Brooke abruptly slammed on the brakes and turned into a driveway on P Street. She put the car in park.
“What did you stop for?” Lacey asked.
“I know what a safety nerd you are. Now let me see that.” She examined the drawing closely in the flat winter light. Snowflakes were sticking to the windshield. Brooke looked up, her expression full of admiration. “Oh, Lacey, this is good. Very good! I’m so proud of you. It is a willow tree. Now what does that mean?”
“The important question is, where did Willow take her? We don’t have a code for this, so Stella had to make it up. Hair falling out? Cold water rinse? Suds. Hard water. Cold dangerous water? Maybe whitewater, or a waterfall? And set the activator in motion just means ‘Help! Hurry! Get moving! ’ Are you with me?” Brooke nodded and backed out of the driveway. Lacey closed her eyes and held her breath. She tried to listen to her EFP, the extra-something-ary perception Stella was always telling her she had. “Okay. I have it. Across the Key Bridge, take the GW Parkway north to Great Falls on the Virginia side of the Potomac.”
“Got it. Tell me why in a minute, too busy to chat now.” Brooke punched the accelerator and Lacey held on. The gray Acura sped west on P Street, past the grand town houses of Georgetown to Wisconsin Avenue and then down to M Street and west again. Lacey was always amazed how fast and efficiently her friend could drive through the convoluted streetscape of Washington, and Brooke knew every escape route home across the Potomac. Now if only it would stop snowing.
Brooke found an elusive hole in M Street traffic. She slipped the Acura through a yellow light onto the Key Bridge heading for Rosslyn. They were out of the District. They would be on the Virginia side of the river in less than a minute.
“Talk to me, Lacey.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Good. Stop thinking quietly and start thinking out loud. Why Great Falls?”
“Because it was the site of Stella and Nigel’s famous outdoor assignation. Remember? You went ewwww? Cold dangerous water and the Falls. It’s a hunch.”
Brooke whistled. “Parkway to Chain Bridge to Old Georgetown Pike, right? Now tell me how we came to this awesome conclusion.”
“First I have to call Vic.” Lacey pulled out her cell phone.
“As long as I get to listen.” On the Virginia side of the Potomac River Brooke turned onto the George Washington Parkway and headed north.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Vic answered. “Have you seen—”
“I’m in hot pursuit. With Brooke.”
“Hot pursuit of what? Lacey, slow down. It’s snowing out there.”
“Brooke is driving. We’re good, but Stella is missing. Can you round up Nigel and meet us at Great Falls?”
“Great Falls?” His voice took on a darker tone. “This is no day for Great Falls. What’s going on?”
“This is going to sound like a crazy story.”
“Darling, I’d be pretty damn disappointed if it didn’t. Hold on,” he said to someone else. She heard another male voice in the background.
“It’s Willow. I told you about Willow, didn’t I? Everything points to Willow. Well, not everything, but enough. She killed Nina Vickers, she killed Cecily Ashton, and now she’s got Stella. I want you to bring Nigel there so we can swap him for Stella.”
“Hold on a minute, Lacey,” Vic said. “Do what with Nigel?”
"Swap Nigel?” Brooke glanced uneasily at Lacey. “This is our big plan?”
Brooke was passing traffic uphill as they climbed the Parkway overlooking the Potomac. The trees were frosted with a white icing of snow, an alluring but dangerous scene. Lacey waved at her to watch the road.
To Vic she said, “We swap Nigel for Stella. Remember the drawing? It’s not a cage holding that griffin, it’s a willow! Like a weeping willow? For some reason Willow wants Griffin. God knows why. I say let’s give him to her. In exchange for Stella.”
“I’d like to say you’ve made this all perfectly clear. But”—Vic paused—“they’re at Great Falls?”
“I’m pretty sure. You should know I don’t have a lick of proof for any of this.”
“All right. Nice snowy day for a walk in the park with my girl. And a killer. At least you’re not leaving me out of the loop this time.”
“Can you find Nigel?”
“Yup. Got him right here. He just ran into my office with this wild tale about Stella disappearing. He’s frantic. We were just wondering where to start looking, but you already have this great plan. This is a great plan, isn’t it?”
