Masking for Trouble

by Diane Vallere

  “Cooper, hi. What are you doing here? Are you looking for a costume?”

  He scanned the room, lingering for a moment on the papier-mâché head of a devil next to a rack of red plastic pitchforks. “I came to see you.” He smiled his aw-shucks smile. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to give you a copy of the maps we were looking at.” He held out a white cardboard tube.

  “The quaternary maps,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to copy them so quickly. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

  “Not at all. There’s a town hall meeting tonight and the subject of what’s going to happen to Paul Haverford’s plans is on the agenda. These are a part of the conversation, so I was already working with them.”

  I took the tube, popped off the end cap, and stared inside. “Thank you,” I said. Behind him, two couples entered the store and went different directions. My dad raised his eyebrows at me. “I’d love to offer you a cup of coffee and go over these right now, but I can’t. In about an hour, this place will be full of customers and it’s just my dad and I today.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He looked at his watch. “I have to get back to the office anyway.

  I walked him to the front door, mindful that I was being watched and that I’d most likely have questions to answer after he left. As we walked through the doors, a school bus pulled up in front of the store and a small army of children piled off and ran past us. Saved!

  “Thanks again, Cooper. You didn’t have to make the trip out here. I could have picked the maps up.”

  “This gave me a chance to surprise you.” He reached up and tugged on the brim of my hat. “I thought you were mod?”

  “I’m whatever strikes me when I wake up in the morning. The side effect of growing up in a costume shop.”

  “Sounds like a cool way to live.” He grinned and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “You wouldn’t— Would you— Do you have . . .” He cleared his throat. “Let me try this again. Do you have any interest in going to the town hall meeting tonight? Tak said you were interested in the Alexandria Hotel, and since that’s going to be the hot subject . . .” His voice trailed off. “Normally those things can get a little boring, and I can’t promise anything, but . . . Sorry. It’s going to be boring. Just say no.”

  “Yes,” I said without thinking too much about it. “I’d love to.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how much it sounded like Cooper had just asked me out on a date and I’d accepted. I felt my face flush red and glanced over my shoulder to see if anybody was watching. My dad was, but judging from the look on his face, he was more upset by the fact that I wasn’t in the store helping with customers. “Where is it? What time should I arrive?”

  “It’s in the community center. It starts at seven thirty.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Great. See you tonight.” He walked around the corner and hopped into his SUV. I waved as he started up the engine and then drove away. Someone tugged on the back of my vest and I looked down.

  “’Scuse me,” said a small boy. “That man over there said to ask you where to find Batman in my size.”

  “Batman? Sure. Follow me.”

  * * *

  EIGHT hours later, both my dad and I collapsed into plastic chairs that had been left around the store for customers who needed to sit. I kicked off the platform shoes and stared at my swollen feet. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to wear regular shoes again,” I said.

  “One more day,” he said. “I’m getting too old for this.” He kicked his own shoes off, stuck his feet out in front of him, and wiggled his toes. “What’s it going to be for dinner tonight? Take-out or a restaurant?”

  I glanced at the clock. “You’re on your own for dinner. I’m going to a town hall meeting.”

  He leaned forward. “Since when are you interested in county politics? Did this have anything to do with your visitor earlier today?”

  “That was Cooper. He’s a friend—” I caught myself right before I said Tak’s name. “He works in the Clark County Planning Office. I met him a couple of days ago.”

  “Does he know Tak?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because Tak used to work in the Clark County Planning Office.” He looked at me as if I was slow.

  “Oh, sure, yes, that makes sense. Yes, he knows Tak.”

  “Huh.” My dad stood up and patted my head. “What time is this town hall meeting?”

  “Seven thirty.” I pushed myself up and followed him up the stairs. “You can figure out dinner on your own, right? Call Don, he’ll bring you something.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go, get ready for your meeting.”

  I took a quick shower and changed into a navy blue skirt suit, tights, and low-heeled pumps. I put on a little makeup and moved my wallet and phone into a small handbag that I could sling across my body while I drove the scooter. I pulled my door shut behind me and overheard my dad chuckle. I approached the kitchen. He was on the phone, his back to me.

  “How about I come over at eight thirty?” he said. He paused for a moment, and then said, “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  I set my handbag on the table. He turned quickly, surprised that I was standing there. “Did you take my advice and call Don? What are you two crazy kids going to do tonight?”

  “Not Don. That was Marilyn Robinson. I ran into her last night. Nice lady.” He patted the pockets of his wool blazer as if he was checking for something. “Well, this is a first,” he said. “Both of us going out on dates.”

  Jeez. At this rate I was going to be seeing Willow Summers every single day.

  * * *

  I arrived at the community center a few minutes early. Cooper wasn’t there. We hadn’t made concrete plans to sit together or meet out front, so I took a seat in the back row. If he wanted to find me, he would.

