Authors: Ellen Byerrum
Chapter 21
Turtledove selected a small round table at Velvet’s Blues that offered Lacey a great view of the stage. It also gave anyone onstage a great view of her. She sat with her back to the wall, far away from the front windows, feeling well protected. She sipped a club soda with a twist of lime and drank in the atmosphere, and the admiring glances. Her sharp-dressed bodyguard left her side only to move to the stage to begin the first set.
Velvet’s Blues was a little jazz and blues club overlooking lower King Street, on the second floor of an eighteenth-century building in Old Town Alexandria, not far from Lacey’s apartment, close enough that she and Turtledove had walked. Smoky blue velvet drapes framed the tall street-side windows and matched the velvet settees. The warm glow of little lamps illuminated every table, something like a nightclub out of the Forties, but without the noxious clouds of smoke. And the mobsters. She realized she didn’t come here nearly often enough.
And never before in this perfect dress.
Turtledove caressed his first set to a close with a soulful “Harlem Nocturne,” and the musicians put down their instruments to appreciative applause. The room was about three-quarters full, but the night was young. Before it was over, Velvet’s Blues would be packed and jumping.
As the applause died away, Turtledove moved with grace through the room toward Lacey’s table, but he picked up a friend before he reached her. He ushered the stranger to a seat next to Lacey and sat down on the other side.
“Lacey Smithsonian, this here is Rene Thibodeaux, one of my homeboys from New Orleans. Old friend of the family, good buddy of my cousin Timmy Tom.”
“New Orleans?” Lacey repeated. “Pleased to meet you.”
That sultry flower-filled city had been on her mind over the past few days, though she couldn’t say exactly why, other than Marie’s chicory coffee, which always made her think of Café du Monde in the French Quarter. The previous fall Lacey had visited New Orleans with Vic, chasing the legendary jewel-filled corset in which a Romanov princess had died. But those diamonds were covered in blood, forever staining the legend with tragedy.
Stella had gone too, in full-on party-girl mode, on the pretext of helping Lacey in the race for the jewels. It was in New Orleans that Stella met Nigel for the first time, and the rest was Stellarrific history. And Turtledove had been part of that adventure too, in a small but crucial way.
That must be why New Orleans is on my mind,
she thought
.
“It’s a pretty romantic city,” she said, coming back to Velvet’s Blues and the men at her table.
“Depends on what side of the romance you come out on,” Rene said. His work-roughened hand shook hers.
Rene Thibodeaux was a thin, rawboned man who clearly made his living outdoors. His skin was dark and weathered. By contrast, his light blue eyes almost glittered. His jeans and clean blue work shirt were faded and well-worn. His attire was casual, but there was nothing casual about Rene Thibodeaux himself. An urgent energy about him made him appear tightly wired.
“Are you in town on business or pleasure, Mr. Thibodeaux?”
“Not exactly sure yet.” He seemed nervous about something. “And it’s Rene, ma’am. Only bill collectors call me Mister.”
“We can talk here,” Turtledove said. “Lacey’s a friend. But be on your guard, Rene,” he said with a smile. “She’s a reporter.”
“Newshound, huh? No lie?” Rene looked ready to bolt out the door.
“I write about fashion,” she said. “Crimes of fashion.”
“Oh, girl stuff. Okay, in that case.” He relaxed, dismissing “crimes of fashion” with a shrug.
That’s okay—it’s always better to be underestimated
, Lacey thought.
“I can’t let Lacey out of my sight tonight,” Turtledove added.
“Until Vic comes,” she said.
“She’s a friend and she’s my job too.”
“A job?” Rene asked.
“He’s my bodyguard,” Lacey said. “Long story.”
Rene cocked one eyebrow at his friend. “Forrest, man, how you going to be bodyguarding her from up on that stage?”
“If there’s trouble,” Lacey said, “Turtledove will jump down and whale on them with his trumpet.”
“Only if my fists of fury fail me,” Turtledove added. “I’m partial to my horn. And don’t you be underestimating Lacey. She’s been known to handle a little trouble herself.”
“How’s that?” Rene asked.
“She improvises. Like a jazz musician. But there will be no trouble tonight with Turtledove on the job
—
everybody got that?”
Lacey grinned. “Got it.”
“So they still calling you Turtledove?”
“My friends do. What brings you to Washington, Rene?” Turtledove asked. “Been a long time.”
