Grave Apparel by Ellen Byerrum Read Free Book Online

but it seemed weak.
    She became aware of another presence, uncomfortably close. The little shepherd had crept silently up to Cassandra on the opposite side and squatted over her, leaning so close to Lacey that their foreheads nearly touched. Lacey looked up to see a pair of dark brown almondshaped eyes staring at her in tently, framed by the blueandwhite striped woolen fabric.
     
    Lacey caught a whiff of that earthy smell that comes from play ing outside in the dirt. And perhaps a little motor oil.
    “Is she dead?” the shepherd asked. “No.”
    “Because if she’s dead I didn’t do it.” It was the kind of statement someone who always got blamed might make.
    “I believe you,” Lacey said. “Did you see who did it?”
    “A man.” Her companion appeared to be about ten or eleven years old, but Lacey decided she was perhaps not the best judge of children’s ages. He appeared to be part black, part Asian, and maybe some white, Lacey guessed. It was hard to tell, the light was so bad and the face was so dirty. An exotic mix of ethnici ties, but not uncommon in the Nation’s Capital. Lacey stood up and rubbed her hands to warm them.
    “She’s alive. It’s a good thing you called someone. I have to call for help.”
    Feeling sick to her stomach, Lacey fought the guilt of hav ing argued with Cassandra moments before someone came along and knocked her in the head. She took another close look at her. There were small red and white slivers of something on the ground and some were speckled in the woman’s hair near the wound.
    Lacey dialed 911. She reported a woman assaulted in the alley off Eye Street Northwest across from Farragut Square. She told the dispatcher she would wait for the ambulance and clicked off. She heard a siren, but there were always sirens in the background in the District. It faded in the distance.
    “You saw what happened?” she asked the child.
    He sized her up silently and pressed his lips together. “Really, you can tell me,” Lacey said. “After all, you didn’t hit her. Right?”
    “I didn’t.” The little shepherd remained squatting over the limp form of Cassandra, peering at her as if she were a giant science experiment, a very interesting one, one that might roar to life without warning. Cassandra, whose skin was normally pink and weatherroughened, looked deathly white, her lips a chalky gray color. The alley suddenly seemed very quiet.
    “It stopped,” the shepherd said, and Lacey realized he was talking about the Christmas sweater. The lights had stopped flashing and the tinny sound of “Jingle Bells” was suddenly blessedly still. Grimy little hands started searching the garment.
     
    “What are you doing?”
    “Something makes it turn on. The music.” Dirty fingers pressed a button at the bottom of one sleeve. The lights started flashing again and “Jingle Bells” tinkled a reprise.
    “You probably shouldn’t play with that,” Lacey cautioned. “I’m not hurting it!” he protested, displaying a logical side.
    “I like to know how things work.”
    “Yes, but—” But what? He wasn’t hurting Cassandra. Could the sweater be evidence? And what would it tell anyone? “Never mind. Did the man put this sweater on her?”
    The child stood up. “He laughed when he was doing it, like it was the funniest thing in the world.”
    “Did he say anything?”
    “He just laughed. He was dressed like this Santa Dude.” “ ‘Santa Dude’?”
    “Yeah, a dude wearing a Santa hat? You know, those hats like Santa wears?”
    Lacey nodded. Like the Santa caps the managers would be wearing to The Eye ’s party this evening. The shepherd lifted his face to hers, his eyes clear.
    “The Santa Dude. Did you see his face?”
    “He’s a white guy. Like Santa. No beard, though.”
    “Was this guy wearing a full Santa suit? Red and white?
    Reindeer?”
    The shepherd gave her an exasperated look. “No reindeer! Just a Santa hat. The Santa Dude. This Santa Dude is rude, with a