“Who was I going to tell? Blitz wanted to remain anonymous. He knew what he did, and I knew what he did. And no matter how hard I tried to talk him into it, he wouldn’t even take a tax deduction on the money. You’re not going to tell anybody about this, are you?”
“No. It’s hard to think that I met this person and he’s so much different than I thought,” I said. “I shouldn’t be asking you so many things. I got carried away.”
She reached across the table and patted my hand. “I can understand that,” she said. “It breaks my heart that none of those kids who showed up at his party ever took the time to know the real Blitz Manners.”
*
I didn’t check the seat of the scooter for the money until I was back at Disguise DeLimit. I didn’t want to draw attention to it. I wasn’t used to driving around with $20,000 in cash, especially the cash of a recent murder victim.
Bobbie had said that Blitz was due to give her his donation on the exact same day he’d shown up at the store and given us the incentive of an envelope of cash. It was curious that he’d had that much money on him in the first place. Was that why? Because he was on his way to Money Changes Everything? And if that was the case, what had happened to make him decide to give us the money instead?
I thought back to later that same night, when he and his tipsy friends had stopped back at the store. Even Grady had made a comment about my actions. “You were right, Blitz, she’s not like the rest of them. All the girls we know would have kept the money.” Had the envelope of twenty grand been some kind of a test?
Upstairs in the kitchen, I wrote Blitz’s deposit, returned by me Wednesday night on a blank sheet of white paper and set the envelope with the $20,000 on top of it. Now I had three things to investigate: the money, the empty hair spray can that had been in the backseat of the car, and the torn piece of fabric. Two had come from Ebony’s vandalized car. The third had come from her parking lot. Which meant all three were connected to her.
One thing might have been easy to dismiss. Two, even. But three things—plus the fact that for the first time since I’d known Ebony, she’d decided to leave town—were too many to ignore. I didn’t know what she was afraid of. But Ebony had been there for me when I’d been scared—of going to junior high school, of taking my driver’s test, and of moving to Las Vegas—and now that she needed me I wasn’t going to let her down.
I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Ebony wouldn’t hurt a fly unless that fly was threatening someone or something she loved. Which meant somebody else had murdered Blitz. Somebody at the birthday party. But who? The guest list of a party was supposed to be made up of people who were your friends. So which of Blitz’s friends would have viewed the party as an opportunity to get back at him instead of a chance to celebrate with him? Who would have had a motive to murder the very person who had been included on his special day?
My mind swam with images of costumed detectives at the party, each one running into the next. I’d made forty costumes as requested, but some of the costumes at the party had come from Candy Girls or even somewhere else. The police knew who was in attendance; they spoke to each person at the party before anybody was allowed to leave. That included guests, entertainment, Ebony’s serving staff, the kitchen crew, and the valet parking attendants. It was highly possible that this was the biggest locked-room mystery ever, and it was most probable that too many detectives had spoiled the stew.
I carried the swatch of fabric downstairs and checked it against the roll that my dad had used on the Sherlock costumes. The pattern was similar, but not a perfect match. That told me something, but not much. I thought again about the tear in the costume that Amy Bradshaw had wanted to sell. Why had she changed her mind? What was she trying to hide?
The store hours listed on the Candy Girls website were nine to seven. I called the store and asked to speak to Amy. A few minutes later, she took the call.
“Amy, this is Margo Tamblyn from Disguise DeLimit. I wanted to talk to you about the Charlie’s Angels costume you brought in on Sunday.” I charged ahead before she could hang up. “I’ve had a chance to look at our inventory, and I’d be interested in acquiring all three costumes if you can convince the other two women to sell.”
“How did you know I worked here?” she asked.
“I asked around,” I said. “After I saw your costume, I wanted to find out who made them. I thought if they came from Candy Girls, you would have returned them there, so you must have made them yourself.”
“It’s too late for you to buy that costume. I threw it out.”
“That’s a shame. I’m sure the tear in the pants could be fixed.”
“What tear?”
“In the back of the leg. I saw it when you brought it in to Disguise DeLimit. You knew the pants were torn, right? You must have gotten them caught on something at the party.”
Amy was silent on the other end of the phone. “Amy? Are you still there?”