A Disguise to Die For

by Diane Vallere

  “Mind some company?” he asked. “Don’t be mad,” he said quickly. “My mom told me you were eating alone. If you want to be alone, I’ll get out of here.”

  “Your mom?”

  “The lady who took your name at the door.”

  “How’d she know who I was?”

  “I may have mentioned your name around the house,” he said. He picked up the menu and studied the entrees with phony concentration.

  I set my menu down and folded my hands in front of me. “I’m a big teppanyaki fan, so if you need me to recommend something, just let me know,” I said. He set down his menu and shook his head.

  “I mean it. You didn’t ask for me when you came in, so if you prefer to eat alone, I’ll leave.”

  I turned to face him and felt the weight of worry surround me like a giant, waterlogged teddy bear costume. I put my hand on his upper arm. “Stay,” I said.

  He put his hand on top of mine. “Okay.”

  We sat on opposite sides of the table. A man poked his head into the room. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Tak said. The man looked at my plate and disappeared.

  “Do you want to talk about Ebony?”

  I set my chopsticks down. “She didn’t do it. Any of it. I don’t know why someone is out to get her and make it look like she did, but I’m going to—” I stopped abruptly. I still didn’t know how much I could trust Tak. If he was here to pump me for information for the detective, I wasn’t going to deliver.

  “Remember how I told you that I was on leave from my job in the DA’s office?” he asked. “That was only partially true. It’s true that I’m on leave. The part that I left out was that it wasn’t entirely my choice.”

  Tak took a drink of his water. “I became friends with one of the prosecutors. We both put in long hours and sometimes ran into each other after work. He had some structural issues with his house and asked me to come over and take a look. When I got there, he introduced me to his girlfriend. She was a county judge.”

  “They’re hardly the first two people who met in a work environment and started a relationship,” I said.

  “In most companies, interoffice relationships are frowned upon. In the DA’s office, that issue is magnified. Hal asked me not to say anything. Susan was up for pension in a few months and she was planning on leaving the bench after that.

  “A couple of weeks later I heard a rumor that a judge was showing favoritism to one of the county prosecutors. That judge was Susan. When I asked Hal about it, he said opposing counsel was spreading the rumor so the case they were working on would be tossed.”

  “Sounds like a dirty tactic,” I said.

  “Maybe it was. Or maybe there was some truth to it. I don’t know. The case was thrown out and a suspected murderer went free.” He looked down at his plate and spun his chopstick around with his fingers. “Detective Nichols was the arresting officer. It was pretty bad when she heard the news and worse when she found out I knew about Hal and Susan’s relationship.”

  He didn’t say if he and Detective Nichols were still a couple then, but I put two and two together and assumed this was the catalyst for their split.

  “Did Detective Nichols have something to do with you being put on leave?”

  He looked up at me. His brows pulled together over dark brown eyes that looked troubled. I reached across the table and put my hand on top of his—the one not playing with the chopstick.

  “I’m not the guy who runs to the principal and rats on the cheater. I’m the guy who works hard to get ahead. I mind my own business and I expect everybody else to do their job too. I don’t know if the rumors were true. I don’t know if opposing counsel manipulated things. I don’t even know if Susan really was up for pension or if she and Hal discussed the case or if the suspected murderer was guilty. My job in the district attorney’s office was to plan the expansion of Clark County, and I ended up learning something that I had no business knowing. Lives were changed because of that. My supervisor found out that I was friends with Hal and Susan. I was suspended pending review. And here we are.”

  “You didn’t tell your parents the truth, did you?”

  “No. I can’t shame them. My dad thinks I wanted to quit. That’s bad enough.”

  “What does your mom think?”

  “My mom knows something about the job is troubling me. She doesn’t know what it is and she respects my privacy. Since I came here, she’s said that it’s more important for me to be happy and live a life I can be proud of than it is to suffer under someone else’s rules.”

  “Why did you tell me the truth?”

  “This is going to sound pretty selfish, but I needed to tell someone. It’s like it was building up inside of me and I was going to burst. Ever feel that way?”

  Again with the mind reading.

  Tak set down his chopsticks and turned to me. “Margo, there’s something about you that’s different from the people I worked with. They work hard to get ahead, sometimes sacrificing their personal lives for opportunities. Those people will start rumors to undermine a defender’s case or get a judge pulled from the bench. They care about winning more than they care about the truth. But you—you’re driven to find the truth no matter what it takes. You’ve got this spirit about you, this sense of loyalty to Ebony that I don’t see every day. You believe in Ebony’s innocence so strongly that I want to believe it too.”

  “That’s because I know Ebony is innocent. She didn’t kill Blitz Manners.”

  “But what if she did?” he asked.

  “She didn’t.”

  “It’s that clear-cut to you, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Think of it in math terms. Imagine someone told you that the Pythagorean theorem was wrong. That C squared didn’t equal A squared plus B squared. And they try to show you evidence to support their argument, but you know there’s no way their evidence can be right, because you know the Pythagorean theorem is a fact. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  “I think so.”

