Masking for Trouble Page 9

  Chapter 11

  “GET AWAY FROM that safe,” I said.

  The figure dropped the index card. His long gray hair fell in thick locks over his shoulders. He wore a long blue and silver cape, knotted around his neck with a braided silver cord. The man held up his hands slowly, and as they rose from underneath the cape, I saw how badly they were shaking.

  Familiar hands. Hands that I had known my whole life. Especially because they wore the simple gold wedding band that my father had never taken off, even after my mother had died.

  “Dad?” I asked

  “Margo?” he asked back.

  I stepped into the store and hit the switch on the wall. The interior was flooded with light. With the light came the recognition that the intruder was one Jerry Tamblyn, dressed as a wizard.

  “I thought you were in Chicago?”

  “Dallas,” he said. “I caught a ride from Chicago with a FedEx driver. He agreed to order ten uniforms and sell them to us ten dollars over cost. He drove me to Dallas.”

  “And you flew home from Dallas?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  I glanced at the index card that had fallen to the floor. “What are you doing with the combination?”

  “I thought you would have changed it by now. Have you forgotten what I taught you? Change the safe combination every thirteen days. That’s random enough that no one will figure it out.”

  “And anybody who knows you keep the combination written on an index card under the cash register doesn’t have to figure it out. Why are you dressed like that?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” He stood up to his full height—which was suspiciously taller than he usually was—and stretched his arms out to either side. The effect was a bit frightening.

  “Why are you so tall?”

  He smiled and held one of his feet out in front of him. “Lifts. Nobody thinks about things like that when they’re putting together a costume, but I’m telling you, being taller really does make a difference.”

  Once I got past the fear of being robbed, I ran forward and gave him a hug. The blue and silver cape closed around me, and a piece of synthetic gray hair got caught in my mouth. I spat it out with a p-tooey.

  “The store looks good,” he said. “Almost too good for the week before Halloween. Has it been slow?”

  “Not hardly. It’s been crazy around here. That’s why I was so scared when I thought you were robbing us. I haven’t had time to go to the bank and the safe is full.”

  He stood up and put his hands on his hips. “If I were robbing someone, would I dress like this? Let me ask you a different way: if you were making a costume for a thief, what would it be?”

  “Black turtleneck, black pants, black soft-soled shoes, black gloves. Slicked-back hair that was secured in the back. Maybe a baseball hat to block out light. Set of tools in a pouch on the belt. And a half mask.”

  “Not bad.” He relaxed. “What about a light? What about a bag for the stolen goods?”

  “Small black backpack marked Loot. Flashlight recessed in the bill of the hat. Oh! And a stethoscope. For figuring out the combination to the safe.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said with a smile.

  Soot wandered up and disappeared under my dad’s cloak. The hem fluttered out as he—Soot, not my dad—walked in a circle. It gave the appearance of the cloak moving independently of my dad’s body, as if it had magical powers. I watched my dad stare down at it, the wheels of thought in motion. By morning he would have worked out a way to replicate the effect and boost the cost of the wizard costume rental.

  Ever polite, my dad waited until Soot had finished his walk around the cloak before moving. Still, the movement of the heavy, shiny fabric scared Soot, who jumped straight up in the air and then scrambled a few steps away when he landed. Our cranky gray cat was a tough guy when it came to mice in the stockroom, but he’d never quite understand the drama of costumes.

  “Dad,” I said tentatively, “Did you ever meet a man named Paul Haverford?”

  He bent down and scooped up Soot, and cradled him in his left arm while scratching his ears with his right hand. The heavy makeup and synthetic hair effectively masked his features. When he spoke, it was in a calm tone.

  “Paul Haverford. Local businessman, right? I can’t say that I agree with his plans to expand Proper City, but he’s a nice enough man. A bit intense when it comes to negotiating, but people in that kind of position of power don’t get to be successful without a healthy combination of drive and cojones. Why do you ask?”

  “He was murdered two nights ago at the Halloween pre-party,” I said. “It’s been all over the news here, but you probably missed it because you were on the road.”

  “I’ve listened to my fill of country music, that’s for sure.”

  “Country? In Dallas?”

  “In Nashville. I stopped off to check out the costumes at the Country Music Hall of Fame. Now, what’s this about Paul Haverford being murdered?”

  Just this last year, my dad had suffered not one but two heart attacks. During his recovery, I’d learned that he harbored a secret desire to travel the country and scout out costumes—a desire he’d put on the back burner to run the store while giving me the chance to explore the world myself. Once I’d decided to move back to Proper City to run the store and give him the opportunity to sow his oats, I saw how much he loved it. The only thing that would make him give it up was his overprotective tendencies toward me. So I gave him the condensed version.

  “It happened at the Alexandria Hotel, sometime during the closed kickoff party. The police were already on hand, so they were able to secure the scene expeditiously. Everybody who was there gave statements and the party was cut short.”

  He studied me for a few seconds, and I regretted going with “expeditiously” in an attempt to sound more mature. Still, I held his stare because I knew looking away would confirm any suspicions he might have that I wasn’t telling him everything.

