“But I do,” Ebony interjected. She stepped between Blitz and me. “Give me the night to secure the location, entertainment, and catering. Come to my shop tomorrow and we’ll work out details.”
“There aren’t any details to work out.” He pulled an envelope out from inside his jacket and tossed it on a table. “Twenty thou should get you started. I’ll pay the rest when it’s done.”
Chapter 2
WE ALL STARED at the thick envelope on the table, but none of us made a move to pick it up.
Blitz turned to me. “You work with the costumes?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to turn me into the hottest detective Proper City has ever seen. I’ll come back tomorrow to pick up my costume. Better have the rest done by then too, so I can figure out who’ll wear what.”
“Tomorrow? I can’t have forty custom costumes ready in twenty-four hours!”
“Sure you can, toots. Your store’s reputation depends on it.” He pulled a brown leather billfold out of the back pocket of his shorts and extracted a piece of paper. “My measurements. Make sure it fits in all the right places.” He winked.
I didn’t take the paper. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I can’t hit that deadline.”
“I don’t think you understand. I just paid you twenty grand for this gig, and that means I own you. So if I want to pick up costumes tomorrow, then you’ll have them ready. Got it, babe?”
He put on a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses and flashed teeth that were whiter than my boots. He shut the door behind him, and Ebony threw a pair of fuzzy dice at the door after it closed. I shook my arms to get rid of the heebie-jeebies. Blitz Manners might be used to flashing his smile and getting what he wanted, but I didn’t care how much money he threw at us. As far as clientele went, he left much to be desired.
“Who was that guy again?” I asked.
“That guy was trouble,” Ebony answered.
I waited for more. My dad wheeled himself to the front of the store and scooped the fuzzy dice from the floor. He wheeled back to the counter and set them on top of the case. “Blitz Manners. Local trust fund baby. His family lives in the mansion at the end of Winnie Lane.”
“Winnie Lane. Isn’t that part of the new big development? Christopher Robin Crossing?” I asked.
“Yes. When the money moved into Proper, that’s where they built.”
Ebony spoke up. “There’s all sorts of mansions out that direction, like they’re afraid to let their property get too close to the rest of us. Pretty silly, all those rich people living in a development named after Winnie-the-Pooh.” My dad shot her a look. “Well, it is. Ten years ago one of ’em tried to petition the city council to rename the streets. I guess Piglet Lane doesn’t look so fancy even when it’s engraved on an invitation.”
My dad shook his head at Ebony’s insights.
“Those houses were there when I lived here. Why don’t I know the name?”
“Those kids went to private schools and then out-of-state colleges. Most of the families that live out that way have their own social circles.” He rolled his wheelchair back a few inches and then forward, trying—and failing—to change direction. He rolled the chair back into the same position where he’d been. “As far as I can tell, nobody’s said no to Blitz since his father died. He started collecting his inheritance when he turned eighteen. His mother remarried Jack Cannon, but he never had any luck controlling the boy either. Blitz was too far along as a spoiled rich kid. His solution to everything is to throw money at it.”
I glanced at the bulging envelope. “What’s with the party?”
Ebony spoke up. “There’s a competition between the rich kids to outdo each other with their birthday parties. It’s been going on for about five years now, I think. Blitz and his friends are currently controlling the game. Grady O’Toole had a hustle party a few months ago. He hired me to provide the catering. I would have loved to design the entire thing, but he gave the job to Candy Girls.”
Candy Girls was an operation of women who organized events in Proper. They were started as a postcollege nonprofit by a group of sorority sisters, but when the founders realized the income potential, they were quick to turn their backs on their initial charitable impulses. You could hire Candy Girls to cater, decorate, or simply show up to guarantee a crowd and a decent girl-to-boy ratio at your event.
Even though Candy Girls employed a lot of the women who chose to stay in Proper City, I had never considered working there. Candy Girls were blond, giggly, and popular. They were the kind of women who kept the local salons in business with their highlights and blowouts. I kept my hair in a dark-brown-from-a-box ’60s flip with bangs that I trimmed with sewing scissors. It was the way my mom wore her hair for her yearbook photo in 1968. That was my favorite way to remember her. The style worked with just about any costume-inspired outfit I wore. Especially the ones with the go-go boots.