I WAS HALFWAY to Grady’s house in Christopher Robin Crossing before it occurred to me to think up an excuse for showing up unexpectedly and asking about who wore what to the party. Payment wasn’t a valid excuse. Plus, I’d already made it clear that the costumes weren’t returnable if purchased, so I couldn’t offer to buy the costumes back without undermining the store’s return policy.
Police sirens sounded behind me. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the flashing lights. Fine time to get a ticket! I pulled over to the shoulder, my heart racing. The police car shot past me and turned into the development. I followed. The flashing lights disappeared around the corner. I took the same turn. There was no question where the police were headed. Two black-and-whites were parked willy-nilly in front of Blitz Manners’s house on Pooh Corner.
Blitz’s mom stood out front. Again she was tastefully dressed, today in a somber black skirt suit. Her driver stood next to her, his arm on her elbow. She hugged her body and kept her eyes focused on the ground. Even though the sun had descended, she wore heavy black sunglasses. Considering her son had been murdered only a few days earlier, I suspected she was hiding the evidence of her grief.
Among the officers who got out of their cars was Detective Nichols. Today she wore a snug black T-shirt under her black blazer. Her blond hair hung loose in soft curls. She’d parted it on the side and tucked it behind her ears.
I watched from the side of the road. The detective approached Mrs. Cannon, who looked up and pointed at the house. She shook her head in answer to something Detective Nichols asked. The detective went inside the house. Mrs. Cannon and her driver stayed behind in the driveway.
A car with dealer plates screeched into the development and pulled up behind the police cruisers. Black Jack hopped out and raced over to his wife and she crumpled into his arms.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were spying on the rich and famous.” I recognized Grady’s voice before turning to confirm my suspicion.
“Maybe I was just out for a nighttime ride,” I said.
“Pretty bold of you, considering you got lost in our development only yesterday.”
“Lost seems like such a strong word, don’t you think? Temporarily disoriented is better.”
“Okay, so what does your temporary disorientation have to do with the scene in front of the Cannon house? That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Actually, I came out here to see you.” At the surprise on his face, I smiled. “I wanted to talk to you about the costumes from Saturday.”
He waved his hand in front of me. “Forget about it. You made it clear that they weren’t refundable. I’m not going to fight you on that.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “I was hoping you could tell me who wore which one.”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked.
I searched my mind for something—anything—to say and I came up empty. I wasn’t comfortable enough to tell him the truth.
“Listen, I get it. What happened to Blitz at the party was horrible and I can’t shake it either. The police have a list of everybody who was there. If they needed to know who was dressed as each character, they would have asked. You have to try to let it go.”
I nodded as if he’d figured me out. “I can’t help thinking that one of those people is a killer. You know? A dress-up party is supposed to be fun, but one person saw an opportunity to hide their true identity so they could get away with murder. It doesn’t make it any better that everybody was dressed up as a good guy. I mean, who was it? One of Charlie’s Angels? Charlie Chan? Or maybe it was Kojak or Columbo?”
Grady stepped away from me and his face changed. I waited for him to let it slip that he knew who those people were, but he didn’t. “Nothing good will come from asking those questions.” He put his hand on my arm and turned me around to face the Cannon house. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather find out what’s going on over there? Come on,” he said. He passed me and turned back, holding out his hand for me to join him.
“Grady, this isn’t my neighborhood and it isn’t my business.”
“It’s my neighborhood, which makes it my business. And you’re with me, so what’s the problem?”