“Customers like Blitz don’t pay attention to store hours. So how’d it go?” he asked. “Was he impressed with our work?”
“Not really.” I dropped into a red vinyl kitchen chair, part of a ’50s diner set my dad had scored on one of his flea market trips. “He had a bunch of his friends with him. He said he didn’t like what we pulled together. Is this normal? People throw money at you to spend your day working for them and then they insult your work?”
“No, it’s not normal. Last week Molly Cunningham came in and bought five princess costumes for her nieces to wear to her wedding. And the week before that, Black Jack Cannon had a Maverick-themed poker party and rented our best Western garb. It’s not all bad, Margo. At least Blitz paid in advance.”
“When he said he wasn’t happy with what we’d pulled together, I gave him back his money.”
My dad studied my face. I knew it had been the right thing to do and I knew he knew it too. But I remembered what he’d said about medical bills and I wondered again if there was more—or less—to the store’s financial situation than he was letting on.
Chapter 3
A SMOKE-GRAY CAT sauntered up from under the table and ran his head against my dad’s pant legs. My dad set down the spoon and sat in a diner chair.
“Is this Soot?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“He was just a kitten when I last saw him.”
Soot jumped into my dad’s lap, turned three circles, and settled into a curled-up position. I ran my hand over the top of Soot’s head and he started to purr. The cat, not my dad.
When I moved away from Proper, I’d experienced homesickness in a big way. No family, no friends, nobody to talk to. I adopted a gray kitten from the owner of a candy store next to my apartment building and named him Soot. He had grown from a playful kitten into an ornery cat, but had a sixth sense when it came to sharing his affection with those who needed it. Turns out he was a whiz at catching mice too, which was less than thrilling when I found his catch of the day in one of my shoes. When I left Vegas for Proper City, I packed a suitcase and strapped it to the back of my scooter. And then I hired a taxi to follow me with Soot—in his carrier, of course—in the backseat.
*
THE next day I dressed in a yellow sweater, khaki skirt, and cowboy boots. I pulled my hair into two low ponytails and put a yellow cowboy hat on my head. I wrapped a belt with two holsters on it around my hips and filled the holsters with plastic pistols. Nobody would think twice about my outfit as long as I was working in the costume shop. When I wore this same outfit to the Whole Foods store last week, I got a couple of stares.
There was a note from my dad on the kitchen table that said he and his buddy Don Digby had taken off for Area 51. What was he thinking? He was recovering from a heart attack. He had no business taking off for parts unknown with Don.
I grabbed my phone and called him. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere on Route 66. Hard to tell.”
“I want you to turn around and come back here. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out and about. You need to rest.”
“I talked to my doctor last night and he saw nothing wrong with this trip as long as I took it easy. Don’s here, and he was a registered nurse for thirty years before he retired.”
“But why now? Why today?”
“I’ve been in touch with a sci-fi fan who lives in Area 51. He has a collection of costumes that he’s been wanting me to appraise. With you there to run the store, the timing was perfect.”
“I came back to Proper City to take care of you while you get better. Magic Maynard only gave me through the weekend. When are you coming back? I can’t take care of you if you’re not here.”
“If you take care of the store, it’s like you’re taking care of me. I’ll be back tomorrow, or maybe the next day. If things get busy, call Kirby Grizwitz. His number is taped to the wall to the left of the register. He’s in high school now, and he’s been working part-time.”
“Dad, I don’t know about this. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I can’t let this stuff end up on eBay, Margo. Besides, what’s going to happen? We’re driving five hundred miles through the desert. There’s not another car in sight.”
“Just be careful,” I said.