Okay, well, Dylan would find this entire enterprise hugely amusing, so that wasn’t as surprising as learning Jack was a willing victim.
Nan said, “It wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours on an afternoon. And you’ve had modeling experience, so this would be nothing for you.”
True. This was nothing he hadn’t done before. In fact, he’d even modeled a child’s pirate hat and eye patch for the Sears Wish Book about a million Christmases ago. A sign of things to come?
Ellery said slowly, “I guess so? Since it’s for a good cause?”
“Perfect!” Nan’s smile was suspiciously bright.
“Who am I replacing?” Ellery asked curiously.
Nan and Nora exchanged an indecipherable look.
“Brett Ainsley,” Nan said.
The name meant nothing to Ellery, and in any case, further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of Dylan, who entered on a triumphant jangle of the doorbell.
“Yo-ho-ho. Did I hear some landlubber be needing a pirate costume for the ball on Saturday?”
“Did you?” Ellery said. “I mean, how did you? I only found out myself last night.”
“So it’s true! I knew it.” Dylan, Nan, and Nora beamed at each other with satisfaction.
Ellery studied them warily. “Did one of you three—did you three wrangle an invite for me?”
“No!” Dylan put his hands up in an I’m-innocent-Your-Honor! gesture. “Of course not!”
“Because I’m pretty sure I’ve never met any of the Bloodworths.”
Nora was shaking her head firmly. “Absolutely not, dearie. I myself am persona non grata with that crowd.” She sniffed at the memory of past slights.
“Not guilty,” Nan assured him.
“Then I really don’t understand how or why I was invited.”
Dylan protested, “What? Of course you were invited. For one thing, you’re a movie star. For another, you’re one of the community’s business leaders.”
“I’m…”
“Absolutely!” Nora said. “And don’t forget—you’ve solved two murders in a matter of months. That alone makes you a celebrity within the village.”
“Yeee-ah. I really don’t think—”
“I have the perfect costume in mind for you,” Dylan interrupted.
“What? How—”
“Dearie, we have the entire costume department of the Scallywags to choose from,” Nora pointed out.
“Exactly,” Dylan said. “I’ve been thinking about this. We have that beautiful black velvet frock coat Tom wore in The Pirates of Penzance.”
“The one with gold braid?” Nora exclaimed. “Yes. I was thinking the same thing. I’ll have to take it in a bit, but it’s perfect for him! And what about the green-gold silk waistcoat with the embroidered clocks that Felix wore in A Harlot’s Progress?”
“You read my mind,” Dylan told her.
“Wait. Wait just a minute,” Ellery objected. “A—no way do Felix and I wear the same size. He’s like half of me. And B—are you telling me the Scallywags performed A Harlot’s Progress?”
“No, no,” Dylan said. “The town fathers would never go for that.”
“Nor the town mothers,” Nora added sadly.
“We did a scene during last year’s Fringe Festival in Providence.”
“I’ll have to take the coat in and let the vest out…” Nora’s thoughts were running ahead to more practical matters. “That won’t be a problem. I know your size.”
“You know my size? How would you know my size?”
“Dearie, I’ve been making costumes for the Scallywags for the last fifty years. Do you truly not believe I can size a man with a glance?”
“I truly do not believe that,” Ellery said.
“Well, it may have taken more than a glance,” Nora admitted. “But I’m quite confident I have your measure.”
Ellery said to Dylan, “Why does it sound like she’s talking about more than my clothes?”
“No use arguing,” Dylan said jovially. “You’re going to the ball, Cinderfella!”
Chapter Three
“This is a nice surprise,” Ellery remarked, dragging out the chair across from Jack.
Jack had phoned the bookshop just as Ellery had been locking up for the day, inviting him to dinner at the pub. Ellery had accepted, left Watson with young Terry, the daughter of Sandy Morita who owned the art gallery next to the Crow’s Nest, and headed for the Salty Dog.
Jack said, “I saw the lights were still on at the Crow’s Nest and knew you were working late and probably hadn’t stopped to eat.”
Two meals together in one week? That was kind of a record, but Ellery knew not to get the wrong idea. Jack preferred to dine off-island when he was dating. This was just two pals grabbing dinner. They both frequented the Salty Dog for dinner, so why not share a table and a meal?
Ellery smiled. “You’re right about that. There wasn’t time today for more than a doughnut and coffee this morning. Not that I’m complaining. It’s a relief to finally have some business. If the rest of the summer continues like this, we might actually be in the black by September.”
Jack’s brows rose. “I thought… What about Abbott’s estate? Didn’t everything go to you?”
“On paper. But the will is still in probate. Brandon’s agent is contesting the dispensation of Brandon’s literary estate. Plus, Brandon pretty much spent money as fast as he made it.” Ellery shrugged. He wasn’t counting on ever seeing a penny from Brandon’s estate, and that was probably just as well.
“I didn’t realize.”
“Sure.” Jack didn’t realize because ever since the events of the previous month, Ellery had followed Jack’s lead in keeping their conversations casual and largely impersonal. If Jack didn’t ask, Ellery didn’t offer.
Libby Tulley appeared at their table and requested their drink orders. A small and lively redhead, Libby was the daughter of Tom Tulley, owner and proprietor of the Salty Dog.
Ellery had got to know her pretty well during the spring production of his play Murder Mansion. Which, given that Libby was a teenaged girl, meant she remained a complete mystery to him and everyone else.
Ellery ordered a Tipsy Mermaid, and Jack ordered his usual whatever-was-on-tap.
Libby jotted their preferences down, biting her lip and glancing over at the entrance a couple of times.
“Everything okay, Libby?” Jack asked.
Libby looked startled. “Sure, Chief!”
Jack was smiling, but his gaze was serious, searching. “Yeah?”
Libby colored prettily, shot Jack a quick wary look. “Of course. We’re just so busy!”
The pub was packed, no question. The Salty Dog always did a lively trade, but during tourist season it was hard to get a seat inside Pirate Cove’s most popular watering hole. There were lots of unfamiliar faces scattered among the crowd of regulars smooshed into every available stretch of table space. A few glum-faced regulars were drinking at the bar and conversing quietly with Tom. Every PICO resident understood the tourist trade of the summer months was what kept the majority of the island businesses afloat, but that didn’t mean they had to like the seasonal invasion.