Armed and Glamorous

by Ellen Byerrum

  She arrived first and was seated in the restaurant loft area above the bar. She helped herself to the fresh bread and olive spread and ordered a lemonade. From her perch overlooking the front door, Lacey saw Nigel stroll in casually from the slushy sidewalk, looking like the eternal prep school boy. He flirted with the hostess for a moment, then took the stairs with a jaunty bounce.

  “What news, Smithsonian? Or should I say, felicitations, darling Lacey! You look simply smashing! How are the folks, how are the little ones, hugs and kisses to all, peace on earth and to all a good night! How’s that?”

  “You’re a laugh a minute, Nigel.”

  He took the seat opposite her. “Stella says I should be nicer to you, so I am. Now the niceties are out of the way, what news?” She gave him The Look, the one she had perfected for people like him. “As charming as I am, I’m sure you’re not interested in my company.”

  “Oh but I am! Don’t worry, there is a reason you’re here.”

  Lacey’s attention was diverted by the welcome vision of Vic bounding up the stairs. He slid in next to Lacey and kissed her before eyeing Griffin.

  “Donovan,” Griffin said.

  “Griffin,” Vic said.

  “Aha, an ambush.” Griffin did not look amused. “Shall I simply start bleeding now? It would save us both a lot of huffing and puffing.”

  “No huffing and puffing. More of a tête-à-tête,” Lacey said.

  “Right. First the ground rules. No hitting.” Nigel looked worried. He had met the blunt end of Vic’s fists before.

  “No hitting before cocktails. This is a classy establishment. ” Vic smiled like someone who made his own ground rules. “Don’t worry, when it comes to huffing and puffing, we’ll take it outside.”

  “We have questions,” Lacey said.

  “For the last time, I did not sleep with Cecily Ashton.”

  “You’re anticipating,” she said. “We don’t care about that now.”

  “There are several matters to discuss,” Vic said. “Ladies first.”

  “The key you gave Stella,” Lacey said. “Tell me about it.”

  The waitress arrived and took their orders. Vic ordered a Sam Adams brew and Nigel asked for a glass of Merlot. He told the waitress it would nicely match the color of his blood, after it was shed by his friends. She was charmed. Griffin hadn’t answered Lacey’s question.

  “Nigel. The key matches the Louis Vuitton makeup case. The one stolen from Cecily.” Lacey waited for him to deny it. He didn’t.

  “It would seem so, but we’ll never really know, will we, now that the bloody box is missing.”

  “Where did you steal the key?” Vic asked. “With the makeup case? When you stole it in the burglary?”

  “Get off it, Donovan. I’m hardly a cat burglar. Cecily was very likely her own burglar. She hid the case and the jewels and reported them stolen. Case closed.”

  “But you stole the key.”

  “I stole nothing. I obtained the key from the dealer in New York City who sold cranky old Ashton the damned Rita Hayworth case in the first place. I was sniffing up leads after the burglary. As one does. I touched base with the dear fellow to see if he’d heard loose talk in the trade. You’d be surprised how often jewel thieves try to fence the loot back to the dealer who last sold it legitimately. Sometimes it even works.”

  “He had the key?” Lacey scoffed. “Convenient.”

  “Said it had been misplaced in his shop. He’d sold the case to Ashton without the key. It latches, but does not lock. The dealer meant to call when the key turned up much later, but he told me Philip Clark Ashton wasn’t the kind of customer you wanted to deal with more often than absolutely necessary. Also he didn’t want to confess to being careless with his priceless merchandise. So he’d kept the pretty little key. He only showed it to me as a curiosity, one professional to another in the trade. All that remained of the legendary Louis Vuitton-Rita Hayworth case. So sad.”

  “So what did you pay for it?” Vic asked. “And did you keep the receipt? You might need it.”

  “If you must know, I sort of persuaded him to just give it to me.”

  Vic laughed. “You pocketed the key? You weasel!”

  “You say weasel like it’s a bad thing. No, I simply pointed out that it might look, ah, suspicious for him to have even so much as an innocently misplaced key connected to such a notoriously stolen one-of-a-kind item. People might think he had more than just a key, I said, if that got out, and it would. He saw my point. So he entrusted it to me, because I represent Cecily Ashton’s insurer. I promised to take good care of it.”

