Free Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum Page A

Gibbs still had an air of wholesome prettiness. With a clean face and a comb, she might be a knockout. Her bubblegum pink nails matched her lipstick. Her striped red top and black leggings, which were tucked into stiletto-heeled boots, looked almost painted on. Honey was proud of her body, perhaps a little too proud. She looked like she had something to prove. Maybe to her dead husband.
    “She’s a fine-looking woman.” Sykes ogled her with a grin.
    “If you like that type,” Hank teased him.
    “I like every type,” Sykes allowed. Inez poked him in the ribs.
    Vic was smart enough not to say anything, but he caught Lacey’s eye and lifted one brow.
    “It’s ’cause she works as a trainer at the gym,” Inez said. “She’s gotta look good.”
    “Couldn’t keep Rod from straying, now could she?” Blythe waved their empty chip basket at the busy waitress, who brought a refill.
    At the bar, Honey downed a shot of tequila and sipped a margarita.
    “Hey, Honey, you might want to slow down,” the bartender said. “You got all night, you know.”
    “That’s right. I got all day tomorrow too,” Honey said. “Not only that, I got the rest of my life. I’m free!” She threw her head back and laughed. “And you know what, Pablo? I’ll give a five-hundred-dollar Walmart gift card to the hero that put Rod out of his misery. And mine too.”
    “I don’t know, Vic. What do you think of the grieving widow?” Lacey put her hand on his arm.
    “It’s grief talking,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. “And laughing.”
    “Funny kind of grief. More like relief,” Lacey said.
    Blythe volunteered some history about Rod and Honey. It was common knowledge around town that the Gibbses were not a happy couple and unpleasant divorce proceedings were underway. There had been incidents of violence where the cops were called and found blood on the door-steps. Honey Gibbs had filed the papers, but with Rod’s death Honey would inherit whatever he had left. Rod would have hated that, everyone agreed.
    “How do you know all this?”
    “We have the same hairdresser,” Blythe said. It explained everything.
    Honey’s voice soared. “Turning him blue was a judgment! You reap what you sow, Pablo, and Rod’s going to hell dyed blue.” The bartender asked her something quietly, to which Honey replied, “Open casket? Hell, yes! Let’em all look at him! Take some pictures—take all you want. Put ’em on YouTube! I don’t care.”
    Honey Gibbs ordered another drink: a blue margarita. The bartender just laughed.

Chapter 7
    “I’ll be right back. I have to see a man about a job,” Vic said. He squeezed Lacey’s shoulder and nodded toward Tom Nicholson, who had settled at a back table and was trying to shake off intrepid cub reporter Will Adler.
    “You’re sure it’s not a rescue mission?” Lacey asked and he just smiled. “Don’t be too long. You don’t want to miss your fajitas. They’ll come as soon as you leave.”
    She watched him walk away, admiring the view as she often did. When she turned back, she found an envelope on the table in front of her with her name on it.
    “What’s this?” No one at the table seemed to know. They waited for her reaction.
    “I think someone gave it to one of the waitresses and she set it down for you,” Kira said.
    Lacey looked around to see if someone would acknowledge giving her the envelope. No dice. She sensed some kind of gruesome practical joke, like an exploding snake, so she opened it delicately. She found a set of photographs and a flash drive. Lacey handled the photos by their edges and stifled a gasp. She wouldn’t have to worry about her own poor photos of the corpse. The anonymous pictures were much better. Several close-ups showed Rod Gibbs’s blue body hanging from the spool of velvet. One focused tightly on one of his hands, blue and swollen and tied with blue velvet strips. Another two photos were shot from farther away, showing the vat in context