Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum Page B

table. The nachos were nearly gone. She scooped up the last bite. “Gee, thanks for sharing, guys.”
    A man approached the table. He was slightly built and wore a shirt and tie under his puffy purple parka, which was almost formal for Black Martin. His posture was overly erect, as if he were trying to be taller, and his serious glasses meant business. Lacey decided the young reporter looked like a congressional aide in training.
    “So you’re Lacey Smithsonian.” He made it sound like an accusation.
    “Not my fault. It’s the family name,” Lacey replied. “You must be Will Adler.” Lacey put out her hand to shake. He ignored it. She had gotten only a glimpse of him before, but she recognized the posture and the attitude. She’d had a similar one when she was a reporter in Sagebrush, Colorado. No local reporter wanted a big city reporter to ride in and snatch some juicy story away.
    “Did you come to town just to sneer at my newspaper and steal my story?”
    “Hey, I’m from The Eye Street Observer . I only sneer at The Washington Post .”
    “I am Will Adler, reporter for the Black Martin Daily Ledger , and you are treading on my territory.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m writing a fashion-related story on the factory closing. Because of the velvet. That’s not exactly your territory, is it, Will? Are you a fashion reporter?”
    He looked like he was wondering if she was joking. “The factory closing is old news, and it’s not about fashion. I wouldn’t be covering a fashion—”
    “See, we’re working completely different angles.” Lacey smiled. “Have a margarita.”
    “You’re sure about that?” Adler suspected a big city reporter trap. “What about Rod Gibbs’s blue body? Who tipped you off?”
    “I was touring the plant when they found him.”
    “You were there? That doesn’t sit well with me.”
    “Can’t help you with that one.” Jealousy. Lacey knew he was annoyed at missing all the action in his own town. She felt his pain. But Adler’s antagonism was beginning to remind her of the cops. He pulled up a chair and sat down. The former factory workers regarded him warily.
    “Even if you were there,” Adler challenged her, “I’ve got good sources, and I’ll get more from them than you will with your eyewitness account.”
    “Knock yourself out. Work your sources. That’s the way it works in a small town, right, Vic?” Lacey turned to Vic to help her out.
    He nodded. “That’s the way it works.”
    “Your little paper, Adler, is nothing but lies and more lies.” Hank turned on the local reporter. “I wouldn’t train a puppy on it.”
    “Nice to see you too, Richards.” Adler didn’t look at Hank. He focused only on Lacey, his fellow reporter. Rookie mistake , Lacey thought to herself. Follow the story, not the competition. “So what do you think about Gibbs? Is this the work of a serial killer?” Adler asked.
    “Gee, I haven’t heard of any similar murders,” Lacey said. “But if I hear anything else about victims being strung up and dyed all different colors, I’ll let you know.”
    “It would be good not to mock me,” Adler said.
    Lacey had to laugh. “Are you really a reporter? ’Cause I get mocked all the time. Part of the job. All I know is that Rod Gibbs apparently had a lot of enemies.”
    “I understand this death had cultlike aspects,” Adler said. “It was ritualistic. Who dyes their victims blue? A cult?”
    Inez spilled her drink. “You don’t mean like some kind of crazy witch thing? Like covens and black magic?”
    “Yep, now we have a cult in Black Martin,” Hank grumbled. “What are you drinking, Adler? Crazy blue Kool-Aid?” Will Adler adjusted his glasses and tried to look knowing.
    “Who have you been talking to?” Lacey said.
    He puffed himself up. “I would never reveal my sources.”
    Great , Lacey thought. Cult murders would be exactly the kind of loose talk Damon Newhouse would gobble up with a spoon. She suspected that Adler