Read Grave Apparel for Free Online Page B

heading for a meal at a shelter.
    Crowds were heading for the escalator down to the Metro station on one corner opposite the Square. The sidewalk was a bustle of commuters on their way home or to shop, or to meet friends at a happy hour at a neighborhood pub. Lacey pushed her way through the throng. She realized the voice on the phone had been silent for a moment.
    “Are you still there?” she asked. “Are you still in the alley?” “Yes, but hurry! I think she’s gonna die!”
    “Keep talking to me. What’s your name? Why were you in the alley?”
    “Just hurry! Please!”
    Lacey turned left into the alley, conscious of the strong gar lic aroma from a nearby Italian restaurant. In contrast to the busy street, the alley was calm and empty of traffic. Lacey slowed down to take in her surroundings. She was breathing hard. The alley behind The Eye was shaped like an L and it made a sharp turn behind the building. The street entrance was well lit, but there were deep pockets of shadows at the turn.
    The voice on the phone sounded genuine to her. Lacey couldn’t believe this was some elaborate joke of Cassandra’s. The woman seemed to lack the most basic rudiments of imagi nation or humor. Lacey told herself she was foolish to be chas ing off down a dark alley at the sound of a frantic voice, but it was a child’s voice. Even so, she looked around carefully to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
    “Am I in the right alley? Where are you?” The voice on the phone was silent.
    Just past the turn in the alley, a woman lay on the ground next to a featureless brick wall. No one else was visible. At first
     
    glance, the woman might be taken for one of the homeless peo ple who clung to whatever bit of urban turf they could find, a nook where they might spend the night and not be hassled. But on second glance, Lacey saw it wasn’t a homeless person. This woman wore black tights and yellow running shoes. There was no sign of a yellow bike helmet, but there was a bike thrown up against the wall. The frame looked bent. Lacey caught her breath.
    It was Cassandra Wentworth. Dark liquid was seeping through her mud brown hair, strands of which had come loose from her ponytail. But that wasn’t what caught Lacey’s atten tion. It was what else Cassandra was wearing: a Christmas sweater.
    It was a masterpiece of its kind. Knitted Santas and sleighs and reindeer frolicked festively among red and green Christ mas trees and fat knitted snowflakes. It was decorated with embroideredin strings of multicolored Christmas lights, tiny but real. A music chip concealed somewhere inside the sweater was playing merrily and the bulbs were flashing, synchronized to the tinny mechanical sound of a tune Lacey knew well.
    The sweater was playing “Jingle Bells.”
C h a p t e r 4
    “She got hit on the head.”
    Lacey heard the same small urgent voice she’d heard on the phone. It came from behind her. She turned around to see a child stepping out from behind a large greasy blue Dumpster. She clicked off her cell phone.
    “Did you see what happened?” Lacey peered at the small figure.
    The child stood still and wary, poised to run. “Maybe.” “Will you tell me your name now?”
    The child said nothing. All Lacey could see was a blueand white striped shepherd’s robe with the hood pulled down to the child’s eyebrows. The shadows and glare from the yellow streetlights high above the alley didn’t help. A reckless little boy, Lacey thought, judging from the voice and the shepherd’s robe. A little wayward shepherd boy, strayed from the Nativity pageant. But there are no sheep here. What’s he doing in our alley?
    As curious as she was about the boy, Lacey turned to exam ine the woman lying on the ground. Carefully gathering up the folds of her velvet skirt, she bent down next to the still figure in the grimy alley. Cassandra was breathing, but she didn’t re spond to Lacey’s voice or touch. Lacey felt for a pulse and found one,