Shot Through Velvet Read Free Page A

unlikely to again. Not just because murder was rare in that rural part of Virginia, but also because their jobs in the factory were lost and gone forever.
    Lacey Smithsonian had never witnessed anything like the blue man either. She’d seen a few dead bodies—bloody ones, cold ones, and ones with terminally bad haircuts—but none like this. She held her breath, her heart beating wildly. It was a last day of work no one here would ever forget. The ruined velvet was more than the last batch of the day: It was the last batch. The final spool of Dominion Velvet ever to be dyed at this factory. And now Lacey had missed her chance to see how the dyeing process actually worked from start to finish. This was the finish.
    As Dominion Velvet General Manager Tom Nicholson had put it earlier, “The world keeps on getting smaller. You see, Ms. Smithsonian, making velvet isn’t just a manufacturing operation. It’s more of an art, and very labor-intensive. It’s expensive to produce.”
    When Lacey asked about the new plan for the factory that Rod Gibbs had mentioned, Nicholson said that was a fantasy. In better days, the factory had close to a hundred looms and more than a hundred workers. Now it was just a ghost of its former glory. The half-dyed spool of velvet was a reminder that dyeing the last batch of “greige goods,” the cream-colored, undyed fabric, was the final task on this ultimate day of full operations.
    Dominion Velvet had picked this bitter cold Monday in February to let their factory workers go, supposedly to avoid the deeper depression that comes with shutting down at the end of the week, according to Nicholson.
    “I don’t understand it either,” he had told her and Vic in the office. “Some psychobabble mumbo jumbo. My people aren’t any happier to be let go on the first day of the week than the last, far as I can tell.”
    Once the fabric of kings and queens, of luxury and wealth, velvet was subject to the whims of fashion and the hard economics of trade. Like Dorothy Parker’s ode to a satin dress, velvet too had the ability to soothe and comfort and “ease a heart.” Nothing was as deeply textured or as warm or as comforting as velvet.
    Lacey was rather sorry that she hadn’t worn something velvet today. In memoriam. Her wardrobe held some favorite velvet pieces in black, green, and burgundy, which intensified her blue-green eyes, and rich jewel-toned velvet always contrasted nicely with the highlights in her light brown hair, which she wore today in a French twist. With the economy so dreary and depressed people all around her in Washington wearing nothing but shades of gray, Lacey thought it was time to dress up in the downturn. But today she had decided to go with a simple vintage purple wool jacket and black slacks, as if wearing velvet would be giving it too much favor, as if she were taking its side against other fabrics.
    Nicholson cleared his throat to break the spell. He stepped a bit closer to the corpse, taking care not to touch anything. Nicholson had a young man’s face and an old man’s worried air. Casually dressed in a tan shirt and khaki slacks, his shoulders seemed to take on weight, dragging him down. With exasperation, he turned and gestured to Donovan. “About this security contract. We’re going to need some changes.”
    Vic nodded in response. “Goes without saying.”
    “I’m afraid this tour is over, Ms. Smithsonian,” Nicholson said. “I have to call the police.”
    Lacey nodded, but she knew it didn’t mean the story was over. Her story here was just beginning.
    “Who is the blue man?” she asked.
    “That man is the Blue Devil,” Inez murmured, still clutching her hair and pulling tight on her braid.
    “Who is the Blue Devil?” Lacey asked. “And where is Rod Gibbs?”
    “I believe you’re looking at Rodney Gibbs right now,” Nicholson said. “He’s had better days.”

Chapter 2
    Lacey and Vic shared a look. This day had just gotten worse.
    To