Grave Apparel, page 22
“You didn’t create the situation, Lacey. You simply shone a light on it, one that should have been turned on brightly years ago. Now, however, the family wants me to wallow in their misery with them, to try to mitigate the damage.” He settled back in the cushioned booth. “I helped drag them through the muck, so I get to try to wash some mud off the family name.”
“You’ve been called back into action for the Bentley empire?”
“I thought resigning from the board would get me off the hook. But now the family seems to think I’m the only one presentable enough to meet the public.”
“Because of me.” She met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jeffrey.”
“Don’t be. Because of you, Lacey, I learned some hard truths that I needed to know.”
“You’re not angry with me?”
“Did I come here to poison you?” He laughed. “I hope not.
They tell me this is a great restaurant, I’d hate to ruin their reputation.”
“But your family—”
“Sadly, you are not their favorite person. But you are one of mine.”
Thankfully the waiter chose that moment to appear. He took their orders and departed quietly. Lacey and Jeffrey were silent for a moment. Jazz was playing softly somewhere.
“But why are you in Washington and not in New York? And what’s this fund-raiser you mentioned?”
“According to our PR firm, the Bentleys must perform a public mea culpa.”
“And that is?”
“Good works. The specific project hasn’t been decided upon yet. The Bentley Foundation has not hitherto been known for its actual charity work. Lots of tax breaks, but not much real charity. And please don’t use that quote. So the Bentleys are now
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going to be giving some healthy charitable grants to some worthy nonprofit organizations. Or I will kick some butt.”
“You’re not really a Bentley, are you? Were you secretly adopted?”
He grinned. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day. Maybe ever.”
Charity work sounded like a good fit for Jeffrey, Lacey thought. He wasn’t like the rest of the Bentleys. He wasn’t consumed by greed or fear. A changeling.
Lacey gazed out the front windows. Rain was falling steadily, but she suddenly felt so at peace sitting there with Jeffrey. Buildings glimpsed through the drizzle looked stately and austere. Multicolored taxi cabs and black Lincoln limousines picked up and dropped off passengers. The restaurant’s front doors opened at regular intervals, letting in waves of chill wind.
Brooke’s own favorite Snidely Whiplash, also known as Senator Pendleton Wilcox, and his younger brother, Henderson Wilcox, suddenly blew through the door and handed their trench coats to the host. They shook off the rain, wiped their feet on the mats, and deposited their wet umbrellas in a large brass cylinder. Here were two of Brooke’s least favorite political characters, come to life before Lacey’s very eyes. Lacey was sorry Brooke wasn’t around to give her a play-by-play commentary.
Wendy Townsend of Garrison of Gaia trailed along behind them, wearing a dark green slicker and shedding water on the carpet. She glumly refused an offer from the host to hang it up for her, a grown-up grumpy Wednesday Addams carrying her storm cloud with her. The Wilcox brothers ignored her. Were they just inconsiderate snobs, Lacey wondered, or had they really forgotten she was there? Perhaps she’d invited herself along and they were ignoring her as punishment? Wendy seemed about as welcome in this clubby atmosphere as a third-party candidate. Lacey wondered if she were blind to the hostile undercurrents that were so apparent to her. How did this fit in with Wendy’s “friends with benefits” story about her relationship with Henderson? Jeffrey followed Lacey’s gaze.
“Sorry, Jeffrey. Just people watching. A dedicated follower of fashion, you know.”
“Understood. The Senator is always a good show. If you like train wrecks. He’ll be there tomorrow night, if you’re interested.”
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“Really? I guess you need some heavyweights.” Few Washington politicians could really be classified as true celebrities on their own merits, but a Senator was always welcome at a fund-raiser.
“Exactly. The event is to announce the program and meet with representatives of various organizations who will be vying for the money. Leaving out politicians who pander for cash, of course. We already take care of them.”
“You contribute to Senator Wilcox?”
