aftermath of the murder, it might explain why he goosed out of there so fast, without checking the facility again. But why not just call the cops?”
“You don’t really figure him for the killer?”
Vic snorted. “I figure him for a drunk.”
“And maybe a fall guy. And what to make of Gibbs? Pretty ironic to incapacitate his own guard and then get himself killed.”
“Rod Gibbs had the worst luck of his life last night,” Vic said. “Now my luck, on the other hand . . .”
Chapter 9
“It was a calling, really. More than just a job,” Blythe Harrington said mournfully. “I mixed the dyes. It’s harder than you might think. You gotta have a grasp of the chemistry. Making every batch consistent. Mixing special batches of dye for unusual colors. I thought of myself as a dye artist.”
Blythe, the artist of her kitchen, poured Lacey a cup of gourmet coffee and sliced a piece of cinnamon coffee cake. The sun poured in over the oak table in the cozy room.
Morning had really come too soon. Lacey hadn’t written as much as she would have liked the night before, and she had more questions now about Rod Gibbs, the big blue elephant in the room. If she was still sleepy, at least she was comfortable in a deep purple sweater and dark jeans. Her vintage jacket added dash.
Blythe squinted at Lacey through puffy eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever drunk so much in my life. I guess that’s how you feel when it’s all gone, like another drink doesn’t matter.” She took some Advil and offered the bottle to her visitor. “I’m feeling it now.”
“No, thanks.” Lacey was glad she’d stopped after one margarita. After all they had to drink the night before, the velvet factory workers proved to be pretty slow-moving interview targets this morning. “How long did you work at Dominion Velvet, Blythe?”
“The last fifteen years, after my youngest started all-day school. Dominion was like a family. Maybe not the best family, you know, but I had a place there. That’s where the ballet lessons and the piano lessons for my children came from. I could only afford them because of the job.” Blythe’s eyes got misty and she took off her glasses to rub her tears away. “I don’t know what I’ll do now. Got a little severance, but my husband’s on reduced hours, not much savings in the bank.”
“It must be very difficult.”
“I’m sorry to see Dominion go.” Blythe sniffed and put her glasses back on. “It was good, you know, not just pulling a paycheck, but making something beautiful. I could show you.”
Blythe left the room for a minute and returned with a lovely red velvet skirt, with elaborate gores and a sweeping hem, proving that she was some sort of domestic goddess. “I dyed this fabric myself.”
“That’s gorgeous.” Lacey reached out to touch it. “Did you make it yourself too?”
“Oh, sure. Sewing is my hobby. I got lots more.”
Sewing, but not fashion? Interesting . Lacey wondered where Blythe would wear such an elegant skirt in Black Martin. Perhaps a Christmas party. Perhaps it didn’t matter. For some women, simply having something beautiful hanging in the closet just in case you might get to wear it one day was enough. Lacey could identify with that.
“It’s beautiful, Blythe. Thank you for showing me. But I wanted to ask a few questions about yesterday. And Rod Gibbs.”
Blythe hung the skirt on the door. “What about him?”
“Why did everyone hate him?”
“So many reasons, so little time,” Blythe laughed; then her face darkened. “We had to take two pay cuts because of him. Longer hours, less pay. Fewer benefits. He said if we worked harder and took the cuts, he could save the factory, make it up to us later. Didn’t work, did it? And yet he would flaunt his fancy car and his fancy boat and his money in front of us. We all lost our jobs because of him and his partners. Dirk says Rod must have had some secret deal, some payoff for closing down the company. I
“You don’t really figure him for the killer?”
Vic snorted. “I figure him for a drunk.”
“And maybe a fall guy. And what to make of Gibbs? Pretty ironic to incapacitate his own guard and then get himself killed.”
“Rod Gibbs had the worst luck of his life last night,” Vic said. “Now my luck, on the other hand . . .”
Chapter 9
“It was a calling, really. More than just a job,” Blythe Harrington said mournfully. “I mixed the dyes. It’s harder than you might think. You gotta have a grasp of the chemistry. Making every batch consistent. Mixing special batches of dye for unusual colors. I thought of myself as a dye artist.”
Blythe, the artist of her kitchen, poured Lacey a cup of gourmet coffee and sliced a piece of cinnamon coffee cake. The sun poured in over the oak table in the cozy room.
Morning had really come too soon. Lacey hadn’t written as much as she would have liked the night before, and she had more questions now about Rod Gibbs, the big blue elephant in the room. If she was still sleepy, at least she was comfortable in a deep purple sweater and dark jeans. Her vintage jacket added dash.
Blythe squinted at Lacey through puffy eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever drunk so much in my life. I guess that’s how you feel when it’s all gone, like another drink doesn’t matter.” She took some Advil and offered the bottle to her visitor. “I’m feeling it now.”
“No, thanks.” Lacey was glad she’d stopped after one margarita. After all they had to drink the night before, the velvet factory workers proved to be pretty slow-moving interview targets this morning. “How long did you work at Dominion Velvet, Blythe?”
“The last fifteen years, after my youngest started all-day school. Dominion was like a family. Maybe not the best family, you know, but I had a place there. That’s where the ballet lessons and the piano lessons for my children came from. I could only afford them because of the job.” Blythe’s eyes got misty and she took off her glasses to rub her tears away. “I don’t know what I’ll do now. Got a little severance, but my husband’s on reduced hours, not much savings in the bank.”
“It must be very difficult.”
“I’m sorry to see Dominion go.” Blythe sniffed and put her glasses back on. “It was good, you know, not just pulling a paycheck, but making something beautiful. I could show you.”
Blythe left the room for a minute and returned with a lovely red velvet skirt, with elaborate gores and a sweeping hem, proving that she was some sort of domestic goddess. “I dyed this fabric myself.”
“That’s gorgeous.” Lacey reached out to touch it. “Did you make it yourself too?”
“Oh, sure. Sewing is my hobby. I got lots more.”
Sewing, but not fashion? Interesting . Lacey wondered where Blythe would wear such an elegant skirt in Black Martin. Perhaps a Christmas party. Perhaps it didn’t matter. For some women, simply having something beautiful hanging in the closet just in case you might get to wear it one day was enough. Lacey could identify with that.
“It’s beautiful, Blythe. Thank you for showing me. But I wanted to ask a few questions about yesterday. And Rod Gibbs.”
Blythe hung the skirt on the door. “What about him?”
“Why did everyone hate him?”
“So many reasons, so little time,” Blythe laughed; then her face darkened. “We had to take two pay cuts because of him. Longer hours, less pay. Fewer benefits. He said if we worked harder and took the cuts, he could save the factory, make it up to us later. Didn’t work, did it? And yet he would flaunt his fancy car and his fancy boat and his money in front of us. We all lost our jobs because of him and his partners. Dirk says Rod must have had some secret deal, some payoff for closing down the company. I
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