by Laura Childs
“Okay, give me a minute,” said Carmela.
“Say,” said Ava, “if I owe you, like, a bazillion dollars for food, just let me know, will you? I don’t want to be known as a freeloader.”
“You’re not,” said Ava. “You’re more like an appreciative snacker.”
“You think?” said Ava, pleased.
“Believe me,” said Carmela, “it’s not an issue.”
Ava continued to stare into the fireplace. “This is gonna sound like a real wild card, cher, but do you think that special-effects guy had anything to do with this?”
Carmela came in carrying the snacks on a tray. “Tate Mackie?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would he try to scare us? What would be his motivation?”
Ava shrugged. “Maybe trying to impress us? Impress you?” She grabbed a small silver knife and spread the creamy Brie on her cracker.
“No,” said Carmela. “I don’t think so.”
Ava took a big bite. “So whoya um realuh shushpec?”
“Huh?”
Ava chewed faster, then swallowed hard. “Who do you really suspect?”
“At this point,” said Carmela, “I don’t have a clue. But I have to say, Garth is not looking pristine any more.”
“Do tell,” said Ava.
“At lunch today, Babcock said something about Garth being at the top of his list because of the insurance money as well as a few other things he couldn’t go into.”
“Really?” said Ava. “Then you gotta grill him. Find out what those other things are.”
“I think you’re right.”
They dropped the subject then, finished their cheese and crackers, and chatted about Medusa Manor. Although, with Olivia’s warning that the project could be put on ice, their hearts weren’t completely in it anymore.
“I’ve been sorting through those prom dresses at my office,” said Ava, “and there are a couple dozen that are truly ghastly. All torn and dirty, really the dregs.”
“Then we should just toss them,” said Carmela.
“I had another idea,” said Ava. “What if we hauled ’em over to Medusa Manor and used them in some creepy display? You know, do a Bride of Frankenstein or Bride of Chucky thing in that fourth upstairs bedroom?”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” enthused Carmela. “We’ll fix some veils to float above the tattered dresses and arrange bouquets of dead flowers. I love it!”
“I thought you might,” said Ava. “I thought, considering your divorce and all, dead brides would really cheer you up!”
After Ava took off, Carmela decided to call Edgar Babcock. She slipped into a terry cloth robe, lay down on her bed, and dialed his cell phone.
Nada. He wasn’t answering. Which meant he wasn’t at home.
Okay, she decided, next best thing. Call the precinct station. She called, but they weren’t exactly cordial about rousing him on his car radio and putting a message through, but finally they did.
Ten minutes later Edgar Babcock called back.
“You called.” There was the faint sound of police chatter in the background.
“I was wondering if you could stop over here.”
“Man,” he said, yawning, “I’m really—”
“It’s important,” said Carmela, a slight urgency in her voice.
That was enough to trip his cop’s instinct and make him immediately suspicious. “What?” he asked. “Did something happen?”
“You could say that,” said Carmela.
“What now?”
Carmela drew a deep breath. “Here’s the thing,” she told him. “Ava and I went to Lafayette Cemetery tonight—”
“You what!” screeched Babcock.
“We went to—”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Do we have a bad connection or something?” asked Carmela. “Because I can hear you just fine, but you seem to be having trouble.”
“Just tell me what happened,” demanded Babcock. Carmela could hear faint clicking sounds and was pretty sure it was Babcock grinding his teeth.
“As I was saying, Ava and I went back to Lafayette Cemetery to take some tomb molds.”
“Some what?”
“Are you going to let me tell this or not?” she asked.
“Sorry. Just spit it out and try to talk a little faster, okay?”
“I’m trying,” said Carmela. “Anyway, just as we removed a large piece of plastic from a perfectly lovely Medusa head, there was this enormous burst of fire, and flames shot up from the top of a tomb.”
Now Carmela seemed to detect a strange gurgling sound coming through her phone.
Finally, Babcock said, “A flaming tomb?” His voice was just this side of disbelief.
