“Yes. She was one of Charlie’s Angels.” I didn’t really think her choice of costume was relevant, but there it was.
The detective thanked me and hung up. She made no mention of last night at Hoshiyama Kobe Steak House and neither did I.
*
KIRBY showed up a little after four o’clock. The first thing I did was run upstairs for a much-needed bathroom break. When I returned, I found him looking at my sketch.
“Are these for the new window that you did?” he asked.
“It was just an idea.”
“They’re great. I bet the drama club would be willing to paint the background for you if you gave them a discount on costumes for their next play.”
“I didn’t know you were in the drama club,” I said.
“I’m not,” he said. He kicked the toe of his Converse sneaker against the floor. “Rehearsals are the same time as afternoon swim team practice. I heard some of the drama club talking about fund-raisers on the bus ride home.”
“Are you friends with them? Would you be willing to ask if they’ll do it?”
He looked up. “I could ask the girl in charge if you want.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ll give them a fifty-dollar store credit in exchange for the backdrop.”
“Man, Varla’s going to flip. Can I call her now?”
“Varla?”
Kirby reddened. “She’s the stage manager. She’s cool.”
“Sure, go ahead and call her.”
Kirby went into the back room to make the phone call. I suspected Varla was more than just another girl who rode the bus with him.
I straightened the colorful display of crinolines when the door to Disguise DeLimit slammed open. The door hit the rack of feather boas, knocking it backward into the makeshift wall that separated the store from the stockroom. Feathers from the orange boa came loose and flitted through the air. One caught on the sleeve of the sun-kissed woman who entered. She shook her arm vigorously to free it, and then, when it refused to let go, she picked it off with her thumb and forefinger and flicked it in my direction. Being a feather, it caught the wind and glided away.
“Are you Margo Tamblyn?” she demanded.
“Yes. Welcome to Disguise DeLimit.”
“Don’t give me that crap. I want you to stop harassing my employees and stop talking about my company. Do you understand? My husband is an attorney and if you keep up the smear campaign against us, I’ll press you with defamation of character charges.”
“I don’t know who you are, but maybe you should mind your own business,” I said.
“I am minding my business. Candy Girls is the most important party supply and costume store in Proper City and your rumors are chasing away customers.” She turned to leave and tripped over a box of foam clown noses that sat on the floor. Brightly colored balls spilled out around her orange platform shoes.
She kicked the balls away and turned to leave. She stopped at the door and looked over her shoulder. “And in case nobody’s told you yet, you look stupid in that hat,” she said, and then she left.
I followed her to the door. She climbed into a sporty blue convertible and drove away.
Kirby came out from the back room. “Jeez, Margo, what’d you do? I’ve never seen the Casserole lose her cool like that.” He tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and stared out the front door.
“The Casserole?”
“Gina Cassavogli. We all call her the Casserole. Behind her back.”
“Who’s we? The kids at school?”
He gave me a funny look. “No. Jerry and Ebony and me.” He paused. “And some of the kids at school,” he added.
“Let me guess. Gina owns Candy Girls,” I said.
Kirby nodded. “You must have done something big to get her to show up here and acknowledge Disguise DeLimit exists. Normally she acts like they’re the only game in town.”
“Candy Girls is only five years old,” I said. “Disguise DeLimit has been here since 1975. It would make more sense for us to pretend they didn’t exist than vice versa.”
“You know women,” Kirby said. “Sometimes they don’t always see what’s right in front of them.” He bent down and corralled the clown noses back into the box. I didn’t ask how his conversation with Varla had gone. I had a feeling I could guess.
After we closed the shop, I went upstairs and sat at the dining room table, staring at the envelope of cash. I still couldn’t figure out how it had ended up with Ebony after I’d given it back to Blitz on Wednesday night. But was it the money Blitz had tried to use to pay for the costumes? Or was it money that he was planning on donating to Bobbie’s foundation? It couldn’t be coincidence that the amounts were the same and they were both stashed in envelopes. It had to mean something, only I didn’t know what.