“Not I, no way, but he and Uncle Hugh go way back. They have a lot in common, and the Senator is tireless when it comes to fund-raising. He’ll get to rub more Bentley elbows. And maybe Bentley wallets. It’s all about access. There’ll be a full house.”
“How much money is at stake in the grants?”
“Twenty million is in the pot right now. Broken into up to ten grants.”
As if blessed with exceedingly keen hearing when sums of money were mentioned, Senator Pendleton Wilcox spied Jeffrey and stepped smartly over to them, leaving his brother and Wendy sitting at their table across the restaurant and scowling at each other. The elder Wilcox put his hand out and a good imitation of a smile on his face.
“Bentley, good to see you,” the Senator said.
“Senator.” Jeffrey stood and shook hands.
“Don’t stand on my account, my boy.” Old Snidely acknowledged Lacey’s presence with a very slight nod, but he spoke only to Jeffrey. After all, Jeffrey was the potential contributor.
Lacey was politically a nobody. “Looking forward to your big event tomorrow night. The Willard, isn’t it?”
The Willard. Of course the Bentleys’ event would be held somewhere fabulous, Lacey thought, and the stately Willard Hotel, just down the street, where the term “lobbyist” supposedly was first coined, certainly fit the bill.
The Senator seemed quite willing to stand there and jabber at Jeffrey all day. In Washington everyone knows that one’s own time is valuable and the other person’s time is not. The trick is to monopolize the conversation while eyeing the door for the arrival of someone more important to jabber at. But Jeffrey cut the Senator short with charm.
“So nice talking with you, Senator, I won’t keep you from
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your lunch. See you tomorrow.” Senator Snidely shook hands again and lumbered ponderously back to his table, seeming confident of his next campaign contribution.
“Jeffrey, what kind of projects are you looking to fund?”
Lacey asked.
“Nonprofits. The foundation board will battle it out,” Jeffrey said. “Anything from arts groups, theatres, art galleries, to Boys and Girls Clubs, to entertainment. Has to burnish the Bentley name too, of course.”
“You’re the white sheep of the family,” Lacey said.
“Not my doing, but I’m glad you think so. Who knew a spoiled rich kid could be saved by a small town cop on the beat?”
Jeffrey had told her the story of a mixed-up teenage brat who had totaled his mother’s Mercedes, and a cop named Mike O’Leary who had taken him in hand and become a mentor and friend. The contrast between the Irish cop and the Bentleys, who were so proud of being WASPs of a certain social class, was vast. But Lacey thought the friendly O’Learys sounded like a much happier family.
“From what I heard, O’Leary wasn’t just any cop. But what do you want the money to accomplish?”
“I don’t know yet. O’Leary will have some ideas. I put him on the project. He’s on the Foundation board now.”
“O’Leary on the Bentley Foundation board? You are the white sheep of the family! Do you get a vote too, along with the black sheep? And the wolves?”
“Of course I do, or I wouldn’t be here.” Jeffrey’s smile was engaging. “Lacey, even if you won’t come as my date, why not come anyway and give me your opinion on the flora and fauna?”
She glanced across the room. Wendy Townsend was desperately trying to make conversation and gesturing wildly, while the Wilcox brothers ignored her and studied their menus. Lacey was puzzled. Why did they even drag her along? Just to ignore her?
“Like the Wilcox brothers? And is Garrison of Gaia going to be there?”
“With both hands out. GOG is on the list, as well as a host of public interest and environmental groups, Congressmen, Senators like our friend Wilcox, an ambassador or two. The
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usual suspects. But a Smithsonian would really class up the joint.”
She laughed, delighted, but then was struck by a less pleasant thought. “What about your family? Your Uncle Hugh or your cousin Aaron? They’re not coming, are they?”
“Don’t worry.” He put his hand over hers. “Meeting the public bores them senseless, giving money away makes their stomachs turn, Washington gives them hives after that fiasco the last time they were here, and Hugh has sworn never to leave Manhattan again. And they’re smart enough not to mention you to me.”