  “Sure you would,” Vic snorted. “In the Nigel Griffin Retirement Fund.”

  “After all our good times in prep school, Donovan, you wound me. And I mean that literally. No, I was going to present it to Cecily, as a humble token of my recovery efforts on her behalf. It is of such simple gestures that a gentleman’s reputation is born.”

  Their drinks came and the waitress took their order for appetizers.

  “The upshot, Nigel, before we’re old and gray.” Vic lifted his beer.

  “Ah yes.” Nigel took up his wineglass, swirled the liquid, sniffed, and deigned to sip it. He pronounced the Merlot drinkable. “Well, I hesitated. Cecily was acting very strange. I was afraid she would see it as a romantic offering, a come-on. She was making enough of those to me herself, and I wanted no part of it. It felt like I was being set up. She was a little too crazy, even for my tastes. And then Stella happened, et cetera. Give the cute little key to one crazy out-of-control millionairess who couldn’t care less? Or to adorable Stella, who would jump up and down and get excited and demonstrate her heartfelt gratitude? The woman with the key to my heart? A clear choice.”

  Lacey didn’t care who legally owned the silly key. She knew one thing. Stella would be heartbroken if she had to give it up, and Lacey wasn’t going to play the villain in this piece. “What else can you tell me about the burglary?”

  “Nothing. What has this got to do with Cecily Ashton’s murder?”

  “Humor us, Nigel.” Lacey gestured with her glass. “One thing leads to another. What if the burglary and the murder are connected?”

  Griffin leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’m convinced Cecily had something to do with the burglary. It was an inside job. Too neat, too clean, too selective.”

  “Maybe,” Vic said. He leaned in closer. “But she’s not the only one who had access. Tell me, Nigel, who else wants to set you up? And who would be able to do it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Set me up how exactly?”

  “Do you know a Simon Edison?” Lacey asked.

  “Who?” Nigel squinted. “In connection with Cecily? Can’t say I do.”

  Their waitress came back with a hot cheese dip and pita chips. “Fresh and hot! Hope you like it. Let me know if you need anything.” She smiled for an extra second or two at Griffin before she left.

  Lacey and Vic shared a look. Lacey pulled the faxes out of her purse. She spread out the fax of the little drawing on the back of the photograph.

  “Now what?” Nigel leaned over and peered at the picture.

  “What does it look like to you, Nigel?

  “I have no idea. A bird?” The lightbulb turned on. “Is this the famous doodle you described in your closet article?”

  “A bird? Or could it be a griffin?” Vic kept his voice low. “A griffin in a cage?”

  “Oh that’s ridiculous.” Nigel picked it up and examined it more closely. “Huh. It is sort of a griffin. Takes one to know one, eh? Not terribly accomplished though, is it? What are you getting at here?”

  “Philip Ashton swears this drawing was not on the photo when he bought it,” Lacey said. “He swears the photo was never out of the frame until the break-in.”

  “So our burglar is an artist? A bad artist? Well, it’s Cecily, of course. She did the burglary, so she had plenty of time to doodle.”

  “But what if it wasn’t Cecily?”
Vic fingered the drawing. “She was surprised to see it when Lacey showed it to her, and she was taking it to show someone when she was killed. This wasn’t your typical burglar either. Seems to me someone might have planted this to implicate you in the crime, Nigel. In a subtle way. As if someone, maybe a disgruntled accomplice, was saying, ‘Put the griffin in the cage.’ ”

  Griffin threw up his hands. “Oh good God. That’s absolutely the most demented thing I’ve ever heard.” He scooped cheese dip onto a pita chip and shoved it in his mouth. He followed it with a swig of Merlot. “If this is some kind of stunt—”

  “It’s not a stunt. Philip Ashton called me today,” Lacey said. “He thinks it’s enough to get him off the most popular suspects list. It might be enough to put you on it.”

  “This whole thing is preposterous! I had no accomplice, because I didn’t burglarize the bloody house.” Griffin scooped up more dip and spilled it. “For pity’s sake, I wouldn’t have stopped at the Vuitton case and a few trinkets.