“You know what?” said Carmela. “I think you should just come over here and let me tell this in person. Otherwise I’d hate to think you were slouched over in your car somewhere having a heart attack.”
“Ten minutes,” he told her through clenched teeth.
Babcock made it in nine.
“Hello,” Carmela said, holding open the door.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he huffed.
“Nice to see you, too.” Carmela grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him into her apartment. Across the courtyard, she saw a curtain move in the upstairs window. Ava. Carmela grinned to herself as she pressed against Babcock and gently nuzzled him.
But after getting his welcome kiss, Babcock quickly grasped Carmela’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Tell me the whole story,” he said, peering at her with burning curiosity, “and don’t leave anything out.”
“Better sit down, then,” Carmela told him. “And let me get you something to drink.” She shooed the dogs off the chaise longue so Babcock could flop down there, then went into the kitchen and whipped up yet another cup of cocoa. Just as she was about to slide the steaming black mug onto a small silver tray, Carmela snicked open a cupboard door and grabbed a bottle of peppermint schnapps that she’d had forever. Uncapping the bottle, she poured a hefty shot into Babcock’s cocoa, and stirred it around.
“Here you go.” She handed the cocoa to Babcock, sat down at his feet, and proceeded to tell her story. Babcock sipped, listened, and sipped some more. Ten minutes later he seemed considerably more relaxed.
“So,” he said, “you and Ava stirred up a hornet’s nest. You’ve got someone very worried.”
“That’s what I think, too,” said Carmela, “but I have no idea who.” She frowned and stared at him, as if hoping he could shed some light.
Babcock remained thoughtful. “And you took scrapings of this mysterious fire residue?”
Carmela reached into her pocket, then presented him with the little baggie of soot. “Could you have it analyzed?”
Accepting the bag, he held it up to eye level and shook it. “Probably.”
Carmela smiled. “You seem much more relaxed now.”
Babcock tilted his empty mug toward her. “Must be your delicious cocoa. Chocolate with a minty flavor. Kind of tastes like Girl Scout cookies.”
“Something like that,” said Carmela. She took the empty mug from his hand and set it on the floor. “At lunch today, you mentioned something about Garth being your number one suspect because of the insurance money as well as a couple of things you couldn’t go into. Can you go into them now?”
Babcock focused on her as he shifted in his chair. He seemed to be pondering something. “There’s a witness,” he finally said. “We have a witness, a woman who works in the business across the alley from Fire and Ice, who thinks she saw Garth get into his car around the time of the murder.”
“Oh no!” said Carmela. “Really?”
Babcock nodded.
“Did you confront Garth about this?”
“Not a confrontation per se,” said Babcock, “but we put it to him a number of different ways.”
“And did he have an explanation?”
“He had a rather convenient alibi that’s a
lmost impossible to check,” said Babcock. “Garth told us he went out to his car to grab a package. Said that’s probably what she saw.”
“So the witness could have been mistaken?” said Carmela.
“Possibly,” said Babcock. “Or she could be helping us build a case against him.”
Carmela slumped in her chair. “I was hoping it wasn’t Garth.”
Babcock stared at her patiently. “I didn’t say it was.”
“But you just said—”
“There’s more,” said Babcock. “But you’ve really got to keep this quiet.”
Carmela nodded vigorously.
“I mean really.”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course, I will.”
“We’ve been digging in city records and it turns out your buddy Sawyer Barnes . . . ?”
Carmela peered at Babcock sharply.
“It seems Mr. Barnes owned a property, a somewhat dilapidated triplex over in Algiers that he wasn’t able to unload when the real estate market flattened out and then took a nosedive. And somehow, magically, that property met with a fiery demise. So, of course, he was able to collect on the insurance.”
“Are you serious?” said Carmela. Now he had her undivided attention.
“There’s more,” said Babcock, pausing for effect.
She stared at him.
“Sawyer Barnes served in the military.”