“Good to know.” She withdrew her hand as gently as she could.
“Bring Vic Donovan if you want. I’d just like to see some friendly faces there, or the whole event will be interminable.”
Jeffrey pulled a creamy envelope from his inside jacket pocket.
“You’re already on the list. Your official invitation.”
“Wow. Thank you.” A fancy event at the Willard was very tempting. And it was business cocktail, not black tie, so maybe she could convince Vic to come. He wouldn’t have to wear his tux, even though Lacey thought he looked so yummy in it. A Bentley event would certainly be good for a column or two.
They were interrupted by the arrival of their lunch. Spinach and chicken crepes for her, salmon for the relentlessly healthy Jeffrey. But before Lacey could pick up her fork, her cell phone rang.
“I’m sorry,” she said, digging it out of her purse. “I may have to take this. Please start without me.” She didn’t recognize the number on the screen. “Hello?”
“Lacey?” The voice belonged to the little shepherd. “Lacey, I need two coats.”
“Jasmine? You’re not using Cassandra’s cell phone?”
“Her phone stopped working. Cell phones don’t work good around here anyway. But I know your number. I’m good with numbers, you know.”
Lacey gestured to Jeffrey that maybe she should leave the table to finish the conversation. “Don’t be silly,” he whispered.
“Sit.” He took a forkful of salmon.
“Where are you, Jasmine?”
“I need two coats,” the girl insisted.
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“Okay. Two coats. Why two?” What was the girl up to now?
Building a winter wardrobe?
“I need one for Lily Rose. I have to take care of Lily Rose!”
Her voice expressed all the martyrdom a twelve-year-old could manage. “And I have to do everything. ”
“Who is Lily Rose?”
“My sister! You know that.”
“No. I didn’t know that,” Lacey said. “You didn’t mention her before.” There was a huffy pause. “Really, you didn’t.”
“Well, Lily Rose is my sister!” Jasmine sighed loudly. “A blue coat and a pink coat. Lily Rose likes pink. ” From the way she sighed, Lacey assumed Lily Rose had to be a younger sister. “But the blue one has to be bigger.”
“And you’ll give me the shepherd’s robe, right? In exchange?” Jeffrey was looking at Lacey quizzically. She covered the phone with her hand. “I’m negotiating a fashion deal,” she whispered.
“Are you winning?” he asked.
“I’m getting hammered. Twelve-year-olds are murder.” She shifted the phone back.
“I’ll give you the robe,” Jasmine said reluctantly, “but I need two coats. Okay?”
“Okay, Jasmine, it’s a deal. What size?”
“I don’t know, you saw me. And I’ve been growing. I’m almost thirteen, you know.”
I don’t know anything about little girl sizes! “What about your sister?”
“She’s lots smaller. She’s a baby. She’s only ten.”
“Jasmine, why don’t you have a warm coat?”
“Because!” Lacey was obviously an idiot. “Because they kicked us out and threw everything we had on the street. We only got to keep a few things. Miss Charday, she took the TV.
She said she’ll keep it for us. It’s a good TV.”
“But where is your mother? Was she there when this happened?” Jasmine was on her own wavelength and didn’t answer. “They threw out your clothes? Who threw them out?”
“Yeah, everything. And the people outside were stealing our stuff. Rotten people.”
“You were evicted?” Her heart sank. Lacey occasionally came upon the remains of an apartment eviction while walking in D.C. Once she had seen a woman frantically trying to keep
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passersby from taking her clothes and her furniture, yelling it was hers, leave it alone, she would get it all moved. It wasn’t stopping a crowd of people from taking their pick of her belongings.
“That’s what they call it. Evicted. We had to put our clothes in garbage bags, but I didn’t get them all. It happened before we got home from school.”
“Can you tell me where your mother is?”
“She’s coming back! She’s just gone right now.”
“She’s gone? Where are you staying? Do you have any family to stay with? You have to get to someplace safe.”
