by Laura Childs
Carmela stared up at that third-floor turret. She and Shamus had never really done anything with that small third-floor room. Her suggestion of a library had been countered by Shamus’s suggestion of a place to exhibit his photographs. They’d never been able to compromise on what to do with the space. A metaphor, probably, for their failed marriage and failed reconciliations.
Now the turret room just reminded Carmela of the turret room at Medusa Manor. Where Melody had plunged to her death.
Why, Carmela wondered, were there never clear answers for any of the important things in life?
Chapter 19
“READY to take off, chickie poo?” Ava called as she stood in the doorway of Carmela’s apartment. With those words, Boo and Poobah came hurtling toward her. Tails wagged, fur flew, and two wriggling critters danced about, administering wet, sloppy kisses to their Aunt Ava. Ava shrieked with laughter as she bent down to accept their heartfelt greetings. “Smooches from pooches!” she exclaimed.
Carmela appeared a few seconds later. “Don’t encourage them. They think they’re coming with us.”
“Aren’t they?” asked Ava. She knelt down and grabbed Boo’s fat little face. “Are you going to guard us tonight? Are you, darlin’?” Boo’s tightly curled tail wagged like an overtaxed metronome.
“You look cute,” said Carmela, eyeing Ava’s outfit. She was wearing tight blue jeans that conformed to her curvaceous hips and a slinky long-sleeved dark-green T-shirt that proclaimed, I’m not really lost, I’m just exploring.
“Cool shirt,” said Carmela. “Where’d you get it?”
Ava fluffed out her voluminous dark hair. “Don’t know. I think some guy left it in my store.”
Carmela stared at her. “Some man left his T-shirt in your store?”
Ava shrugged. “Sure.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Carmela. “A man came into your store, removed his shirt, and left bare chested?”
Ava gave a coy smile. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Some people have all the luck,” declared Carmela. “People come to my shop, all they forget are their rubber stamps or a couple pages of scrapbook paper. Then, if we manage to track down the rightful owner, they’re generally sour about having to make an extra trip back.”
“You run a conservative, family-type business,” said Ava. “While I run a . . .” She searched for the appropriate words.
“Wacky, offbeat shop,” filled in Carmela.
“But fun,” said Ava. “We always have fun.”
“I can see that,” grinned Carmela. “So, you brought your mold-making kit?”
Ava held up a large black nylon bag. “Check.”
“Okay then,” said Carmela, stepping outside and attempting to close the door behind her, while trying to pry furry, protesting paws from the doorjamb.
“Hey,” cackled Ava, “you’re all gussied up, too.” She was referring to Carmela’s turtleneck and baggy jeans covered with colorful squiggles and splotches of paint. “You wore your Jackson Pollock jeans! How perfectly artsy.”
“Zip it,” instructed Carmela.
Ten minutes later they were scurrying through the side gate of Lafayette Cemetery.
“Place looks deserted,” remarked Ava. “Tourists have all gone home. Snapped their last photos and gone in search of more exotic locales. Sipping Hurricanes at Brennan’s or hitting the clubs on Bourbon Street.”
Glancing up at the full moon that shone like a silver beacon through twisted branches, Carmela asked, “Did you bring your wooden stake and garlic? Or your magic charms, just in case?”
Ava waggled a wrist to show off a half-dozen jingling, shiny bracelets. “My silver bracelets are guaranteed by the manufacturer to ward off werewolves. But the instructions, which I think were printed in archaic Romanian, strangely didn’t mention anything about vampires.” She cocked her head at Carmela. “Why? You feeling spooked tonight?”
“To tell you the truth,” said Carmela, “I’ve had this weird feeling all day that someone was following me.”
“You were pretty jumpy this morning, when you thought someone was listening in on us after the service,” Ava pointed out.
“But no one was there,” said Carmela.
“Or at least we didn’t see anyone,” said Ava. “On the other hand, I firmly respect your hunches. If you think somebody’s dogging your footsteps, maybe they really are. And now that you mention it, is it possible Sidney St. Cyr could be creeping around behind your back?”
