“It’s
funny you
never
mentioned you were
Scottish,”
she
said.
“You
never
asked,”
he said with a chuckle.
“Part
Scottish. My greatgreatgrandfather was one Fergus Lamont. In fact, Lamont means
lawman,
so
they
tell
me.”
“So
we’re
all a little Celtic
here,”
Vic
said, as their
waiter
ar
rived.
They ordered two Guinnesses for the lawmen, and
an
iced tea for
Lacey.
“Speaking of
lawmen,
Smithsonian, I hear
you’re
up to your
neck
in
my
business
again,”
Broadway
Lamont
said,
his
deep
dulcet tones cut with a trace of sarcasm.
“And
that
business
would
be marching in parades?”
Lacey
asked.
“Nope. I’m a
watcher,
not a
marcher.”
“Playing
games
with
me,
Smithsonian.”
He
favored
her
with
his special intimidatethesuspect grimace. “I’m talking about
the
woman
attacked
behind
your
office
last
night.
Name
of
Wentworth. Off
critical this morning
but
still
unconscious.”
“You
working
that case?”
Vic
asked.
“No, thank the Almighty for small
favors.”
“You’re
taking an interest,
though,”
Lacey
said, trying not to sound
like
a
reporter.
“Negative.
I
don’t
know
if
this
heart
could
take
another
Smithsonian predicament.
Takes
years
off
a
man’s
life, Dono
van.
Take
a
warning
from
me.”
Their drinks
arrived
and Lam ont took a deep
swallow
of Guinness.
Marching
in
a
parade
can
work
up
a
powerful
thirst,
Lacey
noticed.
“I understand
there’s
a certain sweater of
interest,”
Lamont deadpanned.
“A
certain Christmas
sweater.
That one of your
fashion
clues?
’Cause
my
colleague
Detective
Charleston
wasn’t
much interested in it, until I
explained
that a
fashion
re porter
was
involved
in this thing and she had this theory about
fashion
clues.”
He
was
enjoying
himself.
Lacey
could just imagine the
two
cops yucking it up at her expense. She was glad she
wasn’t
there to
enjoy
the moment.
“But your
buddy
Charleston
doesn’t
work
violent crimes,
Broadway.
Or as someone once
explained
to me: In the District, if
they’re
still
alive,
it’s
not a violent crime.
How’d
you happen to be discussing it?”
“You
think cops
don’t
talk, Smithsonian?
They
talk. Hell,
that’s
half of what we do. Other half is
listen.”
“I’m not getting
involved
in this
thing.”
“That true?” Lamont
looked
at
Vic.
“That’s
what she tells
me,”
Vic
said.
“Yeah,
I thought
so,”
Lamont said, shaking his head. “Up to
your
neck
again.”
She
favored
him
with
the
famous
Smithsonian
Look.
It
didn’t
seem to be
working.
“Listen, I
don’t
care if you get all tangled up in this, as long as I’m not
involved.
But I gotta tell you, Smithsonian—” He in terrupted himself for a long drink of stout. He
licked
the foam
off
his lips.
“You
got some kind of trouble
mojo.”
“So
I’ve
heard.”
“That’s
true,
Lamont,”
Vic
said. “She has heard that. From multiple
sources.”
“So if I’m all tangled up in this thing, then what can you tell me?”
Lacey picked
up her menu.
“Not a damn
thing.”
“Cops talk, right? And listen?
You
must
have
heard some
thing.”
Lamont’s
brows
knitted in suspicion. “Such as?
Lacey
decided on the steak sandwich.
“Your
favorite
Eye
Street
reporter,
and no, it
isn’t
me, is of interest in the
case.”
“I
don’t
have
any
favorite
reporters.
That’s
an oxymoron.
Like
jumbo shrimp. Military intelligence. Who is it?” “What about Felicity Pickles?”
The
detective
coughed
and
shot
her
a
glare
beneath
his
brows.
“Little Miss Cookie
Baker?
You’re
kidding.
You’re
say ing
she’s
involved?”
“She’s
been
questioned,”
Vic
said.