  I’ll tell you one thing, if I ever were going to do such a burglary, I would never—”

  “Go on,” Vic said, “I love talking shop with jewel thieves.”

  “An adolescent mistake, Donovan. The record has been expunged.”

  “Except from the golden memories of we lucky few who knew you way back when.”

  “Oh whatever. I would never share a haul like that with any accomplice, past or present. You may call me a weasel, Donovan, but I am not a stupid weasel.”

  “Hi, guys!” Stella’s voice preceded her blond bob up the stairway. “Having fun? You ought to be! You started without me.” Vic and Lacey exchanged another look. Of course Nigel had asked Stella to join them.

  “What’s up? What’s new? Lacey? Vic? Nigel?” Stella pulled up a chair next to Griffin. “Vic! You’re back!” She jumped up and hugged Vic. “Thank goodness! Lacey has been draggin’ her ass like a little lost puppy without you. So fill me in! Nigel honey?”

  “Don’t know where to begin, love.” He looked morose. “We’re just chatting about mythological beasts. Griffins. Weasels. That sort of thing. Why don’t you order up a drink?”

  “I wish I could order up the one we’re inventing,” Stella said. She waved to the waitress and asked for a Pink Lady, “because it sounds pretty.” She turned to Lacey as she shed her pink coat, revealing today’s outfit. It was tight, it was pink, it was Stella. “Nigel and me, we’re creating this winter drink for D.C. A mixed drink with a name that says it all about Washington in the winter. Then we’ll invent one for the summer too. Guess what we’re calling it!”

  Lacey groaned. Stella always had some new party game to play. “How about a Frozen Filibuster? Or a White House on the Rocks?”

  “Not bad, Lace, not bad. But we got you beat. It’s the Washington Wintry Mix.”

  “In honor of the beastly winter weather you have here,” Nigel roused himself to say gloomily. “What your weather-men always call it so cheerily on the telly: ‘We’re expecting the usual wintry mix!’ So if you have to slog through it, Stel and I think you should at least be able to get drunk on it.”

  “We haven’t perfected it yet,” Stella went on excitedly, “but a Wintry Mix has to be really frozen and slushy for all the slushy streets here, with lots of vodka because vodka’s from cold countries, right? And it’ll have that blue liquor in it to give it that blue winter light. Like right now! Wow, look outside the window! So pretty. And we’re thinking coconut sprinkles on top to make the ice and snow, and maybe an ice-blue maraschino cherry frozen in an ice cube, and then we serve it in—” She stopped and looked from face to somber face. “Whoa. Did I miss something? What’s up, guys? Okay, never mind, I’ll just listen.” She helped herself to Griffin’s appetizer.

  “Nigel,” Lacey said, “when you were in Philadelphia, working on that little exhibit Cecily had there, did you meet a Nina Vickers?” Lacey didn’t know quite why she asked that. One thing leads to another.

  Vic gave her a look, his Why-Am-I-Always-One-Chapter-Behind look. She realized she hadn’t gotten around to telling him about the unsolved Philadelphia murder that couldn’t possibly be connected to Cecily’s unsolved murder, unless Willow was right about her ex-boyfriend. Griffin’s wineglass stopped in midair.

  “Who’s Nina Vickers?” Stella’s eyes were large and questioning. “Did you know her, Nigel?”

  “Before I met you, Stel.” He nodded slowly. “A girl I met in Philadelphia last year. She worked at the gallery that displayed the Ashton exhibit.”

  “And how well did you know her?”

  “We, um, dated. A couple of times. Not very long.” Nigel seemed to run out of words. Stella turned to Lacey for an explanation.

  “She was murdered, Stella, in a drive-by shooting of some kind.”

  “Oh my God.” Stella made the leap. “Willow’s friend?”

  “This is all insane!” Griffin said. “I don’t know what kind of story you’re spinning, but I barely knew her. Nina was a nice girl. It was a casual date or two, maybe a couple of parties, it wasn’t any kind of big romantic thing. I was out of the country, in Paris in fact, playing ring-around-the-rosy with you, Smithsonian, when she was—when her unfortunate death occurred. I didn’t even hear about it till much later. None of this makes any sense.”

  “I am totally confused,” Stella said. “What does this woman have to do with anything?”