  The room was the kind of makeshift area that could be used for a number of different activities. Large squares of maple made up the walls, and mostly blue Berber carpeting covered the floor. Here and there, stains from spilled cups of coffee had turned the blue to a dismal shade of brown, but it appeared that no one had prioritized the act of cleaning the stains.

  At the front of the room, two collapsible tables were set up on either side of a wooden podium. A handful of men and women filled the chairs behind the table, facing the audience. They talked among themselves in voices too low to overhear.

  Cork bulletin boards hung at the front and alongside the room, advertising upcoming bingo games, carpools, local businesses, and pets up for adoption. An American flag from the time when Nevada became a state was framed and mounted on the wall next to a row of chipped bookcases. The shelves were filled with sets of leather-bound books. Scents of coffee and popcorn from a small snack table outside of the entrance filled the air as people arrived and helped themselves.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water and tried to relax. Whether it was my dad’s date with the bank teller or my spontaneous plans to meet Cooper when I was somewhat dating Tak in private, I felt unsettled. As the clock ticked closer to seven thirty and I sat alone, it struck me how silly it was that I hadn’t invited Tak. Had I wanted this to feel like a date? And if so, was I bummed that it appeared as though Cooper had stood me up?

  I texted Tak. At town hall meeting. Alexandria Hotel on agenda. Join?

  He replied a few minutes later. Already have plans. Say hi to Coop for me.

  I stared at the phone. If I hadn’t said anything, then Cooper must have. Which meant that Tak didn’t care. Which meant maybe Tak had a different reason for keeping our relationship secret.

  I was pulled away from my dating dilemma by the sound of the door closing. I looked up. Cooper stood next to my row.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  “You’re not lat
e. The meeting hasn’t started.”

  He looked confused. “I know. They were waiting for me.” He had a laptop bag hanging from his shoulder, and he took it off and held it out. “Can you hold on to this for me? I have to get up front. If you have any questions, let me know and I’ll try to answer them when it’s all over.”

  I took the laptop bag and he walked down the center aisle and took a seat at the last vacant chair facing the room.

  Maybe I’d been wrong about thinking this was a date.

  A man in a dark suit moved to the podium. He called the meeting to order. Chatter dropped to nonexistent and he set the agenda for the evening.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve set a specific agenda to discuss the property at 125 West Main Line Avenue, also known as the Alexandria Hotel. Under the ownership of Haverford Venture Capital, the hotel was to be demolished and the land used to construct a new development called”—he flipped through a few pages in front of him—“Havetown. Out of respect for the recently deceased Paul Haverford, we would like to settle this matter quickly and efficiently. We are aware that we will have people speaking for and against this project. Before we get started, I’d like our committee members to introduce themselves. Who wants to start?”

  One by one, the seven people seated at the front of the room stood up, said their name and their job. The committee was comprised of two members of the city council, a recording secretary, two longtime residents of Proper City, the man who had made opening remarks, and Cooper, who was there on behalf of the planning commission.

  The speaker returned to the podium. “Judging from the number of people here, I’m guessing a lot of you have something to say on this matter, so let’s get started. First, we’ll hear arguments for the demolition of the hotel and the construction of Havetown, and then against.” He indicated a microphone stand between the two aisles of chairs and instructed anyone who wanted to talk to form a line behind it. Chairs shifted as people stood, jockeying for their position. Clearly the future of the Alexandria was a hot button for Proper.

  The line quickly blocked my view, so I stood and moved to the back corner so I could see. It was then I saw that the first man in line was the man who’d been arguing with Paul Haverford the day I’d shown up at his offices. Camel Coat.

  Chapter 18

  “PLEASE STATE YOUR name, where you are from or who you are representing, and what your relationship to Proper City is prior to making your statement,” instructed the proctor.

  Camel Coat leaned toward the microphone. “My name is Bill Perth. Paul Haverford and I formed a partnership for the development of Havetown. His death, though untimely, should have no bearing on the timetables already established in the planning stages of Havetown. The demolition of the Alexandria Hotel has been a part of those plans all along. This meeting is a waste of time. There is no cause for this matter to be on the town hall agenda, and if a vote against our development plans is reached tonight, I will have no other choice but to seek legal action to protect my investment.”

  A rumble spilled out through the line and the crowd, the buzz of eighty or so people equaling that of a jackhammer. I watched Cooper. He kept his face from reacting but made a note on a tablet in front of him. The proctor, who had barely sat back down into his chair, returned to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, please,” he said, trying to calm everybody down.

  Another ripple tore through the crowd. Heads moved closer together as people made comments to one another. The proctor cleared his throat in the microphone in front of him. Someone hissed “Shhhhh!” loudly and the room quieted down.

  “Mr. Perth, you may continue.”

  The tall man unbuttoned his camel coat and shrugged out of it. He folded it over itself and set it on the front row chair where he’d been sitting before the meeting started.

  For the first time since I’d arrived, I scanned the crowd. I recognized a few people here and there: the sisters who owned Packin’ Pistils, the manager of Catch-22, the landscaper for the Proper City Park. A family of six sat in the row in front of me. I recognized the father as Andy Caplan, the driver of the Zip-Two. His wife sat between two of their children, who ignored the activities in the courtroom because they were more interested in the games they could play on their phones.

