition, Cordelia, in an itchy World War Two uniform. It was her moment of victory. But no one heard from Esme after that Monday.” She showed him the scarf and the hold tag. Tony seemed unimpressed.
Come on, Tony, do I have to do the math for you?
Come on, Tony, do I have to do the math for you?
Lacey directed Hansen to take photos of the box, the scarf, and the tag. He snapped away while Miguel hovered at the door outside camera range. Naomi finally caught on that a photo essay was being shot in her back room and grabbed Miguel. “Oh, my God, you mean this scarf was being held for that woman they found dead?”
“Yeah, the blonde.”
“The one who never bought anything?”
“Yeah, she asked me to hold this for her. She said she was going to buy it that Monday. Would have been a first for her.”
“I guess she never did buy anything after all. Wow, I wonder how many of these scarves I can sell now?” Naomi clearly worked on commission in addition to her base salary. “I’ll call it ‘the Esme.’ ”
Watching Tony’s eyes stray toward Naomi, Lacey grabbed his arm. “Tony, focus. Look at the date and time on the hold tag,” she commanded. “Esme was supposed to come here and buy this scarf at the
same time
the armed robbery was in progress. Get it?”
same time
the armed robbery was in progress. Get it?”
“The same time.” His face lit up. He got it. “Aha! You think she got caught up in the robbery?” He turned to Miguel. “Did you see her?”
“You will recall that my coworker Kika and I were sprawled on the floor of the upstairs office wearing gray duct-tape hand-cuffs, which is not my color. If she came in, I didn’t see her.”
“Don’t forget the female robber got away, and no one knows how,” Lacey said. “And I understand Esme’s VW Cabriolet still hasn’t been found.”
“It probably won’t. Not in one piece, anyway. No doubt it’s made a trip to some chop shop in D.C., Baltimore, or New Jersey.” Tony socked her in the arm; it was one of his compliments. “I like it, Lacey. By the way, has anyone called the police with this?” Hearing no affirmative answer, Tony flourished his cell phone. “Allow me. Hansen, you have enough photos? Get the whole store, for context. And more when the cops get on the scene.”
Naomi was more than happy to pose anywhere they wanted her. Lacey was sure that if Tony had asked, she would be posing nude, draped in the soon-to-be-famous “Esme” scarf. While Hansen finished up, Tony called a number and asked for the lead FBI investigator on the case, one Gary Braddock. Aside to Lacey he said, “Oh, the Bureau is so going to hate this.”
chapter 17
At first Lacey found it hard to believe Gary Braddock was an FBI agent. The others she knew looked like bookkeepers in cheap suits. But Braddock was dressed all in black—jacket, slacks, and sweater, looking like an I’m-so-cool advertisement. According to Trujillo, he was known in some circles as “the Undertaker.” Lacey wondered if that referred to his attitude or because he was the agent who had recently put several major bad guys on death row. She estimated his age at about forty, his sandy-blond hair sprinkled with gray.
Nice-looking for a Fed. Even for a non-Fed.
Nice-looking for a Fed. Even for a non-Fed.
Tony had briefed her on Braddock while they waited for him. She had met only FBI Headquarters types, he pointed out. “Bureaucrats.” He snorted. “This guy is Washington Field Office. It makes all the difference. Plus he’s like the Zen master of this stuff.” Braddock was described as cool, even by criminals he arrested, interrogated, and sent to prison. Lacey assumed his was a studied and perfected image. And of course, he would naturally assume he was smarter than anyone else, particularly a reporter.
Particularly a fashion reporter.
Particularly a fashion reporter.
Tony told her the Bureau requested that they stay at the store until the police team arrived. Miguel polished his statement about how he just wanted to help the cause of justice. He left out his sheer joy in being able to embarrass the Bentleys once again.
Gary Braddock entered the store followed by a Maryland homicide cop, who wore a rumpled shirt, tie, and tan khaki jacket. He had obviously been briefed on the players. He made straight for Miguel, took his statement, appropriated the scarf for evidence, and issued a receipt to a dazzled Naomi, who even dropped the Bentley’s snob act for him. Naomi’s statement confirmed Miguel’s. The Maryland cop stood by the door and didn’t say a word. It was clear who was in charge here. Tony and Braddock shook hands.
“Gary, hey, man, good to see you.”
“Trujillo. Nice boots. And thanks for the call. I imagine I can look forward to seeing this on the front page of
The Eye Street Observer
tomorrow.”
The Eye Street Observer
tomorrow.”
