Free Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum Page B

in the dye house. There was also a picture of Rod from his younger, nonazure days. For contrast. A note would be helpful, she thought, but there was none.
    The pictures were macabre and compelling. One shot of Rod’s Midnight Blue face was graphic and disturbing, not the kind of photo you’d want your children to see in the paper. But another from a distance, in profile, which showed more of the velvet spool, might be publishable. Another, better still, showed some of the shocked faces of the onlookers. Whoever took these pictures must have been in the crowd that day.
    The Eye wouldn’t print such photos, Lacey was pretty sure, but they might come in handy anyway. At any rate, whether to publish pictures of a dead man wouldn’t be her call, but Mac’s or some other editor’s. Perhaps even Claudia’s. Lacey didn’t remember anyone else taking pictures when the body was discovered. But the body had riveted all her attention. For all she knew, the photos were leaked by someone at the Black Martin police department, hoping to embarrass the state police. That kind of friction could be helpful.
    “Okay, somebody knows who gave me this envelope.” Lacey stared at her companions one by one: Inez, Blythe, Hank, Sykes, Kira. One by one, they shook their heads.
    “Looks like someone wants to help you out with your investigation,” Inez suggested. “Wasn’t me. If I’d taken them, I’d sell them to the National Enquirer .” Blythe agreed. After all, they could use the money and it would be payback for some of Rod’s more egregious sins.
    “Maybe someone sent them to DeadFed too,” Sykes added helpfully.
    That would be just perfect. Exclusive pictures of a Martian Blue Devil! Alien autopsy at eleven.
    “Maybe you and that nice Damon Newhouse can work together on this story,” Blythe suggested.
    “How’d you get interested in DeadFed anyway?” Lacey asked.
    “All my fault,” Sykes said with pride. “I turned everyone on to it.”
    The Hawaiian-shirted pirate. It fits . Lacey held her tongue.
    “It’s about time someone put Black Martin on the map,” Sykes said. “These politicians need to slap a big fat tariff on foreign imports. Stop those bandits from China. Slave labor factories. Hell, they probably got lead in all their fabrics.”
    “How would they get lead in fabric?” Lacey wondered.
    “Lead in the dyes. It could happen,” Sykes said. “Who knows? Maybe they wash ’em in cadmium. DeadFed says it’s worse than lead. And now they’re putting cadmium in toys.”
    The discussion turned to politics and foreign countries trying to poison Americans, in addition to stealing their livelihoods. Lacey’s attention was caught by a cool breeze from the cantina door opening. Officer Armstrong swaggered into the restaurant like he owned the place. Lacey tucked the envelope with the photos in her purse and smiled to herself.
    Armstrong paid no heed to her table, but headed straight for Honey Gibbs. Lacey was surprised by the intimate embrace the two shared.
    “Oh, Gavin, it has been one hell of a day,” Honey said loudly.
    Lacey strained forward. The room quieted to hear the cop say, “Don’t worry, Honey. You’re free of him now.” Armstrong, aware of his audience, flashed a warning glare. Heads swiveled back.
    “What’s that all about?” Lacey asked the table.
    “Comforting the widow in her hour of need, so to speak,” Sykes leered. “We all need a little comfort sometimes. You know what they say about pretty widows.”
    “Shut up, Dirk.” Kira rubbed her arms. “Honey’s had her troubles with Rod. He roughed her up more than once. Until she walked out and threatened to deprive him of his precious man parts.”
    “She looks pretty friendly with the investigating cop,” Lacey commented.
    “That’s between the two of them,” Kira said.
    “And no one wants to piss off the local law,” Hank said.
    Something private in this town? Lacey doubted that. It was a small town. People knew