Free A Disguise to Die For by Diane Vallere Page B

a connection between Ebony and Blitz, or more accurately, between Ebony and his father. Blitz had alluded to it the day he hired us to put together his party. When I asked her about it, she hadn’t denied it. And when Blitz had used knowledge of that connection to get Ebony to do what he wanted, it had worked. He’d shown her that he had a power over her, a power he wouldn’t hesitate to use in order to get her to do what he wanted. I couldn’t help heruntil I knew what those secrets were and how damaging they would be.
    Sunday hours at the store were twelve to five. When no customers had entered by twelve thirty, I started a list of as many items as I could remember using in the detective costumes. Blitz’s short timetable had forced me to swipe parts of our existing costumes, and I’d need to get them back in order before being able to rent them out. First I listed the characters, and next to them, the items I’d used in each costume and where those items had come from.
    Kojak: man’s suit from ’70s, bald cap (general accessories), lollipop from candy store
    Columbo: trench coat from hobo, man’s suit from salesman, cigar (general accessories)
    Tom Swift: jetpack and goggles from steampunk, suspenders and knickers from chimney sweep
    Miss Marple: sweater and plaid skirt from ’50s sorority girl, glasses from ’80s accessories, sensible shoes from church lady
    And so it continued. It would have been nice to know who wore which costume, but I didn’t know many of the people who were invited. I’d spent more time appreciating the way the characters had mixed and mingled, and no time noticing the individual people under the costumes.
    It all went back to the way I felt about myself. I learned early on that there was something special about wearing a costume in public. People in costumes were friendlier, happier, less stressed. It wasn’t just something that I noticed with kids, but adults too.
    Growing up in the store, I’d had ample opportunity to playdress-up. Even after my dad stopped providing my school wardrobe from Disguise DeLimit’s inventory, I turned to our shelves for my accessories. When I was a teenager searching for my own identity, I found it in the characters who I dressed up as: cowgirl, tomboy, artist, mechanic. There was a costume to suit my every mood, and dressing up in character helped me identify myself and got me through the day.
    Maybe that’s why I hadn’t paid attention to the people in the costumes at Blitz’s party. What I remembered were clusters of people talking among themselves. Columbo talking to Veronica Mars. The Bob-Whites talking to Cherry Ames. Rockford flirting with Nancy Drew, who kept her eyes on Kojak. Tom Swift and Miss Marple. Too bad I hadn’t paid more attention to the people under each disguise. The only person I remembered was Octavius Roman, who hadn’t bothered with a costume. I wondered briefly if that was significant.
    By twelve forty-five, I couldn’t stand the idea that I was trapped behind the counter for the next five hours. I found Kirby Grizwitz’s number where my dad said it was and called.
    â€œKirby, this is Margo Tamblyn,” I said.
    â€œHey, Margo. How’s Jerry?”
    â€œHe’s recovering faster than anybody expected.”
    â€œDid he take off to go see those alien costumes?” he asked.
    â€œHow’d you know about them?”
    â€œHe’s been wanting to go check them out for months. He keeps asking me to take on full-time hours so he could get away.”
    â€œHe and his friend Don took off Thursday morning. I don’t know when they’re coming back.”
    â€œThat sounds like Jerry,” he said.
    â€œAre you calling with my schedule for the week?” Kirby asked.
    â€œSort of. I know this is short notice, but can you work today?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œGreat. Come over as soon as you’re ready. I’ll