Parchment and Old Lace

by Laura Childs

  Chapter 13

  WOULDN’T you know it? As Carmela and Ava hurried across St. Charles Avenue on the way to Isabelle’s funeral, Ava got her four-inch-high heel caught in the streetcar track.

  “Help!” Ava cried, just as Carmela realized that her friend was no longer striding alongside her.

  Carmela whirled about to find her friend windmilling her arms and hopping up and down on one foot.

  “What’d you do?” Carmela cried. They were so close, just a hundred yards from the church. She could practically smell the incense and flowers.

  “I’m stuck,” Ava cried. “My heel’s wedged.”

  “A wedgie . . . what?”

  “No, my heel is wedged,” Ava said. “My mock croc stiletto’s jammed in the tracks.” She made frantic motions again. “C’mere and give me a tug.”

  Carmela turned back to help her. “Here, twist toward me.”

  “I’m trying, but my skirt’s too tight.”

  “Like it’s airbrushed on,” Carmela said under her breath. “Okay then, wiggle your foot. Your ankle.”

  “I tried, but it’s not working.”

  “Then slip out of your shoe.”

  “I’ll lose it,” Ava moaned.

  “It’s a train track, not a sinkhole,” Carmela said. “Besides, you’re gonna lose your entire leg if a streetcar comes chugging along.” But like a good BFF, she got down on her hands and knees and crawled around so she could give the shoe a firm quarter-turn tug. Two seconds later Ava’s foot popped loose.

  “Thank you,” Ava said as she limped across the street and then up the steps of the gray stone church. “You saved my life.”

  “Or at least your sole.”

  Ava grinned, then pulled a black mantilla from her bag and slipped it over her head and shoulders.

  “What’s going on now?” Carmela hissed as they paused at the back of the darkened church. “Why are you suddenly covering yourself up like a Sicilian widow?”

  “I’m just devout,” Ava said. “I prefer a veil on my head.”

  “But what about covering up your . . . um . . .” Carmela stared pointedly at the black spaghetti strap bustier Ava was wearing. It was tightly ruched with touches of purple peekaboo lace, and left nothing, absolutely nothing, to the imagination.

  “Not to worry,” Ava said as they tiptoed down the aisle.

  Okay. Whatever.

  Carmela hesitated at the fifth row of pews from the back. “How’s this?”

  “Nobody’s going to see us all the way back here,” Ava said.

  “I think it’s more important that we see them,” Carmela said as she slid in.

  The interior of the church was quiet and cool as mourners slowly filed in. Two Altar Society ladies worked quickly to arrange the area around the altar, which was no easy job since there were dozens of huge bouquets and sprays of white flowers in enormous vases.

  “Edward must have traveled to Baton Rouge and back to round up that many white lilies,” Ava whispered. “The altar looks like it’s decorated with twenty years’ worth of Easter flowers.”

  “White roses, too,” Carmela said. She settled back in her pew and looked around. Shafts of sunlight streamed in through tall stained glass windows, and flickers of color shone on a half dozen pews up front. A faint rainbow arched across the vaulted ceiling. It was a stark contrast to the mourners who continually filed in, dressed in black like packs of roving crows.

  Ava glanced at her watch. “Almost time.”

  As if on cue, Oliver Slade strode past them down the aisle. He was dressed in a black mourning coat and dove gray slacks. He wore a black satin armband tightly around his upper right arm and had a white rose pinned to his lapel.

  “What on earth?” Ava whispered. “Have you ever seen such a . . . ?”

  “Costume?” Carmela said. “No, I haven’t. It’s like he’s harking back to the ’20s or something.”

  “Or a bad drawing room comedy,” Ava said. “And what’s with the white rose?” She grasped Carmela’s arm. “Ooh, do you think he’s the one responsible for all those long-stemmed beauties up there on the altar?”

  “If he is,” Carmela said, “Edward Baudette will probably throw a fit.”