“I heard that,” said Carmela. It was one of the little factoids Baby’s husband had uncovered for her.
“He was a Navy SEAL.”
Carmela stared at Babcock for a long minute. “Wait a minute,” she finally said. “Aren’t those the guys who are trained in demolition? The guys who deal with explosives and incendiary devices?”
Both pairs of eyes were suddenly focused on the little baggie that lay limply on the chaise.
Babcock gave the briefest of nods. “You got that right.”
Chapter 21
“WHAT did you think about the new settlement offer we put on the table?”
“Hmm?” said Carmela. She’d just arrived at Memory Mine five minutes earlier, and Shamus’s call was the first phone call of the morning. “There’s a new offer?” Shaking her head to clear away the cobwebs, Carmela took another sip of coffee from the cup she’d just purchased at Pirate’s Alley Deli.
“Hell, yes,” snarled Shamus. “The darned papers should have been messengered to you first thing this morning. You didn’t get them?”
“I don’t know,” said Carmela. And now she could hear him yelling in the background at some poor woman named Maxine. “Your envelope probably got mixed in with the morning mail. I haven’t sorted through everything yet. I just got here.” It wouldn’t pay to tell him that Edgar Babcock, police lieutenant extraordinaire, had kept her up well past her usual bedtime last night.
“Go look, will you?” Shamus was cranky, crankier than usual.
“Call you back,” said Carmela, dropping the receiver abruptly. “Hey, Gabby,” she called to her assistant, who was in the back of the store restocking racks of paper, “did I get a delivery this morning? Like a really large envelope?”
“Um . . . yeah,” said Gabby, balancing stacks of paper. “Quicksilver Messenger Service dropped something off. I figured it was probably photos or something.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Carmela. She took another sip of coffee, decided she should have ordered a grande instead of a regular, and began pawing through the stack of envelopes, flyers, and bills on the front counter. When her fingertips touched a large manila envelope, she pulled it out and glanced at the return address. Willis B. Mortimer, Esquire. Yup, this was it. Ripping open the envelope, Carmela quickly scanned the ten-page document. When she was finished, she set the stapled pages down, touched a hand to her heart, and exhaled slowly. Because Carmela suddenly felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Glory had somehow, crazily, miraculously, agreed to a modest cash settlement as well as the deed to Shamus’s Garden District home. Hallelujah!
Carmela wasted no time in calling Shamus back. “Obviously, I need to run this by my lawyer, but I’d say we have a deal.”
“Fine,” said Shamus. “Good.” He’d blown off his steam and sounded reasonable now.
“And I think we should sign this agreement right away,” added Carmela. “Immediately, in fact.”
“What’s the all-fired hurry?” grumped Shamus. “It’s taken us three years to get to this point.”
“You are so right,” said Carmela. “There’s been delay after delay, which I know has been exasperating for both of us. So now that we finally have an agreement we can live with, I think we should bring things to a rapid conclusion. Also, the last thing I want is for your big sister Glory to suddenly pop a pill and change her mind. So . . . when can we meet?” pressed Carmela. “And where?”
“Jeez Louise,” sniffed Shamus, “you sure are hot to get rid of me.”
You have no idea, Carmela wanted to say, but she held her tongue and didn’t. Instead, she crossed her fingers and told a little white lie: “Shamus, we gave it a good shot. We were very much in love, but couldn’t make it work. Why not sign the papers right now while we still have fond memories of each other?”
There was a long pause, and then Shamus said, “You have fond memories of me?”
“Of course I do,” said Carmela, lavishly stroking his ego.
“Hey, babe,” laughed Shamus, “do you remember the time we stayed in that little B&B in Bogalusa? It had that really creaky bed and the heart-shaped—”
“Shamus,” said Carmela, cutting him off, “let’s really try to meet tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” said Shamus, his voice rising in a squeak. “That soon?” Now he sounded hurt.
“I think it’s best.”
Several deep sighs were followed by, “I suppose we could meet at the Crescent City Bank offices . . .”