“Hah,” said Carmela, “when I told Babcock I had a bad feeling about Sidney, he pretty much laughed in my face.”
“That’s not very nice,” said Ava. “You’re entitled to your suspicions and intuitions; it’s your God-given right as a female.”
“But you think there’s something off about Sidney, too,” said Carmela.
Ava nodded slowly. “I do. Maybe Sidney had something to do with Melody’s death, or maybe he’s just one of those guys who creep you out. You know what I’m talking about? It can even be a little thing, like hairy hands or floppy lips, or just the odd look a guy gives you. But it spooks you, deep down inside.”
“You said this morning that you wished there were some way we could trap Sidney. What did you mean by that?”
“Maybe . . . trap him with words?” said Ava. “See if we could trap him in a lie?”
“A lie about Melody?”
“I suppose that would be the general idea,” said Ava.
“I’m impressed by your twisted, suspicious mind,” said Carmela, “but do you have any idea how to make that happen?”
Ava thought for a few moments. “What if we persuaded Sidney to drop by Juju Voodoo tomorrow night?” asked Ava. “Tell him we need his expertise or advice on some kind of séance? What would you think of that?”
“Then we’d ask him a few leading questions,” said Carmela, warming up to the idea.
“Sure,” said Ava. “We’d see if we could trip him up. Or, better yet, we could do a tarot reading that reveals a specific card dealing with murder.”
“I like the way you think,” said Carmela. “The way you stack the deck.”
They crept through the cemetery, gravel crunching underfoot. No light shone anywhere, except for moonlight glimmering off whitewashed graves.
“Are we going the right way?” asked Ava.
“Dunno,” said Carmela. “In the dark everything seems all twisted around.”
Ava sighed. “I think we passed that same obelisk five minutes ago.”
“Well, shit,” said Carmela. “Then we are lost. Going in circles.”
Ava tapped her chest. “No, we’re not. Like my shirt says, we’re just exploring.”
Carmela pulled her Maglite from her handbag and flipped it on. The thin beam landed on the glass window of a large crypt.
“Jeez,” said Ava, startled. “Why do they put windows in those things anyway? You ever wonder about that?”
“No,” said Carmela. “I’d rather not.”
“And then bars over the windows,” continued Ava. “Like if you got locked inside by mistake you could see out, but you couldn’t get out.”
“Are you trying to totally creep me out?” asked Carmela. “Because you’re succeeding quite nicely.”
“Sorry,” said Ava, pointing. “Hey, flash your light over there.”
Carmela turned her beam on a row of low, rounded tombs.
“There it is,” said Ava. “Just past the Lestat tomb. Our Medusa head.”
“Whew,” said Carmela. “Good catch. Let’s get this done and get out of here.”
“No problem,” said Ava. Dropping her nylon bag, she rummaged inside. Finally, she pulled out a roll of plastic wrap and several ziplock bags.
“You brought sandwiches?” Carmela asked.
“Baloney,” said Ava. “Actually, I’m trying to be a respectful little art conservator. I don’t want to damage or stain the tombs any more than they already are, so I’m going to use plastic wrap to protect
Miss Medusa’s face.” Ava knelt down and tore off a sheet, then carefully placed the plastic across the face. Using the tips of her fingers, she gently pushed and kneaded the plastic into place. “Now pop open that baggie,” Ava instructed Carmela.
“Got it,” said Carmela. “Oh, it’s clay.”
“A special polymer clay that sets up in just a few minutes.” Ava worked the clay into a ball, flattened it out into a large disk, then placed the disk over the plastic-protected face. “Now we press this clay into each little crack and crevice, okay?”
Quickly, the two women worked together, pressing and poking the clay so as to capture each and every feature. When they were finished, Carmela asked, “How long before it sets up?”
“Five minutes,” said Ava.
“So,” said Carmela, leaning against a tomb, “I met with Olivia this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” said Ava. “How’d that meeting go? Was she happy with your progress report? Are we gonna get a bonus?”