  In the choir loft above them, the organist riffed a few beginning notes, paused briefly, and then plunged into the sweet, comforting notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

  “Why do they always play this particular piece of music in church?” Ava asked.

  “Probably because it’s one of the most soothing pieces ever written,” Carmela said. “There’s a reason people select it for weddings and funerals.”

  “An all-purpose hymn,” Ava mused. “Except I read somewhere, maybe in Star Whacker magazine, that the most popular funeral song is still Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.”

  “I can believe it,” Carmela said. “Even though nobody really does it their way.” Her head canted sideways as Naomi and Vesper walked past. Naomi looked trim and fashionable in a black cashmere skirt suit with a matching cloche. She had one arm firmly around Vesper Baudette’s ample waist and seemed to be supporting her heavily as she led the woman down the aisle. Vesper lurched sideways once or twice, but Naomi gamely steered her forward.

  Julian Drake followed closely on their heels. Maybe he’d been elected to bat cleanup, just in case Vesper actually fell down. Whatever, the three of them finally tottered to the front of the church and settled in the first pew.

  Carmela, feeling vaguely emotional now, thought it sad that, instead of fulfilling their wedding duties as maid of honor and best man, the two of them were in charge of the miserable woman who never considered Isabelle as being good enough for her son.

  Ava leaned sideways. “I hope they leave room up there for Ellie.”

  “Don’t worry. If they dare to leave Ellie stranded, we’ll just march right up the center aisle and carve out a place for her.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Ava said. She glanced toward the back of the church, nervously awaiting the coffin’s arrival, then whispered, “Hello, handsome, come to mama.”

  Carmela lifted an eyebrow at Ava, and then turned to look herself. Ava was focused on Bobby Prejean and a number of people from his office. Prejean, looking businesslike but debonair in a blue suit and black-striped tie, was leading his contingent up the aisle.

  Carmela’s heart swelled. Everyone from the district attorney’s office had turned out to honor Isabelle. God bless them. Then Carmela took a second look to see if Hugo Delton was with them. He was. But she didn’t think that he’d seen her.

  “If Mr. Prejean is as upset as he looks,” Ava said, “I wouldn’t mind offering a little warmth and comfort.”

  “Haven’t you hit your weekly hustle quotient yet?”

  “I’m just warming up.”

  “And, yes,” Carmela said, “Bobby Prejean is upset. Isabelle was one of his most promising attorneys, so he’s vowed to throw the entire weight of his office behind the investigation.”

  “Speaking of investigations,” Ava said, “do you think Babcock will show up today?”

  Carmela started to say something and then paused. Would he? Hmm, that was an interesting thought. And could he possibly be here right now, keeping one eye on her and an eagle eye on his various suspects?

  That prompted Carmela to crane her neck and look around. Babcock obviously wasn’t up front or she would have noticed him by now. But maybe he was sitting on the side aisle? She stole a couple more glances around. Nope, no sign of him there. In the back of the church, then? Hiding behind a statue or a potted plant? No, she didn’t see him there, either. Finally, when she’d just about given up, she spotted him. Babcock was crouched in the doorway leading to the choir loft. Well, not exactly crouched, but he was standing absolutely stock-still.

  Relying on the old trick that if there isn’t a speck of movement,
the predator won’t spot you? Maybe.

  Just as Carmela and Babcock locked eyes, there was a click-clack of wheels, and Carmela knew that Isabelle’s coffin had arrived.

  Oh dear.

  She reached over and clutched Ava’s hand, and then the two of them, holding their breath, watched the heart-wrenching procession.

  Edward and Ellie came first. They each carried a small bouquet of flowers as they walked slowly down the center aisle.

  “Ooh.” Ava let loose a little gasp and clasped Carmela’s hand even tighter.

  Then Isabelle’s coffin rolled down the aisle. It was the walnut one that Ellie had selected. Only today it was closed and topped with a spectacular spray of white orchids.

  Now the organ burst into a prelude and the entire congregation rose to their feet. The choir (Carmela hadn’t even realized there was a choir) broke into the opening lines of “On Eagle’s Wings.”

