Masking for Trouble Read online

  I tried to pretend that I didn’t notice his closeness, but we were alone in the basement of the office of public records, and I couldn’t help think of much else. I stepped to my right, putting distance between us. “Does Tak know to meet us down here?” I asked.

  “Tak, right.” He ran his hand through his brown hair. “Are you and he . . . Oh, man. Did I read things wrong? Are you guys a couple?”

  I wanted to say yes, but I didn’t know the context of our visit to Tak’s old job. So far we’d kept things secret from everybody: his parents, my dad, Ebony, and Bobbie. “We’re friends,” I said tentatively.

  “Friends,” Cooper repeated. “Tak and I were pretty good friends once. We still are, only it’s never going to be the same.”

  “What happened?” I asked. As wrong as it felt, I wanted to know something about Tak’s past that I didn’t already know. Something more than the last six months since I’d met him.

  “Tak and I liked the same girl. She went for him. I guess I’m gun-shy now.”

  “Was that Nancy?” I asked without thinking.

  “Nancy? No, it was Lauren.” He smiled a lopsided grin. “Who’s Nancy?”

  “Nancy Nichols. She’s the new police detective in Proper. I thought she and Tak had a past.”

  “That’s Tak for you. Half the women he dates, he dates in secret. Makes it hard to keep up with him.”

  And just like that, my relationship paranoia kicked into overdrive. I felt myself stiffen, and I turned away from Cooper and focused on the map. “What’s the significance of the orange and green?”

  “Margo, hey, I didn’t mean anything by that. Tak’s a good guy. If you guys are friends, you probably know that, right?”

  “Sure.” I smiled. “Seriously, I want to know more about the map.”

  Cooper dropped the subject of Tak’s romantic history and explained what the colors and lines meant. By the time the elevator doors opened and Tak joined us, I felt like I’d gotten a crash course in seismology. I couldn’t wait to run into Francine Wheeler again and flex my newly strengthened muscle.

  “Hey, Hoshi. As usual, your timing is crappy,” Cooper said. “Another five minutes and I’d have her phone number.”

  A look that I didn’t recognize passed over Tak’s face. I stepped away from Cooper. “Is there any way to get a copy of these maps? Since they’re a matter of public record?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a duplicate made up and have it sent to your store. Disguise DeLimit, right?”

  “Did I tell you that?”

  “You mentioned that there was construction in front of your store. I admit, I did a little research after your flat tire.”

  I blushed and snuck another look at Tak. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. I looked back at Cooper. “Yes, Disguise DeLimit is my store. Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The three of us headed to the elevator. I forgot about my gloves until I was inside. “What should I do with these?”

  “Add them to the Cooper collection,” Cooper said. He peeled them off my hands one at a time, starting with the fabric at my wrists, so they were turned inside out by the time they came off my fingertips. “Actually, leave them with me. I’ll wash them with mine and add them back to the stash.”

  Tak and Cooper gave me a tour of the planning offices, but it felt more like their own trip down memory lane. Tak’s old desk. The empty cubicle where Cooper hid from his boss when he was late with a report. The secret closet where— They both laughed and didn’t tell me what was so special about the secret closet. Truth? I didn’t really want to know.

  It was after lunchtime when we returned to the main floor. Cooper walked us to the front desk and Tak signed us out. An idea had been playing around at the back of my mind, and the timing seemed right to approach it.

  “Cooper, you know how the Alexandria Hotel is off-limits for the Halloween celebration?”

  “I heard about that.”

  “My friend Ebony was put in charge of finding a new location. Is there any place you can recommend? Any buildings where she could get the permits cleared in a couple of days?”

  “I’ll think about it, see if I can come up with something. She talked to Sol, right?”

  “Sol?” I looked at Cooper. He looked at Tak. Tak looked at me. “Sol who?” I asked again.

  “Sol Girard,” Tak said. “You’re right. I didn’t even think about him.”

  “What does Sol Girard have to do with anything?” I asked, looking back and forth between both of their faces.

  Cooper was the one to answer. “Sol owns the other half of the property in West Proper. He had his own plans to develop it into lower income housing before Havetown was announced. If Haverford’s plans had gone through, Sol’s property wouldn’t have been worth more than a handful of dirt.”

  Chapter 14

  I HADN’T BEEN expecting to hear a familiar name in conjunction with the murder. Sol Girard had been at the Alexandria Hotel the night Haverford was murdered. But I’d known Sol for a long time. Along with being an Elk and hosting his monthly poker games, he’d refereed the high school football games when I attended. I would never have suspected that he had a motive for murder. On the other hand, I would never have suspected him of buying up property with plans to develop either.

  “How long has Sol been buying property?” I asked.

  Cooper shrugged. “I don’t know. Longer than I’ve been in this office. Tak, do you know?”

  Tak put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t work residential. Sorry.”

  “It must be in a file somewhere, right?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that be a matter of public record too?”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up,” Cooper offered with a smile.

  Tak looked at his watch. “We’ve kept Coop away from work for long enough. We should be heading back to Proper.”

