Edwina shook her head and rubbed an imagined spot from her diamond ring. “I never realized how much someone could resent you for the things you have. And we are not rich! Not that rich, anyway. But Mirta thought we were. I suppose she resented it. She thought she was getting away with it, laughing at me. The last straw was wearing my own necklace in front of me in my own house. That’s when I realized how much she must have hated me.” Edwina had unsuspected grit, Lacey reflected. “So you see, if it wasn’t Cecily’s ex-husband, it must have been the staff.”
“The entire staff en masse,” Lacey asked, “or just one of them?”
“Probably just one. If they were all in on it, they’d be squabbling over her clothes by now. Someone would have squealed on the others. I’ll tell Bud Hunt. The police should be looking for one of the servants. They probably haven’t thought of that.” Edwina stalked off to bend Hunt’s ear.
Lacey took her cell phone into the hall to call Willow. Was she really sick, terrified by the shooting last night, or just avoiding Lacey’s calls? Or had Eric O’Neil bagged another bird?
Willow did not answer; her machine picked up. Lacey couldn’t quite think of what to say. She didn’t leave a message.
Chapter 35
“Hey, Lacey, you there? Listen, I got a perm control situation here.”
It was Stella’s urgent voice on Lacey’s voice mail. She’d missed the call during Mac’s Friday morning staff meeting. “Listen, my five o’clock from yesterday had a bad reaction to the perm rods and now she’s totally got, um, curly pink hair and it’s making her very unhappy, and me too, and she says I gotta fix the pink right now! Did I mention it’s pink? So, here’s the deal; I gotta cancel your eleven o’clock today and take care of this perm-rod situation, ’cause, uh, with the pink hair and all she won’t come to the salon, so I’m in my car and—”
What on earth is Stella babbling about? Pink hair? Lacey was quite certain Stella had never accidentally given a client pink hair in her entire career. On purpose, yes, but never by accident. And of course she was chatting away on her cell phone while driving, which is illegal in the District.
Stella’s voice rushed on at top speed. “I can’t possibly do Wednesday, not Wednesday, you got that? So how about Valentine’s Day, and bring Blondie with you, make it a party. I know it’s far away. Valentine’s Day, remember? Now, be careful with your permanent! Some people say a cold water rinse is the thing, but the key is that you have to watch out for hard water, ’cause with hard water there’s this major sudsing problem in the rinse. The rods fall out so suds are key. Watch for hard water.”
Her voice became muffled. Stella was talking to someone else too, but Lacey couldn’t make it out. “One more thing, if you want that permanent, Girl Friday, do it right now, pronto, do not wait twenty-four hours like they used to tell you. Shampoo right away to set the activator in motion or your hair will fall out! Fall right out! Lace, are you getting this? Damn, I gotta go—”
“That’s total nonsense,” Lacey said aloud, but no one paid any attention to her. Everyone around her in the newsroom was checking out the Friday weekend section, or surfing the Web, or picking out a wedding cake, or deep in the middle of their own personal soap operas. She heard more muffled voices and traffic noises and then Stella’s message cut off.
An uneasy feeling spread from the base of Lacey’s spine and traveled rapidly upward. She pressed redial. It rang Stella’s cell phone number. No answer. She listened to the message again and typed it out.
Was she babbling the Pink Collar Code that Stella and Brooke had concocted over margaritas? Was she just testing Lacey to see if she’d learned it? Maybe Lacey should have actually read the code? It was no time for a pop quiz on the silly code, but a test was what Lacey hoped it was. She was due to meet Stella and Kim and the girls at Stella’s salon at noon to go to lunch.
Lacey dialed the salon. The receptionist didn’t answer the phone and the voice mail didn’t pick up. She checked the number and dialed again. No answer. Stella sometimes opened the salon all alone and let the others come in later. Lacey told herself this was some silly game Stella was playing, but the feeling that something was desperately wrong won out. If Stella were playing, there would have been giggles. Lacey found Brooke at her law firm between meetings.
“Stella left me a message in the Code. I think it’s in the Code. Or else she’s just playing some screwy mind game.”
“The Code?” Brooke was instantly at full attention. “The Pink Collar Code?”