  “Paul Haverford has been buying up lots of businesses around town,” he said. “He made an offer on our store, more than once, but I made it clear that I wasn’t selling. I probably should have told you about that before I left town, but now it’s not just my decision.”

  “I have no desire to sell the store either. Disguise DeLimit is who we are.”

  He smiled. “That’s what I like to think too.”

  Soot, who had graciously given my dad a solid five minutes of cat affection, must have decided that five minutes was enough. He wriggled around until he had flipped, and then jumped out of my dad’s arms to the ground. He trotted through the store and into the back stockroom. I suspected while the cat was away, the mice had played, but Soot was about to level the playing field.

  * * *

  Thursday

  My alarm went off at five thirty. It was still dark. I dressed in a vintage rust-colored sweat suit with YOU’VE COME A LONG WAY, BABY embroidered on a patch on the shoulder. According to our research, it had been a promotional item offered with twenty barcodes from Virginia Slims cigarettes. Interesting marketing: exercise wear from a cigarette company. Maybe that’s why the sweats were in mint condition when we acquired them.

  I parted my hair in the middle and pulled each side into a low ponytail. It was too early to fuss with makeup, so I smoothed a tinted sunscreen over my face, slicked some lip balm over my lips, hopped on my scooter, and left.

  A small group of women were assembled in the Proper City Park, or the PCP as it had come to be known. Various versions of black sports bra and stretchy black yoga pants were the ensemble of choice. Bobbie wore a pink hoodie over black leggings that ended right below her knees. She jogged forward and met up with me.

  “You are going to love morning yoga,” she said. “The sun starts to rise during warm-up, and by the time we’re done at seven, the sky is full-
on beautiful.”

  I looked up at the still-dark sky. “If you say so.”

  “Come on. We have to get a good spot.”

  Bobbie was right about two things: the early-morning solitude of Proper while the sun came up, and my need to have a physical outlet. Halfway through the class I let go of everything that had been on my mind. I lost myself in breathing exercises that left me feeling refreshed and stretches that challenged my tight, tense muscles. When the instructor told us we were done, I was shocked that an hour had gone by.

  Bobbie and I collected our mats, towels, and water bottles and walked to the parking lot. “Do you feel better? More relaxed?”

  “I feel better than I have in days. I think for about five minutes there I actually forgot about Paul Haverford’s murder.”

  “Well, this might be a case of the worst timing in history, but since you brought that up, I have something for you. Follow me.”

  We walked to her small electric car. She popped the trunk and plunged her hands deep into a cardboard box filled with files. She pulled out a small silver flash drive on a red lanyard and held it toward me.

  “About five years ago, Annette asked me if I’d join their board of directors. Their recording secretary received a last-minute grant for field research in Mineral, Nevada, and I ended up taking over as the temporary replacement. This flash drive has their operating budget, their five year plan, and the minutes for their quarterly meetings.”

  “How long were you on the board?”

  “Ever since then.”

  I reached for the cord and she pulled it slightly out of reach. “I could get into a lot of trouble if they found out I gave this to you.”

  “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “Because after you left the restaurant last night, I did a little digging. This isn’t the first time one of Annette’s opponents had an accident. I believe in their mission and I want to help preserve what’s left of Proper City, but if she had something to do with Paul Haverford’s murder, then somebody needs to stop her.”

  Chapter 12

  AS BOBBIE HAD predicted, twilight had broken the horizon during our session and the sun had appeared shortly thereafter. Now it climbed through the sky, leaving shades of pink and lavender against a powder blue background. Crisp morning air scented with sagebrush and the faraway notes of brewing coffee comingled. I couldn’t remember the last time I watched the sun come up and was happy that I hadn’t missed it today.

  * * *

  WHEN I got home, I was met with the scent of waffles. I showered and dressed in one of my favorites: a colorblocked ’60s sheath dress, white fishnets, and white patent leather go-go boots. I blow dried my hair into a flip. If it hadn’t been the week before Halloween, I might have stopped there, but it was time to pull out all the stops. I pulled on a wide white plastic headband and added large round red earrings that hung in circles that swung on either side of my head. I draped the lanyard with the flash drive around my neck and tucked it into my neckline.

  I found my dad and Soot in the kitchen. Dad’s wizard costume had been replaced with a pinstriped suit, blue dress shirt, modest necktie. His short hair was combed into place and small glasses were perched on his nose.

  “Go-go dancer?”

  “Yep. Businessman?”

  He picked up a rolled-up Wall Street Journal from the counter. “Banker.”

  My dad speared two waffles, set them on a plate, and handed the plate to me. “You never told me how the store was doing.”

  “It’s been great and we owe it all to Kirby. He arranged for the swim team to come in and help us.”

  “What did he get you to pay them?” he asked.

  “A donation to the swim team for their new uniforms. And all the pizza they can eat.”

  “Sounds like Kirby’s been paying attention in his business class. Last year when the swim team helped out, they did it for a twenty percent discount on costumes.”