  “Tak, it’s pretty simple for me. I know Ebony didn’t do it. So somebody else did. I don’t know who or why, but I know they did. And now people are making up evidence against her and it’s making things worse.”

  “Tell me about this evidence.”

  “Amy Bradshaw came to Disguise DeLimit on Sunday morning and she was wearing a giant diamond ring. She made it sound like she and Blitz were engaged. Today I learned that she told Black Jack and Linda Cannon that she recognized the ring when she saw it in a pawnshop and bought it so she could return it to Blitz’s mom. There’s something wrong with that, but I can’t figure out what.”

  “Why does it feel wrong? Talk me through it.”

  I leaned back and looked at him. “You really want to help me figure this out?”

  “It might do us both some good to try.”

  Maybe it was the admission of what had really happened with his job in the district attorney’s office or maybe it was the fact that he’d sensed how out of place me and my thoughts were in the middle of his father’s restaurant, but I forgot about my trust issues and used him as a sounding board.

  “For starters, Amy was wearing the ring on Sunday. The house was robbed on Monday afternoon. So if the ring was taken during the robbery, how’d she get it a day early?”

  “Devil’s advocate: what if somebody’s been robbing the house over a period of time?”

  “I thought that too. But why not tell someone about it right away? Why wear the ring at all if you planned to come forward with information about the robbery?” I sat back and moved the mushrooms around on my plate. “There’s something wrong with Amy’s story. And now the pawnbroker told the police that Ebony was the person to sell him the jewelry, so every other suspect has dropped off the list.”

  I ate a piece of sesame chicken. The flavors of garlic and butter melted in my mouth.
For a second, my thoughts were reset and the only thing on my mind was the fantastic food in front of me. I ate another piece of chicken and then speared a piece of zucchini. Hunger returned in a way I hadn’t expected, and conversation ceased while we ate. And then, as if the nutrients from the food had been the missing factor in the problem-solving part of my brain, a plan formed.

  “If Amy Bradshaw bought the ring from the pawnbroker, then he should have something to say about her. I have to find out what he knows.” I dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “I have to talk to the pawnshop owner. Are you with me?”

  Chapter 26

  “MARGO, LET ME ask you something. Do you really think Amy Bradshaw killed Blitz?” Tak asked.

  “I believe that Amy Bradshaw knows more about the murder than she’s telling. And I don’t know why she’s keeping secrets, but she’s the one who led the police to the pawnshop, and the pawnbroker told the police something that led them to Ebony. I know Ebony isn’t guilty, so I have to know what the pawnbroker told the police before I can figure out where everybody went wrong.”

  “You’re solving for Y,” he said.

  “Sure, I want to know why, but I’ll settle for who first.”

  “No, not why, Y. Like an algebraic equation. This comes up a lot in engineering. There are basic equations that you use when you know some variables but not all. You plug in what you know and solve for the rest of the information.” I must have looked confused, because he continued. “It’s like the Pythagorean theorem you mentioned. C squared equals A squared plus B squared, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s what everybody’s working with. C squared is Ebony. Everybody thinks she’s guilty. So they’re finding the values for A squared and B squared that fit the picture where Ebony is the killer.”

  “But I know Ebony isn’t guilty, so I’m looking for A, B, and C,” I said, finally understanding.

  “Right. Only you don’t have to find A and B. All you have to do is prove that A squared plus B squared doesn’t equal Ebony. You don’t have to find the killer, you just have to show that Ebony isn’t the killer.”

  That’s where Tak and I disagreed. Because as long as the killer was out there, he or she would have the power to make life miserable for Ebony. People would continue to believe in her guilt until the real murderer was found.

  I moved my napkin from my lap and set it on the table. It was after eight. Kirby would have closed the store over an hour ago. My dad was due from the hospital tomorrow morning, and I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before he and Don arrived. Which meant if I was going to talk to the pawnbroker, it was going to have to happen now.

  “Will someone bring our check back here?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I didn’t come here because I was looking for a free meal.”

  “Margo, forget about it. You’re not going to pay for your dinner if you’re dining with me in my family’s restaurant.”

  I glanced at my watch again. I didn’t have time to argue. I pulled $40 from my wallet.

  “Don’t insult me,” he said.

  “How is this an insult? It’s a seventy-four percent tip.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “Okay, fine. I can tell you want to leave. Give me the money and I’ll take care of it.”

  I pulled the money back. “No way. I don’t trust you. I’ll give it to your mother.”

  I scrambled up from the low seat and slid the closed screen open. The pretty woman from the hostess station was escorting a family to a table. In her place was the man who had called the police on Tak and me the night we came here for fried rice. Now that I’d spent a little more time with Tak, I could tell this man was his father. He was shorter than Tak and had a head of neatly trimmed gray hair instead of longish black hair, but the shape of his face, the sculptured cheekbones and jawline, the heavy brow, the deep brown eyes, they were all the same.

  He looked up at me and recognition flashed in his eyes. I stood a little straighter and went directly to him.

