Grave Apparel by Ellen Byerrum

talents. Didn’t you know?” “I’m still finding out.”
    The band played some lovely slow songs from the early Frank Sinatra playbook. Lacey and Vic danced without speak ing. Other couples made more of a show on the dance floor, but Lacey was content just to hold him and inhale his familiar aroma of spice and cloves. She willed herself to forget the awful skit and the rest of the evening, everything except being held by Vic Donovan. But the picture of the little shepherd boy in the alley kept popping into her head. She sighed.
    “You thinking about the skit?” He held her closer.
    “Trying not to. I’m thinking about the kid. What was he doing in the alley?”
    “Lacey, a boy doesn’t need an excuse to be in an alley. Goes with being a boy. You said he was wearing a costume?”
    “A shepherd’s robe. An escapee from a school Christmas pageant? Maybe a church Nativity scene?” She gazed up at him. “Would a boy run away from that? Would you?”
    “As fast as I could, if I had to wear a costume. So tell me where there’s a Christmas pageant in that neighborhood?”
    “Beats me. There’s a couple of churches, but it’s not a homey neighborhood,” she said. Eye Street at Farragut Square in the District wasn’t a neighborhood full of children. It was all business, only a block from K Street, the heart of D.C.’s finan cial and legal district. Lacey rarely saw children on the street there.
    “And yuppie parents here don’t let their kids out of their sight, let alone roam the city after dark,” Vic said. “Of course, boys generally will find a way to get off the leash. Back in Sagebrush, that boy’d be shooting up street signs.”
    “He called for help. Seemed like a nice kid. Pretty mature, e xce p t. . .”
    “Except what?”
    “He wouldn’t tell me his name.”
    “So the kid didn’t want to get into trouble. He wasn’t sup posed to be there.”
    “He accused me of asking a lot of questions.” “Imagine that. You, asking a lot of questions.” “Are you making fun of me, Vic?’
    “Not me, honey.” He swung her around, then brought her back smoothly to his arms. “In my professional opinion, this boy’s behavior is consistent with being a boy.”
    Lacey saw Tony and Linda Sue take to the dance floor. Ap parently the skits next door hadn’t kept their attention either. Wiedemeyer was trying valiantly to cheer up a tearful Felicity. His musical antlers were bobbing back and forth like a fool’s cap.
    “So, boys will be boys, Vic? What about the cops calling the kid a suspect?”
    “I trust you. If he was part of the attack, why hang around? Calling the kid a suspect sounds like an overworked detective going a little too much by the book. But don’t worry, they’ll probably never find the boy anyway. Kids are hard to find.”
    Lacey leaned against his shoulder. The adrenaline that had kept her wired all night had dissipated and she suddenly felt exhausted.
    “I’m not going to get involved with this one, Vic.” “Sure you’re not, Lacey.”
    “Really. I’m not kidding. I don’t even like Cassandra Went worth.”
    “Right.” He held her close and dipped her gently to the music.
    “And I can hardly stand Felicity Pickles, and she can’t stand me. We simply detest each other quietly now. So why should I get involved?” Lacey wasn’t sure she was convincing herself, much less Vic. She spun under his arm. “So really, Vic, I’m not going to have anything to do with this—” She caught her breath. “This incident in the alley. I don’t care if one of them at tacked the other one, I don’t even care who hit whom and why and who saw what and why the boy was in the alley and where he is now. I don’t care.”
    He brought her back to his arms. “Just who are you trying to convince, Lacey?”
    “You don’t believe me?”
    “You don’t believe yourself. Why don’t I try to keep you busy, and we’ll see how much energy you have left to investi gate