  “You mean this isn’t the first time?”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Margo. The kid’s got smarts.” He handed me a bowl of softened butter and I spread some over the top of my waffle. I sat at the table, a ’50s diner-style with a white top flecked with gold glitter and chrome trim that wrapped around the top. The chairs were chrome with cushions covered in red vinyl. When I was in high school, a local ’50s-themed restaurant had gone out of business and sold off their fixtures and uniforms. My dad didn’t make a habit of bringing home pieces that couldn’t be used in costumes, but he’d made an exception in the case of the table and chairs. We’d spent the weekend painting the walls a cheerful red to coordinate with the cushions, framing album covers from his vast vinyl collection, and re-covering the floor in black and white laminate tiles. It was a costume for the kitchen, and it suited the room perfectly.

  “Margo, I took a look in the safe this morning, and we really shouldn’t keep that much cash in the store. Do you think you can get to the bank when they open?”

  “They open at nine, right? Sure. I can be back before we open at eleven.”

  “About that, I think you deserve a day off.”

  “Halloween is in four days.”

  “I’ve been running this store for longer than you’ve been alive. There are two things I’ve learned.” He held up his hand. “One, if you don’t give yourself a break, you’ll run yourself down and get sick. And two.” He paused. “The store can’t be your whole life.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but didn’t know what it should be. I’d spent my whole life watching the store be my dad’s life. He’d never dated; he’d never closed for two weeks and taken a vacation. Was he telling me he’d regretted the way he’d lived his life?

  He sat in the chair opposite mine. “Margo, don’t misunderstand me. I love this store. When your mother and I took it over, it was a lot of work, but those were happy times.” He reached his hand across the table and put it on top of mine. “But life goes on, and we have to find other things that make us happy. You know that’s all I want for you, for you to be happy.”

  I squeezed his fingertips. “And I want you to be happy too, Dad.”

  “It’ll make me happy if you take the day off.”

  “Fine. Just be warned, I told Kirby the swim team needs to show up in costume.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh boy.”

  I finished my waffle and sent a text to Tak. Bank deposit. Corner of Thumbelina and Main Line Road. Whole day off! I transferred the money for the bank to a small black pouch, locked the pouch in the small storage space under the seat of my Vespa, and left.

  I had a theory that when the city planners were designing what was to become Proper City as I knew it, they were partially distracted by young children. How else to explain the number of streets named after fairy tales or the developments that referenced children’s stories?

  I turned right on Main Line Road and drove a couple of miles to the bank. They opened at nine, but if Tak got my text, we’d have a couple minutes to ourselves before conducting business. I pulled into the parking lot and glided into a space by the front door. Seconds later, Tak’s RAV4 pulled into the lot and parked in a spot in the far corner. I waited for him to get out and join me, but he didn’t. An employee unlocked the doors and after one backward glance, I went inside. Marilyn Robinson, a fifty-something redhead who favored leopard print and gold hoop earrings was behind the glass. She’d worked at the bank as long as I could remember. She waved me over.

  “Hey, Margo, how’s everything at the store? Busy?” she asked.

  “You know it. Are you planning on renting a costume from us?”

  Marilyn blushed. “I bought a costume from Candy Girls this year,” she said. “No offense, but they gave me a coupon, and it’s on my way home, and I just thought since they’re a start-up business I should support them. Y
ou’re not going to tell your father, are you?”

  A long time ago I’d realized that the longer my dad remained single, the more ladies around town considered him a catch. There was something about his devotion to my late mother that they found charming—or maybe it was nonthreatening, I wasn’t sure which. Either way, he received his share of invitations to parties and social engagements, and to the chagrin of the invitees, usually arrived with his friend Don Digby. By the end of the night, the two of them would be holding court in a corner trying out their latest conspiracy theory on whoever would listen. Marilyn, judging from the blush that crept up her cheeks when she spoke his name, must be among the women who thought when he met the right woman, he’d make his move.

  The last thing I wanted to do was tell my dad that his fan club had taken their business to Candy Girls. “Mum’s the word. But what makes you think they’re a start-up?”

  “Gina Cassavogli said so. She came here on Small Business Saturday and took a seminar, and told everybody how it was an important year for them. She’s right, you know. Most new businesses don’t turn a profit for their first two years, so the third year is really a make-it-or-break-it time.”

  “That’s what she said?”

  “Yes. She said she knew most people in Proper felt a loyalty to Disguise DeLimit, but she gave us all fifty dollars in Candy Bucks to use toward any costume in their inventory.”

  I gritted my teeth. The paperwork that Paul Haverford had delivered to the store said that Candy Girls was one of his new acquisitions. Having a millionaire infuse cash into their business hardly made them qualify as a small business. If anything, they were Goliath to our David.

  “Margo?” Marilyn said.

  “What?”

  “If you’re making a deposit, I need you to give me the money.” She looked at my hand, where my knuckles were turning white as I gripped the pouch. I unzipped it and fed the mess of checks and cash under the partition. “Wow, your store really is doing well,” she said. “No wonder Gina is worried.”