I went downstairs to the costume shop and found a note from Kirby taped to the register.
Day ended with rentals of Wizard of Oz costumes for birthday party. Credit approved, sales slip under cash drawer in register. I unpacked, steamed, and restocked fringed dresses. Black Jack Cannon called about his next poker game. Hospital called and said Jerry will be released in the morning. I’ll come after class to welcome him back.—Kirby
It had been nice of Kirby to leave me a status report when I hadn’t come back by closing time. He was a good employee. I’d have to talk to my dad about expanding his hours, especially while Dad was recovering. Kirby and I had been able to hold it together for the week, but when I went back to Las Vegas, there was no way Dad would be able to run the shop on his own.
I found the record of the rental deposit under the cash drawer like Kirby had said. Combined with Willow’s order for the Conehead costumes, it had been a good day. Not just a good day, I realized, a good week. The murder hadn’t affected our business at all. In fact, Blitz’s party had introduced us to a whole group of people who might not have otherwise shopped with us. I had Black Jack to thank for that, I guessed. He’d rented Maverick costumes for his last poker game, and when Grady paid for the forty detective costumes, he said he’d square the bill with Black Jack.
Slowly, I felt a chill climb up my skin under the loose legs of the alien pajamas. Maybe Black Jack had offered to pick up the tab for the costumes since he had rented costumes from us in the past. Maybe Blitz had figured what the heck, let the old man do something nice for him for his birthday.
Or maybe everything Amy said really was true, and she had nothing to do with Blitz’s murder. Maybe Black Jack did.
I closed my eyes and tried to think through my cloudy, tired brain. Black Jack had access to his wife’s jewelry. Black Jack had known who wore which costume at the party. Black Jack had not benefited financially by marrying into the Manners fortune because Brody Manners had left his fortune to Blitz.
I picked up my phone and started to dial the police station. A sound from the stockroom startled me. I glanced at the door, open the width of either one cat or one dog. Or both.
“Soot? Ivory? Get out here,” I said. Seconds later, the two of them streaked past me like Wile E. Coyote chasing Road Runner.
I set the phone down and crossed the store. When I reached for the doorknob to the stockroom, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the darkness.
Chapter 29
I STUMBLED FORWARD but kept my balance. My eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light. I blinked several times until I made out the stacks of boxes that had been opened earlier. They sat at odd angles in the middle of the room, blocking my view behind them.
“Who’s there?” I called out. There was no answer. “I’m calling the police,” I said.
“No, you’re not,” said Black Jack. He stepped away from the shadows and stood facing me. He wore a tall, black cowboy hat like the one we stocked for our Western costumes, a leather blazer over a collared shirt, jeans held up with a large belt buckle, and pointy cowboy boots.
And a gun. He held a silver gun.
I was so used to picking accessories for costumes that, at first, the gun didn’t seem out of place with the rest of his outfit. When the threat of the revolver sank in, I realized how helpless I was.
“You’re not calling anybody,” he said. “Your phone is upstairs on your kitchen counter. Right next to your table of clues.”
An ice-cold fear engulfed me. “You were in my house?”
“That was nice of you to give me some alone time when you took the dog out. By the way, you did a good job straightening the place up for Jerry’s return tomorrow. Let’s hope you don’t make a mess of things down here by getting blood all over everything.”
I stood rooted to the spot. My eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shelves surrounding the room and the costumes hanging below them. A few of the boxes had been labeled since Tak and I had worked in there. More of Kirby’s helpfulness?
Black Jack stepped forward. “You’ve been nosing around too much,” he said. “I can’t risk anybody finding out what I did.”
“You mean finding out that you killed your son?” I said boldly.
“My son. That’s a joke.”
“But you did kill him,” I said.
“I killed him because he wouldn’t play ball with me. All he had to do was let me hock his mom’s jewelry. The engagement ring was just the beginning. Once we reported the robbery, the insurance would have paid out and I’d get the money I needed. But he wouldn’t let it go. He actually thought the jewelry was more valuable than the money.”
“Why do you need money? You have the most successful dealership in Proper City.”