Grave Apparel by Ellen Byerrum Page A

with.”
    “You’ll keep me busy?” She arched one eyebrow at him. “You must have a lot more time on your hands these days.”
    “We hired more investigators to help handle the load. Be sides, I’ve got better things to do at night than pull surveillance.”
    “Such as?”
    “Keeping you warm. I’m hoping for a really chilly winter.” Lacey was glad the lights were low. She suspected she was blushing. Even though she’d been dying to show Donovan off tonight, she felt the glare of attention from every side. Lacey had been enjoying the winks and nudges from her friends at the paper, and when they caught sight of the handsome Vic Dono van, they were gratifyingly impressed. He looked particularly alluring when that dark curl fell over his forehead and his green eyes were focused only on her.
    “So what do you think of my plan for the holidays?”
    “I approve. And Vic, I’m really not getting involved this time, onl y. . .”
    “Only what?”
    “I’m worried about my little shepherd boy. Do you think he could be a target of this nutcase who cracked Cassandra over the head?”
    “Not if he takes off the shepherd’s robe.” Vic stroked her neck. “He’s only a target as long as he’s identifiable. Without the robe he’s just another kid. He didn’t know the assailant, right? And from what you told me, the assailant probably didn’t get a good look at him. Too busy.”
    “So you think the kid is not in any danger?”
    “Probably not. The kid goes to his Christmas pageant or whatever it is, he comes home, he takes off the costume. It goes back in the church basement till next year. End of story, end of trouble. For him. Maybe not for Cassandra, though.”
    “You’re right. Of course,” Lacey said. “Unless this shep herd’s robe thing is a new fashion trend. Crèche couture?”
    “Look on the bright side, honey. At least it’s not another Christmas sweater.” Vic’s eyes were caught by something be hind Lacey’s back. “And don’t look now, but I see cops at this party.”
    “Where?” She spun around.
    “There. Plainclothes. You can always tell.”
    She saw Felicity being braced by two men, one black, one white. They were wearing sport coats, not tuxedos, not Santa caps. And Vic was right, the trained eye of a cop, or a reporter, could tell at a glance they were plainclothes detectives. A dis tressed Harlan Wiedemeyer sprinted toward Lacey and Vic. He was sweating and his hair stuck out from his head where his antlers had fallen off in the rush.
    “They’ve got Felicity,” he spluttered. “The cops! They want to ask her some questions. They’ve got my sugar cookie! Heart less bastards!”
    “That’s what they do,” Vic said, steadying Wiedemeyer with a hand on his shoulder. “Just like reporters. Your sugar cookie has nothing to worry about. Does she?”
Ch ap t e r 9
    “It’s too obvious,” Lacey said, dropping her keys on Aunt Mimi’s trunk in front of her blue velvet sofa. “The Christmas sweater thing is just too obvious.” And why are we still talking about this? Lacey wondered. I am not getting involved!
    “Cops like obvious,” Vic said. “They like things that fit. And people do stupid obvious things. They’ll like the sweater con nection to Pickles.”
    Vic removed his jacket and took off his tie. “You look cute,” Lacey said.
    “Cute, you say?”
    She hung up his coat and stared at him. “Yeah, very cute.” “Not handsome, thoughtful, brave, clean? Heroic?” “Yeah, that too,” she admitted. “And cute.”
    “Well, I am cute. Just so we’re clear,” he said. The red light on her phone was blinking. “Uhoh. Are you going to answer that?”
    Lacey sighed and pushed the PLAY button. “It’s probably just my mother.”
    “Lacey, honey, are you there?” It was her mother. “Are you sure you can’t come home for Christmas? This is your mother calling.”
    She rolled her eyes at Vic. “Told you.”
    “I could call that boss of yours,” her mother