A Disguise to Die For (24 page)

“DO YOU HAVE
anything else for me?” Detective Nichols asked.

I thought over the conversation with Amy. It had filled in a lot of blanks for me, but it wasn't new information to the detective. “You're holding the wrong person,” I finally said.

“I'll take that as a no. Good night, Ms. Tamblyn.”

She hung up first. I set my phone down and laid Ebony's necklace on the sheet of paper marked
MEDALLION
. That left the money and the trench coat.

The trench coat equaled Grady. What else did I know about him? He lived close enough to Blitz's house that he could have gotten in to steal. He even could have used their friendship to gain entry without raising suspicion. I'd heard that both he and Blitz were big practical jokers. Had this started out as a joke? Steal a piece of jewelry and hock it—and then sit back and watch while the family freaks out?
I didn't understand the kind of games that these people would play, but as far as theories went, it felt thin.

And then there was the money. Dig had found it in an envelope in Ebony's car, and the envelope had blood on it. That meant the envelope had been on Blitz when he was killed and somebody took it and put it in Ebony's car. When? And was the plan all along to frame Ebony, or had her presence in the kitchen made her the easiest decoy?

Volunteering that Ebony had had $20,000 from Blitz after he was murdered would have raised a lot of questions. Some people might have claimed it was her motive. After Dig found it in her car, she must have moved the cash to a blank envelope. Maybe she was going to put it in the bank. Maybe she was going to hide it in her house. Maybe she was going to give it back to the Cannons. But she couldn't do any of those things. Not while under suspicion.

But the money still didn't make sense. Why had Blitz been carrying so much money at the costume party? His own costume party? Either it
was
the money he intended to pay Ebony with or he was planning on using it to pay someone off. But for what? Ransom?

Maybe Amy was lying about how she came to be in possession of the ring. Maybe she'd been the one to steal it all along. And maybe, just maybe, she demanded money in exchange for its return.

Blitz liked to play the joker, the leader of the pack of prep school pretty boys, but I'd learned enough about him to know that under that façade was a guy who had been forever changed the day his real dad died. Sure, he had money to spare, but the one thing he couldn't buy was the family he once had. That ring would have meant something to him, more than what it was worth. If someone stole it, he'd get it back, regardless of the price.

I thought it through. I had to follow the money. Blitz had the money at the party but it ended up in Ebony's car. There'd been blood on the envelope, which told me the killer had moved the envelope from Blitz to the Cadillac. Whatever Blitz had planned to do with that money didn't matter. Someone had used it as a diversion.

I picked up the phone and cued up redial. Would the detective believe me if I called her again so soon? Would she even take the call? I set the phone down. The last thing I needed was to annoy her while she was pushing to arrest Ebony. I didn't know what would happen if a judge signed off on the warrant, but if a warrant was issued, I'd annoy the detective plenty.

I pushed concerns about Ebony aside to focus on getting the place ready for my dad to come home. The combination of Soot and Ivory running loose was like having to clean up after a pair of five-year-olds who'd been allowed access to a playground. Pillows had been shoved from the sofa thanks to pushy paws, and the bedspreads had been tugged off center thanks to sharp kitty claws. Litter had been tracked a few feet from the litter box, and Ivory had left a little surprise on the kitchen floor. Toys were strewn about, like the discovery of a new one meant ignoring the last. I walked from room to room, peeking under chairs and tables, rounding them up. Both animals lay in the middle of my bed, two feet apart. Soot's head was propped on his paw. Ivory was upside down with his paws in the air. Neither had a care in the world.

I woke up Ivory with a gentle stroke of the fur and he rolled over and yipped.

“Outside,” I said. “No more surprises in the kitchen.” I clipped a leash onto his collar and we went downstairs and out back. He delivered both number one and number two almost immediately, and then hopped around my ankles like he was ten pounds lighter.

Back inside and upstairs, I dusted, ran the vacuum, Windexed mirrors, and mopped in the kitchen. Three bags of garbage and one overflowing bin of recycling were lined up by the stairs. I carried them downstairs one by one and dragged them to the curb. By the time the house was done, it was after midnight. My mind was losing focus and my body ached with exhaustion.

I went downstairs to the costume shop and found a note from Kirby taped to the register.

Day ended with rentals of
Wizard of Oz
costumes for birthday party. Credit approved, sales slip under cash drawer in register. I unpacked, steamed, and restocked fringed dresses. Black Jack Cannon called about his next poker game. Hospital called and said Jerry will be released in the morning. I'll come after class to welcome him back.—Kirby

It had been nice of Kirby to leave me a status report when I hadn't come back by closing time. He was a good employee. I'd have to talk to my dad about expanding his hours, especially while Dad was recovering. Kirby and I had been able to hold it together for the week, but when I went back to Las Vegas, there was no way Dad would be able to run the shop on his own.

