“Do you know what we’re looking at?” Tak asked.
“Bobbie Kay volunteers at a local women’s shelter. They do a clothing drive in the fall and in the spring. It looks like someone dropped these off during the last one. I can’t imagine who would have all these sailor outfits and why they’d smell like tuna, though.” I picked up one of the tops from the pile. A tag from the sleeve read ARMY NAVY STORE. I picked up a pair of pants and found the same thing. Tak caught on and checked the stack nearest him. “These too,” he said.
“Looks like the Army Navy store donated them to the women’s shelter and your friend gave them to you,” Tak said.
“In exchange for a donation,” I clarified. Which I was happy to give. “But what’s with the fish smell?”
“They are sailor suits,” he said. “Adds a note of authenticity. I bet Candy Girls doesn’t have pre-scented costumes.”
The idea of promoting that the costumes at Disguise DeLimit came with thematic scents brought on another fit of giggles. It was late, and after the adrenaline crash of having been scared by Bobbie’s covert costume drop-off and then Tak’s subsequent arrival, I was left in a state of silly. It took longer than I would have liked to get the giggling under control. Tak stood by, patient, with a smile on his face.
“You never told me why you were here,” I said when I was able to talk again.
“Yes I did. Your dad called me. He said you were going to call me to talk about Ebony’s situation. I couldn’t sleep, so I went out for a drive. I guess I ended up here because I was already thinking about you. I didn’t expect you to be working, but when I saw the trash bags out front and the lights on inside, I thought maybe you were up too.”
“I was full of energy a couple of hours ago, but I’m starting to wind down. Can you help me carry these to the steamer in the back?”
“Sure.”
We lugged the sailor costumes past the sewing area to a small room that housed a steel steamer box, about eight feet high by ten feet deep. I turned the dial on the outside to generate pressure, and then unfolded several dryer sheets and clipped them to empty plastic pants hangers.
“What are those for?” Tak asked.
“The heat from the steamer activates the scent in the dryer sheet and neutralizes odors. I usually only use one per rolling rod, but I’m pretty sure this fish smell is unprecedented.”
After placing the dryer sheets on the rod, we hung the tops and pants between them. We had approximately fifty items, spaced an inch or so apart from one another. I opened the steamer cage and rolled the chrome rod inside. After clamping the door shut with a ka-chung, I checked the pressure gauge and then pushed the green button. It turned red, and the sound of steam filling the metal box came like a whoosh next to us. In sixty seconds, the light clicked back to green. I yanked on the handle and a cloud of steam washed over me.
“Your own private steamer. I’m impressed.”
“It’s a lot easier to keep the costumes fresh this way. Plus, dry cleaning is too harsh on most fabrics. Some of our costumes are twenty and thirty years old. A couple are older than that.” I pulled the rolling rod out of the steamer cage. Droplets of condensation speckled the metal rod between hangers. The scent of fish had been replaced with the freshness of the dryer sheets.
“These are still damp, but they’ll dry by tomorrow morning,” I said. “What time is it?”
He checked his watch. “Ten thirty,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was so late. You probably want to get to bed.”
I turned the pressure switch from the steamer to the off position and walked Tak back out to the front of the store. When I’d first moved to Vegas, I’d had to adjust to the fact that most jobs didn’t have nine-to-five hours. Working shows that closed at twelve thirty and not getting home until after one had gradually taken its toll on my internal sense of time. These days I was more of a night owl than a morning person. After falling asleep in front of the television last night and waking to find that I’d slept through the vandalism of Ebony’s car, maybe it would be good to give in to my night owl tendencies and keep watch.
“I’m still on Vegas time,” I said. “I’ll probably be up for the next couple of hours.”
“Vegas time? Is that where you live?”
I nodded.
“I lived in Las Vegas for a few years. What part?”
“No place special.”
“Everybody’s home is special,” he said.
“I live in an apartment on top of a Chinese restaurant.”
“See, now that sounds special. Do you like it?”