Masking for Trouble
PRAISE FOR A DISGUISE TO DIE FOR
“Meet Margo Tamblyn, the newest, savviest, smartest heroine to join the cozy mystery world . . . Weave in a quirky cast of characters, a fascinating setting, a fast-paced plot, and yummy recipes, and you have a thoroughly appealing whodunit that will keep you guessing all-night long.”
—Kate Carlisle, New York Times bestselling author of the Fixer-Upper Mysteries and the Bibliophile Mysteries
“Margo Tamblyn is in the business of creating new identities in costume—the perfect concept for a mystery series. Both madcap and moving, A Disguise to Die For has the right amount of humor, poignancy, and danger for a most irresistible whodunit. Highly recommended!”
—Naomi Hirahara, Edgar® Award–winning author of the Officer Ellie Rush Mysteries
“A fresh, funny voice, irresistible characters—and oh, the costumes! No disguising the fact that Diane Vallere’s new cozy is a winner.”
—Lucy Burdette, national bestselling author of the Key West Food Critic Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Diane Vallere
Material Witness Mysteries
SUEDE TO REST
CRUSHED VELVET
SILK STALKINGS
Costume Shop Mysteries
A DISGUISE TO DIE FOR
MASKING FOR TROUBLE
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Diane Vallere
Excerpt from Silk Stalkings copyright © 2016 by Diane Vallere
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eBook ISBN: 9780698183445
Cover art by Mick McGinty
Cover design by Sarah Oberrender
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
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To the lovers of Halloween, be you young or old.
Acknowledgments
As a lifelong fan of Halloween, it stood to reason that one of the three Costume Shop Mysteries would take place over the holiday. What better excuse to indulge my costume-living self? This book captures some of my all-time favorite costumes, either those I’ve worn myself or have been told about by others. It seems there’s a whole group of us out there just itching to take on a different persona every now and then.
Thank you to: Gigi Pandian for your valuable feedback. You keep me on the right track! Kendel Lynn, for your ongoing friendship and encouragement. Katherine Pelz and the team at Berkley Prime Crime who gave Margo Tamblyn a home. Jessica Faust, for recognizing the germ of a series idea in the midst of chatter about teddy bear costumes. Thank you to my parents, Mary and Don Vallere, for the costumes I had while growing up, and to Josh Hickman, for sharing my love of Halloween and costumes to this day.
Thank you to John, Carlos, and the staff at Ozzie Dots Vintage Clothing, Costume, and Accessories, for being so supportive. Your store is the best, and I encourage anybody in the Los Angeles area to shop there.
Thank you to the Los Angeles Courts for calling me for Jury Duty. The environment proved to be creatively stimulating, and much of this book was written during that week. (Who knew!)
And lastly, to the readers of cozy mysteries. Our books come alive when you read and enjoy them. I love hearing from each and every one of you.
Contents
Praise for A Disguise to Die For
Titles by Diane Vallere
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Recipes
Costumes
Excerpt from Silk Stalkings
Chapter 1
Monday
THE LAST TIME I was this close to an angry lab rat had been high school. That time, I’d understood the rat’s anger. He’d been forced to live in close quarters with four others, and having once shared an apartment with four girls myself, I recognized the universal crankiness that comes from the invasion of personal space.
Today, the angry lab rat in front of me had a different reason to be upset. I’d just accidentally jabbed him in the head with a fistful of pipe cleaners.
“Hold still,” I said. “If I don’t get these pipe cleaners in at the right angle, the ears will never stand up.” The lab rat mumbled something unintelligible. “You have to stop talking! I can’t understand you.”
The rat reached his arms—two furry white appendages that ended in pink oven mitts—up and lifted the carefully crafted mask from his head. “You’re going to have to put more ventilation in there,” Kirby said. “I could barely breathe.”
Kirby Grizwitz was a part-time employee of Disguise DeLimit, my family’s costume shop. After my dad’s heart attack six months ago, Kirby’s hours had become more regular, filling in his spare time between swim team practices. Usually his job responsibilities included keeping the racks straight, handling rentals, and cataloging new inventory, but October was to our costume shop what April was to tax accountants, and our individual job responsibilities flexed to fit the needs of the business. Our whole town of Proper City went a little crazy around Halloween, and somewhere in the eighties the Proper City High School had adjusted their curriculum to include a weeklong break. Aside from Kirby’s committment to the swim team, his days were available and he picked up extra hours at the store to help out.
