A Disguise to Die For (15 page)

“HOW DO YOU
know that?” I asked.

“He told me. After I said I'd plan the party, he came to Shindig on his own. He apologized for making a scene at your store. You know, I actually think it never occurred to him that I'd tell him the truth if he came to me like a normal person and asked about what happened.”

“So you told him? About the loan and how his mother always suspected the worst?”

“I didn't have a chance to get into specifics. He said we'd talk at the party. But he finally understood that his dad always considered me to be somebody special. That boy almost cried when he talked about Brody. He said he'd give back all the money he inherited if it would bring back his father.”

But it wouldn't. That money could make a difference for Bobbie's fund-raisers, and it could keep Ebony from debt, and it could throw the biggest detective-themed costume
party that Proper City had ever seen, but the one thing it couldn't do was bring someone back from the dead. Nothing could. I'd made similar proclamations myself, so I knew.

“You said Blitz planned to talk more at his party?”

“He said he'd come find me when he had a chance to get away. I think deep down, even with all of those people around him, he was alone. He probably came to the kitchen to find me. And then somebody killed him and he'll never know the truth.”

“He must have suspected that it wasn't as bad as his mother said if he wanted to talk to you. What Brody did for you was totally legitimate. There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said.

“I wasn't embarrassed. Brody was never anything but nice to me. He wrote me a check that allowed me to clear my debts and stay in business. I don't know if he ever knew what a difference that money made to me. The only thing I regret is that he died before I was able to pay him back. I wanted to tell Blitz that I tried to pay back the money.”

“When?”

“I made one trip to that house after Brody passed away. Blitz's mom, Linda, refused to accept it. She wouldn't acknowledge that any such loan had taken place and she asked me to leave and never come back. She treated me like I was a dirty secret from Brody's past. I always wondered if Blitz knew the truth, or if he thought I was back to ask for more money from her. The day he walked into Disguise DeLimit was the first time he ever mentioned it, and that's the day I realized what his mom must have told him about me.”

When I remembered that day, I was struck again by how strange it had seemed at the time that Blitz wanted Ebony to plan his party and Disguise DeLimit to provide the costumes. And again I found it hard to justify the person who had
walked into our store expecting to toss around money and get what he wanted with the person Bobbie Kay had told me she knew—the tortured rich boy who made donations to her nonprofit with no expectations in return.

Certainly Blitz could have turned to a number of different people to make his birthday party happen. As far as costumes went, what my dad always said was true. We had a vast inventory and our reputation as a costume shop had spread beyond the perimeter of Proper City, but I hadn't been able to understand why Blitz would hire someone he didn't appear to like. Now I understood. He wanted to get to know her—get to know the story behind her relationship with his real father—and he'd used his party as an excuse to open that door. His attitude had been for show, a proud kid who hid his vulnerability behind an act of false bravado.

“You awake over there?” Ebony snapped her fingers in front of my face.

“I was just thinking about things.”

“You can think all night if you want, but it's late and I'm tired,” Ebony said. “How about we unpack the contents of the trailer so I can take off?”

Ebony wasn't the only one who was tired. The emotional drain of the day, combined with the particular stiffness that comes from spending extended amounts of time on a road trip, were setting in. I unlocked the store and picked up the assortment of colorful flyers that had been shoved underneath the door. Soot ran inside. I changed out of my mom's dress and into the tracksuit I'd worn when I went to Hoshiyama's with Tak. The scent of fried rice clung to the stretchy fabric, making me both hungry from and annoyed at the memory at the same time.

Ebony and I didn't talk much while we unloaded the
costumes. I sensed we both wanted to get the job done. I would have left it for the next day, but after everything my dad and Don had gone through to acquire the costumes, it didn't seem like a good idea to leave them sitting in the trailer out front.

We took turns loading dollies of boxes and rolling them into the already-f stockroom. Until now, I'd largely ignored the massive disorganization in the back room, but tonight I wished that I hadn't. Our only choice was to put the boxes wherever we found space, and most of that space was in the center of the room. At least now I'd have a project for the morning. We brought in boxes labeled
ALIEN HEAD
,
ALIEN TORSO
, and
ALIE
N AUTOPSY
and stacked them floor to ceiling. A quick calculation determined that there were approximately seventy-five boxes in all. Maybe instead of the tracksuit, I should have dressed in the sailor costume and downed a can of spinach first.

When we were done, I said good night to Ebony and went upstairs, changed into pj's, and climbed into bed. I'd hoped that exhaustion would make the transition from awake to asleep seamless, but it didn't. Without any other distraction, my mind opened up the floodgates of the concerns I'd been able to hold at bay. My dad's heart attack, Ebony's history with Blitz's dad, Tak Hoshiyama's relationship with Detective Nichols, the robbery at the Manners house . . . It was a never-ending loop that kept me wide awake.

It was like the whole town of Proper was cut out of cardboard and someone had gotten it wet. Everything—and everybody—was either crumbling or falling apart. I was having a hard time keeping the faith.

After two hours of staring at the bedroom ceiling, I got up in search of a distraction. I poured a glass of half orange
juice and half sparkling water and flipped through the mail, tossing piece after piece into the trash.

And then, there it was. An oversized, full-color postcard with a photo of Blitz Manners in the center. I flipped the postcard over. It was an announcement of a memorial service hosted by Candy Girls. Below their name was the tagline:
Look to us for costumes, catering, and condolences.
If it wasn't so atrociously inappropriate, it would have been laughable. General activities were listed on the card: informal reminiscences and mingling. Food and beverage service courtesy of Roman Gardens.

