“I know. We met at Blitz’s party,” I said.
“Ms. Tamblyn,” she said, nodding my direction. “I received a call that there was a break-in at the restaurant.”
“We didn’t break in,” I said. “Tak had a key.”
The detective studied my expression, and I got the feeling she was gauging more than my words. “In any event, it’s late and you two should call it a night.”
“Sure,” I said.
The detective walked around the restaurant, presumably to make sure everything was okay. Tak stood next to me, silent and guarded. I looked over his head to the balcony, but the old man was gone.
“Tak, why did Detective Nichols say someone called about a break-in?”
He watched her taillights fade away into the distance. When he spoke, it wasn’t to answer my question. “She’s right. It’s late. How about I take you home?”
“There’s a mess inside. Let me help you clean up first.”
“I’ll take care of it when I get back.” He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to his car. We didn’t talk on the way back to Disguise DeLimit. Tak’s mind appeared to be far away.
“Tak, who was the man on the balcony?”
He stared ahead at the road. “My father.”
“Was he the one who called the police?”
Tak parked in front of the shop and nodded. “The problems I’m having with my father have nothing to do with you. I’m sorry about tonight. It was a bad idea to go. That’s not what I had in mind when I invited you.”
I shrugged. “You delivered exactly what you promised. The best fried rice in Proper City.”
For the first time since we’d left, he smiled. “Good night, Margo,” he said. His car didn’t pull away from the curb until after I was upstairs in my bedroom with Soot.
*
EVEN though I hadn’t gone to bed until close to two—after soaking my gasoline-saturated linens and treating my suede moccasins with baking soda to absorb the stain and the odor—I was up by seven. Inspired by the uniforms that Bobbie had dropped off the night before, I dressed in my own sleeveless white sailor’s top and black flare-bottom pants. I pulled a cheap black, white, and yellow naval captain’s hat over my flipped hair and blended up a pineapple and banana smoothie.
While Soot buried his nose in a bowl of organic fish parts, I sat at the dining room table staring at the hair spray cans and the torn piece of fabric that I’d found on Ebony’s car. I’d wanted to talk to Tak about it, but our conversation had been interrupted before I had the chance.
I finished my smoothie and filled the glass and the blender with water and left them sitting in the sink. The store wasn’t due to open for a few hours, and with Kirby in school, I wouldn’t be able to leave once we were open like I had yesterday. I stuffed my wallet into a hidden pocket inside the waistband of the sailor pants, grabbed my keys, and left.
*
SHINDIG was located inside of the house where Ebony had lived since I’d met her. It was a small split-level building. Ebony had opened up the first floor by knocking out walls to make a showroom. The upstairs was modest—a bedroom, bathroom, and a small landing filled with Ivory’s toys—but it was all she needed to make do.
Her massive Coupe de Ville was parked in a space in the corner of the lot behind the store. The flat tires had been repaired and all traces of the hair spray had been removed from the hood. Even the windows appeared to be in working order. Dig must have bumped his other business in order to handle Ebony’s crisis. No big surprise there.
I locked my helmet to the scooter and pulled the captain’s hat onto my head. After letting myself in through the back door, I started a pot of coffee. Ebony had never been a morning person, and she’d long ago given me a set of rules for entering her house before ten a.m. They included starting the coffee, not attempting to clean up any messes that she might have left out the night before, and staying downstairs. As usual, I adhered to the first and third rules and completely ignored the second by moving the dirty dishes in the sink to the dishwasher. I texted her to let her know I was there, and wandered into the showroom out front.
Shindig had been Ebony’s party planning business since she’d graduated high school in the ’70s. Photos of her early parties lined the walls behind the counter next to the first dollar she’d ever made. In the front of the store were small round tables surrounded by three to four chairs, and on each table was a stack of photo albums that showcased what she’d done for clients in the past. She stocked very little in the way of merchandise, preferring to be hired to coordinate a party rather than to let people come to her for supplies to create their own backdrop. This was the fundamental difference between the way Shindig and Candy Girls approached party planning.