Masking for Trouble Read online

  “The city planners had fairy tales in mind when they named the streets. Even this police station looks like something out of a storybook. We just took it one step further.”

  She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “The Alexandria House has been a hot topic lately. When I found out it was going to be ground zero for Proper’s Halloween celebration, I thought it was a good idea to check it out. We made arrangements with Mr. Haverford to be at the party. He asked us to blend in, so we did.”

  “But one of your men didn’t know the protocol, so when he grabbed me, I knew something was wrong. I got out of there and went to the second floor by myself.”

  She didn’t reply. I’d gotten more comfortable as I sat there—the side effect of getting to talk about costumes—but I became very aware that the only reason I was there was because she thought I was holding something back.

  There was a knock on her door frame. One of the uniformed officers gestured for her to come into the hallway. “I think you should see this,” he said.

  “Wait here,” she said. She followed the man out of the office and left me alone.

  Detective Nichols had surprised me by indicating that her costume had been another version of what she wore every day, but it said something that I’d long understood. Costumes could make you stand out or blend in. Costumes could make people treat you differently. Dress in scrubs, and people treat you like you’re a doctor. Dress in a white shirt and khakis and carry a clipboard, and people treat you like you’re a survey taker. It was one of the reasons I loved dressing in costume so much. Every morning when I woke up, I could be anybody I wanted.

  I glanced down at my pinstripes, pinky ring, and spats. They didn’t exactly scream “upstanding citizen with nothing to hide.”

  A few minutes later, Detective Nichols reentered the room. This time she carried a small portable DVD player. She set it on the table between us and pulled her chair up next to mine.

  “Ms. Tamblyn, tell me again about what happened at the party.”

  “I pushed the button for the second floor, but the elevator didn’t stop until it reached the sixth. I got off the elevator and looked around anyway. When I didn’t see any water, I tried to leave. Truthfully, it was a little creepy up there. As soon as the elevator doors reopened, I jumped inside. I didn’t see Paul Haverford’s body until after I pushed the buttons. His head was bloody. I felt his throat for a pulse but there wasn’t one. The door wouldn’t close, so I pulled him out of the elevator and tried to revive him, but it was too late. I called for help out the window. You and your men came up the stairs, and you know the rest.”

  The detective’s face showed no expression.

  “It’s the truth. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t know where the stairs were, and before I had a chance to get help, you arrived.”

  She watched me for another couple of seconds, and then opened up the DVD player and pressed play. A low whirring noise started, and then the blue screen changed to a view of the elevator from the Alexandria House. I recognized it immediately because there I was in the center of the screen. Me and all eight of my spider legs.

  The memory flashed into my mind a moment before it appeared on the screen, and I tensed, knowing exactly what was about to happen. I felt Detective Nichols watching me as I watched myself look up at the security camera in the corner of the elevator, aim my wrist at it, and then obliterate it with Silly String. The screen went black.

  Chapter 7

  MY ACTIONS REQUIRED an explanation. Unfortunately the truth wasn’t going to help me very much. “One of the things we like to do at Disguise DeLimit is to give our costumes something special. Sometimes it’s a prop, sometimes it’s a trick. Like this,” I said, reaching inside my suit jacket for my flask. Detective Nichols dropped her hands to her hips. I set the flask on the table. She moved her eyes to it and back to me. Her hand hovered by her holster. I unscrewed the cap. “It’s a blueberry and banana smoothie,” I said. “But it goes with my costume.” I waved the flask in front of her, hoping the scent would diffuse the situation.

  “What does this have to do with you sabotaging security equipment on a piece of private property?”

  “I was dressed as a spider. You saw my costume. My secret was that I had cans of Silly String strapped to my wrists. I constructed a system where I could flex my hands and a plastic rod that ran the length of my palm would hit the button on the can and string would shoot out. Like I was making a web. And when I saw the camera, I just— I thought it was funny.”

  “Funny.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” I said. “But the Alexandria Hotel has been abandoned forever. It’s a historical landmark, or at least it will be soon. The Clark County Conservancy has been petitioning for landmark status for the past six months.”

  “The Alexandria Hotel was purchased by Mr. Haverford last week. Last night’s party was funded by his venture capital company.”

  “Proper City Halloween parties are funded by the city,” I said. “They always have been. That’s why everybody wants to get involved.”

  “I’m afraid those times are over, Ms. Tamblyn. Last night was a showcase for Mr. Haverford’s recent acquisitions. Every business there was on his payroll.”

  “Except for me.” I tucked my flask back into my pocket, fighting the urge to take a hit first. Even if it was only a blueberry smoothie, it would help. I’d heard that blueberries were the superhero of antioxidants, and I could use a little superhero boost right now. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

  “Not right now. Ms. Tamblyn, I want to be very clear about one thing. A man is dead, and your actions appear suspicious. If you are hiding something, I will find out.” She looked at the DVD player and then back at me.

  Just as well that I hadn’t taken a hit from the flask. I’m pretty sure it would have come back up.

