Masking for Trouble Page 12

  Not a single other person had mentioned Spider-Man scaling the side of the building in their statements to the police. Why not? More than one had pointed him out when I looked out the window. Why ignore a man in blue and red spandex against a dirty brick building?

  I tucked everything back into the folder and closed the folder in front of me. It would have to go back downstairs tomorrow. My dad had never upgraded to a computerized system despite the work it would save, and the only way we could keep track of how many costumes we rented and who had what was to maintain a meticulous filing system. It wouldn’t do anybody any good for me to be misplacing files now. Especially this one.

  Then I got an idea. Detective Nichols was so sure I had something to do with the murder that she was sure to come back around. I’d only learned about Sol’s land ownership today, but that information was vital to her investigation. I had to tell her what I’d found out. And with a few well-placed hints, she’d come to Disguise DeLimit and look through our files, and discover exactly what I just had and then she’d question Sol.

  Could Sol really have been responsible for the murder of Paul Haverford?

  I’d known Sol for years, ever since he’d turned his monthly poker party into a costumed affair. There’d been a Maverick theme, a football theme, and a pirate theme in recent memory. Sol came up with the theme, and the players were responsible for their costumes. I briefly wondered if the addition of the costumes helped or hurt the different players’ poker faces.

  I was still sitting in the kitchen thinking about Sol’s file when my dad finally came upstairs carrying a large box.

  “Hey, kiddo, you weren’t waiting for me, were you? Some of the boxes that I shipped here arrived and I wanted to go through them.”

  “What did we get?” I asked.

  “Band uniforms from a high school in New Jersey. They sent their mascot too. Look at this.” He turned around and set the box down, pulled something brown and white out, and stuck it on his head. When he turned back to me, he was wearing a cow’s head.

  “Their mascot is a cow?”

  “A Jersey cow, no less,” he said. His voice was muffled by the interior of the cow head. Soot jumped on the table and stretched his head to sniff the cow. “Moo,” my dad said. Soot swatted his paw at the cow’s nose, got his claws stuck in the fur, and then jerked his paw a few times until he was free. He jumped down from the table and stood in front of his bowl.

  “I think he wants some milk,” I said.

  “He’s smart, but he’s not that smart.”

  Soot meowed and then walked away.

  “What are you doing with that file?” my dad asked. He sat next to me and took the head off, setting it on the table at a vacant place setting.

  “I was sorting out some of the paperwork that hasn’t been filed yet.”

  “Yes, things get a little behind schedule this time of year. Make sure you file it when you have it organized. The longer you let it go, the bigger job it’ll be.” He picked up the folder and opened it. “This is Sol’s file.” He looked directly at me. “He sure was excited about his costume,” he said with a laugh.

  “Was it his idea for the members of the Elks Lodge to dress up like the Universal Monsters?”

  “Yes. He told everybody to keep an eye out for the Wolf Man.” He closed the folder and tapped his finger on it. “That was a month ago. This file was already put away. Why did you really want to look at it?”

  I sighed. “I found out today that Sol owns a lot of property in West Proper. He’s been buying up lots as they become available and was planning on building lower income housing.”

  “What does that have to do with his Wolf Man costume?”

  “It doesn’t. But Sol was at the party, and he apparently had a beef with Paul Haverford.”

  “Margo, what have I told you? We don’t just go around accusing people we know of things like murder.”

  “What about last time, Dad? We did know a murderer. Right under our noses too.”

  “Honey, I know that shook you up. I know that my heart attack did too. You’ve had a lot of changes in the past year. Giving up your job in Vegas, moving back to Proper to run the shop, starting over with your social life. I know you gave up a lot of your independence and privacy by moving in here too. I love having you here, but I think we should talk about a more permanent solution.”

  “Dad, I love being here. There’s no reason we can’t coexist.”

  “You say that now, but one of these days you’re not going to want your father as your roommate.” He stood up and rested his hand on my shoulder. He patted my shoulder twice and walked into the hallway. “I’m going to take a shower and then meet up with Don.”

  “You’re going out?”

  “There’s a gathering of ghost hunters at Dillon’s Steak and Ale. I can’t let Don go without me.”

  I carried Sol’s file downstairs and spent the next hour straightening the store. Half of the pinstriped suits were missing from the gangster rack and the flapper dresses were picked over. I combined the two and hung a gorilla suit on the wall. On the shelf above I placed a white plastic wig head with a short black wig, and then pulled a cheap Planet of the Apes mask over the front. The closer we got to Halloween, the more creative we had to get with the remaining costumes.

  I moved on to filling in the colored hair spray from a case in the stockroom. Soot had left another mouse in one of the dark corners, and I had the unfortunate job of disposing of it. I carried it out front to the public garbage can on the corner. A car door shut out back, an engine started, and Dad pulled out of our cross street and turned right. Funny, it seemed like he was wearing a shirt and tie. I went back inside and locked the door just as the phone rang.

  “Hi, Margo, it’s Don. Is Jerry around?”

