A Disguise to Die For

by Diane Vallere

  Grady stepped away from me and his face changed. I waited for him to let it slip that he knew who those people were, but he didn’t. “Nothing good will come from asking those questions.” He put his hand on my arm and turned me around to face the Cannon house. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather find out what’s going on over there? Come on,” he said. He passed me and turned back, holding out his hand for me to join him.

  “Grady, this isn’t my neighborhood and it isn’t my business.”

  “It’s my neighborhood, which makes it my business. And you’re with me, so what’s the problem?”

  There were so many ways I wasn’t with Grady that I would need extra fingers and toes to count them. I still couldn’t place the expression that had crossed his face when I mentioned the costumes, but his attention had been hijacked—assuming I’d ever had it to begin with—and I had to agree with him. Something was going on across the street and I wanted to know what it was.

  I set my helmet on the floorboards of my scooter. Grady was almost to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I jogged to catch up with him. A small crowd of neighbors had spilled from their respective houses and created a gathering by the perimeter of the Cannon house. Grady joined them. Black Jack kept his arm around his wife, and I crouched down by the end of his car. A man in a checkered shirt and straw fedora turned his back on Black Jack and walked across the driveway to the crowd.

  “What happened?” Grady asked.

  “Robbery. Black Jack says the place was trashed. The police are going through it now, mostly to make sure nobody’s still in there,” said Checkered Shirt.

  “What did they take?”

  “Mrs. Cannon said her jewelry was missing. Other than that, I don’t know.”

  An image of Amy Bradshaw wearing a giant diamond engagement ring flashed into my head and I felt my eyes go wide. “Grady,” I said, stepping out from behind Black Jack’s car. Several heads turned toward me. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Who’s she?” someone asked.

  “I think the better question is what is she doing here?” asked the detective.

  I turned around. Detective Nichols stood facing me with her hands on her hips. “Unless my records are incorrect, you live on the other side of Proper City, don’t you?”

  “I came out here to talk to—” I scanned the crowd for Grady, but he wasn’t there. “I wanted to talk to a friend,” I finished.

  “Does this friend have a name?” she asked.

  “Grady O’Toole.”

  “Ms. Tamblyn, how long have you and Grady been friends?”

  “I only just met him a few days ago.”

  She studied me for a second and I wished I’d taken the time to put my captain’s hat back on. Silly as it sounded, elements of costume made me feel more invincible than I was as my regular self.

  “Ms. Tamblyn, I can appreciate the fact that you’re trying to make new friends, but I caution you against using a murder investigation as grounds for common interests. What happened to Blitz Manners was a crime, both literally and figuratively. I would hate to find out that you’re hindering a homicide investigation so you can expand your social circle.”

  “Does the robbery at the Manners house have anything to do with the murder?” I asked.

  She studied my face for a second before answering. “Cannon, not Manners. And it would be premature to comment on that.”

  “But you’re not ruling it out.”

  “Ms. Tamblyn, I want to make myself perfectly clear. If you know something about the murder at the fire hall or about the robbery here, I want you to tell me. If you don’t have anything new to contribute, then I suggest you leave.”

  My phone rang, interrupting her. She scowled. The screen said Don Digby. I held up an index finger and answered the call.

  “This is Margo,” I said.

  “Margo, this is Don. Are you at the shop?”

  “No, I’m out. Why? Is everything okay?” The immediate silence that met my question told me the answer was no. I felt light-headed and dizzy, and the view of the strangers on the yard in front of me blurred and distorted.

  “I think you should sit down,” Don said.

  “Did something happen to my dad?”

  “I need you to try to stay calm. We’re in a hospital about two hundred miles outside of Proper.”

  “A hospital? What’s wrong?”

  “Margo, I’m so sorry. Your dad had a second heart attack.”

  Chapter 16

  I MUST HAVE screamed, though I don’t remember. The phone fell from my hand. My heart rate doubled in a second and my knees gave way underneath me. I landed on a patch of grass to the side of the driveway. Detective Nichols repeated my name, but I couldn’t answer. Every fear, every nightmare, every ounce of helplessness I’d ever felt over what had happened when I was born magnified. I couldn’t lose my dad too.

  Numbness radiated from my heart and traveled to my fingertips. I became aware that the detective was talking. I forced myself to look at her. She pointed to the house and then to me. I grabbed Black Jack’s bumper and pulled myself up until I was standing. Slowly, methodically, I looked for my phone. Detective Nichols returned to my side and held it out.

  “How about I give you a ride home?” she said. The edge of her voice had been replaced with compassion. I nodded, the only thing I was capable of.

  I followed her to the police car. “Sit in the front,” she said. Before I climbed in, I looked across the street at my scooter. “I’ll make sure it’s safe,” she said.

  I built a barrier against my emotions during the drive to Disguise DeLimit, staring at the white line on the side of the road as if it were one of Magic Maynard’s hypnotic tricks meant to put me into a trance. Occasionally Detective Nichols looked at me, but I kept my forehead pressed to the passenger-side window. If I spoke, I’d lose all control.