“Not exactly,” said Carmela. “In fact, she was jumpy and distracted. Told me to please carry on with the decorating of Medusa Manor, but be prepared for a change of plans.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ava. “Oh man, does that mean we’re not gonna get paid?”
“We’ll get paid, all right,” said Carmela, “but I’m thinking Olivia might sell the property to Sawyer Barnes after all.”
“What?” said Ava. “You mean she’s going to flip it? She’s going to flip a haunted house?”
“I never thought of it that way,” said Carmela. “It does seem a little strange.”
Ava touched a finger to her clay and determined that it was hardening nicely. “So you’re telling me this is an exercise in futility? Olivia might not even want the masks we’re making?”
“She said to keep working on Medusa Manor, so that’s what we’ll do,” said Carmela. “And we’ll keep a running tally of all our time and expenses, just in case she does pull the plug.”
“Hmph,” said Ava. “Just when I was all revved up over these masks.”
“If the Medusa Manor project gets canned, maybe you could use them for something else?” said Carmela.
Ava nodded. “I suppose. For Halloween or Mardi Gras. That’s when I get requests for unusual masks.” She touched the polymer again. “This is hard.”
“So now what?” asked Carmela.
“Now comes the tricky part,” said Ava. She plucked carefully at a corner of the plastic wrap and began to slowly peel the wrap-and-clay image away.
“Easy,” cautioned Carmela. But Ava was both proficient and patient. In no time at all she had her polymer cast peeled off. Turning it over gently, she showed it to Carmela.
“Perfect,” murmured Carmela. All the details of the face had been captured—in reverse.
“All we have to do now,” said Ava, “is fill the mold with plaster. That gives us a positive image. Then stretch some wet, pliable leather over that and—”
“What?” said Carmela.
“I said stretch—”
Carmela held up a hand. “No, I heard something,” she whispered.
“Something or someone?” Ava whispered back.
Carmela shook her head. “Probably jumping at shadows.” She glanced about nervously. This morning, this piece of cemetery had been sunny and bright. Now the rows of tombs and crypts seemed to hold only secrets and shadows. Blue and black danced about like desperate souls seeking the living.
“Let me pack this up,” said Ava, hurrying now.
Carmela agreed. “Better that we—”
A loud grating sound, like flint against stone, suddenly echoed down the row of tombs.
“What?” said Ava, her voice rising a half-dozen octaves.
Huddling together, the two women peered into the dark. And were rocked to the core when a sudden flash of light exploded before their eyes! This was followed by a low whump, like a huge Fourth of July rocket being launched. Then an enormous bright blue flame erupted from the top of a neighboring tomb!
“Holy crapola!” screamed Ava.
The blue flame danced and shimmered and shot straight up into the air, like a gusher of light. Red and gold flames swirled and twirled within it, accompanied by a deafening whoosh!
“What the . . . ?” said Carmela, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant, sparkling light.
And then, just as fast as it had appeared, the flame flickered and was gone, spewing foul-smelling smoke in its wake.
“What was that?” gasped Ava. “Some kind of electrical fluke? A downed power line?”
“I don’t think so,” said a still-stunned Carmela. “It seemed too . . . uh, purposeful for that.”
“Maybe a natural gas leak?”
“Maybe somebody trying to scare us?” said Carmela.
Ava stared at her. “Then their little ploy worked like a charm. I think we oughta scram from here!”
Carmela’s front teeth closed down over her lower lip. “Wait a minute, not so fast.”
“Are you crazy?” gibbered Ava. “The Prince of Darkness just tried to cast a spell on us.”
“I doubt it was anything that ominous,” said Carmela. She held up a hand again, and the two of them stood there, listening. “You hear anything?”
Ava shook her head. No.
“Whoever orchestrated that little display probably took off,” said Carmela.
“Which is exactly what we should do.”
“We should really . . . check it out,” muttered Carmela.
“Let’s not,” said Ava. But she grabbed Carmela’s sleeve and followed in her footsteps anyway.
Slowly, quietly, they tiptoed over to the once-flaming tomb.
