Free Grave Apparel by Ellen Byerrum Page A

Little League.”
    “Little League?” Lacey tried to envision Mac’s smooth dome in a baseball cap.
    Her editor set his glass down on the tray of a passing waiter. “Maybe we could get a softball team organized at The Eye ,” Mac suggested. “How’s your pitching arm, Smithsonian?” Lacey just stared in horror while Vic and Tony laughed. “Nah, you’re probably better at catching those fly balls.”
    “I found her!” Harlan Wiedemeyer yelled from one of the bars in the foyer. His voice carried over the crowd, which he parted with his candy cane. “I found Felicity!”
    Oh, lucky us. Lacey tried to become invisible, but that never worked for her. Harlan had Felicity’s hand in a death grip and he was dragging her through the crowd toward Lacey’s little group.
    “Here comes trouble,” Mac growled. He took Kim’s arm and began to steer her away.
    “He’s not a jinx, you know, Mac,” Lacey said. “You told me yourself there’s no such thing as a jinx.”
    “I know,” Mac said. “Don’t believe in jinxes. Silly supersti tion. But bad things happen when Wiedemeyer’s around. And my wife wants to dance. Bad things happen when I don’t dance with my wife.”
    Kim beamed at Mac and took her husband’s hand. “Happy holidays!” They disappeared in the direction of the music.
    Vic leaned into Lacey. “I wish I had a camera when you two heard about Mac coaching Little League. The looks on your faces? Priceless.”
    “Dude,” Trujillo said. “Mac as a coach? Hard to wrap your head around.”
    “Even scarier: A team at the paper,” Lacey said. “Your boss is not exactly Ivan the Terrible,” Vic said.
    “No, Vic, but I do think Mac could frighten small children.
    He scares me.”
    “Darling, you scare him,” Vic replied. “The toughguy act is to cover his fear.”
    “I’m with Vic, here, Lois Lane,” Trujillo said. “But I bet his Little Leaguers play their little butts off for him.”
    Lacey heard a faint noise coming from her purse: Her cell phone was ringing. She could barely hear it over the party noise. Cassandra’s number was on the screen. She flipped it open and dragged Vic away to a quieter corner at the end of a hallway.
    “Hello?”
    “So is she okay?” The voice of the little shepherd came through. “The lady. Is she dead?”
    “No, she’s alive,” Lacey said. “The ambulance took her to the hospital.”
    “Cassandra, right? That’s her name, right? Is she gonna live?”
    “I think so. All because of you. But where are you? Hey, and what’s your name? Are you all right? Are you at home now?”
    “I’m good. I gotta go.”
    “Wait a minute, you haven’t told me anything. I need some more information.” She felt Vic’s hand on her shoulder.
    “You worry too much,” the boy said.
    Lacey knew the kid wouldn’t have called if he hadn’t been worried too. Quite the little Boy Scout. “We need to talk. I need to know—”
    “She’s alive. That’s okay then. Bye.” He hung up, leaving Lacey to stare at the phone. She hit the button to redial and lis tened to it ring. But the little shepherd was cagier than that. He didn’t pick up.
    Vic looked at her, his dark brows knit over inquisitive green eyes. “Something you want to tell me, darling?”
    Where to start? “I guess in all the excitement, I forgot about the cell phone.”
    “The kid has Wentworth’s cell phone? Aha. You know of course the cops can trace it, if they get a judge to sign a war rant. And I recognized at least two or three judges at this party. Course, they’d have to know about the cell phone.” She gazed up at him, her eyes large and troubled. “Now don’t look at me like that, Lacey. I’m on your side.”
    “But Vic, the cops think the kid is a suspect. I can’t believe it. He’s just a little boy. Who tried to do a good deed. And he did! I can’t just sic the cops on him!”
    Vic leaned against the wall and drew her to him in an em brace. “Maybe. But did you think that maybe