6. Sensible shoes
7. Wool hat with brim 8. Prop: magnifying glass 9. Prop: teacup
KEEP READING FOR A SPECIAL PREVIEW OF DIANE VALLERE’S NEXT COSTUME SHOP MYSTERY . . .
Masking for Trouble
COMING SOON FROM BERKLEY PRIME CRIME!
THE LAST TIME I had been this close to an angry lab rat was high school. That time, I’d understood the rat’s anger. He’d been forced to live in close quarters with four others, and, having once shared an apartment with four girls myself, I recognized the universal crankiness that comes from the invasion of personal space.
Today, the angry lab rat in front of me had a different reason to be upset. I’d just accidentally jabbed him in the head with a fistful of pipe cleaners.
“Hold still,” I said. “If I don’t get these pipe cleaners in at the right angle, the ears will never stand up.” The lab rat mumbled something unintelligible. “You have to stop talking! I can’t understand you.”
The rat reached up his arms—two furry white appendages that ended in pink oven mitts—and lifted the carefully crafted mask from his head. “You’re going to have to put more ventilation in there,” Kirby said. “I could barely breathe.”
Kirby Grizwitz was a part-time employee of Disguise DeLimit, my family’s costume shop. After my dad’s heart attack six months ago, Kirby’s hours had become more regular, filling in his spare time between swim team practices. Usually his job responsibilities included keeping the racks straight, handling rentals, and cataloging new inventory, but October was to our costume shop what April was to tax accountants, and our individual job responsibilities flexed to fit the needs of the business. Today’s need was to put the finishing touches on a giant lab rat costume for Kirby’s chemistry teacher. He’d allowed his honors class to choose his costume for this year’s Halloween, and they’d decided to go ironic. Enter Disguise DeLimit.
“More ventilation. I can do that. But look, the ears are perfect.” I took the head from Kirby and turned it around so it faced him. He seemed unimpressed. The cowbell over the front door rang, and Ebony Welles walked in. I quickly pulled the rat head over my jet-black hair and stepped behind the register.
Ebony was a strong black fifty-six-year-old woman in a 1970s wardrobe. She had a brushed-out Afro, a collection of bell-bottoms to rival J. J. Walker, and a white bichon frise named Ivory. I’d never known my own mother because she died in childbirth, but Ebony was like a mom to me—having stepped into the surrogate role sometime around when I was five. She and my dad had never been more than friends, though they often acted like an old married couple, especially when it came to raising me. Somewhere along the last fifteen years, her concerns had shifted from convincing my dad to raise my allowance to helping me find a nice single man and settle down.
Ebony had enough superstitions to challenge the most powerful rabbit’s foot, and this time of year she preferred not to venture far from Shindig, her party planning business. When she did, she added what we called her “October Accessories”: a garlic necklace, silver-bullet earrings, and a rubber mallet that no one could explain except that it might help her destroy zombie brains.
I watched her scan the interior of the store. When her eyes alighted on me, I stood straight up. She pointed a shiny black talon at me. “See, that right there is what’s wrong with this holiday. There ain’t no good reason for a giant lab rat to be running around our city.”
I dropped down behind the counter, knocking a tray of vampire teeth into a plastic tub filled with foam clown noses. The tub spilled and round foam balls rolled across the floor. The mask shifted so I could no longer see, and, even more than before, I had trouble breathing.
As it turned out, Kirby was right. The mask needed more ventilation.
Muffled sounds from the costume shop blended in with indiscernible noises around me. I put my hands on the head and lined up the mesh that I’d inserted for vision and watched a group of teenage boys flip through a rack of motorcycle jackets.
“She’s coming this way,” Kirby warned.
I put my hands on the back of the counter and pulled myself up enough to peek over the top. Sure enough, Ebony was steps away from where I crouched.
“It’s no use, Margo. I know it’s you.”
Slowly I stood and pulled the rat head off. From the corners of my eyes I could see my hair defying gravity thanks to static electricity. I set the head on the counter and smoothed the ends of my flip with my fingers.
“It doesn’t matter. I was just trying it on to show Kirby that the ears were straight. That’s not my costume for tonight.”
“I certainly hope not. No way you’re going to meet a man dressed as a giant rat.”