  Carmela figured there wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the processional rolled slowly toward the front of the church.

  “This is so sad,” Ava whispered.

  Carmela could only nod as, above her, voices rose together singing, “. . . And hold you in the palm of His hand.”

  At the front of the church, the coffin was gently seesawed into place, and then Ellie and Edward moved toward the front pew.

  But the drama wasn’t over yet. Because just as Edward tried to guide Ellie into her seat, Naomi jumped up and shook her head fiercely.

  Ava half stood. “I’ll smack that little priss upside her head if she tries to exclude Ellie,” she hissed.

  But Naomi didn’t. She just preferred that Edward slide in and sit next to her. Leaving Ellie on the end.

  “Grrrrr,” Ava growled.

  The minister, looking very somber in his dark suit and stark white collar, strode to the altar and motioned for everyone to please sit down. Then he opened his prayer book and began. “Let not your hearts be troubled . . .”

  Carmela tried to follow along, she really did, but she seemed to have developed a severe attention deficit this morning.

  Or maybe I’m just edgy about everything that’s happened.

  Yes, that had to be it. Not only that, if Babcock was attending this service, studying everyone with his cool law enforcement eyes, didn’t that mean that he suspected the killer might be here, too?

  A terrible thought. But one that intrigued Carmela nevertheless.

  So who?

  Had Oliver Slade really stalked Isabelle? Was his anger less about unrequited love and more about revenge?

  Had Edward been locked into wedding plans that had scared the crap out of him? Had he decided that murdering Isabelle was the only way to extract himself?

  And what about Vesper Baudette? Mama bears were fierce and known to kill for their cubs. Had Vesper killed for her precious Edward? Had she thought that by killing Isabelle she would free him? It seemed like madness to think that a family could commit murder against one of their own.

  And then there was Naomi Rattler and Julian Drake. And Hugo Delton from Isabelle’s office. They all might have had ample opportunity. But did they have motive? She needed to find out.

  As a soloist sang “I Will Always Love You,” Carmela pondered all of this. She felt helpless, though Ellie had asked for her help. Begged for it, really. Which meant she needed to redouble her efforts, search around, ask more probing questions. Get to the bottom of this murder.

  As the last notes of the song faded away, the minister beckoned Edward to the lectern. He rose from his pew and then walked up the few steps with a heavy, measured gait. He turned, looked sadly down at the casket, and then gazed out over the mourners.

  Finally, Edward spoke. “Friends, family, colleagues. Thank you all for joining us today to pay your respects and bid farewell to our dear Isabelle.” He paused for a moment, and then went on. “Yesterday, for the very first time, I saw my bride-to-be in her wedding gown.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath among all the mourners as they hung on his every word.

  “I looked forward to watching Isabelle walk down this very aisle and meet me here at the altar.” Edward glanced back at the minister. “I looked forward to Reverend Dufraine giving us his blessing and joining us together in holy matrimony. But it was not to be. I expected a good long life with Isabelle steadfastly at my side. But it was not to be.” Now he was sobbing openly as he held out both hands in pleading supplication to her coffin. “Please, dear Lord, bless her and keep her. For she is in your hands now.”

  One of the ushers rushed to give a sobbing Edward a hand down the steps, but he was shaken off as Edward stumbled back to his pew. Then the minister beckoned Ellie to take her turn at the lectern.

  “Poor Ellie,” Ava said. “I hope she can get through this okay.”

  But Carmela’s attention was elsewhere. While everyone in church was focused on Ellie as she walked to the lectern, Carmela was watching Naomi grab Edward with both arms. She pulled him to her and they seemed to collapse together. Carmela wished she could have seen what was probably a very satisfied look on Naomi’s face. But now she had to focus on Ellie.

  Ellie was remarkably poised as she stood facing the mourners. She waited until she had everyone’s attention, and then began.

