Masking for Trouble Page 8

  I was getting distracted. I wasn’t here to consider the future of the building; I was here to find clues to the murder the other night. It was after ten, and it would take half an hour to get back to the shop if the Zips were on schedule. As much as I wanted to poke around more, the store came first. I walked the circumference of the building, pausing to look up at the fire escape where I’d seen Spider-Man. The curtains moved by the window. I was startled, until I realized it had been the result of the breeze, just like the other night.

  Out of time, I left the hotel and headed toward the Zip-Three stop. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I lost myself in thought all the way through my bus transfer and almost missed my stop.

  I exited the Zip-Three with a preppy teenager in a black cardigan and pants, white shirt, and thin black necktie. He kept his head down and stopped by the bus station, but as soon as I crossed the street, I heard him follow me. The bill of the hat on my head obstructed my view, but I knew he was there. I turned left at the corner and so did he. Another guy dressed in the same outfit stood inside a recessed doorway, playing with his phone. He didn’t look up when I passed, but a few steps later, I stole a glance behind me. The two of them were side by side.

  A third guy jogged across the street. I felt like Tippi Hedren in The Birds, only instead of birds, I was picking up a tail of teenage boys. It wasn’t until I saw Kirby in front of the store in the same outfit that I realized I was being followed by the swim team.

  “Hi, Margo,” Kirby said. “Don’t worry, it’s all under control.” He held a stack of round patches edged in black with orange words on it. He handed one to each of the boys, who attached it to their cardigans on the left side.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Two of the guys looked up at me. “We’re the Geek Squad,” one said while another adjusted his necktie.

  I scanned the group of them and then looked back at Kirby. “Your idea?”

  He nodded. “I thought of it last month after my hard drive crashed.”

  “Yeah,” one of the guys said. “I used to think computer lab was for nerds, but those guys are gonna rule the world some day.” A chorus of agreement and general praise for the Geek Squad was uttered.

  The swim team followed me inside. Kirby gave them assignments for who would work where, and I opened the register and carried a sandwich-board sign out front. Customers started arriving almost immediately, and for the next seven hours all thoughts of Paul Haverford and the Alexandria Hotel were pushed out of my mind.

  There was no sneaking away or on-the-side sleuthing to be conducted during store hours. We were so busy that, even with the help of the swim team, we could barely keep up with demand. The mannequins in the widow were changed three times—from Dracula and Jonathan Harker to Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf back to Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. It was a good day for couples costumes. Mr. Smythe, Kirby’s chemistry teacher, came in for a fitting for his lab rat costume and arranged to have it delivered the day before Halloween. Cutting it close, but it would be done.

  After we closed the store, the guys wandered out front. Neckties were loosened and masking-taped glasses were tucked into pockets. It was like watching the transformation from Clark Kent to Superman (multiplied). Kirby closed the register and moved the money to the safe, and I brought the sandwich board inside and locked the front door. Five days to go.

  Once the boys were gone, I called my dad and left a message. “Hi, Dad, it’s Margo. Hopefully you caught a flight out of Chicago. The store’s doing really well, and I think we need to give Kirby a raise. See you soon.”

  I opened the door to the apartment and Soot wandered downstairs. I ate a bowl of cereal and thought back over my conversation with the seismologist. Had that really only been this morning? She’d been so indignant, so angry about what Haverford was trying to do with the Alexandria Hotel, but I hadn’t gotten a sense of concern for future residents. It had felt more like she’d been doing battle with him and was happy that her opponent had been eliminated from the competition. There had been no remorse.

  I’d been surprised by how easily she’d accepted my presence at the hotel. My outfit most likely was responsible for that, but I hadn’t claimed to work for any official organization. Khaki had a language all of its own.

  I lowered myself onto the steps. Soot rubbed his back against my shins, and then he wandered into the store and I lost sight of him. It wasn’t until now, when the store was silent and I was able to relax, that I realized Francine had avoided my questions. What was it she’d said? “Those are the questions the Clark County Conservancy should have been asking. You’re not with them, are you?”

  I went to the office and looked up the Clark County Conservancy on the web. They had a poorly designed website that must have been maintained by a volunteer. The front page had details about a teddy bear fund-raiser. That could only mean one thing: Bobbie was involved.

  Bobbie ran a nonprofit called Money Changes Everything. A one-woman force of nature, she had first started raising money by crafting and selling teddy bears. Bobbie Bears, as they were now called, had become so popular that Bobbie had decided to spread the wealth, partnering with local charities on fund-raisers. Her bears had become known as a symbol of generosity, and if I were the gambling type, I’d place even money on the fact that one of her bears was in every home in Proper.

  The rest of the Clark County Conservancy website was outdated, listing events that had happened over the past year on their Upcoming Events page. The Contact page simply had a form—no e-mails, no phone numbers. Instead of bothering with the form, I called Bobbie.

  “Who can you introduce me to at the Clark County Conservancy?”

  “Well, hello to you too.”

  “Hi. Sorry. It’s been a day and a half at the costume shop and I’m still running at top speed.”

