*
WE spent the next two hours sorting through the inventory for mystery-themed costumes and related accessories. Since my dad was temporarily confined to the wheelchair, he was in charge of props and concepts. I moved around the shop and collected elements that we could modify: trench coats, plaid wool suits, capes, deerstalkers, and fedoras. I assembled Columbo from the suit and tie that went with our traveling salesman costume, a beat-up trench coat that went with our hobo, and a plastic cigar. Rockford was also easy: jeans, plaid shirt, and stick-on sideburns. I designed two Nancy Drews: a ’30s one with cloche hat, capelet, and below-the-knee-length skirt, and a ’50s one with an argyle sweater, plaid kilt, knee socks, and loafers. I had to flip through most of the skirts in our schoolgirl section to find one that was long enough to be appropriate for a girl detective—not that I believed the woman who wore it would have chosen the modest length. Tom Swift came from our steampunk section, and Cherry Ames, school nurse, came from the medical corner.
I checked in with my dad after the first hour and found him sorting hats, monocles, pipes, and magnifying glasses into piles. “Do you think it’s okay to have more than one Sherlock?”
“Why not? Who’s to say if he wants to be BBC Sherlock or CBS Sherlock or Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock?”
“What about regular old Sherlock? Tweed cape, tweed hat, gloves, ascot. You know, the classic image of him.”
“You heard what Blitz said about keeping things modern.”
“That’s too bad. If he wants to be Sherlock Holmes, there’s pretty much only one way to go so everybody knows who he’s supposed to be. I mean, what’s he going to do, dress like that guy on the TV show? His Watson isn’t even a man!”
“You convinced me.” He stroked an imaginary beard and looked up at the ceiling. “Go to the back room and bring me the houndstooth fabric that we used for the My Fair Lady costume. The taupe one with the navy, burgundy, and forest green pattern. Better yet, wheel me back there. The sewing shop is set up and I can knock out a cape and trousers while you’re working in here.”
I stood behind the wheelchair and rolled him backward and then forward, past the cases of colorful makeup, paste jewelry, and other accessories that we didn’t hang on the shelves. I stopped next to the bald caps and pulled one out. “Kojak,” I said. He nodded, and we continued until we reached the back room.
Behind the interior of the shop was a long, narrow room set up with various sewing machines and a table for cutting out fabric. Two forms stood like sentries at the end of the room: a male and a female. Large, round metal trash bins held bolts of fabric that protruded out like giant flower stems without blooms.
I didn’t know when my dad had first taught himself to sew. I imagined that my mother had been the one to make most of the costumes while he watched the shop and fabricated what needed to be made from wood or sheet metal, but as far as I remembered, our costume assortment had been limited only by what he could create. At an early age I learned how to adapt already-made clothing into costumes by shortening hems, narrowing pants, and hand-sewing patches on secondhand castoffs. We shopped the local thrift stores for items that we could use and, with dye and imagination, created wizards, princesses, hobos, animals, and a whole lot more. By the time I’d graduated high school, I was a pro at turning flea market finds into high-ticket costumes. My Chicago collection had been rented by seventeen different groups by the time I moved to Vegas.
It was close to eight when we finished our list. I’d collected items from throughout the shop and had a list of the few remaining props we needed.
“Dad, you look exhausted. Let me wrap things up here and we can finish tomorrow.”
“Fine. I’ll start dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs sound okay to you?”
“Sounds perfect. Give me fifteen minutes to get things organized and I’ll be up to set the table.”
The doctors had recommended the wheelchair, and I knew my dad hated it. I watched him wheel himself to the back stairs, lift himself out of the chair, and slowly ascend the staircase. It wouldn’t have mattered if we did have a ramp or an elevator. In his mind, the chair was temporary, and he wouldn’t allow himself to get used to it.