Tragic Magic

by Laura Childs

  “I hear you,” said Babcock. Which Carmela knew, in Babcock-ese, translated to I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.

  “The French Quarter’s always been a hotbed of crime,” said Carmela. “What if Sidney’s ghost walks are really a cover-up for something else?”

  Babcock shrugged. “Petty crime’s a way of life here. Tourists are forever reporting pickpockets and muggers, while residents file theft and peeping Tom reports on a daily basis.”

  “Maybe you should stay on Sidney’s butt,” suggested Carmela. “He was hanging around Medusa Manor the night after Melody was killed.”

  “An investigator always has to look for serious motive,” Babcock told her. “If you think Sidney St. Cyr was involved in Melody’s death, what was his motive?”

  Carmela thought for a few moments. “Maybe Sidney was jealous of Melody? Maybe he thought the opening of Medusa Manor would siphon business away from his ghost walks?”

  “That’s a pretty big stretch,” said Babcock.

  “Still,” said Carmela. “Could you keep an eye on him?”

  “I thought you were already doing that.”

  “Well, yeah, I am. Kind of,” said Carmela. “Someone has to do your job,” she teased. “But, face it, you’re the one with an entire police force at your disposal.”

  “Hardly,” sniffed Babcock. “I’ve got maybe six detectives. And two of them aren’t even that good.”

  “All the more reason to deputize me,” said Carmela.

  Babcock looked askance at her. “Sweetheart, I’ve got enough problems without tossing you into the mix.”

  Carmela was showing a customer how to sponge-paint onto cardstock, then use a screen to create an additional pattern, when Jekyl Hardy walked through her door. Because Mardi Gras was still many months away, Jekyl was busily dealing and appraising antiques, while making plans to lead an art tour to New York City.

  Jekyl was also one of Carmela’s dearest friends. They both volunteered with the Children’s Art Association and hung out at French Quarter clubs like Dr. Boogie’s and Moon Glow.

  “You see where I’m going with this?” Carmela asked her customer. “Sponge the yellow paint first, add a tinge of pink for contrast, then oh-so-carefully place the screen on top of your paint job and daub on your mauve-colored paint to create a sort of beehive effect.” When she saw that her customer had mastered the technique, Carmela pulled herself away to greet Jekyl.

  “What brings you into my territory?” she asked him. Jekyl Hardy was rail thin, with long dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, and even darker eyes. He had a penchant for dressing in black from head to toe and was always pleased when people likened him to Lestat, the vampire in Anne Rice’s novel.

  Jekyl made a big show of administering double air kisses to Carmela, then grinned impishly. “It’s my territory this weekend, darling,” he told her. “NOMA has jumped on the Galleries and Gourmets bandwagon with a vengeance, which turns out to be fortuitous for me. They’ve decided to set up an appraisal booth in Jackson Square and staff it with yours truly as chief appraiser, arbiter of good taste, and art critic par excellence.”

  “So . . . an appraisal booth like Antiques Roadshow,” said Carmela.

  “Hopefully, something of that ilk,” said Jekyl, rolling his eyes. “And hopefully people will actually bring their objets d’art to me for careful consideration.”

  “That should be a great addition to the event,” said Carmela. “And lots of fun, too.”

  Jekyl’s gaze turned serious. “KBEZ-TV is even going to cover some of the appraisals. So hopefully, I’ll make the ten o’clock news.”

  “It should be wonderful publicity for your business,” said Carmela, knowing Jekyl’s business hadn’t exactly been gangbusters lately.

  “Only if people don’t lug in junky fruit jars and nineteen fifties tobacco tins, expecting them to be worth a fortune!” said Jekyl.

  Carmela grinned and shook her head. “You’re such a snob, Jekyl.”

  Jekyl held an index finger to his lips. “Shh. Kindly don’t tell anyone.”

  Back in her office, Carmela hit speed dial.

  Ava answered on the first ring. “Juju Voodoo. If it’s haunted, you want it.”

  “Ava?” said Carmela. “It’s me.”

  “Cher! I was just thinking about you. We received the most marvelous shipment today of love potions in funky little blue pharmaceutical bottles. They look like the Drink Me bottles in Alice in Wonderland.”