  “Isabelle was the finest sister anyone could ever hope to have. When our parents passed away, she was already on her own at Columbia Law School in New York. I was still a minor. Rather than let me go into foster care, Isabelle changed her plans, moved back to New Orleans, and took care of me while going to law school at Tulane.” She paused. “I owe her everything. When we were children, she protected me. If someone bullied me, she put them in their place. But now Isabelle has been struck down by a coldhearted killer, and it’s my turn to find that killer and put him in his place.” She looked out over the mourners with a cold, hard grimace on her face. “And that place would be the Louisiana State Penitentiary.”

  Across the expanse of three dozen rows of church pews, Ellie’s eyes locked on to Carmela’s. Her eyes blazed with a cold, hard determination that Carmela felt within her own heart. Then, just like that, Ellie was back to being normal Ellie again. She thanked everyone for coming to honor her sister, then walked back to her pew, head held high.

  “Cher,” Ava said. “Did you hear what Ellie said? She was basically issuing a challenge.”

  “She sure was,” Carmela said.

  “Is Ellie up for it? Are you?”

  Carmela tightened her jaw. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  There was one more hymn to be sung, and then the little procession repeated itself. Only this time it was the casket that went first, with Edward, Vesper, Ellie, Naomi, and Julian Drake following behind it.

  When the church was mostly empty and it was time to join the recession, Carmela realized that Edgar Babcock was no longer skulking in the back doorway.

  “Where’d he run off to?” Carmela wondered.

  “Dunno,” Ava said. “He must be outside already.”

  They hustled outside and there he was, standing by himself against a metal railing, watching the coffin get loaded into a long black hearse.

  “Looking for suspects?” Carmela asked.

  “Looking anyway,” Babcock said.

  “Did you get a chance to check out all the people from the cake tasting? All seven of them?”

  “Only three of them actually left Commander’s Palace. The other four stayed to drink.”

  “And the three were . . . ?”

  “Edward Baudette, Naomi Rattler, and Julian Drake.”

  “Hmm.”

  Babcock continued to stare at the hearse. “Are you going to the cemetery?”

  Carmela shook her head. “No cemetery service. Just a funeral luncheon.”

  “Ah, that’s right. At the restaurant your old boyfriend owns.” He was
referring, of course, to Quigg Brevard’s restaurant, Mumbo Gumbo.

  “He was never my old boyfriend,” Carmela told him. “You of all people should know that.” Then, “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Babcock stuck his hands in his pants pockets and jingled loose change. “You’re going to ask me if I spotted the killer?”

  “No. But did you?”

  “You think I’d tell you that?”

  “Probably not. But I uncovered something that might be useful.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Turns out Isabelle was a very traditional bride. You know, ‘something old, something new . . .’”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Babcock said, gesturing for her to hurry it up.

  “Naomi Rattler, the maid of honor, apparently bought Isabelle an antique veil for her ‘something old.’”

  Babcock’s eyes searched hers. “An antique veil made of . . . lace?”

  “That was my understanding,” Carmela said. “From a local antique shop.”

  “Do we know which one?” Babcock asked.

  “Dulcimer Antiques, the one that Devon Dowling owns.”

  “He’s the starchy little guy who’s always carrying around that chubby pug dog?”

  “That’s right.”

  Babcock rubbed his chin. His mind was obviously hard at work, cataloging this new piece of information. “Do you know where the veil is now?”

  Carmela shook her head. “No idea.”

  Babcock practically winced when he spoke his next words. “Maybe you could . . . ask around?”

  That was exactly what Carmela had hoped to hear. Babcock giving his blessing, asking for her help. “Okay, I can do that for sure.” She paused. “You think there’s some kind of connection? I mean concerning the lace?”

  “I don’t know. But, Carmela, when I say ask, I mean just a few innocent questions. Do not investigate. That’s my job and I don’t want you stepping on any toes.”

  Especially yours, Carmela thought.

  “Okay, I can do that,” Carmela said. When Babcock furrowed his brow instead of answering her, she said, “You’ve really taken this case to heart, haven’t you?”