Today’s need was to put the finishing touches on a giant lab rat costume for Kirby’s chemistry teacher. He’d allowed—the teacher
, not Kirby—his honors class to choose his costume for this year’s Halloween, and they’d decided to go ironic. Enter Disguise DeLimit.
“More ventilation. I can do that. But look, the ears are perfect.” I took the head from Kirby and turned it around so it faced him. He seemed unimpressed. The chimes over the front door rang, and Ebony Welles walked in. I quickly pulled the rat head over my jet-black hair and stepped behind the register.
Ebony was a strong, black sixty-year-old woman in a 1970s wardrobe. She had a brushed-out afro, a collection of bell-bottoms to rival J. J. Walker, and a white bichon frise named Ivory. I’d never known my own mother because she died in childbirth, but Ebony was like a mom to me—having stepped into the surrogate role sometime around when I was five. She and my dad had never been more than friends, though they often acted like an old married couple, especially when it came to raising me. Somewhere along the last five years, her concerns had shifted from convincing my dad to raise my allowance to helping me find a nice single man and settle down.
Ebony had enough superstitions to challenge the most powerful rabbit’s foot, and this time of year, she preferred not to venture far from Shindig, her party planning business. When she did, she added what we called her October Accessories: garlic necklace, silver bullet earrings, and a rubber mallet that no one could explain except that it might help her destroy zombie brains.
I watched her scan the interior of the store. When her eyes alighted on me, I stood straight up. She pointed a shiny black talon at me. “See, that right there is what’s wrong with this holiday. There ain’t no good reason for a giant lab rat to be running around our city.”
I dropped down behind the counter, knocking a tray of vampire teeth into a plastic tub filled with foam clown noses. The tub spilled and round foam balls rolled across the floor. The mask shifted so I could no longer see, and, even more than before, I had trouble breathing.
As it turned out, Kirby was right. The mask needed more ventilation.
Muffled sounds from the costume shop blended in with indiscernible noises around me. I put my hands on the head and lined up the mesh that I’d inserted for vision and watched a group of teenage boys flip through a rack of motorcycle jackets.
“She’s coming this way,” Kirby warned.
I put my hands on the back of the counter and pulled myself up enough to peek over the top. Sure enough, Ebony was steps away from where I crouched.
“It’s no use, Margo. I know it’s you.”
Slowly I stood and pulled the rat head off. From the corner of my eyes I could see my hair defy gravity thanks to static electricity. I set the head on the counter and smoothed the ends of my flip with my fingers.
“It doesn’t matter. I was just trying it on to show Kirby that the ears were straight. That’s not my costume for tonight.”
“I certainly hope not. No way you’re going to meet a man dressed as a giant rat.”
“What about you? What are you wearing tonight?”
“Ebony doesn’t need a costume. You know why? Ebony is going to be safely locked away inside of her house.” When she was worked up, she liked to refer to herself in the third person. The idea of spending time at an old, rundown hotel that she not-so-secretly believed was haunted definitely got her worked up.
“Best costume has come from Disguise DeLimit for the past twelve years. You don’t want to help our odds? We’re not about to let it fall into the hands of an amateur,” I said.
“You’ll win. You always do.” She looked down at the rat head and tugged on the pointy, blood-tipped teeth that jutted out from under the nose. “He is kinda cute,” she said. She adjusted his blood-tipped fangs, smiled, and left.
Kirby pulled the pink mitts off of his hands and threw them down on the floor next to me. “I thought she’d never leave. That garlic was making me hungry for pizza.” He reached around behind him until he found the ties that kept the rat suit closed in the back, undid them, and shrugged out of the body of the costume. It fell to the floor in a mound of shaggy white fur, and Kirby was left wearing his Proper City Prawns swim team T-shirt and jeans. He kicked the costume to the side by the plastic tub of colorful clown noses and stormed away.
Halloween was a week away, but tonight was the big kickoff costume party at the long-vacant Alexandria Hotel. The tall brick building had been abandoned decades ago and was sorely in need of some TLC. A wealthy developer purchased it but had agreed to allow the residents of Proper City to hold our annual party inside. Ebony had turned down the job of converting the interior into a suitably haunted but not dangerous reception hall. Something about not wanting to stir up the ghosts and goblins who had taken to the hotel after it had been boarded up. Candy Girls, the tacky ready-made costume/theme party supplier—who, much to our chagrin, occasionally gave both Ebony and Disguise DeLimit a run for our money—had ended up with the job.