  “You think it could help me work a spell?” asked Carmela.

  “Couldn’t hurt,” said Ava. “Plus I got a new shipment of jewelry. Earrings, to be exact. Really cool, dangly black crow earrings and green luna moth earrings.”

  “Luna moths,” said Carmela. “Nice.”

  “So,” said Ava. “What’s up?”

  “I just had lunch with Babcock, and guess who’s not on his list?”

  “Uh, the redheaded guy in the zoot suit who does sketches of tourists down in the French Market?”

  “You’re close,” said Carmela. “Babcock pretty much snickered when I brought up Sidney St. Cyr’s name.”

  “You’re telling me Babcock is still stuck on Melody’s husband as the prime suspect?” said Ava.

  “Yup. On the plus side, he acted a little hinky when I brought up Sawyer Barnes’s name.”

  “The slum landlord.”

  “Barnes may have started out with rat-infested buildings,” said Carmela, “but he’s turned them into fancy condos.”

  “Same thing,” said Ava. “But, cher, I gotta tell you, Sidney’s the one who’s starting to send shivers up my spine.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Carmela. She wasn’t crazy about Sidney, either, and tended to put faith in Ava’s gut instincts.

  “Sidney just feels . . . involved,” said Ava. “I know we don’t have any evidence against the guy, but he creeps me out.”

  “A lot of guys creep you out,” said Carmela.

  “Not so much anymore,” said Ava. “The older I get, the more I’ve lowered my standards.”

  “Just don’t go too low,” laughed Carmela.

  “I wish we could think of some way to trap Sidney,” said Ava.

  “What do you mean? How?”

  “I don’t know, let my brain centrifuge it for a little while, okay?”

  “Sure,” said Carmela, giggling at the image of Ava’s brain as a spinning centrifuge. “So . . . we’re still on for tonight?”

  “Of course,” said Ava. “What better time to visit a cemetery than a night with a full moon?”

  Chapter 18

  “LUNA moths,” said Carmela, wandering up to the front counter. “Do we have any luna moths?”

  Gabby looked up from the product catalog she was studying and fixed Carmela with an inquisitive look. “You mean the genuine fluttering variety or the paper variety?”

  “Paper,” smiled Carmela.

  “In that case, you’re probably in luck,” responded Gabby. “Some exquisite tissue paper butterflies and moths were shipped to us along with the Flora and Fauna Sticker Collection. We didn’t actually order the moths; they were just kind of an add-on from the vendor.”

  “Can you lay your hands on them?” asked Carmela. “The moths, I mean?”

  Gabby drummed her fingers on the counter, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I put them with the collage images?” She came around the counter, pulled out a drawer from their large flat file, and rummaged around. “No, not here,” she muttered. “Okay, let me try the art file that has all the bird die cuts and stickers.” She slipped past Carmela and slid open another drawer. “Yes, you’re in luck. Here they are.” Gabby pulled out a plastic envelope and handed it to Carmela. “You’re going to make something moth oriented, are you?”

  “Just an idea I had,” said Carmela. “Ava mentioned luna moths and I suddenly had a brainstorm.”

  Thirty minutes later, Carmela had a good start on her luna moth votive box. She’d start
ed with dark-blue mulberry paper, crumpled it slightly to add texture, then adhered the paper to the back of her box. A sweep of dried Australian fern had been added, then, on top of that, a branch of silvery willow eucalyptus. A drape of pearls was positioned along the back, and then Carmela added a large brass moon charm and silver embossed stars. Finally, the pale-green tissue paper luna moth was carefully positioned on the branch of eucalyptus.

  “I really like it,” said Gabby, peering over Carmela’s shoulder. “It’s very . . . what would you say? . . . evocative. You should put it on display in our front window.”

  “Along with a poster to advertise our new votive box classes,” said Carmela.

  “What?” said Gabby, surprised. “I didn’t know you were planning actual classes on this stuff.”

  “I am now,” said Carmela.

