Free Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum

Flanders,” Hank said.
    Vic shared a look with Lacey and she straightened up. She told herself to be cautious, this could all just be bar chat. “Congressman Tazewell B. Flanders?” And people think my name is funny.
    Congressman Tazewell Flanders had all the sincerity and telegenic looks of a television anchor: shiny white teeth, a spray-on tan, the Kennedy haircut, and that floridly Southern name. He also had a nice blond wife who raised two model children and stayed conveniently out of his way. But Lacey had heard that the Blue Dog Democrat from Virginia who talked moderation was heavy on cash but light on political bona fides. What on earth was he doing buying into a failing factory?
    “Not too many people know that,” Kira said. “I could be fired for discussing it, you know.” She started to laugh. “Wouldn’t want to risk my career after twenty-two years.’Cept there’s no one left to fire me. Someone tell me why I didn’t leave this town long ago.”
    “Isn’t Tazewell Flanders running for governor of Virginia?” Lacey asked.
    “Not official yet,” Vic nodded. “It’s a pretty crowded field and the election is nine months away.”
    “Why he’d want to be governor, I don’t know,” Sykes said. “Seems like he’s got a pretty comfortable life up there in Congress. And he’s rich as sin. Everyone knows it.”
    “Why not run? Virginia has a lame-duck governor on a road to nowhere,” Hank said.
    Running for Virginia’s weak one-term-limited governor’s office indicated one thing to Lacey: Tazewell Flanders had no chance of winning his own district in the next election. He was banking on winning votes from people who didn’t know him yet. Maybe he could fool the state at large, then take aim at another office with more permanency.
    “Could be a long-term plan to be Senator Flanders,” Vic said.
    “I’m thinking the same thing,” Lacey said. “But why is he involved in this factory? No, wait. Don’t tell me he’s from Black Martin too?”
    It was Sykes’s turn to be amused. “Just like Claudia Darnell and Rod Gibbs. Only he moved to a fancy house in Richmond on Monument Avenue. And now he hangs out on Capitol Hill,” Sykes said. “Sitting on his butt is all I can tell he does for us. Maybe he and Claudia have nice long lunches together.”
    “What do people here think of the congressman?” Vic asked.
    Sykes shrugged. “What do we think of any politician?” The rest of the table laughed.
    “Save my job and I’ll vote for you,” Blythe said. “Do you know that fool offered to build a new gym for the high school if he’s elected? Like that’s more important than jobs.”
    Lacey made a silent note to contact Flanders’s office for a statement on Rod Gibbs’s death. His spokesman would, of course, have no comment. And dealing with any politician would make it look like Lacey was treading on the toes of The Eye ’s congressional reporter, which was never pleasant. She was beginning to wish she had never heard of Black Martin, Virginia, or Dominion Velvet.
    The ambient noise inside the restaurant was drowning out the canned mariachi music. It almost drowned out Lacey’s thoughts. Vic finally got the waitress’s attention. Lacey ordered fajitas and switched her drinks to iced tea.
    The table quieted suddenly as a new woman walked through the door. Heads turned as she passed. They watched the showy blonde sway her way to the bar.
    “Who’s that?” Lacey watched with them.
    Kira spoke up. “My guess is the happiest woman in Black Martin.”
    “Freed from Blue Devil Hell,” said Inez. “The lucky widow.”
    “Her name’s Honey,” Blythe said, hefting her margarita glass. “She’s celebrating, not grieving.”
    “Rod was a dog,” Inez chimed in. “Now he’s a dead dog.”
    Lacey looked at the newcomer with interest. She put the woman’s age at midthirties, younger than Rod. In spite of the thick black eyeliner and the fried platinum curls with dark roots, Honey