  “He just left.” The pungent smell of aftershave hung in the air. It stung my nose. “What is this meeting, anyway? Ghosts gone wild?”

  “What meeting?”

  “The thing you two are going to at Dillon’s Steak and Ale. Dad said it was a meeting of ghost hunters.”

  “I’m not going to the thing at Dillon’s. I was calling to see if he read this article about the Elvis sighting in Utah.”

  “Don, do you think if Elvis was alive and well he’d be hanging out in Utah?”

  “Who said anything about him being alive? Tell Jerry to call me when he gets back.”

  I said that I would and then hung up. Something was up and it didn’t have to do with the ghostly form of Elvis. I went to the office and powered up the computer, and did a search for Dillon’s Steak and Ale. I ignored the specials and clicked on Events and my stomach dropped to my knees.

  If my dad had been telling the truth about going to Dillon’s Steak and Ale, then there was an even bigger problem than I’d anticipated. Tonight at eight thirty, Dillon’s Steak and Ale was hosting an over-fifty singles’ mixer.

  Chapter 16

  MY DAD WAS at a singles’ mixer? He hadn’t dated my whole life, and he’d never taken off his wedding ring either. It wasn’t that women didn’t notice him or even drop by with the occasional casserole, chocolate cake, or even, once, a rack of lamb. He’d always politely thanked them and returned their trays when the food was gone. He’d never followed up on their flirtations or innuendoes. So why now?

  And then something else occurred to me. Was that the real reason he was hinting around that it wasn’t a good idea for me to keep living here?

  I knew he had every right to live his life, and if this was what he wanted, I would support him. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to need help dealing with it. I rummaged through a stack of business cards by the register and found the one I was looking for deep down in the pile. Willow Summers. Talk Is Cheap.

  The card had a thick, bumpy texture thanks to the seeds that were infused into the paper. When I’d first met Willow, she wa
s new to Proper and had been looking to rent costumes for a getting-to-know-you party. At the time, I’d thought she was inviting her neighbors. It turned out she was inviting her group—a collection of people who needed someone to share their burdens with. I didn’t think I’d be willing to talk in front of a group of strangers, but the fact that Willow had rented a collection of Coneheads costumes in order to make her clients feel comfortable spoke volumes about the way she approached therapy.

  I left her a message to call me, and then I called the police station.

  “This is Margo Tamblyn. I’d like to speak to Detective Nichols. I have information regarding the murder of Paul Haverford.”

  * * *

  TWENTY minutes later, I sat in the police station opposite the detective. She studied the contents of Sol Girard’s rental agreement that I’d brought with me. I waited, silently, for her to put two and two together and come up with something other than “Margo Tamblyn is Guilty.”

  She shut the folder and pushed it a few inches away from her. “This is the rental agreement for Mr. Girard’s costume.”

  “Yes. Both costumes.”

  “Both.”

  “Yes. He and the rest of the Elks were monsters, but he also rented a Spider-Man costume—did you see? And remember my statement from the night of the murder? I saw someone dressed as Spider-Man on the fire escape outside of the Alexandria Hotel right after I found Paul Haverford. And if you do some research into Sol’s background, you’ll find that he owns a bunch of property on the west side—property that would be worth nothing if the plans for Havetown came to fruition.”

  “You just happened upon this information?” she asked.

  I tapped the folder in front of her. “There is a rental slip inside that folder that links Sol Girard to the Spider-Man costume. Somebody at the party had to have seen Spider-Man on the fire escape. When I yelled for help, someone thought it was an act and he yelled that Spider-Man would save me. You need to check it out. I know that much. If you receive a tip about an open investigation, you have to look into it.”

  “Ms. Tamblyn, let me show you something now.” She opened up a black three-ring binder that she’d carried into the room when I first arrived. Inside was a clear plastic bag, and inside the bag were small pieces of torn up paper. She set the plastic bag in front of me. “We found this in Mr. Haverford’s office. Do you know what it is?”

  I knew what it was. The documents that I’d torn up and left scattered over Paul Haverford’s desk the day he’d been murdered. It seemed from the tone of her voice that Detective Nichols knew it as well.

  “Paul Haverford said he was going to go make an example out of Disguise DeLimit. I was mad. I tore up the documents and threw them on his desk and left. That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but it does give you motive and opportunity. Considering you own the costume shop, it would not be difficult for you to produce a rental slip to link Mr. Girard to the Spider-Man costume at the party.”

  “What about Camel Coat? The guy who was arguing with Mr. Haverford when I arrived at his office? Do you even know who he was? Because he was angry too. Maybe he had a real motive.”

  “Ms. Tamblyn, you are correct about one thing. If you provide us a tip, we have to investigate it. But I strongly suggest you reconsider your current strategy. Because if I find out that you’re making up tips in order to distract us from what really happened, I won’t look the other way.” She picked up the manila folder that I’d brought and tapped the fold on the desk a few times, and then held the folder up to me. “Have a nice night.”

  * * *

  Friday

  The next morning I found myself sitting in Willow Summers’s comfy makeshift living room. I was dressed in an orange turtleneck, patchwork vest, brown tweed bell-bottoms, and platform shoes with tights. A brown suede floppy hat covered the top of my hair.