I found the record of the rental deposit under the cash drawer like Kirby had said. Combined with Willow's order for the Conehead costumes, it had been a good day. Not just a good day, I realized, a good week. The murder hadn't affected our business at all. In fact, Blitz's party had introduced us to a whole group of people who might not have otherwise shopped with us. I had Black Jack to thank for that, I guessed. He'd rented
Maverick
costumes for his last
poker game, and when Grady paid for the forty detective costumes, he said he'd square the bill with Black Jack.

Slowly, I felt a chill climb up my skin under the loose legs of the alien pajamas. Maybe Black Jack had offered to pick up the tab for the costumes since he had rented costumes from us in the past. Maybe Blitz had figured what the heck, let the old man do something nice for him for his birthday.

Or maybe everything Amy said really was true, and she had nothing to do with Blitz's murder. Maybe Black Jack did.

I closed my eyes and tried to think through my cloudy, tired brain. Black Jack had access to his wife's jewelry. Black Jack had known who wore which costume at the party. Black Jack had not benefited financially by marrying into the Manners fortune because Brody Manners had left his fortune to Blitz.

I picked up my phone and started to dial the police station. A sound from the stockroom startled me. I glanced at the door, open the width of either one cat or one dog. Or both.

“Soot? Ivory? Get out here,” I said. Seconds later, the two of them streaked past me like Wile E. Coyote chasing Road Runner.

I set the phone down and crossed the store. When I reached for the doorknob to the stockroom, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the darkness.

I STUMBLED FORWARD
but kept my balance. My eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light. I blinked several times until I made out the stacks of boxes that had been opened earlier. They sat at odd angles in the middle of the room, blocking my view behind them.

“Who's there?” I called out. There was no answer. “I'm calling the police,” I said.

“No, you're not,” said Black Jack. He stepped away from the shadows and stood facing me. He wore a tall, black cowboy hat like the one we stocked for our Western costumes, a leather blazer over a collared shirt, jeans held up with a large belt buckle, and pointy cowboy boots.

And a gun. He held a silver gun.

I was so used to picking accessories for costumes that, at first, the gun didn't seem out of place with the rest of his outfit. When the threat of the revolver sank in, I realized how helpless I was.

“You're not calling anybody,” he said. “Your phone is upstairs on your kitchen counter. Right next to your table of clues.”

An ice-cold fear engulfed me. “You were in my house?”

“That was nice of you to give me some alone time when you took the dog out. By the way, you did a good job straightening the place up for Jerry's return tomorrow. Let's hope you don't make a mess of things down here by getting blood all over everything.”

I stood rooted to the spot. My eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shelves surrounding the room and the costumes hanging below them. A few of the boxes had been labeled since Tak and I had worked in there. More of Kirby's helpfulness?

Black Jack stepped forward. “You've been nosing around too much,” he said. “I can't risk anybody finding out what I did.”

“You mean finding out that you killed your son?” I said boldly.

“My son. That's a joke.”

“But you did kill him,” I said.

“I killed him because he wouldn't play ball with me. All he had to do was let me hock his mom's jewelry. The engagement ring was just the beginning. Once we reported the robbery, the insurance would have paid out and I'd get the money I needed. But he wouldn't let it go. He actually thought the jewelry was more valuable than the money.”

“Why do you need money? You have the most successful dealership in Proper City.”

“They don't call me Black Jack for my health, hon. I've got deep debts and it's time to pay up. I thought I'd be sitting pretty after I married Linda.”

“But killing him didn't solve anything. It just created more
problems for you.” I didn't know how long I could keep him talking, but I didn't know what else to do. While I talked, I stepped backward and touched the costume behind me. My hand connected with suede fringes. The Western costumes.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Brody Manners's will left all that money to his kid, but in the event of Blitz's death, it reverts to Linda. Twenty-five million dollars,” he said.

His eyes glazed over. I fingered along the suede fringes until I found a leather belt with holsters like the one I'd worn last week. Slowly, I felt along the belt until I gripped a toy revolver. I tucked it into the waistband of my pj's by the small of my back. It was light and plastic—I was sure Black Jack Cannon's gun was neither.

“Reverts to
her
, not to you. What makes you think she'll give you half?”

“Nevada is a community property state, sweetheart. Once I divorce her, half of what she owns is mine. With Blitz dead, that half just got twelve-point-five mil richer. And there's nothing Linda Manners can do about it.”

Black Jack's slip of Linda's surname told me one thing. He hadn't married her for her love and companionship. He married her because she was the widow of a very rich man.

“You won't get your hands on that money,” I said.

“Oh yes, I will. It's just a matter of time.”

Bobbie had told me about Blitz donating money to her charity, and about how he'd wanted to help people for the sheer good of it, not for the accolades that would come his way if his philanthropic gestures were known. If the public didn't know about his actions, I guessed Black Jack didn't know about them either.

