Free Veiled Revenge by Ellen Byerrum

haberdashery?”
    “Same old, same old. Navy and white are in for spring, because they’re
always
in for spring. This year with a dash of yellow. Yellow is the new black. Actually it’s not. But somebody is bound to say it is. Might as well be me.”
    “Then I guess you’re at the head of the pack.”
    She took a deep breath. “Hey, Trujillo, I heard a body was found this morning.”
    “Like many a morning. Tell me more.” Tony made himself comfortable in Felicity’s chair and propped his booted feet on the wastebasket. He sported a new pair of snakeskin cowboy boots he’d bought on their recent shopping expedition in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. He balanced his coffee cup on his knee. “You got a fashion clue? Know the victim, or just interested in my beat? There are days your beat seems to wield more weird murder wattage per square mile than mine, you know.”
    Lacey hesitated. Her week was jammed, including a final fitting scheduled for her maid of honor dress. She didn’t know what to do about Stella “hating” her wedding dress, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that a dress was not a life-or-death decision, no matter what the bride said. Even so, Lacey still had to ride shotgun on Brooke or she would show up in something better suited to a courtroom proceeding or a funeral than a wedding. And she had promised Stella to help check out the reception venue and fret over the pinkness of the cherry blossom petals with her.
    Tony sipped his coffee and waited, probably hoping a cart full of cookies would soon materialize, along with Felicity. “You were saying?”
    She decided to spill. There might be a news story surrounding Leo’s death, but whatever it was, it had nothing to do with her. Tony was welcome to it.
    “Remember Leonardo, the temperamental diva stylist who used to work with Stella?” He looked blank. “He was a suspect in the Angela Woods murder.”
    “Rings a bell. That Karpinski guy? Arrogant and unpleasant? What about him?”
    “He’s the dead body. Can you check it out?”
    Tony sat up straighter. “Sounds like you already have. What do you know?”
    “Nothing. Except—he crashed Stella’s bachelorette party last night. And he’s dead this morning.”
    Tony grinned and put his snakeskin boots on the floor. “Brenda Starr, you’ve done it again. Wherever you go, bodies follow. Or is that
fall
?”
    “Hilarious, Trujillo. Leonardo’s demise had nothing to do with the party.”
    “You say that
now
. I’ll make some calls and— Hey, wait a minute! You threw a Girls Gone Wild bachelorette bash and didn’t tip me off?”
    “Tony!” She snorted. “Are you a bachelorette?”
    “No, but I know a few. Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Smithsonian isn’t known for her party-giving flair. And on a Sunday night? But I’m sure it was
killer
. Maybe the dead guy ate something lethal at your party.”
    “You want lethal? You’re asking for it, Trujillo.”
    “Of course I am. How did he die?”
    “I’m asking
you
. Call your sources. I’m not the police reporter.”
    “I’m glad we got that straight. For once,” Tony said. “Sometimes I wonder.”
    “Can you find out for me without whining?”
    “I can, if you tell me one thing.” Tony looked around. He picked up her left hand. Lacey pulled it back. Tony dropped his voice. The sports guys were glued to their TV and the annoying junior police reporter wasn’t around. “When are you going to announce the big engagement? Remember, Lois Lane, you said yes to Superman, and don’t forget there are witnesses. So where’s the ring?”
    She grabbed him by the lapels of his leather jacket. “Shut up, Tony. That is classified information.”
    But Tony had seen and heard Vic’s proposal, while everyone was dodging bullets in a cabin in the wilderness back in Colorado.
    “Is it a secret, or have you changed your mind?”
    Yeah, every woman dreams of that romantic moment, under attack and surrounded by her nosy