Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum Read Free Book Online Page A

to Lacey and Vic, and when the front door opened, they heard the blare of mariachi music.
    “Now this is more like it,” Vic said. Inside, the place was warm and welcoming. The aroma of sizzling fajitas filled the air. Pitchers of margaritas were flowing. The décor was bright. Little pink and red cupids wearing mariachi hats hung from the ceiling. Signs invited them to the St. Valentine’s Day fiesta.
    Lacey and Vic headed for an open table near the bar. They recognized some of the Dominion Velvet factory workers. Apparently they’d come straight from the factory to spread the news of Rod Gibbs’s blue death. So much for the cops’ warnings to keep it quiet, Lacey thought.
    “That’s right. He was Midnight Blue! How’s that for a send-off?” someone was saying.
    “It’ll always be midnight for Rod now,” someone else replied.
    Lacey craned her neck to see who was speaking, but she couldn’t tell. The remark was swallowed up by laughter. Those who witnessed the body were already instant celebrities, and if they weren’t toasting the dead man, they were certainly roasting him.
    “I swear the devil himself came for Rod Gibbs,” someone said. “He was stabbed with a pitchfork! I saw the marks myself.” There was more laughter.
    “No, really, he had a hole in his chest. I’m just saying,” the voice insisted.
    Lacey turned to Vic. “Eyewitness to a pitchfork murder,” she said. “Satan sought for questioning. Details at eleven.”
    “This may be a reporter’s dream, Lacey, but it could turn ugly fast.”
    “Don’t worry, honey. If I smell sulfur instead of mesquite, I am out of here.”
    “Anyone ever tell you you’re a smart-ass?”
    “Yes, I believe there was a certain police chief, Victor Donovan, but that was a long time ago.” Lacey flashed her most dazzling smile.
    She felt someone at her elbow. It was Dirk Sykes, the velvet shearer, from the factory. “Come on, sit down with us, Ms. Smithsonian. Have a margarita. We’re having a wake. Everyone’s invited. You too, Mr. Donovan.” Sykes started pushing tables together.
    “A wake for Rod Gibbs?” Vic inquired.
    “Hell no. A wake for us. For our jobs. The Blue Devil, he’s the only upside of all this. His being dead and all.” Sykes lifted a margarita and turned his face to the light, which highlighted the wicked scar down the side of his face. Lacey had noticed it that morning, but it was larger and deeper than she remembered. She tried not to stare. He saw her look and he ran a finger down the length of the healed gash. He grinned.
    “It’s okay, Ms. Smithsonian. No offense taken. Gives me character.”
    “Please call me Lacey. What happened?”
    Despite the Hawaiian shirt, he looked a bit dangerous, like a retired pirate, with his scar and swarthy coloring and black ponytail.
    “Had a little accident with a blade, shearing the velvet. Long time ago. You gotta respect the machinery. Damn near lost my head. Course, I nearly lost my job too when the plant got an OSHA citation for it.” Sykes winked at her. “It’s not so bad. Some of the ladies find it irresistible. Ain’t that right, Inez?” He winked at Inez Garcia, who sat at the table, sipping her margarita.
    “Oh, Dirk, how you talk.” She giggled, and Lacey watched a romantic spark pass between the two.
    “The ladies think my scar is romantic. Like Long John Silver.” The only thing “Long John” Sykes lacked, Lacey thought, was a parrot on his shoulder and a pirate hat. “Why, I’m a damn romantic hero.” He traced it again with his finger and winked at Lacey.
    “Romantic hero, my ass.” Hank Richards shook his long hair out of his eyes. Next to Sykes’s pirate, Hank looked like a bearded blond Viking. “Shut up and give me a hand.” Richards and Sykes joined the rest of the tables together and grabbed chairs for Lacey and Vic. “Have a margarita. We got another pitcher on the way,” Hank said. “It’s not often we get a big city newspaper visiting our