  “Mr. Hoshiyama?” He nodded once, slowly. “I’m Margo Tamblyn. I just finished dining in one of the private rooms with your son. I have to leave and I didn’t have a chance to get my check. This will cover my dinner.” I held out the two twenties. “I had sesame chicken and fried rice. I drank water.”

  “Did you enjoy your meal?”

  “It was all very good.” The same smile that I had seen on Tak’s face tugged at the corners of his father’s, but he didn’t take the money. “I really do have to be going.” I set the two bills on the hostess stand and left before he could stop me.

  * * *

  I drove away from Hoshiyama’s and pulled the scooter into the parking lot next to Bobbie Kay’s office. The lights were on. I hopped off and unbuckled my helmet while I was walking inside.

  Bobbie sat on the floor in front, surrounded by patches of brown fur. A bag of fiberfill the size of a beer keg sat next to her. Behind her, a sewing machine sat unattended on the desk.

  “Teddy bear fund-raiser coming up soon. I have to build up inventory.” She held up her right hand, hidden inside a half-stuffed bear. His head had taken shape, but his arms and torso dangled limply. His legs hadn’t been sewn together yet, so the fabric flopped around like that of a puppet. “You want to help?”

  “I can’t—not tonight. I have to go to the pawnshop.”

  She set the bear down. “Margo, there are better ways to get money than to pawn your possessions. You could donate them to charity and take the tax write-off. And you’d be helping those in need.”

  “I’m not going to sell,” I said.

  “You’re going to buy? What could you possibly need to buy from Rudy’s Pawn Shop?”

  “I need to talk to the owner. His name is Rudy?”

  “Rudy Moore owns the pawnshop out Main Line Road. It’s the last stop out of Proper, or the first stop if you’re coming back in. Does this have something to do with Ebony?”

  “Yes.” I walked past her and sat down in the chair behind her desk. “Apparently the pawnbroker said Ebony came in and sold him a bunch of jewelry that was stolen from Linda Cannon’s house. I need to find out why.”

  “Sounds risky.” She turned the teddy bear on her hand toward her face. “Doesn’t it?” she asked him. He nodded his fully stuffed head twice. She turned him back to me.

  I picked up one of the frames on Bobbie’s desk. It was a picture of her in high school, the day she’d gotten a letter from the president. Two days later she’d checked herself into the recovery center. I admired how committed she was to her life of fund-raising and helping people. Her grades and her acclamations would have landed her a job with a Fortune 500 company after college, but she’d veered off that track when she went into rehab. As I watched her push another wad of fiberfill into the teddy bear’s torso, I couldn’t help but be proud.

  I left Bobbie’s office with a promise to call her in the morning and drove back to the costume shop to change into something that might make Rudy more apt to talk to me. I pulled a navy blue shirt and pants from the wall of uniforms and changed in the stockroom. The patch on the shoulder was generic; the word security was stitched in red thread against a white background. While technically it was a costume, we often rented this kind of thing out to people who were too cheap to hire real security guards but had recruited a volunteer to dress up and help maintain the presence of law and order at their event.

  The pants were big in the waist, so I belted them with a belt from the gangster section, and then laced on a pair of black boots. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and left.

  * * *

  RUDY’S Pawn Shop was a small brick building that sat off to the left of an abandoned Laundromat. There was ample parking for what must have once been a thriving strip mall. I drove through the lot and parked close to the entrance.
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br />   Neon lettering in the front window of the redbrick building said RUDY’S PAWN SHOP—THE END OF THE LINE. I wondered how many of his customers thought that was funny. Underneath were the store hours: noon until midnight. The pawnshop customer wasn’t an early riser. I locked my helmet to the seat of my scooter and went inside.

  I wasn’t prepared for the bright interior and blinked several times as my eyes adjusted. Once they did, I looked around. Rudy didn’t seem to have much of a specialty. Walls were covered in colorful guitars, large paintings, framed sports jerseys, and wedding dresses. The latter surprised me. For some reason, the concept of a pawnshop had a masculine feel to it. I hadn’t spent much time thinking about the women who needed to make money fast, and the reasons someone might be willing to hock their wedding dress in exchange for money gave me pause.

  “Can I help ya?” asked an old, shriveled man from behind the counter. He had no hair on his head, but he more than made up for it with his bushy eyebrows. He wore a white undershirt and faded jeans held in place by a thick black belt with a tarnished silver buckle. He tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and faced me with his shoulders rounded and his chest concave.

  “I’m looking for Rudy,” I said.

  “Whatcha want him for?”

  “I have a couple of questions for him. About the jewelry pawned from the Cannon house.” I stood tall and mirrored his body language by placing my hands in the front pockets of my pants.

  “You weren’t here with those other officers,” he said. “You look different than they did.”

  I had to be careful not to lie. Impersonating a police officer was a serious thing and I couldn’t help Ebony if I needed help for myself. I pointed to the patch on my uniform. “Security,” I said. “Not a police officer.” I rolled my eyes. “I spoke to Linda and Black Jack Cannon earlier today and a couple more questions came up.” All true. I held my breath and waited to see how the man would react.