“Perfect,” said Carmela. “What time?”
“Uh . . . nine?” said Shamus.
“See you then,” said Carmela, giving him the proverbial bum’s rush.
“Hey, babe,” came Shamus’s plaintive voice, just before she hung up. “Bring the dogs, will you?”
“You finally have an agreement?” asked Gabby. She waved her hands in the air in front of her, as if to clear away any impropriety. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear you.”
“It’s looking good,” said Carmela, “as long as Glory doesn’t stick her fat nose in at the last minute.”
“I’m happy for you, Carmela,” said Gabby, giving her a little hug. Ever the romantic, Gabby had burned candles and prayed to St. Valentine in hopes that Carmela and Shamus would eventually reunite. But now, after all their bitter wranglings and Shamus’s infidelities, she’d pretty much accepted the divorce. And, of course, Edgar Babcock had recently come on the scene. So Gabby was thrilled beyond words that Carmela was romantically involved again. The fact that Babcock was tall, handsome, well mannered, and a terrific dresser didn’t hurt, either.
“You know what?” said Carmela, “I feel fantastic. I haven’t felt this good in . . . in years.”
“Some women are meant to be married,” said Gabby, “some women are meant to be free.”
Carmela studied Gabby for a moment. “You really believe that?”
Gabby nodded. “I do.”
“Does that mean I’m not cut out for marriage?”
Gabby’s face fell. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant that . . . well, you’ve been on and off with Shamus for so long and now that the situation is resolved, it’s time for you to focus on you.”
“Nicely put,” grinned Carmela. “You talked your way out of that one.”
“I hope I did,” said Gabby. “Because I sure don’t mean to be a busybody or even a cynic.”
“You’re not,” said Carmela. “Believe me.”
Gabby picked up a stack of metallic paper, looking more than a little relieved. “Oh, you know what? We received a shi
pment of that deckle-edged paper you like and some of those tiny manila envelopes with the tie and button closures.”
“Perfect,” said Carmela. “I had someone ask about those envelopes just the other day.”
They got busy then as the clock cranked toward ten and customers, regulars as well as French Quarter visitors, began to trickle in.
One woman wanted to make personalized wine labels, so Carmela showed her how to create a Tuscan background using watercolors on beige card stock. With a little careful placement, a rubber stamp of an old monastery yielded a winery visual, helped along with some overstamping of grape and leaf designs. All that was needed was hand lettering on the label and a bit of raffia to tie around the neck of the bottle.
Another customer wanted to make seating cards for a fancy dinner with an opera theme. Carmela showed her how to create small black one-fold cards with manila library pockets on the inside. Carmela then suggested creating collaged and stamped tags to go inside those pockets. Some of the papers she chose for the woman included themes of musical notes, fancy scripts, and florals. Suggested rubber-stamping ideas included portraits of Italian Renaissance ladies, musical notes, and sketches of European-style villas.
“This morning is completely flying by,” remarked Gabby when there was a slight break in the action.
“Business is good,” breathed Carmela. She reached out and rapped her knuckles on one of the flat files, a little knock on wood for insurance purposes.
Gabby jerked her head toward the front counter. “I think that lady might need a little help selecting fibers and tassels to embellish her album.”
“You want me to make some suggestions?” asked Carmela.
Gabby nodded. “Would you? You always have such innovative ideas.”
But when Carmela offered to help, she was waved away.
“I’m taking my time and having fun,” the woman told her. “I just want to look at everything you have before I make my decision.”
“No problem,” said Carmela. “And if you want larger tassels or beaded tassels, just ask. We have some stashed in back.”
Carmela turned to her shelf of albums and began straightening them. She put the old-fashioned black albums on the left; tucked a trio of larger red leather albums next to them; and was about to add two suede-covered albums, when a hand dropped softly on her shoulder. She whirled, expecting Gabby. Instead, she found herself gazing into the dark, limpid eyes of Sidney St. Cyr.