Roman Gardens—the location where Blitz had been planning to throw his party. To hear Blitz tell it, when the pipe burst and Octavius told Blitz the party would have to be rescheduled, Blitz canceled everything and redirected his attention—and his money—to Shindig and Disguise DeLimit. You would think Octavius would be angry at the loss of income.

So why was Octavius Roman involved in Blitz's memorial service?

The first reason that sprung to mind involved the kind of grand illusion Magic Maynard liked to attempt. Diversion, he'd said. Get people to believe you're doing one thing and then you can pull the wool over their eyes. Was Octavius playing the generosity card in order to make the whole town think he was one of the good guys while behind the scenes he hid his involvement in a homicide?

I leaned back in the chair and thought about Blitz. The more I learned about him, the more of a conundrum I found him to be. So much of his public persona—the brash person who had come to the costume shop and set a ridiculous timetable, the spoiled man-child who threw around $20,000 and insulted Ebony's integrity, the disgruntled drunk who tossed
the custom-made Sherlock Holmes costume on the floor because it wasn't to his liking—those actions fit one person. But then there was the person Ebony described tonight, a young man who felt alone in his own crowd. That person fit with what Bobbie had said: he donated his money freely to her charity without expecting any sort of return. In fact, he'd asked her to keep it quiet. He resented being popular for his money and he'd never gotten over the death of his dad.

And while Ebony had gotten out of debt and built Shindig up to an established party planning business and Bobbie had gone to a treatment center voluntarily to confront her problems with drug abuse, Blitz hadn't fought against his demons. He'd hidden behind his money while withdrawing from everyone around him.

In ways more than one, Blitz and I were similar. He had acted out for his attention. I dressed in costumes for mine. He never got over the death of his father and I lived with the knowledge that I'd never get to know my mother. Thanks to very different circumstances, we were both isolated. Was this how Blitz had felt underneath the surface? Alone, afraid to trust anybody? Living with the fear of losing the few people who he had? I felt an unexpected sense of loss at the knowledge that someone who might have understood the way I felt was now gone.

*   *   *

I
woke to Soot chewing on my hair. At first I swatted him away but, persistent ball of gray fur that he was, he kept coming back. I sat up and looked him in the face. “Leave my hair alone,” I said. He stuck out a paw and swatted at my cheek. The clock told me it was after nine. I scooped Soot out of my way and got out of bed.

The first thing I did was call the hospital. “This is Margo
Tamblyn, Jerry Tamblyn's daughter. I was there yesterday. How is he?”

“I'll connect you with his room and he can tell you himself.”

Seconds—and three and a half rings of the phone—later, he answered.

“Dad? It's Margo. How are you feeling?”

“I feel good. Hungry, but good.”

“If you're hungry, then eat something.”

“It's not that easy. This place seems to own stock in green Jell-O. I'd give my signed Blues Brothers necktie for a hamburger.”

“You must be delirious. No way you'd part with that for a hamburger.”

“Maybe not a hamburger. But make it a filet mignon and all bets are off.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, innocuous father-daughter stuff that had the desired result of leaving me feeling like everything was normal. After half an hour, he said a nurse needed him to hang up so she could use him as a human pincushion.

There was barely time to get showered and dressed before opening the store. So much for having time to organize the aliens.

This morning's smoothie was a banana, a half cup of almond milk, a half cup of orange juice, and a heaping tablespoon of plain yogurt. I added a handful of crushed ice and hit liquefy. While the blender whirred, I wondered if Blitz's memorial would have any impact on business.

I dressed in a white T-shirt, black pants, and a pair of red plaid suspenders left behind from a ladies of the '80s costume. I knotted on a pair of red canvas Converse high-top sneakers, pulled my hair into a side ponytail, and went
downstairs to unlock the doors. Gina Cassavogli stormed down the sidewalk toward me.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I'm getting ready to open. What does it look like I'm doing?”

“You can't open today. You'll spoil everything!”

“The store was closed yesterday for—for personal reasons. I have to open today.”

“Show some respect, Margo.” She thrust one of the oversized Blitz postcards at me.

“Someone already put one under my door,” I said.

“Well maybe this time you should read it.” She flipped it to the side with Blitz's photo and pointed a shiny red talon at a barely legible font that ran down the side. “It says right here that all of the businesses in Proper City are going to remain closed to pay respects to Blitz. Candy Girls coordinated this whole memorial on very short notice and it's only appropriate for you to acknowledge what we did and support us like everybody else.”

Heat flamed over my face. “Give me that,” I said, and snatched the postcard from her fingers. I looked closely at the tiny words along the side of the postcard. I'd missed that last night. I looked up and down the street. None of the other stores appeared to be opening. “Everybody agreed to this?” I asked, waving the card.

“Well, of course they did. At least most of them did. It's the right thing to do. Besides, it would look even worse if you opened, considering your role in his murder.”

“My role? I had no role in the murder. Blitz hired us to provide costumes for his guests and we did. If you ask me, it's a little strange that he didn't hire Candy Girls, considering his fiancée works for you.”

“His fiancée? Blitz wasn't engaged,” Gina said.

“Maybe somebody should tell that to Amy Bradshaw. She seems to be quite happy flashing a giant diamond ring that she says Blitz gave her.”

“I already warned you to leave my staff alone. Now, you're welcome to come to the memorial today. Everybody in Proper is invited. But don't come if you plan to show up and spread rumors.” She pinched the postcard with her shiny red-tipped fingernails and slid it out of my hand. “You said you already had one, so I'll take this back.”