The annual kickoff party was a special, private celebration for those of us involved in the planning of the Proper City Halloween festivities. It started at six so even the youngsters of the participating familes could go and was the first chance people had to show off their costumes for the Halloween season. Ebony might have planned to stay away, but not me. In a couple of hours, I’d be in my own costume, meeting up with a friend in the parking lot, ready to see how everything turned out.
The cowbell over the door chimed and I looked up. A fiftyish man in a black business suit walked in. His shirt and tie were impeccable, and his briefcase was practically brand new. His white hair was parted on the side and smoothed into place, and contrasted sharply with the black frames on his glasses. I came out from behind the counter and met him halfway in the store.
“Nice costume,” I said. “Government agent? We carry clip-on IDs if you’d like to accessorize.”
He looked down at his suit and then up at me, confused. “I’m looking for Jerry Tamblyn, owner of Disguise DeLimit. Is he here?”
“No, he’s not. I’m Margo Tamblyn, his daughter. I run the store these days. Can I help you with something?”
The man’s expression told me he wasn’t here to rent a costume. He reached down to a bookcase filled with brightly colored clown feet and pushed the feet to the side, knocking a few pair onto the floor. I scooped to pick them up. He set his briefcase on the top, popped open the locks, and pulled out a white envelope.
I glanced around the store. Kirby was busy with the teenagers by the rack of black leather jackets. One of the girls held a pink satin jacket with PINK LADIES embroidered on the back. Two teenage girls held up shapeless red and white striped all-in-one jumpsuits that we rented with blue wigs. Thing One and Thing Two from The Cat in the Hat. Always a good choice.
“If you’re selling something, I’m not interested,” I said. “We’re pretty busy right now, so I can’t spare any more time.”
“I’ll only take a moment of your time. I’ve tried at length to contact you by mail. I can only assume from your lack of response and your continued focus on renting costumes that you’ve chosen to ignore the issue.”
“What issue?”
“The issue of Halloween. As you know, this year’s festivities are scheduled to take place at the Alexandria Hotel in West Proper.”
“I know all that. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I now own the Alexandria Hotel, and I’ve restricted access to the party to those in my employ.” His mouth pulled into a line that must be what passed for his smile. “Read the letter inside. The situation is self-explanatory.” He checked his watch again, and then closed up his briefcase and lifted it from the now empty shelf. “Good day, Ms. Tamblyn,” he said. He turned and left without waiting for me to look inside the envelope.
Kirby joined me. “What was that all about? Government agent needs Jerry’s testimony about some aliens?”
“No. That man said he bought the Alexandria Hotel. He said now that it’s under p
rivate ownership, we’re being banned from entering a costume in the contest!”
Chapter 2
“BANNED?” KIRBY SAID. “Who can do that? And why tell you now? Jerry’s going to have a fit when he hears this. Halloween is a big deal to happen to a costume shop.” He shook his head.
Kirby was right about two things: Halloween was our busiest time, and Jerry—my dad and owner of the costume shop since the ’70s—was going to have a fit when he heard. I’d recently moved back to Proper City to take over the day-to-day running of the shop so he could pursue his lifelong dream of traveling the country in search of unique items for our inventory. I’d been the boss for all of six months and already we were in trouble.
I scanned the papers. Legal jargon was like another language to me, but it became clear enough what we were being told. The city council had taken a vote, and because the Alexandria Hotel was under private ownership, any benefits normally allowed to the businesses of Proper were being restricted to those businesses also owned by the same firm: Haverford Venture Capital.
The party, historically funded by donations from the neighborhood, was being underwritten by a private investor. As such, no businesses outside of their own could benefit from financial gain. If the winning costume was found to be from Disguise DeLimit, we would be sued for breach of contract—a contract we had nothing to do with writing and had never been given an opportunity to sign.
“How is this even possible?” I said.
“There was an impromptu city council meeting last night. That’s probably what they were talking about,” Kirby said.
“How do you know that?”
Kirby was a senior in high school. Until recently his biggest concerns had been wining the district championship and making enough money to buy a dune buggy. He’d never impressed me as the type to follow politics.
“I have government fourth period. One of our projects is to sit in on a city council meeting and write up what happened.” He scratched the side of his newly shaved head. “Our teacher said nothing good comes from impromptu city council meetings. I guess he was right.”