“What about you? What are you wearing tonight?”
“Ebony doesn’t need a costume. You know why? Ebony is going to be safely locked away inside of her apartment.” When she was worked up, she liked to refer to herself in the third person. The idea of spending time at an old, run-down hotel that she not-so-secretly believed was haunted definitely got her worked up.
“Best costume has come from Disguise DeLimit for the past twelve years. You don’t want to help our odds? We’re not about to let it fall into the hands of an amateur,” I said.
“You’ll win. You always do.” She looked down at the rat head and tugged on the pointy, blood-tipped teeth that jutted out from under the nose. “He is kinda cute,” she said. She adjusted his blood-tipped fangs, smiled, and left.
Kirby pulled the pink mitts off his hands and threw them down on the floor next to me. “I thought she’d never leave. That garlic was making me hungry for pizza.” He reached around behind himself until he found the ties that kept the rat suit closed in the back, undid them, and shrugged out of the body of the costume. It fell to the floor in a mound of shaggy white fur, and Kirby was left wearing his Proper City Prawns swim team T-shirt and jeans. He kicked the costume to the side by the plastic tub of colorful clown noses and stormed off.
Halloween was just shy of a week away, but tonight was the big kickoff costume party at the long-vacant Alexandria Hotel. The tall brick building had been abandoned decades ago, and was sorely in need of some TLC. A wealthy developer had purchased it, but agreed to allow the residents of Proper City to hold our annual party inside. Ebony had turned down the job of converting the interior into a suitably haunted but not dangerous reception hall. Something about not wanting to stir up the ghosts and goblins who had taken to the hotel after it had been boarded up. Candy Girls, the tacky ready-made costume/theme party supplier—who, much to our chagrin, occasionally gave both Ebony and Disguise DeLimit a run for our money—had ended up with the job.
The party started at six so even the youngsters could go and was the first chance the residents of Proper had to show off their costumes for the Halloween season. Ebony might have planned to stay away, but not me. In a couple of hours, I’d be in my own costume, meeting up with a friend in the parking lot, ready to see how everything would turn out.
The cowbell over the door chimed and I looked up. A fiftyish man in a black business suit walked in. His shirt and tie were impeccable, and his briefcase was practically brand new. His white hair was parted on the side and smoothed into place, and contrasted sharply with the black frames on his glasses. I came out from behind the counter and met him halfway in the store.
“Nice costume,” I said. “Government agent? We carry clip-on IDs if you’d like to accessorize.”
He looked down at his suit and then up at me, confused. “I’m looking for Jerry Tamblyn, owner of Disguise DeLimit. Is he here?”
“No, he’s not. I’m Margo Tamblyn, his daughter. I run the store these days. Can I help you with something?”
The man’s expression told me he wasn’t here to rent a costume. He reached down to a bookcase filled with brightly colored clown feet and pushed the feet to the side, knocking a few pair onto the floor. I stooped to pick them up. He set his briefcase on the top of the shelf, popped open the locks, and pulled out a white envelope.
I glanced around the store. Kirby was busy with the teenagers by the rack of black leather jackets. One of the girls held a pink satin jacket with PINK LADIES embroidered on the back. Two teenage girls held up shapeless red-and-white striped all-in-one jumpsuits that we rented with blue wigs. Thing One and Thing Two from The Cat in the Hat. Always a good choice.
“If you’re selling something, I’m not interested,” I said. “We’re pretty busy right now, so I can’t spare any more time.”
“I’ll only take a moment of your time. I’ve tried at length to contact you by mail. I can only assume from your lack of response and your continued focus on renting costumes that you’ve chosen to ignore the issue.”
“What issue?”
“The issue of Halloween. As you know, this year’s festivities are scheduled to take place at the Alexandria Hotel in West Proper.”
“I know all that. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I now own the Alexandria Hotel, and I’ve restricted access to the party to those in my employ.” His mouth pulled into a line that must have been what passed for his smile. “Read the letter inside. The situation is self-explanatory.” He checked his watch again, and then closed up his briefcase and lifted it from the now-empty shelf. “Good day, Ms. Tamblyn,” he said. He turned and left without waiting for me to look inside the envelope.