pastry room, featuring a dazzling array of pastries, chocolate cakes, pies, ice cream, and a cappuccino bar. Atop one long table, a marzipan yellow brick road flanked by rows of candy canes led dessertlovers to a large decorated gingerbread house. Lacey half expected to see a tiny gingerbread replica of Felic ity Pickles, the newsroom’s Gingerbread Witch, luring little gingerbread Hansels and Gretels to their sugary doom. She would no doubt soon be along in the flesh, and in an amazing Christmas outfit, as foretold by LaToya. But Lacey’s attention was captured by the candy canes, giant novelty candy canes nearly as big around as her fist and almost two feet long. Giant candy canes! She thought of Cassandra in the alley and what a preposterous attemptedmurder weapon a candy cane would make. But she was amazed at how big these were.
Lacey and Vic looped back through the maze of party rooms to find the formal receiving line. She looked down an impres sive row of redandwhite Santa caps, a dozen or more of them, their white puffball tails bobbing merrily atop the heads of The Eye ’s managers, both male and female. Was the assailant some one here, she wondered, or was this just a weird Christmas party coincidence? Was blacktieandSantacap the party fad this year?
Their publisher, Claudia Darnell, had recruited a mostly goodnatured crew of Santas, but Lacey’s editor Mac, his Santa cap pulled down over his bushy eyebrows like a thug’s stocking cap, looked like the Christmas elf voted Least Jolly.
Lacey took another look to make sure all the newspaper’s managers were wearing their festive headgear, shaking her head at the charmingly ridiculous sight of grown men and women, serious journalists all, in tuxedos and formals—and Santa caps. Claudia looked elegant in a red silk sheath dress that dis played her toned arms. Her blue eyes were set off nicely by her deep buttery tan and her sleek ice blond hair was styled in a French twist. The Santa cap edict didn’t seem to apply to Clau dia; after all, it was her newspaper, and her party. Claudia was a woman of a certain age, fiftysomething, but she had a killer figure and a proven magnetism for male attention. Even Vic had appreciative eyes for her. Lacey elbowed him gently in the ribs. Men flocked around Claudia now, worker bees adoring their queen, and not just The Eye ’s staff, but also her invitees, K Street lawyers, lobbyists, politicians, liberal and conservative. They all had a healthy respect for the power of the press, even The Eye , particularly in Claudia’s attractive hands. They wouldn’t dream of snubbing her annual Christmas party.
As soon as Lacey approached, Claudia pulled her aside. The jungle drums of the newsroom gossip machine had already reached her.
“It’s true then? Cassandra Wentworth was attacked in our own alley?” Claudia asked. Lacey nodded. “Oh my God. How is she?”
“Alive but unconscious. They took her to George Washing ton University Hospital.”
Lacey could see Mac edging near them with a troubled look. Even with his brows knitted crossly, the Santa cap cocked crookedly on his head gave him a comical look.
“Now what, Smithsonian?” He growled in that editorial voice she knew so well.
Surprised he hadn’t heard, Lacey quickly explained what she saw in the alley.
“Someone’s attacked The Eye ?” Mac’s eyebrows rose in his familiar scowling arch.
“Whoever it was left her wearing a Christmas sweater,” Lacey said. “A little Sweatergate message?”
“Not one word here tonight about Sweatergate,” Mac warned. “I don’t ever want to hear that word again.”
“I’m sure Cassandra is in good hands.” Claudia inserted her self back into the conversation and put her hand on Lacey’s arm. “But there’s nothing we can do right now. And as awful as this is, she’s lucky you were there to call for help.”
Lacey was about to correct the misimpression that it was she and not the little shepherd boy who had
Lacey and Vic looped back through the maze of party rooms to find the formal receiving line. She looked down an impres sive row of redandwhite Santa caps, a dozen or more of them, their white puffball tails bobbing merrily atop the heads of The Eye ’s managers, both male and female. Was the assailant some one here, she wondered, or was this just a weird Christmas party coincidence? Was blacktieandSantacap the party fad this year?
Their publisher, Claudia Darnell, had recruited a mostly goodnatured crew of Santas, but Lacey’s editor Mac, his Santa cap pulled down over his bushy eyebrows like a thug’s stocking cap, looked like the Christmas elf voted Least Jolly.
Lacey took another look to make sure all the newspaper’s managers were wearing their festive headgear, shaking her head at the charmingly ridiculous sight of grown men and women, serious journalists all, in tuxedos and formals—and Santa caps. Claudia looked elegant in a red silk sheath dress that dis played her toned arms. Her blue eyes were set off nicely by her deep buttery tan and her sleek ice blond hair was styled in a French twist. The Santa cap edict didn’t seem to apply to Clau dia; after all, it was her newspaper, and her party. Claudia was a woman of a certain age, fiftysomething, but she had a killer figure and a proven magnetism for male attention. Even Vic had appreciative eyes for her. Lacey elbowed him gently in the ribs. Men flocked around Claudia now, worker bees adoring their queen, and not just The Eye ’s staff, but also her invitees, K Street lawyers, lobbyists, politicians, liberal and conservative. They all had a healthy respect for the power of the press, even The Eye , particularly in Claudia’s attractive hands. They wouldn’t dream of snubbing her annual Christmas party.
As soon as Lacey approached, Claudia pulled her aside. The jungle drums of the newsroom gossip machine had already reached her.
“It’s true then? Cassandra Wentworth was attacked in our own alley?” Claudia asked. Lacey nodded. “Oh my God. How is she?”
“Alive but unconscious. They took her to George Washing ton University Hospital.”
Lacey could see Mac edging near them with a troubled look. Even with his brows knitted crossly, the Santa cap cocked crookedly on his head gave him a comical look.
“Now what, Smithsonian?” He growled in that editorial voice she knew so well.
Surprised he hadn’t heard, Lacey quickly explained what she saw in the alley.
“Someone’s attacked The Eye ?” Mac’s eyebrows rose in his familiar scowling arch.
“Whoever it was left her wearing a Christmas sweater,” Lacey said. “A little Sweatergate message?”
“Not one word here tonight about Sweatergate,” Mac warned. “I don’t ever want to hear that word again.”
“I’m sure Cassandra is in good hands.” Claudia inserted her self back into the conversation and put her hand on Lacey’s arm. “But there’s nothing we can do right now. And as awful as this is, she’s lucky you were there to call for help.”
Lacey was about to correct the misimpression that it was she and not the little shepherd boy who had
Similar Books