“Nigel’s really worried about her?”
“Are you worried, Nigel?” Vic yelled away from the phone. Lacey heard Griffin yell something back to Vic, something like “. . . out of my bloody mind!” Vic’s voice was calm: “We’re swapping you for Stella, Nigel. You’re the fall guy. How do you like that?” She heard Griffin’s voice rise an octave. “He’s worried now,” Vic said back to Lacey.
“Should we call the police, Vic? Tell them it’s a kidnapping? ”
“Are you sure it is? Tough call to make without proof,” Vic said. “When someone goes missing the cops generally wait twenty-four hours, unless you have a witness to an abduction or a ransom note. We’ll call when we get there and see what’s going on.”
“I adore you, Vic.”
“You can prove it later. Keep your phone ready, I’ll call you down the road. Keep in contact, don’t do anything crazy, and don’t take any risks.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised. They hung up. The way Brooke was speeding, Lacey wondered if they’d soon have a police escort without calling the cops.
“I’m listening, Lacey,” Brooke said. “What’s this got to do with Willow? I remember her, she’s the mousy one being stalked by some wacko, right?”
“That was her story. And I swallowed it. Hook, line, and sinker.” Lacey was still sorting out the picture in her head.
“How’d she find you? How does it involve Stella?”
“I’ll start at the beginning. Keep in mind I’m making this up as I go along. In the beginning there was a plain little Willow who had a beautiful friend named Nina.”
“The one who was killed in Philly?”
“Yeah. Last year sometime, Willow falls for a guy named Eric, but she creeps him out. He dates her friend Nina instead, so now a jealous Willow hates Eric and Nina. Then Nigel Griffin goes to Philly for Cecily’s insurers, to run the security at an art gallery exhibiting Cecily’s pretty things. Willow denied knowing Cecily, but in fact she worked on the exhibit at the gallery. So did Nina. Willow now sets her sights on our charming Nigel. Go figure, but some women love him. Willow is invisible to Nigel, who hooks up with beautiful Nina. Now Nina’s taken two men away from her.”
“Am I going to need a spreadsheet to follow this?”
“I hope not,” Lacey said, “but if anyone could spreadsheet this, you could.”
“So Willow killed Nina?”
“It’s a theory. Yet Willow finds killing Nina doesn’t get her either of the men she wants. Willow is obsessed with Nigel, but now there’s another obstacle: Rich divorcée Cecily wants him too. And Nigel leaves Philly to chase the Romanov corset, and you and me and Kepelov, in France. He meets Stella in New Orleans, with me. Willow searches the Web for news of Nigel and finds his name in my stories in The Eye. How to get close to Nigel? Maybe by getting close to me. She signs up for the same PI class. She acts timid as a mouse, but she’s turned a corner somehow and now she’ll do anything to get whatever guy she locks in on. She can’t afford a PI, so she’ll become her own investigator.”
“But how did she know you’d be in the PI class?”
“How, I wonder?” Lacey lifted one eyebrow as high as it would go. “Could it be Damon and his accursed Web site, where everything I do or think or plan to do is plastered all over his little gossip column? Courtesy of his number one spy girl, Brooke Barton, Esquire?”
“I plead the First Amendment, but point taken. Profuse apologies. Plea
se continue.”
“Willow needs to know everything about Nigel to get his attention. Being herself doesn’t work. But she’s a quick learner. She knows what Nigel likes now. He likes pretty flashy women, women who stand out in a crowd. Dark-haired Nina, brassy blondes. Nothing against blondes, Brooke. I’m the fashion reporter in her PI class, so she asks me what to do with her mousy hair and looks, and unknowingly I send her right to Stella. Bingo.”
“And Stella does the rest,” Brooke said. “She can’t stop talking about Nigel, so Stella becomes target number three. But you can’t blame yourself.”
Lacey paused for a moment and closed her eyes. She was glad Brooke was driving, even if she was afraid to peek over at the speedometer.
“Willow knew something else about Nigel,” Lacey continued. “He’s drawn to rare and expensive luxury items. Like that Louis Vuitton makeup case of Cecily’s that was on exhibit in Philly. If Willow could manage to get her hands on it, maybe she could arouse Nigel’s interest after all.” Lacey sighed. “It’s a theory. Is this making any sense at all?”
