Raiders of the Lost Corset Read Online Free PDF

ladies’ corsets and other clothing were all confiscated by the Bolsheviks and used to further the cause of the Revolution. But according to Magda, one corset had been stolen and spirited away amidst the chaos of that horrible, drunken, murderous night.
    The Latvian guard who had stolen the corset, Magda had told her, was Juris Akmentins, her maternal grandfather, who had later emigrated to France and hidden the corset there. Magda wanted to mount a search for the corset, but she couldn’t afford the plane ticket to France and the expenses of the adventure.
    Magda had read Lacey’s “Crimes of Fashion” columns and recent newspaper stories about her role in solving several crimes.
    She was also impressed by Stella Lake’s slightly exaggerated tales of Lacey’s encounters with murderers. Stella sang Lacey’s praises as a fashion maven and amateur sleuth with a “nose for nuance.”
    It was time, Magda had decided, to share the secret with someone crazy enough to believe her: Lacey Smithsonian, a fashion colum-nist who didn’t take fashion too seriously and who had been involved in some unusual investigations. Magda had appreciated Smithsonian’s curiosity, her unquenchable desire to know the end of the story. And the corsetiere used it to her advantage.
    Convinced she knew where the corset was now hidden in France, Magda had enticed Lacey, and in turn The Eye Street Observer, into sharing her fantasy of finding it. It was to be the story of a seamstress with a dream. Lacey wanted this story, she wanted the adventure of documenting the possibility of finding such a treasure. Adventure with a capital A. It didn’t matter to Lacey if the Romanov corset proved in the end to be real or a chimera: It was a great story either way, though actually finding the legendary artifact would be wonderful. Lacey was resourceful and good at self-defense. What’s more, Mac had promised her that the paper would fund the entire search in exchange for the exclusive rights to Magda’s story. She was going to Paris!
    Despite the fact that Broadway Lamont once told her he heard
    “crazy shit all the time,” Lacey was afraid the tale would sound too insane, like the mutterings of a lunatic. To Lacey’s knowledge, Magda was not a lunatic. But Lamont was waiting for an answer.
    “Who would want Magda dead? I don’t know, Broadway, it’s not the best neighborhood here,” Lacey told him. “Maybe someone thought she kept cash on the premises.”
    “It’s not the worst neighborhood either, and this dump wouldn’t be a prime robbery target. And we don’t see a lot of drive-by poisonings in the District, if you know what I mean. Poison is personal and premeditated. It’s a female method.”
    “Oh, really, Broadway. How gender-biased of you.”
    “Hell, yes. So is murder. A man uses a gun, a machete, his hands. Poison is like a woman: subtle, devious.” He gave her the raised eyebrow. “Female. Like that girly little dagger you didn’t notice sticking in the dead woman’s ribs. And women are always in the kitchen cooking something up. Something like poison.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind . . . when you drop by for a gingerbread cookie.”
    Lamont snorted and almost smiled. Lacey hoped he had ex-
    hausted his interrogation and intimidation routine. He gave Lacey a warning and his card. “In case you lost my card from our last encounter.”
    “I could never forget meeting you, Lamont.” In fact, he had scared her during the interview. He still scared her a little.
    “You do anything about a new car yet?” he inquired.
    That was a sore point. Her beloved silver and burgundy Nissan 280ZX had been stolen the month before and, in the police phrase,
    “employed in the commission of a crime.” What was left of it was now evidence in a murder case. It made her feel sad and vulnerable to lose it to a killer. She had offers of cars from friends, Brooke and Miguel to name just two, but she’d been too busy with this story to make a