  “Well, great,” enthused Gabby. She watched as Carmela stamped individual letters onto a piece of silver tissue paper, tore around the edges, then positioned the paper in the votive box. The paper carried the message Like a Moth to the Flame.

  “Perfect,” said Gabby. She gazed at the votive box, then shook her head and said, “Say, don’t you have a meeting this afternoon?”

  “I’m out of here in two shakes,” said Carmela, placing a final snip of pale-green ribbon inside her votive box.

  The Garden District was aptly named, Carmela decided, as she maneuvered her car into a parking spot on Chestnut Street. Because this entire neighborhood really was a garden of earthly delights. Live oaks reigned supreme, of course, forming leafy green bowers over the quaint streets. And then there were the azaleas, jasmine, sweet olives, and gardenias, abundantly elegant, setting off block after wondrous block of Southern belle époque mansions in perfect style.

  Olivia Wainwright’s magnificent home was done in the Italianate style. A lovely yellow stucco villa-type home surrounded by an elaborate wrought-iron fence of intertwined morning glories and hollyhocks.

  “You have a lovely home,” Carmela told Olivia when she was greeted at the front door.

  Olivia, looking very lady-of-the-manor in a peach silk tunic and matching slacks, feigned surprise. “Do you really think so?” She waved a hand, as if to deflect Carmela’s praise. “But this old place needs so much work,” she sighed. “You know what these houses are like . . . patch, patch, patch. It never ends.”

  Carmela did know a thing or two about old houses. In fact, if her divorce agreement with Shamus sailed through, no thanks to his sister Glory, she’d be the new owner of a rather large house that sat just two blocks away from Olivia’s home. No need to tell that to Olivia, though.

  “Come on back to the solarium,” called Olivia, speeding ahead of her.

  Carmela followed, glancing at walls adorned with contemporary oil paintings, a living room that featured a pair of Mies van der Rohe Barcelona chairs, a Noguchi coffee table, and . . . could that be? . . . a real Henry Moore sculpture?

  “I see your taste runs to contemporary,” observed Carmela.

  Olivia wrinkled her nose as she led Carmela into the glass-walled solarium and flopped down on a white wicker chaise longue, then indicated for Carmela to take the adjacent chair. “You can thank my husband for that. And all the women who flock to him for their pricey little Botox and Restylane injections.” She snickered slightly. “But if I had my way, I’d do this whole place up right with Sheraton and Hepplewhite furniture. Decorate in a way that pays homage to tradition as well as this grand old architecture.” She sighed. “But Dr. Wainwright does prefer moderne.” Her petulant pronunciation put all the emphasis on the second syllable.

  “The thing about these old homes,” said Carmela, ever the optimist, “is that you can furnish them almost any way you want and they still come out looking terrific.”

  “You think?” said Olivia.

  “There’s a house just a block from here,” said Carmela. “The Baldwin Mansion?”

  Olivia nodded slightly.

  “The woman who owns it now, Sally Fischer, furnished it in Country French. Lots of tapestries, distressed ceiling beams, and Provençal print fabrics. And the thing is, the place looks spectacular.”

  “Really,” said Olivia, sounding slightly bored now. She reached for a small silver bell sitting on a side table and gave it a jingle. A few moments later, a housekeeper appeared. “We’d like some tea, please,” said Olivia. She glanced at Carmela. “You like oolong?” Carmela nodded. “Then oolong it is, please,” she told her housekeeper.

  “It was a lovely service this morning, don’t you think?” Carmela asked.

  Olivia nodded curtly. “Lovely. Garth did a fine job in planning it.”

  Carmela took a few moments to study Olivia’s jewelry. This afternoon, Olivia wore completely different pieces to complement her outfit. A silver cuff adorned with a large amethyst. Matching silver-and-amethyst earrings.

  “You know,” said Carmela, “I meant to tell you this morning, you have the most exquisite jewelry. In fact, you seem to have amassed quite an amazing collection.”

  Olivia smiled. “I have a generous husband.”

  Carmela was not to be deterred. “Some of your pieces look slightly familiar to me. Perhaps I saw them at Fire and Ice?”

  “Perhaps,” said Olivia. Then she pulled herself upright in her chair. “Shall we get started?”