  I drove back to the shop, the general feeling of nausea sticking with me. I needed a quiet place to sit and think, but there was no time for quiet sitting and thinking. I was late getting back to the store before opening, and I could already see people outside and a crowd inside. And lots of . . . yellow heads?

  I parked my scooter in back of the store and raced inside to see what was going on.

  Kirby stopped me as soon as I entered the back door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. There were so many of them, and they all wanted something different. There was no way I could run the store by myself, not with this mob. I needed help.”

  I tried to look around him, but he kept shifting from side to side to block my view. “Kirby, who did you call?”

  “My swim coach.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. “That’s it? You and your coach have been handling the store? Remind me to give him a discount to say thank you.”

  “No, you don’t understand. My coach couldn’t leave school. He’s also the algebra teacher and the faculty is finalizing next semester’s classes. He made arrangements for the team to help out.”

  “The swim team?”

  Kirby nodded. “Before you get upset, I want you to know that they’re taking this very seriously. Even with things as crazy as they were, they all showed up in costumes.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed past Kirby and went into the shop. Dotting the store were high school guys in yellow swim caps and white sheets draped around their shoulders.

  “What are they supposed to be?”

  “Eggs. Sunny-side up.” His face turned beet red. “It’s the best I could come up with on short notice.”

  “You did a good job. Come on, there’s a line forming by the register.”

  Together we went to the front of the store. Kirby took a yellow swim cap out of his pocket and pulled it on, and then wrapped a white sheet over his shoulders and secured it with a safety pin. The woman in the front of the line handed him an assortment of prepacka
ged wigs in neon shades and a credit card. He handled the transaction quickly and moved on to the women behind her. I didn’t have to worry about the register with Kirby back there. He was a pro.

  * * *

  THE last-minute Halloween customers kept me from thinking about my morning. If news of our disqualification from the costume competition had spread—or if it was even still valid in light of Paul Haverford’s murder—sales didn’t show it. We rented several alien costumes, the entire cast of The Wizard of Oz, and assembled the complete cast of Gilligan’s Island for the library staff. In addition to the various zombie, ghost, and Dracula costumes, we sold over a dozen fog machines and the juice to go with them. There were only two left on the shelf, which meant it would be a night of restocking from the back room before we opened our doors tomorrow.

  After the last customer left, Kirby locked the door and leaned against it. All around the room, members of the swim team sat on chairs, benches, and even the floor. It seemed a day in the store had taken more out of them than they’d expected. I scanned their faces, not sure how to say thank you. Kirby appeared next to me. “Pizza,” he said.

  “Pizza?” I repeated.

  Several of the guys looked up. “Did you say pizza?” one asked.

  “I could totally go for some pizza.”

  “Dude, me too.”

  “Okay. Pizza.” I turned to Kirby. “How many?”

  “More than you think.”

  I went to the register and handed him a hundred-dollar bill. He blinked at me. I handed him another and he tucked both into his pocket. I caught myself before asking for change and a receipt. They’d given me far more than two-hundred-dollars’ worth of labor.

  I left the guys to hash out their topping choices and stepped into the office to check my phone. Three missed calls: Ebony, Dad, and Private Number.

  I called my dad back first. “Where are you?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Chicago! You were supposed to connect in Arizona. What are you doing in Chicago?”

  “Freezing.” He sneezed twice. “I’ve seen more snow in the past two days than I’ve seen in my whole life.”

  “Are you wearing a hat and gloves?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mom,” he said.

  I couldn’t say exactly when the shift happened, but I knew it had something to do with his heart attack last April. Until that moment, dad had been the dad and I’d been the daughter. But then that phone call had come. I’d been in the middle of Magic Maynard’s act, the trick where I was supposedly trapped inside of a heavily chained and padlocked trunk. In reality, I’d dropped out of a trap door below the trunk and waited backstage for the final reveal. One of the stage hands took a call and handed me the phone. “Margo, your dad’s had a heart attack. Come home as soon as you can.”

  I’d screamed, and then dropped the phone. Considering my scream had come from backstage and not the locked trunk, we’d ended up refunding the audience’s money. Maynard hadn’t said a word about it, and I took off for Proper City in the morning.

  It was touch and go there for a while. I took as much time off as Maynard allowed and spent my days helping around the shop while my dad recovered. And just like that, we’d fallen into a new routine. Him trying to get away with anything he could—from taking off for Area 51 to scope out alien costumes, being among his first unexpected road trips, to sneaking bacon when I wasn’t looking. He’d realized how little he’d experienced in life after my mother had died, and I realized how alone I’d be without him. It came down to the fact that I was more afraid of him dying than he was.

  We chatted a bit more, moving on from the weather to important things like the costumes he’d purchased in New York. It seems he’d befriended the costume designer of an off-Broadway, unsanctioned spinoff of Cats (Wild Cats) and persuaded her to give up their early costumes. I wondered if Soot would give them the meow of approval.

  Before we said good-bye, Dad’s tone turned serious. “Margo, I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Running a store is a challenge, but running a costume shop the week before Halloween is different.”