“To run you down, man. Need a little help. I got trouble. Woman trouble.” Rene stared at Turtledove as if he were wishing they could speak alone, without Lacey.
Turtledove caught his drift. “Like I said, Rene, Lacey’s not going anywhere. Not without me. She even gets escorted to the ladies’ room. So if you want to wait around and catch me later—”
“You might want a woman’s perspective on your woman troubles,” Lacey offered.
“She’s got a point,” Turtledove said.
“You gotta understand one thing, Miss Smithsonian. Lacey.” Rene stared hard at her. “I’m a private man. I don’t wash my dirty laundry in public. Especially not about women. When I got trouble I take care of it myself. Or I go to my friends, people I trust. I don’t go to no
po-
lice. I don’t go to no shrink. I come up here to see my man Forrest, from the hood, ’cause we be like brothers, almost.” Their waitress arrived with ice water and a wink for Turtledove and another club soda for Lacey, and she took Rene’s order for a beer. He turned back to Lacey after the woman left. “You okay with that?”
“I understand,” she said. “I’m off duty, and we’re off the record.”
For now.
“What kind of trouble is this you’re in?” Turtledove asked.
“The worst kind.” Rene spread his empty hands on the table.
“She took your money?”
“Yeah, man. That ain’t all. She gutted me like a dead fish. Might as well walk off with my heart on a hook, use it for bait, catch another sucker.”
“That’s cold, Rene,” Turtledove said. He took out a notebook from his jacket pocket. “She got a name?”
“Leah.” He spelled out the name. “It’s biblical or something.”
“Last name?” Rene shook his head. “What does she look like?”
“Medium tall, thin. Long dark brown hair, straight.” Rene motioned to the midpoint of his arm. “Little longer than yours,” he said to Lacey. “Big brown eyes. She’s real nice-looking, and you can tell she was a real beauty once.”
“Not now?” Lacey asked.
“Like all of us, time marches on.”
Turtledove jotted down notes in a scrawl that only he could read. “How’d you meet this lady?”
“I— Just met her one day. That’s all.” His eyes were evasive. “See, how it was—she was sick, in a real bad way. I found her, took care of her till she got well.”
“Found her? Did you take her to a hospital, or a doctor?” Lacey asked.
“Leah wasn’t too keen on doctors. I figure maybe she had some trouble with the cops, no insurance, couldn’t pay. Whatevah. Who am I to judge?”
“You fell for her,” Turtledove said.
“Like a peach from a tree. Thought she fell too. Said she did.” Rene thrummed his fingers on the table. “I ain’t a pretty boy or a rich man. I know that, but Leah said she cared for me. Guess I’m a damn fool.”
“We’ve all been there,” Turtledove said, to Lacey’s amazement. She found it hard to believe a woman could ever manipulate
him
. “What can I do to help you out?”
“Need to find her! Get my money back from her, if I can, maybe a little of my pride. And make sure she’s all right.”
“Why here?”
“She talked some about Washington. A lot. Said she had people here she wanted to see. She was talking about us doing our honeymoon thing up here. Not down the bayou like I wanted, far away from people. But she said you can get lost just as easy in a crowd. When she left, I kind of figured she was heading this way.”
“You asked her to marry you?” Turtledove shifted in his seat with surprise. “Doesn’t sound like you, Rene.”
“I was a damn fool,” Rene admitted. “Ain’t gonna do that again.”
“What did she do for work?” Lacey asked.
“Nothing, far as I could tell.” He had a wistful look in his eye. “I didn’t care. Like I say, she was sick. Needed a man to take care of her.”
“How long were you with this woman?” Turtledove asked.
“Some months. Found her last fall.”
“Pretty quick to be getting married. So, Rene, what about you, what are you doing these days, for work?”
Rene’s beer arrived and he chugged it like a man dying of thirst. “You know me. Still working barges on the river. Mississippi. Boatman, like my daddy and his daddy, and your cousin Timmy Tom.”
“What attracted you to Leah?” Lacey asked. “How’d she get under your skin so fast?”
Cut to the chase, guys!
“Life roughed her up some.”
“So you’ve got that in common,” Turtledove said.
Rene shrugged and gazed out the window. “Her pretty face has a little wear, like mine does, but she’s still pretty. I didn’t think she’d turn up her nose at a man like me. I don’t know. Leah just seemed like a sweet girl, had a hard life, and she needed me. Felt good to be needed, you know?”