  That was obviously Carmela’s cue to pull out her notes.

  “We’ve made great progress on Medusa Manor,” Carmela told Olivia as she sifted through pages. “All of the upstairs bedrooms have been themed and are in the process of being decorated. Same with the downstairs parlor and library.”

  Carmela proceeded to take Olivia Wainwright on a virtual tour of Medusa Manor, giving exact details on each room, elaborating on what had been accomplished so far, as well as explaining work they still planned to carry out.

  “I’ve met with Tate Mackie at Byte Head,” Carmela told her, “and he’s installing some truly spectacular special effects. We’re talking banshee images and ghostly specters, as well as what’s going to look like actual crackling flames in the crematorium.”

  “Excellent,” said Olivia as their tea arrived, and Carmela wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the work she and Ava had done on Medusa Manor or the oolong tea.

  “Ava and I have pretty much thrown ourselves into this wholeheartedly,” Carmela continued, “and we’re trying our best to add some unique twists.”

  “Is that so?” Olivia managed to look politely inquisitive as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to Carmela.

  “For example,” said Carmela, “we’re going back to Lafayette Cemetery tonight to make molds of some of the more interesting tomb decorations. From those molds we’ll be able to create various masks that we’ll mount on walls or illuminate for floating heads.”

  “And you’re staying on budget?” Olivia asked.

  “I’d say so, yes,” said Carmela. “I had a nice piece of luck when I found some paintings and tables at Metcalf and Meador. Jack Meador gave us a really great price on everything.”

  “Mmm,” said Olivia, taking a sip of tea.

  Carmela flattened out the papers she had balanced on her lap. Olivia was sending out vibes that confused her. A few days ago Olivia had wanted to go full steam ahead on Medusa Manor, and now she barely seemed interested. What had happened? Was Olivia thinking about backing out of the project? Or had Sawyer Barnes made her an offer she couldn’t refuse?

  “As far as timing goes,” Carmela continued, “most of the major installations are slated to go in next week. Then we’ll have another two weeks for fine-tuning. For instance, we still have to figure out what’s going on in the ballroom as well as down in the basement.”

  “Maybe,” said Olivia, frowning slightly, “you should just complete the first and second floors. As agreed upon.”

  “Absolutely we’ll do that,” said Carmela, “but I was under the impression that the entire building had to be decorated and ready for the big unveiling during Dis
cordaCon.”

  Olivia took another sip of tea, then set her teacup down with a clink. “Let’s not worry about all that right now.” She glanced at her watch and frowned again. “The thing is, I need to go out of town on a short business trip.”

  “Oh,” said Carmela.

  “I don’t want to mire you down with details,” said Olivia in a no-nonsense, please-don’t-ask-questions tone of voice, “but I have a lot of plates spinning in the air right now. So I think it’s best you carry on with the decoration of the first two floors.”

  “Sure,” said Carmela. “We can do that.”

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your efforts,” Olivia said hastily, “but things are in motion right now that could affect your project.”

  “Look,” said Carmela. “If you want us to put everything on hold right now, we can do that. I can prepare a progress billing for you immediately.” And you can pay us immediately, too, she thought to herself.

  Olivia waved a hand. “No, no, please just push ahead as planned. But do be aware, things could change.”

  “Sure,” said Carmela. “No problem.” Even though, to her, it felt like a rather large problem indeed.

  Heading down Chestnut Street, Carmela thought about her somewhat unsettling meeting with Olivia. Decided the woman either was a poor decision maker, was planning to sell Medusa Manor to Sawyer Barnes, or was going to abandon the project altogether. Or maybe Olivia was just plain schizo. Or a dud when it came to business. Or maybe . . . something else was going on. Something Carmela couldn’t quite figure out.

  Carmela hung a left and slowed her car as she pulled in front of Shamus’s house. The house that had also been her house for a while. That might be her house again if Glory didn’t toss a wrench into everything.

  It was a wonderful house, really. Not quite as large as Olivia Wainwright’s place, but with more personality. A Greek revival style, painted slate gray with white trim, and capped with an octagonal turret.