  Cooper walked us to the car and he and Tak shook hands again. “Good seeing you, Hoshi. Don’t be a stranger.” He turned to me, and his voice softened. “You either.”

  “Thanks for showing me the map,” I said. I felt Tak watching us.

  “Sure. And hey, if Sol can’t help out your friend with a location for the Halloween party, let me know. I’ll see what I can come up with on that too.”

  We climbed into the car and started the drive back to Proper. The first few minutes were uncomfortably silent, and I searched for something to say to break through the awkwardness.

  “So Sol Girard owns property in West Proper,” I said. “He was at the Alexandria that night, dressed like the Wolf Man. I talked to him.”

  “Margo, how long have you known Sol?”

  “Most of my life.”

  “And all of a sudden you think he could have killed a man?”

  “No, but somebody killed Paul Haverford, somebody who was there at the party. Maybe Sol saw something. Maybe he knows something. Maybe this does have to do with the development of Havetown, and if Sol owns property in that area, he’d probably know about the plans for development.”

  “I think you should be careful about who you talk to and how you ask questions.” He swung the car off the road into the parking lot of a roadside taco stand called Tito’s Tacos. “No matter who you talk to, you need to remember that a man was killed. Whoever did it is dangerous.”

  “I know that,” I said. Tak’s warning sounded more like a lecture.

  He put on the parking brake and reached out for my arm. “That came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want you to be in a dangerous situation again. It wasn’t that long ago that you were almost killed in your stockroom because you were asking too many questions.”

  Tak was referring to a murder six months ago. I’d designed forty detective costumes for a rich guy’s mystery-themed birthday party, and someone had killed him
at the celebration. Ebony had been about to carve the goose and, in an unfortunate case of really poor timing, had discovered the body while she was holding the knife. Everybody had believed she was guilty—well, not everybody, but the police did and they were the ones who counted—and I’d been the one to expose the real killer. It had been the single scariest night of my life.

  “Margo, I care about you.” He reached over and intertwined his fingers with mine. “Maybe you should let Nancy do her job.”

  I felt myself stiffen. Tak didn’t know that Nancy—Detective Nichols to me—thought her job was pinning the murder on me, and I didn’t want to tell him.

  “I’ll be careful.” I squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Good. Now, how about some lunch?”

  We each ordered a plate of street tacos, loaded them down with onions and cilantro, and found a seat at a vacant picnic table set up around back. Two Chihuahuas romped around the yard, and a man wearing a dirty white apron stood over a small hibachi grill turning chicken. The scent carried through the air, serving as a more effective advertisement than if they’d taken out a billboard on the Las Vegas Strip.

  I pretended not to notice the way people looked at me. This time of year, most people assumed I was dressed to go to a party, so the curious glances were less judgmental.

  We took our time eating and stayed at the picnic table long after the tacos were gone. For the first time since we’d arrived at the planning office, Tak relaxed. Surrounded by strangers fifteen miles outside of Proper, we seemed to be in our element. Too soon, it was time to head home.

  Tak drove to his parents’ teppanyaki restaurant. The lot was partially full. He parked in the back next to the Dumpster, hopped out, and pulled my scooter from the back. “Did you tell anybody about the flat tire the other night?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then if anybody asks, you got a flat tire today. I drove past and saw you and gave you a ride back here.”

  “Okay.” We stood facing each other with the scooter between us. He put his hand on top of mine and gently rubbed his finger back and forth over my thumb. I leaned forward and he pulled away.

  “Somebody’s probably watching,” he said.

  “Oh, right.” I unlocked my helmet and pulled it on quickly to hide my hurt expression. “See you around,” I said, and took off for the store.

  * * *

  IT was two o’clock by the time I parked behind Disguise DeLimit. Cars lined the sidewalk in front and alongside of the shop, and hoards of customers were inside. Upon entering I discovered that half of the customers were Kirby’s teammates, all dressed like Elvis with black pompadour wigs and large, ’70s-style silver-frame sunglasses. They sat in a row of chairs with Ebony behind them holding a can of hair spray.

  Today she was wearing a severe cobalt blue, black, and white blazer over a black turtleneck and tight jeans tucked into black boots with several silver buckles. Her afro had been slicked down to the side of her head on both sides and shaped into a pouf on top. Her full lips were painted a shiny raisiny shade, and her eye shadow and blush had been applied liberally.

  “You . . . don’t look like yourself,” I said.

  “Grace Jones,” she said. “I look like Grace Jones. You people want me to wear a costume, this is what you’re gonna get.” She tugged on the bottom of her blazer. “Nineteen eighty-three. Still fits,” she said proudly.

  “Is everything okay here?” I asked.

  “Get over here, girl. We’re demonstrating how to use hair spray to keep these wigs from turning from Elvis into Sonny Bono.”

  I dropped my bag and grabbed a can of hair spray. When I finished spraying, combing, and otherwise styling the jet-black hair of Elvis number four, he turned around and curled his lip.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “Kirby? Is that you?”