“You know me, Lacey, the more out-there your theory is, the better I like it. But you’re not saying Willow pulled off that weird little burglary, are you? How’d she do that?” The Acura skidded on a slick spot in the road. The Parkway hadn’t been sanded yet, and the snow was starting to stick on the overpasses. Brooke smoothly eased off the gas and corrected their course.
“I don’t know. It strikes me that Willow decided to become friends with Cecily too. She worked on the exhibit, so maybe the gallery sent her to D.C. with Cecily’s collection to put it away again. Willow pays attention, learns the layout, the staff, the security codes, maybe she bribes someone, who knows? Or maybe she just hid in a closet till the house was empty. The place is huge, plenty of hiding places, with security cameras at the entrances, but not in all the rooms.”
“Still, no one was suspicious?”
“People ignore Willow,” Lacey said. “Before the makeover, anyway. She can be so meek and colorless that she melts into the background. Men never gave her a second glance. No one did, except for poor Nina. She’s one of those people you try not to see.”
“I know the type. You see them at a cocktail party and avoid them like the plague. Later when they mention it, you say, ‘Oh I’m so sorry, I never saw you!’ ”
“She comes across as so pathetic you feel guilty for disliking her.”
“I never feel guilty about that,” Brooke said. “Pathetic is pathetic.” Brooke turned off the Parkway at Chain Bridge Road. It was snowing a little harder now. “I turn on Georgetown Pike? First right past the CIA?”
“Don’t you dare give this to Damon till after my story runs. Promise me, Brooke.”
“But Lacey—”
“Swear on the Code.”
“Oh, all right, I swear on the Code. Is there more?”
Lacey smiled triumphantly, even though she knew it wouldn’t keep Damon off the story. “Willow steals the Rita Hayworth-Louis Vuitton makeup case and scoops up the pearl necklace and the jeweled picture frame. For some reason she can’t resist a little taunt that only she understands. The sketch on the back of the photo. Her idea of a private joke, or perhaps a message to Cecily: The willow has the griffin in her grasp. Or nyah nyah, I win.”
“But why did she decide to kill Cecily? She did kill her, right?”
“I think so. She must have seen Cecily as her rival for Nigel, but I don’t think Willow planned to kill her. Not until Cecily figured it out.”
“What?! Cecily never even saw that drawing till you pointed it out to her!”
“Cecily drove out to Falls Church on her last day with a copy of the drawing in her purse. Trujillo told me the cops found it in her effects. She didn’t know I was there, so she must have planned to show it to Bud Hunt, to convince him to help her with the burglary investigation.” Lacey was certain she must have some of the details wrong, but the more she explained it to Brooke, the more sure she was of the big picture.
“Willow was late to class that first day, but of course no one paid any attention to her. She saw Cecily’s Jaguar pull into the lot. Willow has a gun, possibly Eric O’Neil’s stolen twenty-two revolver. She and Cecily may have had words, I have no idea, but it ends with Willow shooting her in the head and walking away. She had time to hide the gun, wash her hands, and slip into class. The entire class was her alibi.”
“She won the lottery with that.” Brooke said, dodging a sand truck which had finally arrived to impede their progress. “Idiot luck.”
“She got lucky the first time, when she killed Nina,” Lacey said. “I guess she figured she could get away with it again. And she did.”
“But what a screwy plan!” Brooke was incredulous. “I can’t believe no one saw her. Or heard the gunshot.”
“She didn’t plan that part. Vic says gunshots on the street are routinely ignored.”
“Right, that’s why the District is putting microphones on rooftops to listen for gunfire,” Brooke interrupted. “Go on.”
“Willow’s the original invisible woman, which is why I thought she’d make a good PI. I think it made her crazy. Irrational. But methodical. Willow also recognized Stella’s key from Nigel. She knows it fits the Louis Vuitton makeup case, because she has the case.”
Willow had even begged Stella to let her touch the key, and the gesture had seemed so touching and pathetic. It made Lacey sick now to think she had been the link that led a killer to her friend.