“Courtesy of Lacey here. What can I say? She’s got good sources.” He made the introductions. “Agent Braddock, Lacey Smithsonian, she writes ‘Crimes of Fashion.”’
She detected the slightest movement in his eyebrows and a subtle upturning of his mouth.
Oh, good,
she thought,
yet another man who finds me amusing.
After Tony’s brief tutorial, Lacey had prepared herself for a sparring match with the Undertaker. However, she wasn’t prepared for his sense of humor and his empathy. And he didn’t show that he believed he was smarter, if he did. He could be very dangerous, she thought.
Oh, good,
she thought,
yet another man who finds me amusing.
After Tony’s brief tutorial, Lacey had prepared herself for a sparring match with the Undertaker. However, she wasn’t prepared for his sense of humor and his empathy. And he didn’t show that he believed he was smarter, if he did. He could be very dangerous, she thought.
“So when Miguel Flores remembered the scarf and told you about it—”
“He didn’t tell me then; he brought me to Bentley’s to make sure it was still here and that he remembered it correctly.”
“You didn’t think he made it up, set up the scarf and the note to get more publicity?”
“No. Naomi backed him up, didn’t she?”
“What do you think of the scarf?”
“I think it’s a fashion clue. And maybe more.”
“Ah, a fashion clue. Agent Thorn, whom I believe you met last spring, told me that you, quote, ‘mock people with your tasteless opinions.’ ”
“Tasteless or not, I get paid to write them. Who’s doing the mocking here?”
“I’m not mocking anybody. What do you think this fashion clue means?”
“I thought putting together scenarios was your job.”
He grinned. “So I guess I’m going to read your scenario in the paper tomorrow.” He rubbed his hands together and checked one of four cell phones attached to his belt.
Am I the only one in the universe who doesn’t have a cell
phone? Lacey wondered.
phone? Lacey wondered.
He fiddled with one, then looked back up at her. “I know you’re guarding your turf, but I appreciate that you gave us a heads-up about this information. The more pieces, the less puzzle.”
She didn’t know whether to trust him. “You’re not going to leak it to
The Post
just to screw us over, are you?”
The Post
just to screw us over, are you?”
“You have my word.” He shook her hand and effectively dismissed her. “Nice work, Lacey Smithsonian, ‘Crimes of Fashion.’ ”
Trujillo gave her a ride back to the office in his black Mustang with the white ragtop. “I feel honored, Tony. Getting a ride in the love of your life.”
“Speaking of love, or at least attraction, I think Braddock likes you.”
“Oh, please. He was playing me. And this Zen master interrogator of yours barely asked me the time of day.”
“He got what he wanted. And on top of that he practically winked at you. That’s a lot from the Undertaker.”
She glared at him and he burst out laughing.“You’re a real comedian, Tony.”
They returned to the office and went to their respective desks, where they would file their separate stories and let Mac stitch it together. She looked around. “Hey, Mac, where’s Ms. Pickles?”
“Out. She had a lead on a story.”
“Out? You’re kidding. A food story?”
“I dunno. Something to help you out.”
“She’s helping me? How on earth could she help me out?”
“She said she was picking up a press release or something.”
“What was she wearing?”
“How do I know? Clothes.” Mac wasn’t about clothes. Something Lacey should remember, but he’d been so interested in the photo shoot and hairstyles that she’d forgotten.
So much for fashion clues.
Even without evidence that Felicity was wearing interview clothes, Lacey held out hope that the job interview hadn’t fallen through. She wondered where Felicity would go.
The Post
would scarcely deign to hire anyone from
The Eye,
and she doubted that even
The Washington Times
would hire reporters from the feisty third daily. No, Lacey thought, Felicity was probably going all-out for some high-paying job at a trade association, some in-house publication job with the American Snack Food Association or the National Federation of Baked Goods Wholesalers or some such group. With that happy thought, Lacey buckled down to finish the Esme Fairchild scarf story. She had a sudden picture of Esme with Gloria standing behind her and winking. Lacey began to write.
So much for fashion clues.
Even without evidence that Felicity was wearing interview clothes, Lacey held out hope that the job interview hadn’t fallen through. She wondered where Felicity would go.
The Post
would scarcely deign to hire anyone from
The Eye,
and she doubted that even
The Washington Times
would hire reporters from the feisty third daily. No, Lacey thought, Felicity was probably going all-out for some high-paying job at a trade association, some in-house publication job with the American Snack Food Association or the National Federation of Baked Goods Wholesalers or some such group. With that happy thought, Lacey buckled down to finish the Esme Fairchild scarf story. She had a sudden picture of Esme with Gloria standing behind her and winking. Lacey began to write.
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