  Lacey didn’t know that either. But having sown fear and confusion, her work there was done. It was time to go to her PI class. She reluctantly gathered her purse and coat and kissed Vic a lingering good-bye. She hugged a worried Stella and gave Nigel the Look. On her way downstairs she heard the fear and confusion resume.

  “Bloody hell, Donovan! Two murders and a burglary, and I had nothing to do with any of them! Swear to God! Why in the world would someone try to implicate me?”

  “I don’t know, Nigel,” Vic said as he tilted his beer, “but I’d say the ‘wintry mix’ is about to come down on you hard.”

  Chapter 32

  “What’s on the agenda tonight?” Once again, Lacey was the first student through the door, right behind their instructor, Bud Hunt. She was starting to get used to the dark, windy parking lot, though the rustling of the dead leaves could still make her jump.

  “You mean on the lesson plan?” Hunt sighed heavily. “Or whatever the hell wacky sideshow is gonna happen tonight to put us even further behind in this course?”

  “The lesson plan. I could use a break from the wacky sideshow myself.”

  “You’re way early, Smithsonian. There’s doughnuts. I’m making coffee. You want some?”

  She stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched Hunt meticulously measure coffee into the coffeemaker.

  “Hadley wasn’t arrested after all,” she said.

  “So I heard. I’m just surprised they didn’t slap him with a charge of impeding the investigation. I don’t know what the PI field is coming to. I mean, my God, the man hears voices. I used to get regular guys in this class. Now I get wackos who pick up transmissions from the Great Unknown or something.” Hunt looked beat. The circles under his eyes had deepened. “I hear there’s some new information too, a possible connection between the burglary and the murder?”

  Lacey hesitated. She realized she was talking to one of the suspects. “I guess my story hit the Web.”

  “The TV news too. Pretty tenuous though, I’d say, unless you got something they didn’t mention.”

  “It’s a news story. People tell me things, I write it down.” Lacey shrugged. “And speaking of people telling me things. I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

  He gave her a long look and then nodded. “I guess Donovan must have told you about Cecily and me. Must have surprised you. Surprised everyone. Surprised me too.”

  “He said it wasn’t much of a secret.”

  " ’Fraid not. Secrets always leak out. Let that be a lesson. Our lesson plan for this evening,” Hunt said with a rueful smi
le. “Hard not to fall for someone like her, who has season tickets to everything, and in the owner’s box too. God, that was sweet.” He rubbed his face. “And she was beautiful. She was something. Not worth the cost, though.”

  “Did you find out anything from the housekeeper or the staff?”

  “About the murder? Nothing. I did find out Cecily had no trouble warming her bed, before or after me. I already knew that. And that stupid burglary? Supposedly someone ‘forgot’ to reset the alarm system that night. Bull. The system is automatic, you have to override it to turn it off. Everyone’s lying about that idiotic little burglary. Doesn’t make any sense.”

  The enticing aroma of fresh coffee filled the room. Lacey peeked in the Krispy Kreme doughnut box. He’d picked up a dozen assorted. They looked delicious. You want great doughnuts, she thought, send an ex-cop.

  “Help yourself.” He gestured toward the box.

  She took a glazed, chocolate-iced piece of paradise. “Do you think Cecily set up the burglary herself?”

  “Why? To blame it on her ex?” Hunt wore a grim smile. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer son of a bitch.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe for the attention? For some guy?”

  “She got plenty of attention, believe me. Besides, what she really wanted no one could give her.”

  “What could she possibly want that she couldn’t buy?”

  “Love. Security. Family. Most of all, she wanted a baby. But she couldn’t. She tried.”

  “I heard she had a miscarriage years ago.”

  “She couldn’t have kids after that.” Hunt rinsed out cups and set them in the drainer. “People are wrong about Cecily, about all the things she had. Like all those clothes. You saw all that, right? She loved them, but she didn’t live or die by them.”

  “Maybe she did.”

  He rinsed his hands and wiped them with a towel. “Well, you got a point.”

  “Martin Hadley thinks she was trying to see him the day she died, but he doesn’t know why. Do you think maybe she drove out here to see you, instead?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind. She knew I was avoiding her calls. But she never made it to the door, and we’ll never know why.”