  My heart sank into a pit in my stomach. I didn’t deserve his praise and almost said so, but then remembered something one of the security guards at Caesars Palace had told me. People will treat you the way you let them treat you. I knew Dad would always treat me like his daughter, but I liked how it felt when he treated me like a businesswoman too.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  I returned Ebony’s call next. “It’s Margo,” I said. “You rang?”

  “You are not gonna believe this,” she said. “Are you sitting down? You better sit down. I better sit down. I can’t sit down. I don’t have time to sit down!”

  “Ebony? What’s wrong? You sound a little, um, crazy.”

  “I’d have to be crazy, wouldn’t I? This is it. This is how they’re going to get me. Hold on,” she said. She let out a loud scream.

  I pulled the phone away from my head until the scream subsided. “Ebony? Ebony!”

  “Primal scream therapy. It’s the only thing to deal with stress. That and lemon oil in my tea.”

  “If you don’t give me a straight answer about what is going on by the time I count to five, I’m calling the police and sending them to your store. One, two, three—”

  “They put me in charge of finding a new location for Halloween.”

  “—four, what did you say?”

  “The planning committee. They called this morning and said I’d been selected unanimously to find a new location for the Proper City Halloween Festivities this year now that the Alexandria Hotel is out.”

  “That’s not so bad. You’re a party planner. Think of the publicity you’ll get for Shindig.”

  “No good is going to come from stirring up the spirit world. They’ll never leave! I don’t want the undead in my business. And that’s what I got. The undead. In my business.”

  “They’re coming to get you, Ebony,” I said in my creepiest Night of the Living Dead voice.

  “Don’t ever do that again.”

  I laughed. “You’ll be fine. I’ll ask around and see if I can help. And if you see anybody from the spirit world who needs a costume, send them my way.”

  After hanging up, I plugged my phone in to charge and left it on the desk. Almost immediately, a text popped up from Private Number. Flat tire, 2 blocks east of restaurant, 10–15 min, it said. It was code.

  I went out front to check on the swim team. The yellow caps and white sheets had come off, and the guys were scattered around the store talking and laughing. I pulled Kirby away from his group. “Do you think any of them will be able to come back tomorrow? I can offer them a twenty percent discount good through November.”

  “Sure, but, Margo? We’re trying to raise money for new track suits. Do you think instead of the discount, you could make a donation to our fund?”

  “I can do that. Are you— Can you— Will you arrange for different costumes?”

  “I already have an idea.” He smiled. “Even better than the eggs.”

  Kirby rejoined his teammates and I headed out back for my scooter. It had turned chilly when the sun went down, so I ducked back inside for a long black topcoat, and then left a second time and headed to the rendezvous point.

  When Tak texted me, he hadn’t said which one of us was supposed to have the flat tire. I arrived on the scene first, so I figured that meant it was me. I hopped off and put the Vespa on its kickstand, and then loosened the valve stem cover and held my key against the center until enough air leaked out to make me not look like a liar. Once again, I’d forgotten gloves, and my fingers quickly grew red and raw. I stood up and balled them into fists and plunged them deep into the pockets of my coat. It was after eight and the road was dark except for the streetlamps that lined it. Few cars were on the road
. The longer I waited, the more I regretted letting air out of my tire for believability. This might not have been the best time to become a method actor.

  An approaching SUV slowed its pace. It was too dark to recognize Tak’s RAV4, but I relaxed slightly. The car’s blinker went on, and it pulled over behind me. It wasn’t Tak. It was a blue Ford Explorer.

  The driver’s side opened and an attractive man in a brown leather bomber jacket and crisp jeans got out. He had straight brown hair, neatly trimmed, and glasses that, with a piece of tape in the middle, would have worked well with our scientist costume. As it was, they were just regular glasses that had a slightly geeky quality.

  “Is everything okay here?” he asked.

  “Flat tire,” I said, pointing an elbow at the scooter. “Someone’s on their way.”

  He looked behind him at the empty road. “Someone better get here fast or you’re going to turn into a popsicle.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. It couldn’t have been cooler than sixty degrees.

  “Tell you what. I have a can of Fix-A-Flat in the back of my truck. How ’bout I take care of your tire? I haven’t done any good deeds yet today.”

  I pulled my hands out of my pockets and rubbed them together. I looked up and down the street but saw no signs of another car. “Sure, okay,” I said.

  “Great.” He went to the back of his SUV and returned with a small can. “I’m Cooper, by the way. Cooper Price.”

  “Margo Tamblyn.” I held out my hand.

  The second he touched me, he dropped the can and sandwiched his own hands around mine, rubbing back and forth. “The tire can wait,” he said. “Let’s warm you up first.”

  It was a little weird having a stranger warming my hands on the side of the street, but it felt too nice to stop him.

  “Cute little scooter you have,” he said. “These roads are pretty well maintained. Do you think you ran over a nail?”

  “There’s been some construction in front of my costume shop. If it’s not a nail, then it might be a slow leak.”