“You
didn’t know?”
“Lotsa people get
questioned,”
Lamont said.
“All
the time.
Didn’t
hear
any
names.”
“The sweater seems to belong to the Pickles
woman,”
Vic
said. “The one that
was
found on Cassandra
Wentworth?
The
fashion
clue?”
The big detective nodded. “So
that’s
the smoking gun
of
Sweatergate,
I
guess.”
“How
did
you
hear
about
Sweatergate?
I
thought
that
was
inhouse
information.”
The
waiter
took
Vic’s
and
Lacey’s
orders, steak sandwiches, medium rare. Lamont
waved
at the first
arrivals
of his
clan.
“You
got a
new
cops
reporter,
don’t
you?”
“Kelly
Kavanaugh?”
“Oh
yeah.
That’s
her.
Regular
Chatty
Cathy,
Charleston
said.”
Doesn’t
he
look
like
the
cat
who
swallowed
the
canary,
Lacey
thought.
“So
she
talked
about
Sweatergate
and
made
Fe
licity look bad?”
“It just
shows
you
never
know,”
Lamont said.
“Know
what?”
“That a
woman
can cook
like
an angel and still be capable of turning to the dark
side.”
He drained his Guinness.
“Wait
a minute!”
Lacey
put
down
her iced tea.
“You
don’t
really think Felicity
attacked
Cassandra?”
“Lacey
Smithsonian.”
The
detective
chuckled. “I think
any
one is capable of doing
anything,
given
the right circumstances, the right mixture of passion and anger and something lethal in your hand. Up to and including
murder.
That goes for you and
me
and
Miss
Felicity
Pickles
and
my
Aunt
Abigail.
But
it
would
be a damn shame if your Felicity did
it.”
“And
why
is
that?”
“Because that
woman
has baking in her bones. She
takes
pure pleasure in it. There
ain’t
nothing
like
quality
baked
goods in prison.
You
can get damn near
anything
you
want
in prison,
so
they
tell
me
on
the
street.
But
Felicity
Pickles’s
double
frosted
maple
cinnamon
sticky
buns?
Not
one
of
them.
No
way.”
Broadway
leaned back in the booth.
“And
she has bright ened my day on the rare occasion
I’ve
had to visit your
offices.
Usually on
Lacey
Smithsonian–related
business,
I might
add.”
Lacey
refrained from saying that his
business
was
just as
often
Felicity’sbakedgoods
related.
She
had
an
indelible
image
of
Broadway
Lamont sitting on her desk
like
a giant, with a
cinnamon
roll in each hand.
“You’re
all charm,
Broadway.”
He smiled
broadly,
a charming
predator’s
grin, and stood up to
leave.
“That’s
what
they
tell me. Gotta go, rest of my clan is
here.”
The
crowd
at the
Folger
Shakespeare
Library Saturday
evening
was of the tweedjacketandpatchedelbow type, rather
than
the Elizabethan doublethoseandbodkin type.
They
were dis tinguished and rather professorial,
but
not
very
Elizabethan.
It’s
so
hard
to
find
a nice
doublet
these days.
Ensconced in an imposing marble neoclassical
building
on Capitol Hill, just a block from the Library of Congress, the
Fol
ger
Shakespeare
Library
was
one
of
the
world’s
leading
re
search
centers
on
the
works
of
Shakespeare.
It
was
also
dedicated to the study of early modern
Western
literature, ac cording to the pamphlet
Lacey
picked
up inside the front
door.
And the
Folger
boasted one of the most unusual small theatres in the District.
This handsome Elizabethan
theater,
a
nearreplica
of
Shake
speare’s
Globe,
presented
a
distinguished
season
of
plays
(mostly
Shakespeare,
of course) and early music concerts.
Vic
was taking Lacey to a Christmas concert there featuring
the
Folger
Consort, specialists in
medieval
music.
They
were join ing
Vic’s
parents, Nadine and Daniel
Donovan.
According to
Vic,
the
Christmas
season
officially
began
for
his
mother
with
a trip to the
Folger
to see the
Folger
Consort.