  “You need to learn to slow down. Relax. You need an outlet for all of this pre-Halloween stress.”

  “As long as we don’t run out of energy drinks, I’ll be fine.”

  “Margo, that’s a crutch, that’s not a solution.”

  Bobbie knew of which she spoke. Years ago when she was on the rise as a young entrepreneur in Proper City, gaining notice and job offers from Fortune 500 companies, she’d turned to diet pills and caffeine powder to keep her going. A subsequent addiction led her to check herself into a treatment center. That’s when she got the idea to start her own nonprofit. She turned down every job offer that was extended to her, developed an early-morning yoga routine to manage stress, and took up with the bears.

  I knew she was right. Running the store had added a new level of anxiety to my life. With my ongoing guilt over my mom dying in childbirth and concern for my dad’s health post–heart attack coupled with my secret relationship with Tak and the murder of Paul Haverford, I was about to hit overload. “What do you suggest?”

  “Come to my yoga class tomorrow morning. Six a.m. We meet at the PCP.”

  “Six in the morning?”

  “Trust me. You won’t believe how pretty Proper City is when the sun comes up. Now, about your other question—are you free for dinner?”

  * * *

  FORTY-FIVE minutes later I arrived at Catch-22, the local seafood restaurant. They served one type of fish every day and offered twenty-two different ways to order it. Considering we were in the middle of the desert, we all knew the catch of the day had been flash frozen and delivered by truck, but nobody seemed to care. It was among the more popular restaurants in town, as witnessed by the line of people waiting for a table. Bobbie waved to me from a booth, where she sat with another woman. I bypassed the hostess station and joined them.

  “Margo, what a surprise. Are you meeting someone here?” Bobbie asked exactly as we’d rehearsed. Somehow it sounded more fake than I’d expected.

  “No, I’m here all alone.”
>
  “Why don’t you join us?” She turned to the woman with her. “This is Annette Crowley from the Clark County Conservancy. We were just discussing the Alexandria Hotel.”

  “No, Bobbie, you were discussing the Alexandria Hotel. I have nothing more to say about it. The Alexandria is no longer an issue for the conservancy.” Annette pushed her cup of coffee away from her and crossed her arms.

  Annette Crowley was a woman born in the wrong decade. She wore her bangs so short they were about an inch long, leaving plenty of forehead exposed above her arched and penciled eyebrows. She’d pulled the rest of her dark hair back into a tight ponytail that was just a stub. Crayola red lips and pointy cat-eye glasses completed her look.

  Bobbie turned to me. “Annette’s been petitioning for the hotel to be named a historical property, which would save it from being torn down or renovated too far from its original design.”

  “That sounds interesting,” I said to Annette. “I’ve seen the interior of the Alexandria Hotel. It’s rundown, but it could really be spectacular if it were restored. Is that something the conservancy is trying to accomplish?”

  “My job is to get the buildings placed on the historical registry. Once they’re recognized, they’re legally protected from greedy developers.”

  “Like Paul Haverford?” I asked.

  She tipped her head and eyed me out of the side of her glasses. “Paul Haverford was the worst of them all. He had deep pockets and bought votes from the city council. Of course, all the money in the world won’t help him now.” She took a sip of her coffee. “That’s why the Alexandria Hotel is no longer an issue.”

  Chapter 10

  ANNETTE CONTINUED. “PAUL Haverford was behind the plans to destroy the Alexandria Hotel in the first place. No more Haverford, no more problems. Our paperwork has already been submitted to the state registry for historical properties. Once the application is green-lighted, the issue will be moot. I expect to have an answer by the end of the month. I never knew it would be so easy to eliminate the competition.” She let out a low, throaty laugh.

  For a moment, I was stunned silent. Even though I’d had my own less-than-pleasant run-in with the venture capitalist, I knew there was a lot of territory between not liking the man and laughing over his murder.

  As I searched for the best way to follow up her pronouncement, Annette changed the subject. “Bobbie, I don’t think tonight is the best time to discuss a fund-raiser for the conservancy after all. Call my office tomorrow and have the boy set up a new appointment.” She slid herself out of her side of the booth and left.

  “Do you believe the nerve of that woman?” Bobbie said. “If you learn nothing else from me, learn this. Do not set up a meeting with a nonprofit at a restaurant. It’s like a game of who can leave first and stick the other person with the bill.”

  I stood up and switched seats so I was sitting across from Bobbie. “That can’t be the only thing bothering you about that meeting, can it? The woman practically admitted that she murdered Paul Haverford.”

  “No she didn’t,” Bobbie said, waving her hand in front of me. “She wasn’t talking about the murder; she was talking about the lawsuit.”

  “What lawsuit?”

  “I thought you knew. Paul’s company was being sued for two-point-five-million dollars. Something about an injunction over a building permit.”

  I waved the waitress over and ordered clams casino. Bobbie ordered pasta in clam sauce. I waited until she left—the waitress, not Bobbie—before resuming the conversation. “Legal injunction over his building development plan. What does that mean?”