  He laughed and stood with his feet about shoulder width apart, his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Well, I reckon I might go by Kirby some days, but in here it’s the King to you.” He curled his lip again. Ebony picked up the rat-tail comb and held it up like a weapon.

  “Don’t you go pushing your luck, you little redheaded punk. If you’re gonna dress up as the King, you have to respect what he stood for.”

  Kirby hung his head and apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean no harm, ma’am. I was just, uh, tryin’ to, uh—”

  “Get on with your bad self. There’s customers waiting to pay.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said again. The customers waiting by the register broke out in applause, and Kirby’s smile grew to the size of Graceland. He left us to join his new fan club and Ebony set the rat-tail comb and the Aqua Net down.

  “Fifty shades of Elvis. Not in my wildest dreams did I think I’d see that,” she said to me.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like to venture out too close to Halloween?”

  Ebony was as superstitious as they came. Her bichon frise, a white puffball, was the polar opposite of a black cat, and don’t think that didn’t play into her decision to adopt him. On a regular day, she wore a gold medallion around her neck, her good luck charm, and knocked wood, avoided ladders, held her breath over bridges, and scanned every patch of grass in Proper for four leaf clovers. I’d long since gotten used to it.

  Shindig, her business, was about party planning, and in our town parties required themes. But Ebony changed when Halloween rolled around. She tucked her medallion into her neckline and added long, silver earrings (to ward off werewolves). She wore a necklace of garlic. And kept wooden skewers—stakes, by her estimation—strapped to her wrist in case she encountered a vampire. The year I graduated high school, she’d sat alongside me in the library when I studied for finals, but only because she was researching how to overpower a mummy. I told her to grab an end of muslin and pull really hard. She didn’t think it was funny.

  While I was mostly sure that she didn’t believe in ghosts and goblins, I knew she had an irrational fear that couldn’t be shaken. Ebony refused to go on a haunted hayride or attend a haunted house. She believed that the spirits would choose those settings to come alive and wreak havoc on the rest of us. I gave up trying to convince her those spirits were the same people who performed at the summer renaissance faire.

  “This holiday is going to be the death of me,” she said. “Do you know I went to Dig Allen’s garage for an oil change and he was dressed up as a killer clown? I told him my brown sugar would be fine for another two weeks and I left rubber in his driveway.”

  “Ebony! Dig is probably still crying in his beer. You know he pictures himself as Shaft to your Foxy Brown.”

  “No killer clown is going to take me out to dinner on Saturday night, I know that much.”

  I laughed. “You’ve never said yes to Dig’s dinner invitations in the past when he wasn’t in costume.”

  She reached inside the neckline of her fitted blue blazer and fingered the chain that her medallion hung on. “Yes, but the option was there. I have standards. I’m not going out to dinner with a killer clown and that’s that.”

  Sounded like Dig was going to have some explaining to do once the Halloween season was over.

  “Have you had any luck finding a new location for the party?” I asked.

  “That’s another thing. Why am I in charge of making sure the undead of Proper City have a place to hang out? I would just as well put a bowl of candy on my front porch, lock the doors, and let the spirit world celebrate without me.”

  “Ebony, the ghosts and goblins deserve their night and you’re the best person for the job. Are you going to let Halloween happen in a rented out fire hall? No, the Alexandria was just about perfect, but if it can’t happen there, you have to find someplace else.”

  “You�
�re as bad as the rest of them,” she said.

  “Well?”

  “I’m working on it.” She patted the combs that held the side of her hairstyle in place and left.

  I helped my dad, Kirby, and the rest of the Elvis impersonators for the next few hours, and we closed up a little after seven. That was the thing about business in a small town like ours. We didn’t stick to hard and fast store hours, and if customers wanted to shop, we kept the doors open. This being our busy season, we were lucky not to stay open all night.

  When the last of the customers left—finally settling on Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf—my dad locked the door and the Elvises collapsed. My dad looked at me, I looked at Kirby, and Kirby looked at them. “Pizza?” asked the one in the bedazzled white jumpsuit. Kirby looked back at me.

  “Phone it in. They have my credit card on file.”

  “You go on upstairs, Margo. I’ll take care of the store and the guys,” my dad said.

  On a normal day, I would have stayed with them, but today I had something else in mind. Before heading to the apartment, I stopped by the files of costume rentals and flipped through the alphabet until I found the one for Sol Girard. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I took it with me and didn’t open it until I reached the kitchen.

  I dropped into one of the dining chairs and opened the file. Sol was a regular customer of ours, and the file was filled with rental slips dating back over the past few years. I closed the folder and started at the back. The last rental slip was for the Wolf Man costume I’d seen him in at the kickoff party.

  The rental slip in front of it, dated two days earlier, was for Spider-Man.

  Chapter 15

  I CHECKED THE date on the rental slip and matched the credit card numbers to the file. It was the same information. Which meant that Sol Girard had rented two costumes from us, not one.

  It wasn’t odd for someone to rent more than one costume, especially this week. But I couldn’t help think about the figure I’d seen scaling the wall of the Alexandria when I called for help. Or the fact that Spider-Man not only didn’t help, but he took the opportunity to get away.