  When Bill Perth returned to the microphone, the room hushed down to near quiet. Without the polish that his topcoat provided, I could see that he lacked the air of successful businessman that Paul Haverford had probably been born with. Bill was stout, with most of his weight falling around his midsection. His suit jacket stretched across his back, leaving strained fabric by the seams of his sleeves. He had a white fringe of hair around an otherwise bald head, and his skin had a pinkish caste.

  “Mr. Perth, please tell us the nature of your business with Paul Haverford and how it pertains to the Alexandria Hotel,” the proctor said.

  “Paul Haverford and I have been silent partners for the past seven years. We’ve invested in properties throughout Nevada. The Alexandria Hotel is the first location we’ve purchased in Proper City. The town’s proximity to the California/Nevada state line represents a unique location for housing.”

  “So you want to tear down the hotel and develop housing?” asked a voice from the audience.

  Bill turned to the crowd and scanned the faces. “Our plans for development include leveling the hotel and neighboring structures, rezoning the area for residential, and building apartment buildings to draw new residents into Proper. Based on the expanded population, we have interested businesses and entertainment developers who will bring in additional restaurants, movie theaters, and shopping centers. Transportation to and from Las Vegas will be added, as will gambling establishments. The town will benefit from the additional tax revenue.”

  “And the small guys will be driven out of business,” said the owner of Catch-22. Another rumble cycled through the crowd.

  Bill pulled a white handkerchief out of his pants pocket and dragged it across his shiny forehead. His face had grown more red as he spoke, but his stammer had all but disappeared.

  The proctor tapped a small gavel on the table at the front of the room. The buzz of voices quieted down. “Mr. Perth, the Alexandria Hotel is under consideration to become a historic landmark. Paul Haverford made it clear that he did not care about the town of Proper City in his development plans. If the petition to change the status of the building is granted, his plans will have to be halted.”

  That was strange. All this talk about leveling the property and building new apartments, and if Annette Crowley from the conservancy got her way, it would be a moot point.

  “Haverford told me not to worry about the conservancy. He said he’d handle them.”

  The man to the left of Cooper gestured for the microphone. “You said that you and Paul Haverford were partners in this deal. If we could understand the nature of that partnership, we might be better prepared to address your concerns. Can you provide evidence of your business collaboration?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t. Paul Haverford and I had a verbal agreement,” Bill Perth said.

  Chapter 19

  THE WOMAN BEHIND me leaned down. “Not worth the paper it’s written on,” she said to me. Instantly I recognized the voice. I turned to confirm what I’d suspected. The newcomer was Francine Wheeler.

  She wore a blue hooded jacket over a white shirt and dark trousers. Next to her was a small metal handcart with a box filled with notebooks, loose papers bound by a rubber band, and a carousel of slides. A long rolled tube of paper jutted out from one of the corners of the box. It looked suspiciously like the rolled map that Cooper had delivered to Disguise DeLimit.

  “Find anything interesting the other morning?” she asked.

  “The other morning?”

  “At the hotel. You were there to do prep work for tonight’s meeting, weren’t you?”

  Truth was that I’d
been at the hotel for strictly selfish reasons. I wanted to get a look at the scene of the crime in broad daylight. But dressed as I’d been, in the uniform of a park ranger, I could see that I’d led Francine to her misassumption.

  As I tried to figure out how to best explain my interest in the hotel and the town hall meeting, she leaned in again. “Perth is going to hijack this meeting if we don’t do something about it.” She stepped forward and cupped her hands around her mouth. “The only truth that Bill Perth said was that this meeting is a waste of time. I have evidence here that shows that the Alexandria Hotel is built on an active fault line. Demo that hotel and you risk the safety of the residents of Proper.”

  Heads turned to face us. Francine, not one to shy away from the center of attention, turned to me. “Help me with this, wouldya?” she said. She tipped the handle of the cart my direction and then walked up the aisle to the front of the room and grabbed the microphone from the stand.

  “If any issue is to be resolved tonight, it should be this. The city council should acknowledge once and for all the work I’ve done in the field of seismology and the potential impact on the town of Proper City if this project is pursued. We can change the zoning laws so this doesn’t become an issue again. You can affect change if you’re willing to take your heads out of the dirt.”

  “Ms. Wheeler, you and your colleague will have your say. I will not have you derail this meeting.”

  “Perth’s the one who derailed this meeting, not us. I have files, maps, test results. My colleague is bringing them up now—where is she?—that will prove the dangers.”

  Heat flushed my face. Francine had cast me on her side of the argument. Truth was, I would have taken any side opposite Paul Haverford. Besides that, I didn’t want to see the Alexandria torn down long before I’d heard her speak of fault lines and tremors. Proper City had little left to remind us of the time when Pete Proper had founded it, but that little bit of history meant a lot.