“It involved somebody’s pink hair. She didn’t sound panicky, she just sounded—I don’t know. Intense. Hurried. She said pink hair a couple of times.”
“Extra pink is good. We decided we’d have to say pink more than once in the message to mark it as code, remember, and not just about something that’s really just, um, pink.” Brooke sounded excited. “Stella has definitely invoked the Code.”
“She’s talking about perms and rods and rinsing and Valentine’s Day, not Wednesday, and I don’t know what she’s talking about. Help me out here, I don’t have the Code with me.”
“Lacey, you didn’t memorize the Code? Jeez. I am so disappointed in you.”
“Sue me. I’ll take a makeup exam later.” Lacey checked her watch. It was a quarter to ten. “I think there’s something really wrong, Brooke. She’s talking about a perm. I don’t have an appointment today, and I don’t want a perm, I’d never get a perm. You know the Code, don’t you?”
“I created the Code. Mostly.” Brooke sounded huffy, as if Lacey had accused her of not doing her homework. “I need to hear the message.”
“I typed it up. But here, just call my voice mail and listen to Stella. I’ll hold.” She gave Brooke the numbers. There was a long pause. Finally Lacey had to say something. “Brooke, are you there? What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. She’s mixing things up.” Brooke was alarmed. “She’s gone way off script.”
Lacey reached for her coat and purse. “I’m grabbing a taxi to Stylettos. I’m supposed to meet her for lunch anyway.”
“I’ll get my car and meet you there.”
“Your car?”
“You never know when you’ll need two tons of horsepower and steel.”
No one knew where Stella was. Stylettos’ assistant manager Michelle was at the front counter fielding calls and resetting appointments. She told Lacey Stella hadn’t opened the salon as planned, which was unusual, though not unheard of. There had been the occasional hangover. Michelle had simply opened it up when she got there and assumed Stella was running late. Michelle gave Lacey a big wink, as if they both knew why Stella might have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning these days, with her new boyfriend and all. But still, Michelle thought it was a little odd, because Stella’s two youngest fans were already there. She waved at Jasmine and Lily Rose, who were heading to the shampoo bowls.
The girls spotted Lacey. They squealed and waved at her in their mirrors, and she waved back. Kim, Mac’s petite wife, came rushing up. She looked confused.
“What’s up, Lacey, you’re early. Where’s Stella?”
“I don’t know, she may be in some kind of jam.”
The front door chimes sounded as Brooke sailed through the door of the salon. “I’m in a no-parking zone. What did you find out?”
“Stella never showed up,” Lacey said. “No one’s heard from her.”
“Give me the message. You said you typed it.”
Brooke sat in a salon chair to read it and compare it with her master copy of the Pink Collar Code. Ten-year-old Lily Rose bolted out of her chair and hurled herself at Lacey. Big sister Jasmine was close on her heels, but she stopped short of a big hug. Twelve-year-olds who are totally almost thirteen do not hug. She gave Lacey her biggest smile. Then she hugged her.
“Guess what, Lacey!” Lily Rose shouted. Jasmine shushed her and she shifted her voice to a loud stage whisper. “Me and Jasmine are gonna be ’dopted by Mac and Kim! And after we�
��re ’dopted we’ll all be a family and no one can take us away ever!”
“Adopted!” Lacey had hoped that might be in the works, but Mac hadn’t tipped his hand. “That’s wonderful, Lily Rose.” Lacey leaned down and whispered, “But you have to keep Mac in line, okay?”
The girls’ giggles were infectious. “We already do that,” Lily Rose said.
Kim smiled at Lacey. She turned to her youngest foster daughter. “What did I tell you, Lily Rose?”
The little girl’s eyes opened wide. She clasped her hands over her mouth. In an even louder whisper she added, “It’s a secret!”
Jasmine burst out laughing. “Lily Rose can’t keep secrets. ”
“Can too!” the smaller girl insisted.
“Lacey’s a reporter and now it’s going to be in all the papers, ” Jasmine teased.
“No, it isn’t!” the younger girl insisted.
“It’s spectacular, and I promise not to tell.” Lacey said. “Not until you tell me I can.”