  “I think Detective Nichols is out to get me,” I said. Of all of the issues that could have kicked off my first appointment with Willow, this seemed to be the most pressing.

  Willow Summers’s office was really a small Craftsman house two miles past the Alexandria Hotel. The parking lot was loose gravel, and the sidewalk was overgrown with weeds. A stray cat had sat on a welcome mat in front of the door but jumped down into the bushes that lined the building as I approached. If the Zip-Two hadn’t been running late, I would have taken a few extra minutes to try to befriend him.

  Willow had met me at the door and guided me into a dark, wood-paneled room to the left inside of the interior. Heavy floral curtains covered the windows from ceiling to floor. The furniture was floral too, but not the same print. I’d chosen an overstuffed pink and blue floral rocking chair and Willow sat opposite me on the love seat. She wore a long, flowing orange and brown dress with ivory lace trim by the collar and sleeves, and ivory crocheted tights over her legs, which were tucked up underneath her. Brown leather clogs sat next to an empty metal cage next to her sofa.

  “Tell me why you think the detective is after you,” she said.

  “You probably heard about the murder at the Alexandria Hotel on Monday, right?” She nodded. “I was the one who found his body. It was a businessman, Paul Haverford. He and I had a fight earlier that day, and I shot the security camera with Silly String, and nobody was supposed to be up there anyway, and now she thinks I had something to do with it.”

  The curtains behind her moved. “Don’t mind Thumper,” Willow said. “I let him out of his cage this morning and he likes to hide behind the curtains.”

  “Thumper?”

  “My rabbit.”

  I leaned forward. “There’s a rabbit in here?”

  She smiled. “There’s a rabbit and a bird. I like to create a homey environment so people feel less nervous. Now let’s get back to you. Have you ever experienced feelings of paranoia in the past, or is this the first time?”

  * * *

  I left Willow’s office feeling better than I had since the murder. I headed back to the Zip. There was barely enough time to get back to the store before we opened the doors. Three days before Halloween and we still didn’t know where the October 31 party would be. If it wasn’t for the open homicide investigation, this would have qualified as one of our biggest crises.

  There would be no getting away from the store today. The swim team had committed to another job long before Kirby connected them to us, so it would be my dad and I running the show. I powered up with a kale, banana, and peanut smoothie and joined my dad. He was standing by the sales counter examining the white lab rat head.

  “Did you design this?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s for Mr. Smythe, Kirby’s chemistry teacher. He let his class choose his costume and this is what they came up with.”

  “Where’d you get the design?”

  “I made it up.”

  He lifted the head with both hands and held it out in front of him. For the eyes, I’d found two round tap lights and had drawn pupils and irises on each. The lights had four cycles: white, strobe, red, and a slow swirl through every color of the rainbow. My dad had it set on swirl, and as the eye color morphed through red, yellow, pink, green, purple, orange, and blue, I had an off-kilter sensation, as if I were being hypnotized. Dad held the head up and looked inside.

  “Eye holes?”

  “Under the snout.”

  “Air holes?”

  “Front of the neck.”

  “How do you know it won’t move around once it’s on?”

  “There’s a series of Velcro straps inside. They fit around the head and then over the top and secure in the back. Then the fur folds down on top of that. Watch.” I took the head and folded the fur forward from a slit at the back of the head. Feeling around the interior, I located two straps of Velcro and pulled them around my head like a band. I lined up the Velcro and pressed the strips together. Next I found the
piece of Velcro that ran over the top of my head and pulled it back, securing it to the pieces that were already in place. I draped the fur down over my head and shifted the entire thing slightly until my eyes were lined up with the eye holes. Then, I gently shook my head from side to side. The head stayed in place.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all. You just made this up, you say?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders. “Costumes are in your blood, Margo. When I go, I won’t have to worry about the store.”

  “Go where? You just got back!”

  He pointed to the ceiling. “Go.”

  I backed away and swatted his arm. “You’re not going anywhere for a long time. And after that scare last April, don’t even think about joking about your health.”

  It was just about eleven; time to open the store. Dad unlocked the front door while I looked into the mirror at the reflection of the rat head. I marked off two sections with pins where I could add ventilation. Behind me, my dad welcomed our first customers.

  “Good morning and happy Halloween season!” he said. “I’m Jerry. Look around as long as you want, and let me know if you have something special in mind. If we don’t have it, we can probably make it.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for Margo Tamblyn. Is she here?”

  I turned to face the front door. “Cooper?” I said.

  Chapter 17

  MY VOICE CAME out muffed from under the white fur head.

  Cooper looked at me. “Margo? Is that you in there?”

  I tried to pull the head off, forgetting about the Velcro inside. I held up my finger in a wait-one-second gesture and then reached inside the head and undid the straps. When I finally pulled the head off, my hair flew up in a display of static electricity. I tried to smooth it down, too late. I grabbed my floppy suede ’70s hat from the counter and pulled it on.