10 Lethal Black Dress by Ellen Byerrum Read Free Book Online Page A

she answered and they both
laughed.
    “You guys are leaving? But this is the cool kids’ table,” Tony
cracked.
    Peter Johnson didn’t look back. Lacey breathed a sigh of
relief. She wouldn’t have to deflect his sour vibes all evening. LaToya settled
right in next to Lamont, and everyone else moved in turn.
    “That guy give you any trouble?” Lamont asked Lacey.
    She gave him an elaborate shrug. “He’s out of shape.”
    “Don’t let that fool you,” LaToya said. “Johnson once ran the
Marine Corps Marathon.”
    Lacey swiveled in her chair to take another look. “No way.”
    “Before your time,” Tony said. “I’ve been seeing him at the
health club around the corner, too. He once pitched for The Eye ’s
softball team. Before he switched to pitching doughnut holes.”
    Johnson, an athlete? That was hard to believe. She pushed the
thought of him away and turned back to people watching. She spotted Damon and
Brooke seated at a table across the room, one considerably closer to the dais.
She wondered how Damon had snagged those seats. Must be a conspiracy, Lacey
decided. He was buddying up to his table mate, Matt Drudge of the Drudge
Report , who was also wearing a little black hipster fedora, a match for
Damon’s fedora. Apparently they were standard issue this year for the
alternative press. Must be the same conspiracy.
    She noticed Mac frowning at her. “I remember that blue
dress,” he said. “Last time you wore it you nearly got yourself killed.”
    And yet I survived. And so did my Gloria Adams gown .
“That was last time, Mac. Nothing’s going to happen to this dress tonight.”
    “Wait. There was another famous dress adventure? One I didn’t
know about?” Lamont asked.
    “Before we ever met, Detective,” Lacey said.
    “There’s always another dress story with Lois Lane here,”
Tony added.
    “You got another wacko dress thing going on? Here? Tonight?”
Mac inquired, his bushy eyebrows gathering like storm clouds.
    “Oh, yeah,” Lamont jumped in. “Not the one Smithsonian’s
wearing, though. The one Courtney Wallace is wearing. It’s a good story, even
if it ain’t true.”
    “It’s nothing, probably,” she said. “But part of it is true.”
Everyone stared at Lacey, then at Lamont. He picked up the narrative.
    “First, the two of them got into a hissy fit.”
    “It was not a hissy fit. Exactly.”
    Under his shiny dome, Mac’s bushy eyebrows started dancing.
They had questions. “And?”
    “Fine. Wallace wanted to interview me on camera for her story on vintage couture. I refused. I’m not a celebrity. I’m not public
property or fair game for her ambush sound bites. I’m a working journalist.
Theoretically, I’m her competition, though I wouldn’t dignify her with that
title. And she’s already had plenty of my input, through my columns in The
Eye . She seems to have read my stuff closely. Very closely.”
    “This is that Wallace woman on Channel One, the one
who’s been copying your stuff?”
    “You know about that, Mac?”
    “Heard about it from my girls, Lily Rose and Jasmine. Never
thought they’d care so much about clothing.”
    “Everybody cares about clothes,” Lamont said. “Wallace is
apparently wearing some fancy antique gown tonight. We were watching when some
waiter took a dive and spilled a tray full of champagne all over her. Show them
the picture.”
    Lacey pulled out her camera and displayed the picture she
took of Courtney in the aftermath.
    “Gives new meaning to the term drowned rat,” Tony said.
    “And that concerns Smithsonian greatly,” Lamont intoned.
    “The dress, right? Not Courtney Wallace?” Mac was catching
on.
    “Right. Here’s the kicker,” Lamont continued. “Smithsonian
thinks the champagne could have activated some kind of antique poison dye in
the dress. Hoodoo voodoo. Dangerous when wet. Sounds like a Fashion Clue to me.”
    “Not the entire dress.” Lacey felt she was enduring this
teasing with forbearance and