“What? Stella has the key to that thing?” Brooke slowed to pass another sand truck where Chain Bridge Road met Dolley Madison Boulevard in McLean. She gave Lacey a long look. “You never told me that.”
“I’ve been busy.” She sighed deeply. Suddenly a staccato burst of static cut across the soft classical music from WETA on the radio.
“Did you hear that?” Brooke said. “My radio does that every time I go past the CIA! Right here on Chain Bridge, or on the Parkway on the other side. That dit dada dit dada dit dit dit and so on, like a telegraph key? I swear it must be the CIA spy frequency jammers. Did that sound like Morse Code to you? They’re probably saying, WE control the vertical! WE control the horizontal!”
“You’ve been reading too much DeadFed, Brooke. And listening to Martin Hadley. It’s probably just their lunch-break whistle or something.”
“We’re skipping lunch today. Listen, I don’t really want to ask this, Lacey, but why not just—dispose of Stella? Why bother taking her somewhere?”
“Oh, that’s the weird part.”
“All the parts of this are the weird parts.”
“Willow wants to know how to capture Nigel’s heart. Apparently Stella already has, so Willow wants to become Stella. Only more so. Stella dyed her hair blond to please Nigel. So Willow goes blonder. Stella was rocking her wacky take on Swinging Sixties couture, so Willow goes all the way back to Marilyn Monroe. Stella and Nigel had a passionate escapade at Great Falls, so maybe Willow needs to see that and raise it. But to do that she needs to learn all about how to be a better, blonder, sexier Stella for Nigel. She needs to suck the last drop of Stella-ness out of our friend. Stella’s already given her the big makeover, now all she needs to do is talk. And heaven knows, Stella is always willing to talk.”
“Like you said, Lacey, it’s a theory. The only theory we’ve got. It’s crazy. I like it.” Brooke turned right on Old Georgetown Pike and headed toward Great Falls. “My God, it’s snowing baseballs out here. How much snow are we supposed to get today?”
Lacey fought back tears. She hoped desperately they were speeding off in the right direction, not just plunging foolishly off into the snowy woods on a wild Willow chase. She prayed that Stella was right now somewhere at Great Falls, eagerly babbling to Willow everything she possibly could tell her about anything she could possibly think of, spinning it out and playing for time until her friends could get there. And do what exactly? Make a deal with a crazy woman?
“Brooke, I don’t w
ant to think about what happens when Willow gets everything she wants from Stella, and Stella runs out of things to tell her! What happens when they stop talking?”
“Don’t worry, Lacey. Stella never stops talking.”
Chapter 37
The road to Great Falls National Park lay deceptively peaceful beneath a thin blanket of fresh snow. Lacey’s cell phone rang and made her jump. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Lacey, Marie Largesse here. I’m worried about Stella. I haven’t been able to find her. Y’all seen her today?”
“I’m looking for her right now, with Brooke.”
“That’s good. Always fight evil in numbers. You know, the reason I called, I keep seeing and hearing that thunder snow I told Stella about.”
“It is snowing.” The storm was heavier here above the Falls, and the Acura’s windshield wipers were having trouble keeping up with it.
“No sugar, that’s not it. The sound is like thunder, but it’s really gunfire, I think, and Stella is— Oh, hang on, I’m a little dizzy! And Stella—”
“And Stella what, Marie? Marie! Are you there?”
“Now what?” Brooke hunched over the steering wheel and squinted through the snow. She turned into the park entrance and drove on through the gate. It was off season, and a snow day. There was no one at the little entrance booth to take their fee.
“It’s Marie, but she—”
Another voice came on the line. “Smithsonian, is that you?”
“Kepelov? What happened? You’re with Marie?”
“She fainted,” Kepelov answered. “I think it is not a good sign.”
“Oh, hell. We’re screwed.”
“What?” Brooke said.
“Marie fainted.” Lacey fought a feeling of nausea. “It’s a bad sign.”
“Lacey Smithsonian, where are you right now?” Kepelov demanded.
“At Great Falls Park, looking for Stella. We just drove in the gate. I think she’s been kidnapped by Willow Raynor. Long story.”
“Ah. The little mouse. I never trust her. Too quiet. Never look you in the eye.”
“Now you tell me.”
Armed and Glamorous Page 31