“Blitz gave his money to charity,” I said. “He's been doing it for years. Linda knows that he wants his money to help
people. Brody's will says what happens to his money, but Blitz had his own plans for his inheritance. You killed him but you're not going to see a dime of his money.”

Black Jack raised his hand and struck me.

Pops of light sparked behind my eyeballs. I fell to the side, grasping at the cardboard boxes for support. The fake revolver fell out of the back of my waistband and landed on the floor.

“Well, well. What have we here? The little lady's been armed all this time.” He started toward the gun and my foot shot out and kicked it away from him. I knew it wouldn't do anybody any good, but if he thought it was real, I might have a chance at holding my own.

“I knew you were down here,” I said. It was as big a lie as I'd ever told in my life. “I heard you when I carried the recycling down.”

“You pay too much attention to what goes on around you, you know that?” He narrowed his eyes. “That's why you're here with a gun pointed at you. Poking around in other people's business isn't a good idea.”

“This isn't other people's business. It's my business. This store is mine, and you sent Blitz here. You made him my business.”

“
Your
store? I thought it was
Jerry's
store.” He stepped forward again. I stood my ground. His gun was within a foot of my pajamas. If he pulled the trigger, no way he'd miss.

“I'm taking over the store so my dad can recover. He—he's due here tonight. That's why I'm cleaning so late. He'll be here any minute.”

Black Jack's eyes cut to the door of the stockroom. It was the fraction of time I needed.

I pushed a cardboard box into him and he dropped his gun. I kicked it in the same direction as the plastic pistol. He grabbed
my pajama top. I pulled away. He yanked me toward him. The fabric tore. I kicked at his shins but my alien slippers were no match for his cowboy boots. He twisted the fabric of my shirt in his fist and pulled me back toward him. I stumbled backward into his chest. His spicy-beef-stick breath puffed onto my cheek from behind. “You're too much trouble,” he said.

“H-how'd you do it?” I said.

“Silly costumes made it easy. I threw on a trench coat and a fedora and nobody even noticed me.”

“But the trench coat went with the Columbo costume,” I said.

“You think there's only one trench coat in Proper? That worked out nicely, though. I always planned to set up that black woman but the trench coat spun you off on Grady's trail for a little bit. I wouldn't have minded him being taken down. Payback for his dad sticking it to me on my casino debts.”

“What do you have against Ebony?”

“She made an easy suspect. My wife never liked her because of her history with Brody.”

“So you framed her for murder because it was easy? You took the money from Blitz after you killed him. That money was intended for Ebony all along. If you were after money, why didn't you take it?”

“Twenty grand is pocket change compared to what I'm going after.” He narrowed his eyes and watched me.

“How'd you get the pawnbroker to identify Ebony?”

“I'm one of Rudy's best customers. You think he's going to mess with me? Paid him off to ID your friend. Best money I ever spent. Even if the police never did see the word
Murderer
painted on her car, they found the knife I planted. Like I said—easy.”

“You hired the crime scene cleanup crew, didn't you?”

“That's right.” He let go of my pajama top and pushed me
into the boxes in front of me. They toppled over and I fell to the concrete floor. “Least I could do for the owners.” He stepped past me into the dark corner of the stockroom. I knew he was looking for the guns. I had to keep him from finding them—or at least from finding his.

“You stashed the trench coat in the kitchen after the police were done with the crime scene. You wanted it to be found. You hired the cleaners and knew they'd incinerate it.”

He laughed. “I waited until after the police released the crime scene and got the cleanup crew in there quick. Perfect opportunity to eliminate the evidence.” His voice was muffled by the costumes hanging from the racks. I forced myself up, first to all fours, and then upright. I reached into the box next to me and pulled out a papier-mâché alien head. Swiftly, I ran up behind Black Jack and pushed the large hollow mask over his head. He twisted, too late. The head came down to his shoulders, swallowing his cowboy hat, his head, and his ability to see.

He cursed. His voice was muffled and dull from inside the mask. He bent down and felt around the floor for the gun. When he connected to it, he let go of me. He brought the gun around and pulled the trigger, firing it.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
A real gun would have exploded. A real gun would have fired seven bullets into me.

A real gun would have killed me.

He tossed the plastic revolver aside and tried to stand. I pressed down on the papier-mâché head with all of my weight. I saw Black Jack's cell phone jutting out of his pocket. I grabbed it and dialed 911 with my thumb while he swung at my legs.

“Help!” I said. “Costume shop on Main Line Road. Black Jack Cannon is trying to kill me. You have to break in. Hurry!”

Black Jack swung out with a wide punch that caught me in my midsection. He knocked me back a few steps and the phone fell from my hand. Before I could change my momentum, he lifted the alien head from his body and tossed it to the side. One of the antennae bent at an odd angle. He came at me, fists balled up, anger on his face.

And then, before he reached me, keys sounded in the front door of Disguise DeLimit, followed by the squeaky sound of a wheelchair rolling in.