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Authors: Ellen Byerrum
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with another pointed glare at Lacey’s beloved vintage suit. “I’m not even that interested in what you might have to say about my designs. Basically the collection will do fine without the help of your little newspaper. The celebrity media will see to that. I need your help for something else.”
“What?” Lacey cursed her curiosity. She’d like to stand up and walk out. Maybe I should have spent more time talking to Miguel.
Amanda bellowed for her favorite target. “Fawn! Get me my bag!”
The girl scuttled out from where she was hiding, with a large leather tote bag. She thrust it at Amanda at arm’s length, not daring to get any closer. Smart girl. Stay out of the slapping zone, Lacey wanted to say. Amanda opened the tote and withdrew a folder. Perhaps a half dozen articles from The Eye fell out. They were stories Lacey had written about the murders she had been involved in solving, and documents copied from DeadFed dot com. Amanda held up a front page of The Eye bearing Lacey’s photograph.
“This is you, right?”
“Not my best angle.”
“You found out who killed these women, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it sounds so braggy,” Lacey said. “And I’m no detective. Amanda, I don’t understand what you want.”
“It’s very simple,” Amanda said, as if Lacey were intellectually challenged. “Someone is trying to kill me. If they succeed, I want you to solve my murder.”
Chapter 6
“Someone wants to murder you?” Why do I get all the nutcases? And why am I not surprised? Amanda was clearly not as lovable as her press releases would indicate, and there were deadly looks being exchanged behind her back among her own staff. But murder?
“Just humor me! Okay? Or this interview is over.”
“Oh, that would be such a shame.” Lacey was unable to keep her comment completely sarcasm-free, but her fatal flaw was kicking in and she knew it: She always needed to know the end of the story. Besides, this was going to make great giggle-time conversation with her friends. Miguel would simply eat it up, not to mention Brooke and Stella. And she owed Amanda at least one good comeback in return for her comments about her suit. Lacey just didn’t know what it would be yet.
“Okay, sure.” So, you’re a murder victim waiting to happen. “Have you told the police? Tell me what’s going on.” Keep your poker face on, Lacey, she ordered herself.
“I have bodyguards.” Amanda indicated Turtledove, who somehow once again seemed to appear out of the ether, and at her nod silently drew forward out of the shadows. A beautiful mixture of races, the dark man looked even bigger up close, wearing khakis and a short-sleeved black knit shirt that showed off his bulging biceps to maximum effect. He was very intimidating. Lacey took his hand, and Amanda made a cursory introduction. “This is Forrest Thunderbird. He’s the day shift.”
“Pleased to meet you, miss.” Only Lacey could see the look of recognition on his face.
“Smithsonian. Lacey Smithsonian.” He gave Lacey another wink and took her hand. “I feel as if I know you already,” Lacey said.
“But can we ever really know each other?” Forrest replied.
“You’re right. There are so many layers to uncover,” Lacey deadpanned.
“An interesting proposition,” he murmured.
Lacey cocked one eyebrow and blushed a little. She hadn’t intended a double entendre. But Turtledove, a.k.a. Forrest, seemed to be enjoying himself, which irritated Amanda.
“Enough chitchat! Forrest, go check my dressing room to see how someone could have gotten in there past you and your so-called security experts.”
“I can tell you, Miss Manville, that no one has breached security. Everyone who has entered has been on the list. If someone is leaving you notes, it’s someone on the list. And I’ve been informed that the people on the list are not my concern.” He set his shoulders back, nodded to Lacey, and gave a small salute to Amanda before
“What?” Lacey cursed her curiosity. She’d like to stand up and walk out. Maybe I should have spent more time talking to Miguel.
Amanda bellowed for her favorite target. “Fawn! Get me my bag!”
The girl scuttled out from where she was hiding, with a large leather tote bag. She thrust it at Amanda at arm’s length, not daring to get any closer. Smart girl. Stay out of the slapping zone, Lacey wanted to say. Amanda opened the tote and withdrew a folder. Perhaps a half dozen articles from The Eye fell out. They were stories Lacey had written about the murders she had been involved in solving, and documents copied from DeadFed dot com. Amanda held up a front page of The Eye bearing Lacey’s photograph.
“This is you, right?”
“Not my best angle.”
“You found out who killed these women, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it sounds so braggy,” Lacey said. “And I’m no detective. Amanda, I don’t understand what you want.”
“It’s very simple,” Amanda said, as if Lacey were intellectually challenged. “Someone is trying to kill me. If they succeed, I want you to solve my murder.”
Chapter 6
“Someone wants to murder you?” Why do I get all the nutcases? And why am I not surprised? Amanda was clearly not as lovable as her press releases would indicate, and there were deadly looks being exchanged behind her back among her own staff. But murder?
“Just humor me! Okay? Or this interview is over.”
“Oh, that would be such a shame.” Lacey was unable to keep her comment completely sarcasm-free, but her fatal flaw was kicking in and she knew it: She always needed to know the end of the story. Besides, this was going to make great giggle-time conversation with her friends. Miguel would simply eat it up, not to mention Brooke and Stella. And she owed Amanda at least one good comeback in return for her comments about her suit. Lacey just didn’t know what it would be yet.
“Okay, sure.” So, you’re a murder victim waiting to happen. “Have you told the police? Tell me what’s going on.” Keep your poker face on, Lacey, she ordered herself.
“I have bodyguards.” Amanda indicated Turtledove, who somehow once again seemed to appear out of the ether, and at her nod silently drew forward out of the shadows. A beautiful mixture of races, the dark man looked even bigger up close, wearing khakis and a short-sleeved black knit shirt that showed off his bulging biceps to maximum effect. He was very intimidating. Lacey took his hand, and Amanda made a cursory introduction. “This is Forrest Thunderbird. He’s the day shift.”
“Pleased to meet you, miss.” Only Lacey could see the look of recognition on his face.
“Smithsonian. Lacey Smithsonian.” He gave Lacey another wink and took her hand. “I feel as if I know you already,” Lacey said.
“But can we ever really know each other?” Forrest replied.
“You’re right. There are so many layers to uncover,” Lacey deadpanned.
“An interesting proposition,” he murmured.
Lacey cocked one eyebrow and blushed a little. She hadn’t intended a double entendre. But Turtledove, a.k.a. Forrest, seemed to be enjoying himself, which irritated Amanda.
“Enough chitchat! Forrest, go check my dressing room to see how someone could have gotten in there past you and your so-called security experts.”
“I can tell you, Miss Manville, that no one has breached security. Everyone who has entered has been on the list. If someone is leaving you notes, it’s someone on the list. And I’ve been informed that the people on the list are not my concern.” He set his shoulders back, nodded to Lacey, and gave a small salute to Amanda before
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