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

little town. Seems we depress people. Hell, we depress ourselves.”
    Lacey and Vic shared a look. “Just one drink,” Vic said, and held out a chair for Lacey. Inez and Blythe made room.
    “Do you actually read The Eye Street Observer ?” Lacey asked him.
    “Never seen it,” Hank said. “Heard of it. Claudia Darnell’s paper, right? Sometimes I pick up the local rag. Don’t take me long to read that.”
    Kira Evans arrived late, looking frazzled, and scooted into the last empty space next to Hank Richards. She ordered a white wine spritzer. “I had to drive my daughter to basketball practice, but I figured everyone would be here. I didn’t want to be home alone.” She leaned back and rubbed her eyes.
    “What’s the matter, Kira? You afraid of his ghost?” Inez asked.
    “Maybe I am. I don’t want to think about him at all,” Kira said, hugging herself to get warm. “But I’m sure it’s nothing a little wine won’t cure.”
    “Look at it this way, Kira,” said Hank. “The world is a little bit better place today. Whether we got jobs or not.”
    Lacey felt a little awkward about being a “mere” fashion reporter and about working for Claudia Darnell, whom these people seemed to know better than she did. She just hoped that no one knew about her history with fashion and murder investigations. It could be awkward.
    “So Kira, why the turtleneck? Covering up a love bite? Who’s the lucky guy?” Inez asked, proving she didn’t miss much. Heads turned from Inez to Hank, who wisely said nothing.
    Kira blushed and pulled her turtleneck up higher. “Just got a chill. Think I’m coming down with something.”
    “Yeah, a case of too much lovin’,” Inez cracked.
    Blythe was happy to pour Vic and Lacey margaritas from their pitchers while she stared appreciatively at Donovan.
    “You’ve got quite a reputation, Ms. Smithsonian,” Blythe said. Lacey looked at the woman in surprise. She wore elastic-band slacks and an oversized top in an unflattering mustard yellow.
    “You read my fashion column?” Lacey asked.
    “Fashion? Oh, heck, no,” Blythe laughed. “We read all about you on that Web site, Conspiracy Clearinghouse. You know, DeadFed dot com?”
    Oh no. Did Blythe really read Lacey’s nemesis, Damon Newhouse’s Web site? Lacey’s cheeks did a slow burn and Vic had the nerve to laugh.
    “Oh, Lacey knows all about DeadFed,” Vic said.
    “I never heard about it till today,” Hank said. “But these guys are catching me up on it. Sykes here is the Internet wizard. Wouldn’t know it to look at him though, him being a romantic hero and all.”
    “That Damon Newhouse is a real pistol, ain’t he?” Inez said.
    “He’s a real something , all right,” Lacey said.
    “Oh, come on. Tell us all about him,” Inez implored. She leaned toward Lacey. “I love that Web site of his. It’s like that Drudge Report. But with aliens.”
    “Seems to me he really tells it like it is,” Blythe added. “An honest man in a dishonest world.”
    Or a crazy space cadet from the Beatnik Galaxy , Lacey thought.
    Damon Newhouse, creator of the Conspiracy Clearinghouse Web site, aka DeadFed, fancied himself a journalist of the people, a cyberhotshot who embraced every crackpot theory the mainstream media wouldn’t touch. Still, he craved the legitimacy of a real news organization, one with words in print on real paper. Damon knew he would never break into The Washington Post, so he had set his sights on The Eye Street Observer. He dogged Lacey’s tracks, following her stories and giving them his own cracked twist, finding a conspiracy behind every bush, around every corner, and underneath every bed. He drove her nuts.
    “I understand the two of you are close,” Blythe said. “You’ve broken some big stories together.”
    Lacey choked on her margarita and Vic slapped her on the back. Together? “Not exactly,” Lacey said when she stopped choking. That’s how Damon wants it to look.
    “Most reporters