“Nothing here,” marveled Ava, batting away residual smoke. “It was like . . . magic.”
“More like a magic trick,” said Carmela, staring at a black scorch mark across the top of the tomb. She reached out, poked a finger at bits of black and gray ash, and found they were still warm. “Do you have any more of those ziplock bags?” she asked Ava.
Ava nodded.
“Grab a couple.”
“You gonna play CSI?” asked Ava.
“I’m going to try,” said Carmela. “That is, if Babcock cooperates. If he’ll agree to send this . . . this residue . . . to a testing lab.”
Ava brought her bags and a small putty knife. Together they scraped at the soot and residue that coated the tomb. Small black and gray flakes of ash fell into the bag.
“Got enough?” asked Ava.
Carmela pinched the bag closed and held it up for inspection. “Looks okay.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” said Ava. “Before something else happens!”
Chapter 20
AVA reclined in the leather chair in Carmela’s apartment, staring at her painted-pink toenails. Boo sat on the floor, her shiny brown eyes studiously watching Ava’s every move. “What happened out there, anyway?” asked Ava. “A couple of good-looking gals go for an innocent nighttime stroll in a historic cemetery and end up runnin’ for their lives.”
Carmela handed Ava a steaming mug of cocoa. “We didn’t run for our lives. We may have been scared out of our undies, but we held fast.”
“Still,” said Ava, “the big question remains. Who set that fire? Who’s the loony who was trying to scare us?”
“Seems to me we have our choice of loonies these days,” said Carmela, sitting down to face her. “Which roughly translates to suspects in Melody’s murder.”
“There’s Garth,” said Ava. “Melody’s strange-and-gettin’stranger husband. And Sidney St. Cyr, who, as we all know, adores tromping around cemeteries at night.”
“And Sawyer Barnes,” said Carmela. “The developer who still seems to be on the hunt for Medusa Manor.” She blew on her own cocoa and took a sip. “And, bizarre as this sounds, I can’t stop thinking about Olivia Wainwright. She was pretty much the only one who knew we were going out there tonight to take molds.”
&n
bsp; “But even if Olivia murdered Melody,” said Ava, “why would she come after us? Wouldn’t she figure an incident like a flaming tomb would just goad us into digging deeper? Into going to the police?”
“You’d think so,” said Carmela.
“And we are going to the police, aren’t we?” asked Ava.
Carmela reached out and stroked Boo’s furry head. Her little dog was still staring at Ava as if mesmerized. “I’ll talk to Babcock,” Carmela promised. “See if he can have the contents of our baggie analyzed.”
“Run it through the trusty police-o-matic clue analyzer,” said Ava.
“If it were only that easy,” said Carmela.
“You know Babcock’s gonna be all grumpy and crabby about this,” said Ava.
“Like his service revolver, he’s on a hair trigger,” said Carmela. “He upsets easily. There’s a reason I’ve laid in a good supply of Tums, Rolaids, and various antacids.”
“Ah,” said Ava, “the touchy tummy syndrome.”
“What I’m thinking,” said Carmela, “is that the residue from tonight’s fiery tomb may possibly match up with the residue from the fire at Medusa Manor.”
“Whoa,” breathed Ava. “I never thought of that. So that would mean . . . uh . . . what exactly?”
“It would mean that whoever murdered Melody was right there in the cemetery with us tonight, sending a rather firm warning.”
“That scares the bejeebers out of me,” said Ava.
“Me, too,” said Carmela. She stood up, grabbed a book of matches off the fireplace mantel, then leaned down and lit the six rose-colored pillar candles that were arranged on a wrought-iron rack inside her fireplace.
“That’s nice,” said Ava. “Cozy.”
“Mmm,” said Carmela.
They watched the miniature flames leap and dance, each thinking about their earlier scare. Finally Carmela said, “You want something to eat?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Ava.
Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Carmela pulled open the refrigerator door and rummaged around. “I’ve got cheese and crackers. Actually some really ripe Brie cheese.”
“Perfect,” called Ava.
