Suspended

Eloise sat at the edge of the bed wiggling her toes. She could wiggle her right pinky toe separately. She had painted her toenails red. When she was seven her grandfather had told her that only 'street walkers' wore red nail polish. But Eloise loved the magical powers of a costume, even one as simple as red lipstick and red toenails. Hector was hoisting his yellow slacks and securing his brown suspenders over his white shirt. This was a costume that made her swoon, right into his arms. What a mess, she thought. Some detective you are, she told herself. You're not supposed to be swooning over suspenders you're supposed to catch clues. But I am, I am, she spoke back in her thoughts. Nobody suspects me. Yet.