  A tidal wave of tears built up as we approached the store. Detective Nichols swung the car in an illegal U-turn and parked in front of the shop. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to thank her, when she pulled a piece of paper from her uniform pocket.

  “Margo, I spoke to Don after you collapsed. Your dad’s in a hospital in Moxie. Here’s the number. Don said you can call him anytime, but he wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

  I took the paper. “Thank you for the ride,” I said in a clipped voice. My bottom lip quivered and my voice cracked.

  “If you need anything, you can call me. Even if you just want to talk.”

  “I have to go.” I got out of the car and into the shop. After the door was locked behind me and the blind was pulled down to cover the window, I sat on the floor with my back to the door. I pulled out my phone and called Ebony.

  The call went to voice mail. “My dad had another heart attack,” I said. “He’s in a hospital in Moxie.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I hung up. And then I started to cry.

  * * *

  SOMETIME after that—minutes or hours, I didn’t know which—I dragged myself upstairs to the apartment. Soot sat on the other side of the door. He followed me to my bedroom and jumped on the bed. I stripped off my sailor outfit and fell asleep in my underwear.

  I slept in fits and starts and climbed out of bed at the first sign of sunlight. The clock read 5:47. A glance in the mirror confirmed that what little mascara hadn’t come off when I’d cried had been smudged in my sleep. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  After a steaming-hot shower, I called Don. “I’m sorry it’s so early,” I said.

  “Margo, are you okay? The detective said she drove you home.”

  “I’m fine. How is he?”

  “He’s in critical condition. This is a small hospital, but they’re taking very good care of him. His blood count is low. He’s had one transfusion, but they don’t want to move him until they see some improvement.”

/>   “I want to come see him.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive that little scooter this far,” he said.

  “I won’t take the scooter. I’ll find someone who can give me a ride.”

  “I’ll take you,” said a voice from the hallway.

  I spun my chair around. Ebony stood in front of me. Her Afro was full, with a copper scarf tied around her forehead. The ends of the scarf hung down her back. She was dressed in a brown paisley tunic, faded bell-bottom jeans, and platform sandals. I jumped up and threw my arms around her.

  “Don, Ebony’s going to bring me. Tell her what we need to know while I get ready.” I thrust the phone at her and hugged her a second time.

  I dressed in a late ’60s sheath dress and pink ballerina flats. The dress, like most of the other pieces of noncostume clothing that I owned, had originally belonged to my mother. My dad didn’t talk about her much—too painful, I guessed—but he had kept her clothes in case I wanted them when I grew up. They were the only things I had to tell me about who she was. Now, with my dad’s health in jeopardy, I wore it to feel like she was with me. I dried my hair into a bouncy flip and joined Ebony in the kitchen.

  “That’s one of your mom’s dresses, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I bet she looked just like you when she was your age.”

  I avoided Ebony’s eyes. Her intention, I suspected, was to make me feel connected to the mother I hadn’t known, but instead it served as a reminder that my mom had never gotten to be older than the age I was.

  “Listen, Margo, never fear, because Ebony’s here. Nothing bad’s gonna happen on my watch. You got that?” From the floor by Ebony’s ankles, Soot meowed. She looked at his grumpy little gray cat face and then looked at me. “You might as well pack him up too,” she said. “This here’s turning into a family affair.”

  * * *

  THE four of us, Ebony, Ivory, Soot, and I, were on the road by six thirty. Soot sat in my lap. It took ten minutes for him to stop howling. Ivory was, for now, in the backseat. The window was rolled down enough for him to peek his nose out and feel the air rushing past his face. If ever the two animals had to coexist, this was the time.

  I considered asking Ebony where she’d been, why she’d left, and what her connection was with Blitz’s family, but ever since receiving the news about my dad, I felt detached from the homicide investigation. For the next two hours while we were on the road, it was just us. No murder investigation, no detectives, no hidden agendas. I didn’t want to say or do anything to upset the balance.

  We arrived in Moxie a little over an hour later. I suspected Ebony had played fast and loose with the speed limits, which, under the circumstances, was fine by me. She stayed behind in the car with the animals first while I went inside, and I promised to relieve her shortly.

  The Moxie Hospital was a small, white building on the outskirts of a desert town. I entered through the main doors. Don sat in the lobby with his face buried in a book. Aside from a family with two young children, he was alone. He looked up at me, his expression quickly changing from concentration to recognition and relief.

  “Margo,” he called out. He tossed his paperback onto the chair and met me by the coffee machine.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “He’s awake. His heart rate has been stable for the past few hours. I told him you were on your way. I thought it was better not to have any big surprises.”

  A woman in salmon scrubs walked past us and fed a bunch of coins into the vending machine next to us. She punched the button for a cinnamon Danish wrapped in plastic. The spinning coil that should have released the Danish didn’t, and her pastry dangled inside.

  She turned to me. “You do not know how badly I need that Danish,” she said.

  Without thinking, I whacked the machine. The Danish fell and the woman looked at me, at Don, and then back at me.