Brooke jumped out of her chair, Code in hand, and broke up the family circle. “Lacey, we have to get going. Right now.”
“You can’t go, Lacey,” Jasmine said accusingly, “we’re supposed to go have lunch after our hair appointment! You promised!”
“No time for lunch,” Brooke said. “Lacey and I are on a rescue mission.”
The only way to deal with the kids was complete honesty, Lacey knew, no matter what other people said, and she didn’t take breaking a promise lightly. Even lunch.
“Come here, girls.” She sat down and put her arms around them. “I have to tell you something. Stella isn’t here and we don’t know why.”
“Did something bad happen?” Jasmine asked.
“We don’t know. But yes, it could be something bad. Now, Brooke and I,” she indicated the gray-suited attorney, “we have to go try and find her. We have to find her right away.”
“Is she going to die?” Lily Rose looked very serious. Even at ten, she already knew that death was something that could happen to people you loved.
“Not if we find her in time.”
“We’ll go with you and help,” she insisted. Jasmine looked up at Kim, who put her hand on the girl’s shoulder.
Lacey couldn’t help but smile. Both girls were ready to go with her anywhere and throw snowballs at the Devil if necessary. “You stay with your mom. She’ll take you to lunch. I’ll come along next time.”
“We helped you before,” Jasmine protested. Lacey remembered the night she had to tell them their mother was dead. The night their mother’s killer chased them in the storm. The night they threw snowballs at a murderer and stayed with Lacey as she fought for her life. The night they met Mac and Kim and their lives changed forever.
Lacey gave the girls a hug and stood up. “Yes, you did, and I couldn’t have made it without you. But today, you need to stay with Kim and keep her company. She needs you too. Brooke will be my backup.”
Jasmine stared at Brooke and sighed. “If you say so. But she looks like a lawyer.”
“I am a lawyer,” Brooke said. “But I’m a good lawyer. Really.”
“We know all about lawyers.” Jasmine scowled.
Lily Rose imitated her big sister’s scowl. “Yeah, we know about them.”
“I hope I never get you two on a jury,” Brooke said.
Kim gently put a hand on each girl’s shoulder and gave Lacey an encouraging smile. “Go on, Lacey, we’ll be fine. We’ll take a rain check.”
“What’s a rain check?” Lily Rose asked.
“Be careful,” Kim said.
“Be extra careful.” Jasmine gave her a stern look.
Lily Rose was not to be outdone. She grabbed Lacey’s hand and implored, “Be extra, extra careful! ’Cause we love Miss Stella.”
Lacey promised. Brooke was already out the front door, leading the way to her car in its no-parking space. Brooke wasn’t quite running, but Lacey had to run to catch up.
“Where are we going?” Lacey asked.
“Valentine’s Day,” Brooke said.
Chapter 36
“I don’t understand half of it.” Brooke slid behind the wheel of her sleek pavement gray Acura and keyed the ignition. She flipped quickly through her copy of the Pink Collar Code again while Lacey slid into the passenger seat beside her. “That message of Stella’s is all garbled. She says ‘pink’ over and over, so she has clearly invoked the Code, but it almost starts to make sense and then it doesn’t. What is Stella thinking, getting way off the Code like that?”
“She’s improvising. Exactly what you’d do if someone were kidnapping you.” Lacey slammed the door and buckled her shoulder harness.
“Who said she could improvise?” Brooke threw the Code on Lacey’s lap and put the Acura in gear. The front tires squealed.
“This is Stella Lake, stylist extraordinaire. Woman of a thousand styles, all with extra Stellarifficness. Improvisation is her middle name. And of course she expects me to understand it all. With my EFP,” Lacey complained. “She gives me too much credit. Damn it, Stella! Where the hell are you? Why did you have to use the Code?”
“You’re right. We really should have discussed our personal communication styles and how we all process and disseminate information differently.” Brooke peeled rubber into Connecticut Avenue’s lunch hour traffic, whipped around Q Street onto Nineteenth Street, and headed for Dupont Circle. “I assumed we would do that after our next girls’ night out at the range.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Lacey glanced at Brooke, who was spinning the steering wheel like a Formula One driver. The Circle was full, as usual, and Brooke was changing lanes aggressively. Lacey closed her eyes.