“But we only have our mom, and then she won’t know that we got thrown out and she won’t know where we are! So I have to stay close.” The words tumbled out of Jasmine, and her panic was contagious. Lacey tried to catch her breath.
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know! She’s done it before so I know she’s coming back. She is! She has this little problem, this problem with drugs, and she drinks too much, but she’s a good person and she’s my mom and she’s a good mom and she’s going to come back for us!”
“All right, just be calm, Jasmine, everything will be okay.
Where are you staying?” Lacey’s stomach fluttered at the frantic note in the girl’s voice.
“We’re okay. I’m taking care of Lily Rose. That’s my job because I’m the big sister. So there.” There was a big sigh from the girl. The burden of the big sister. “We’re all right. Really.
But we need some coats!”
Lacey tried not to sigh as well. It wouldn’t help to turn this phone call into a symphony of sighs. Jeffrey had stopped eating and was listening closely, watching Lacey’s face. “I’ll get them for you. What about your father?”
“We don’t have a father. We used to but he walked out on us and we don’t care about him anyway ’cause he’s not a good person. He’s not in a good place.”
“But Jasmine, where are you staying exactly?” She tried to keep panic or judgment out of her voice. “I need to know. So I can bring you the coats.”
“Sometimes Miss Charday lets us stay on her couch. Most of the time, if she isn’t drinking too much. ’Cause if she is, she can’t hear us at the door. I like it there, she lets me cook rice and
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stuff. I can cook rice really good.” The girl sounded so mature, so responsible. So lost.
“Can I talk to Miss Charday?”
“Not right now! I’m not there. Sometimes if she’s too drunk we stay in the laundry room. But it’s really safe because there’s a storage room that nobody knows about. It’s warm and the lock is broken and we can get in. So you don’t have to worry.”
She sounded like quite the little adult, but living in a crazy world.
So I don’t have to worry? An overwhelming feeling of desperation came over Lacey. “You can’t do that,” she said.
“Really, it’s not that safe. How long has your mother been gone? A couple of days?”
“She went away with a man a couple of weeks ago maybe.”
A couple of weeks! Lacey sat bolt upright. “Really, Jasmine, you can’t stay in the laundry room. Where exactly is this laundry room, anyway?” Yeah, like the kid is going to tell me.
Lacey’s head was beginning to hurt. Jeffrey was listening intently. “Jasmine, I’ll get those coats for you today, okay? Where can we meet? What time?”
“I dunno. I’ll think of a good place. I’ll call you.”
“Where does Miss Charday live? What’s her full name?
What’s the address?”
Jasmine yelped. “I gotta go! I’ll call you. Just get the coats, okay? Bye!”
“Don’t hang up, Jasmine!” Too late. Lacey hit redial on the phone. No answer.
“Trouble in the town?” Jeffrey’s expression was full of concern.
“A little. I’m sorry, I have to make one more call.”
“Of course.” He flagged down their waiter for fresh coffee.
Lacey pulled out her notebook. She called Tony Trujillo and gave him Jasmine’s new phone number to see if he could get an address. And she wanted to find a list of recent evictions in the city, going back two weeks. Tony thought it might be possible to pry the information out of the U.S. Marshal’s office in D.C., which handled evictions. It was public information, after all.
And, Tony said, he “knew a guy.”
If Tony found the eviction record and the address, she could go there. Jasmine wouldn’t be in that apartment, Lacey knew, but she might be close by. Maybe the woman that the girl men
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tioned, this Miss Charday, would be in the same apartment building, or nearby. After all, how far could you drag a TV? But was Charday the first name or last name? And how exactly was it spelled, Charday or Sharday? Or even “Sade,” like the singer?
She’d have to find her. Maybe guardian angels were watching over them. And maybe she would have a little chat with Mac.
Let’s see if he really is the big expert on kids at risk.
Trujillo said he’d try to have something for her when she got back to the office, if miracles really happened and pigs had wings. She clicked off. Jeffrey was watching her.