  “This is Jerry’s daughter,” Don said. “She and her friend drove up from Proper. Can they go in?”

  “Sign in at the front desk and I’ll give you a pass. Where’s your friend?”

  “Outside with the cat and the dog.”

  Don shook his head in disbelief. “You brought the animals?”

  “They’re part of the family.”

  “One at a time,” the woman said. “And I mean one. No animals allowed in the rooms.” She took her Danish from the machine and stared at it for a second. “If Jerry’s up for it, maybe we’ll let him take a walk outside and visit with them in the parking lot.”

  I followed the woman to the desk and signed in. Don escorted me to my dad’s room, where he lay in the hospital bed, tubes connected to his nose and arm. Machines surrounded him like guard dogs. His face lit up and then grew serious.

  “Margo,” he said. He held his hand out. I sat in the chair next to the bed and held it. His fingers were swollen and the skin was rough. I fought against asking questions that had no answers: Why did this happen? And how can we make it so it never happens again?

  After a minute or so, he jiggled my hand. “This might be it for me,” he said.

  “Don’t talk like that,” I said. I squeezed his fingers and tried to pretend the tubes that were connected to his nose and arm weren’t there, but I couldn’t. Tears spilled down my cheeks even though I’d promised myself that I’d be strong for him. I brushed the tears away and a new set took their place.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think while lying here in this bed. The doctors say I have to take it easy for a while. They won’t give me a specific time frame. As much as I hate to say it, running the store is going to be too much. I’m going to have to give it up.”

  “No,” I said. “Kirby can work longer hours while you’re getting better—he wants the money for college and his dune buggy—and I can help out until I have to go back to Vegas—”

  He set my hand on the bed and patted it. “Margo, I’m going to listen to what the doctors said. They know what they’re talking about. And if they’re right, if cutting back on the stress of running a business helps me get this under control, then I’m going to do it. There’s a lot I haven’t seen yet. I didn’t realize until this trip how much I want to see America. If the shop closes, life will go on. You have your life with Magic Maynard, and Candy Girls can pick up where we left off.”

  I wanted to protest again, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him—the man who had sacrificed his whole life to raise me mostly by himself and then encourage me to move away from our small town so I could see a bigger world myself—that he didn’t deserve the same experience.

  He patted my hand and pulled his away. “The store has been my whole life for so long. These last couple of days on the road with Don were the most fun I’ve had since—”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. Sure, I wore costumes to school when other kids had clothes from the mall, but that wasn’t what counted.

  “Dad, Ebony’s waiting to see you. She’s in the parking lot with Ivory and Soot. I should give her a chance to come in and visit.”

  A man in blue scrubs entered the room. “How’s my favorite patient?” he asked.

  “Practically brand-new,” Dad answered.

  The man got ready to take my dad’s temperature and turned to me. “You should have seen this place last night. Jerry’s friend brought in a bunch of alien heads for the staff to wear. Sure did cheer up the kids when we walked into their wing. Imagine that, a hospital staff in papier-mâché alien heads. Those kids—some of them are terminal. They needed that laugh.” He chuckled to himself and thrust a thermometer in my dad’s mouth. He—the nurse, not my dad—waited until it beeped and recorded the result on a chart that hung from the foot of the bed.

  I went out to the parking lot and sent Ebony in. “About time,” she said. “Thought I was going to have to pack these two up in my hand
bag and smuggle them in.”

  We took turns in the hospital room until well beyond visiting hours. Between my skill with the partially operating vending machine and the compliments Ebony drew on her outfit and accessories, the staff quickly warmed to us. They even relented and let Dad come outside to visit with the animals. Soot started purring the second he hit my dad’s lap. (He was in a wheelchair—my dad, not the cat.) Ivory stood on his back legs and put his paws on the side of the chair, whimpering for attention of his own.

  By the end of the day, my dad’s spirits were high, but the doctors said he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Often a second heart attack would follow on the heels of the first. I told them that this was already the second. They told me that was part of the reason for their concern. Jerry Tamblyn wasn’t heading back to Proper City just yet.

  I found Don in the cafeteria. “Ebony and I have to leave,” I said. “I kept the store closed today, but I should open it tomorrow.”

  Don agreed. “Margo, Jerry’s been talking about selling the store when you go back to Las Vegas,” he said. “I get the feeling it’s an extra source of stress, and he doesn’t need any stress on him right now.”

  “He shouldn’t worry about that.” Don’s eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to the side. I looked away so he couldn’t read my thoughts. “How about Ebony and I take the trailer back to Proper City now so you won’t have to worry about the extra weight on the car when you hit the road?”

  “That would be a big help. Are you sure Ebony’s car can handle it?”

  We walked to the exit and looked at the trailer and then at Ebony’s Cadillac. The Caddy was twice as long as the trailer. “She probably won’t even notice,” I said.

  “Notice what?” she said, surprising me. I jumped.

  “We’re taking the trailer. Can you help Don hitch it to your car while I say good-bye?”

  “There’s nothing crazy in that trailer, is there?”