  “I’m not clear on the details, but from what I’ve heard, he planned a development in Proper called Havetown.”

  “Francine Wheeler mentioned Havetown. What is it?”

  “It’s a new development. That’s why he bought up all of that desert at the far west end of the state, and why he wanted to bulldoze the Alexandria. That’s where it was going to be.”

  “But somebody took legal measures to stop him from proceeding,” I said. “And since he already had money in the property, if he didn’t find a way to do something with it, he was going to lose a bundle.”

  “Not only him, but his whole team of investors. It seems that he jumped the gun and bought the land before knowing that his plans would be approved.”

  “Why would he do that? Seems risky.”

  “You don’t get to be that rich by playing things safe. This probably wasn’t the first ‘Havetown’ he’s planned, and he expected everything to go through. You know who could probably tell you more about how this works? Tak Hoshiyama. This is a perfect excuse to call him. You know you want to.”

  “Come on, don’t start with me too,” I said.

  “What? You two seemed to have some kind of connection when you came back to Proper. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” I said. I felt heat climb my neck and flush my face.

  “You’re hiding something.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Fine. But speaking for myself, I know practically everybody in Proper. So it’s exciting, you know, you move back, and I know you from when we grew up, and then Tak moves here, and I know him from when his family opened the Kobe Steak House, but you and Tak don’t know each other, so, you know, it’s fun to watch.”

  “I’m glad I can entertain you,” I said sourly.

  “I’m kidding! Sort of,” she added.

  I dipped my fingers into my water and flicked them at her. She shielded the spray and flicked her water back at me, and within seconds we were giggling like fourth graders. Our food came and we tried to collect ourselves and act like adults for the rest of the meal. We were only intermittently successful.

  * * *

  I waited until Bobbie was on her way before pulling my phone out and calling Tak. It had been hard not telling her that he and I were secretly seeing each other. And truthfully, I wanted to confide in her. She was my best friend, and it had been a long time since I felt this way. But since returning to Proper, I’d been assaulted with a whole lot of togetherness with every person I knew. Before I got caught up in doing something for everybody else, I wanted to keep this as something just for me. The very thought triggered feelings of guilt. Under normal circumstances, I would have texted Tak, but I had a good cover story, and besides, I wanted to hear his voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Tak, it’s Margo Tamblyn, from Disguise DeLimit.”

  He hesitated a moment. “Hi, Margo.”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, just a second. I’ll be right back,” he said, presumably not to me. A few moments later, he spoke. “First we have a clandestine meeting at your store, now you’re calling me during normal hours. Next thing you know, you’re going to ask me to be seen with you in public.”

  “I trust you can speak freely?” I asked.

  “Sometimes I can’t tell if we’re dating or if we’re practicing to be government spies.”

  “Tak, this is serious.”

  “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have called me otherwise. What’s up?”

  “Do you know anything about a legal injunction against Havetown, the development Paul Haverford was working on?”

  “I heard something about it when I worked at the planning office, but I left before a decision was made. Why?”

  “I think it might have something to do with why he was murdered.”

  He was quiet for a moment. I braced myself for the inevitable “stay out of it,” but it didn’t come. Instead, he said, “Why don’t you come to the restaurant for dinner? It’s a slow night and we might be able to talk.”

  “I just had dinner with Bobbie,” I said.

  “So, no room for fried rice?”

  “There’s always room for fried rice,” I said, “b
ut I should probably get back to the costume shop and get things ready for tomorrow. It’s T-minus five days until Halloween, and that usually involves a couple of unexpected crises.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I guess we’ve used up the flat tire excuse, huh?”

  “If I complain about any more flat tires, there’s going to be a special committee appointed to road maintenance.”

  He chuckled. “Gotcha. Hey, Margo?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you called.”

  After hanging up, I stood in the parking lot and stared at the phone. I knew what Tak had meant. This was a poor excuse for the getting-to-know-you stage of a relationship. A part of me wondered if there was another reason he was so willing to keep things quiet? He’d been at the restaurant when I called. Had his dad been around? What would he think if he found out the truth? Would he disapprove—and would that matter to Tak?

  I drove back to Disguise DeLimit and parked in the small lot behind the store. The back door was open. Kirby would have known better than to leave it unlocked. I went on high alert and crept inside slowly. As I tiptoed through the narrow hallway that ran alongside of the sewing area and led to the store, I made out a figure with long, scraggly hair creeping around the interior. I crouched down behind the large round trash bin that we used to hold bolts of fabric, and watched. The figure had a massive, hulking form. He lifted the cash register and pulled out a piece of paper.

  Nobody knew about that piece of paper. It was the combination to the safe.

  The man turned around and stooped down in front of the safe. He checked the paper, and then spun the dial. I couldn’t allow him to rob the store. Not five days before Halloween, when we were bursting at the seams with cash to be deposited. I picked up a long pair of silver sheers from the cutting table, pulled the baseball hat down over the top of my head, looked up at the ceiling with a silent prayer to St. Jude, and stepped into the shop.