“All I’m saying is that if we’d been up to speed on this thing in advance—”
“Give her a break! She’s scared. Someone is holding her captive, maybe at gunpoint. She had to use the Code, or something like the Code.”
“If only she’d actually learned the Code! And why would they let her call you?”
“Stella must have said I had an appointment, and if she wasn’t at the salon when I arrived—”
“You’d get suspicious and start asking questions.”
“So she was able to make a call to me, half in Code and half just winging it. She’s in trouble.”
“She’d better be in serious trouble, or I’ll kill her.” Brooke screeched to a stop for a red light at Massachusetts Avenue.
“We’re not fighting, are we, Brooke? Because we don’t have time to have a fight. Do we?” Lacey’s heart was beating furiously and her mouth had an unpleasant metallic taste. She hoped she wouldn’t be sick again. Brooke would frown on Lacey throwing up in her immaculate Acura.
“Of course we’re not fighting, we are merely discussing the issues in a forthright and direct manner. Like we always do.”
“Good, because I think I should read Stella’s message again before we fight.”
“It’s in my folder, with the Code.”
Lacey read it twice. What was Stella trying to say? Valentine’s Day was Code for Virginia. Brooke obviously got that part, she was heading that direction. Not Wednesday definitely meant not in Washington. Permanent or perm meant something to do with death or murder. Perm rods meant a gun was involved, but whose gun? Their Pink Collar Code could have been a bit more precise, Lacey thought. Besides, the way Brooke had written it, Lacey couldn’t even read it without falling asleep. Apparently Stella couldn’t either. But cold water rinse, emollients, suds? Those weren’t in the Code. Nor was set the activator in motion!
“Okay, let’s think about this,” Lacey said. “What do emollients do in water? They make it sudsy, like shampoo. Suds. Why cold water? Suds are—suds. Soap bubbles. Foam? Running water makes foam, right, like suds?”
“But what’s that supposed to mean? There’s nothing in the Code about suds. It doesn’t mean anything.” Brooke looked up through her smoked glass sunroof and yelped. Large fluffy chunks of white were hitting
the car. “Oh, no, just what we need! Snow! Damn it, why today? It’s only January!”
The city had seen a little snow before Christmas, but in Washington the first major snowfall often held off until well into January. As a true Washingtonian, Brooke was instinctively prepared to deal with lobbyists and politicians and scandals and conspiracy theories and mind-control victims, but she could not deal with snow.
“Deep breath, Brooke. It’s okay. I’m from Colorado. This is nothing. You want me to drive? Just tell me where we’re going.”
“I’m fine, you just navigate. And think! We need a target smaller than the state of Virginia!” Brooke was accelerating west on P Street, crossing the bridge over Rock Creek, heading into Georgetown.
Lacey’s hands were freezing, but she thought asking Brooke for a little more heat might be a distraction. She reached into her jacket pocket for her gloves and pulled out a piece of paper with them. She unfolded it. It was her faxed copy of the cryptic little drawing on the back of Cecily’s photograph of Rita Hayworth, the one she and Vic had showed Nigel and Stella. The drawing Cecily had with her when she died. Even Nigel agreed it looked like some sort of a griffin, the mythological beast that was half eagle, half lion. But why was it in a cage? Lacey looked up as the Acura sped past a stand of bare weeping willows overhanging Rock Creek.
“Damn! I’ll never understand art! It’s not a cage. It’s a willow tree.” She stared at the doodled drawing’s shaky lines. “It’s Willow. Willow has Stella.”
“Who’s Willow?”
“I told you about Willow, didn’t I?”
“No. You never tell me anything. Start talking.” Brooke glanced at Lacey’s paper.
“Watch the road, please.” The car bounced over a Washington pothole. Lacey smoothed the fax paper. “The drawing on the back of the photograph? First of all, it’s not a stupid bird in a cage, or a robin in a Faraday cage, it’s a griffin. And it’s not in a cage.” She held it up. “It’s a weeping willow tree caging a griffin.”
Armed and Glamorous Page 30