Lacey wondered how life had roughed up Rene Thibodeaux, and how it had roughed up his Leah. At any rate, it didn’t look like Rene had an easy life. His history was carved in his face by the sun, and by trouble. She guessed he and Turtledove might be about the same age, mid-thirties or so, but Thibodeaux had the look of a man at least ten or fifteen years older.
“It ain’t what we had in common made me want her.” Rene drained his beer. “Maybe it was what was different about her, you know? Some women, they give you a fever. She’s one of ’em, and I ain’t over that fever yet.”
“Is that why you want to see her again?” Lacey asked. “You want her back?”
Rene looked up at the stage. Turtledove’s band members were gathering, getting ready to play again. “Closure. That what they call it? I don’t want to hurt her, I just want to know why. See she’s all right. And maybe get my money back, of course. If any of it’s left.”
“How much did she take you for?” Turtledove asked.
“It wasn’t every penny, but it was plenty. You know I live simple, ’cept every now and then, but I need what she took. Listen, Forrest, I got no one else I can ask, not anymore. Think you can help me?”
“Maybe.” It was time for Turtledove to rejoin the band. “Stick around. We’ll talk more later.”
Lacey nursed her club soda and listened to Turtledove’s music, letting it roll over her in deep blue waves. She had made a special request to hear “Summertime,” and she hoped Vic would arrive before Turtledove got to that magical Gershwin song. It was one of Vic’s favorites too.
Rene sat silently, seeming to have nothing left to say—at least not to Lacey.
“Excuse me, beautiful, is this seat taken?” Lacey felt her muscles relax when she heard Vic’s deep voice. She hadn’t realized how tense she had been until he arrived. She felt her mouth turn up at the corners in a big smile. She reached up for him and they kissed.
Then she remembered poor miserable Rene Thibodeaux, quietly watching all this romance. Vic took a chair and she made introductions.
“Now that Vic’s here, Rene,” she said, “Turtledove will be off duty for the night, so you two can discuss business without me.”
Rene nodded and thanked Lacey for her kindness.
He might look rough
,
Lacey thought,
but he’s polite.
He moved to the next table over to give them some privacy.
“You look especially beautiful tonight,” Vic said.
“You look like a very smart man,” Lacey said, congratulating herself on her vintage blue dress and its femme fatale vibe. And its effect on Sean Victor Donovan.
“Calls for champagne, don’t you think?” He waved at the waitress.
“Why champagne?”
“Still your birthday, isn’t it? And I’m glad you were born, Lacey Smithsonian.”
“Me too! I’d love something festive to drink, thank you. And Turtledove promised to play a special request for me. For both of us.”
They focused on the stage. Turtledove bowed with his trumpet, then nodded to Lacey and Vic. He hit the first notes of “Summertime.” They settled back and let the music wash over them. She rested her head on Vic’s shoulder and inhaled the spicy scent of him, content for the first time that day.
* * *
Champagne rested in a silver bucket on the table, and Lacey and Vic were lifting their glasses in another toast when a familiar, yet unwelcome, voice interrupted them.
“Bubbly! My God, my heart is fractured and you too are toasting—what? The New Year? What the hell is going on, I’d like to know?”
“Nigel,” Lacey said, her spirits sinking. “What are you doing here, and why aren’t you with Stella?” She had hoped all might be mended by now.
The Englishman was bleary-eyed and mournful. His hair was uncombed and in need of a cut, and his clothes appeared slept in. “One, I am looking for you. And two, Stella won’t see me. I have tried. I have stormed the battlements and besieged the castle. To no avail.”
“Why didn’t you let yourself in?” Lacey asked.
“I don’t have the bloody key! And she locked me out! We both have keys to our new condo, but Stella’s holed up in her old apartment. I stupidly gave her my keys for her mother to use.”
“So you retreated to the pub?” Vic asked. “You smell like a distillery.”
Nigel was about to reply when his shadow, the purported best man, arrived at his elbow.
Culpeper was also bleary-eyed and staggering, and Lacey hoped they had cabbed it to the nightclub.
“Bryan Culpeper,” he said, introducing himself to Vic. “Pleased to meet you. I am Nigel’s best man.”
“That’s debatable,” Lacey said. Bryan swiveled to face her and bowed. The bow nearly pitched him facefirst onto the table. Vic choked back a laugh.
“And the delectable and dangerous Lacey Smithsonian. Howdy-do.”