Parchment and Old Lace

by Laura Childs

  Babcock squinted over the crowd. “It’s the politics that’s driving me crazy.”

  “How so?”

  “Because Isabelle was attached to the D.A.’s office, she’s basically one of our own. So the mayor’s office, even though His Honor is out of town, is pressuring us like crazy to solve this crime.”

  “You mean solve it fast,” said Carmela.

  Babcock nodded. “As in lightning round.” He watched as Bobby Prejean stepped away from a group of people and headed toward him. “Incoming,” he said under his breath.

  “Detective Babcock,” Prejean said, shaking Babcock’s hand vigorously. “Good to see you again.” Then he nodded at Carmela. “Carmela.”

  “It was a lovely service, wasn’t it?” Carmela said. She was afraid Prejean would say something about her dropping by his office yesterday. But Prejean had other things on his mind.

  “I know you’re working hard on this case,” Prejean said to Babcock. “But I’m begging you to pull out all the stops. If there’s anything—and I do mean anything—that I or my office can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Babcock nodded. “Of course. Thank you.”

  Prejean gave an appreciative nod, then moved off to shake more hands.

  “He’s a real mover and a shaker,” Carmela observed.

  “The way that guy operates, I’d say he’s going all the way to the statehouse. Maybe even higher.”

  Carmela gazed at him. “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Oh, heck no,” Babcock said. “He’s a good guy. Hardworking and smart. I just don’t want him using my case to springboard himself up the ladder.”

  “Ah. So . . . you’re going back to work?”

  “Yeah.” Babcock nodded toward a skinny guy in an even skinnier cut European suit who was standing some twenty feet away. “Police chief wants me to huddle with Jarreau over there. Our media liaison.” He said it like he’d been ordered to drink a cup of hemlock.

  “So you don’t have time to stop by the funeral luncheon?”

  Babcock shook his head. “No. How about you? Are you going?”

  Carmela was still undecided. But as the funeral hearse pulled away from the curb, she noticed Naomi standing next to Edward, her shoulder bumping up against his, their fingers entwined.

  “Yes,” Carmela said, making a snap decision. “I think I will go after all. See if anything interesting shakes out.”

  Chapter 14

  MUMBO Gumbo was the pluperfect French Quarter restaurant. Cozy and quaint, located in a former art gallery, with crumbling brickwork that crept halfway up the interior walls to give it a rustic, European feel.

  At the very front, businessmen luxuriated over dry martinis at the glossy eggplant-colored bar. Farther back, in the darkened restaurant, were large black bumper car–sized booths. Haunting Cajun ballads played over the music system, while potted palm trees and slowly turning wicker fans added to the exotic atmosphere.

  Quigg Brevard, the owner, spotted Carmela and Ava immediately and hustled over to greet them.

  “Mmn,” Ava purred. “Here comes Mr. Luscious.”

  All broad shoulders in a sleekly tailored sharkskin suit, Quigg was indeed luscious and slightly dangerous looking with his dark eyes, olive complexion, and full, sensuous mouth.

  “Hello there,” Quigg said to Carmela, as if she were the only person in his rarified universe.

  “Hi,” Carmela said back. She’d dated him once or twice, and things hadn’t really clicked between them. Now that she was hot and heavy with Babcock, Quigg always acted like she was a prize to be wooed and captured.

  “I take it you’re here for the funeral luncheon?” Quigg asked.

  “That’s right,” Carmela said.

  Ava smiled demurely. “But if you’ve got something else in mind . . .”

  Quigg just gazed at Carmela, as if they shared some private amusement. “Let me escort you ladies.” He held out a hand for Carmela. “My dear?”

  Quigg led them through the dining room and into a large private banquet room. The room was painted an elegant raspberry red and hung with oil paintings (with plenty of crackle glaze) that depicted the French Quarter as it had been in the 1800s.

  “Here you are,” Quigg said, flashing his trademark grin. “If you need anything—anything at all—be sure to let me know.”

  “Oh, we will,” Ava said.

  Carmela glanced about the room. A buffet table with silver chafing dishes and three-tiered serving trays was set up against the right-hand wall. To the left of it was the seating area, an assortment of round tables covered in starched white tablecloths. At the back of the room a long mahogany bar seemed to be the focal point for the mourners, its glass shelves glittering with bottles.

  “This looks more like a party than a funeral luncheon,” Ava said, noting that all the mourners were either bellied up to the bar or milling around, sipping tumblers of whiskey or glasses of wine.

  Vesper Baudette sat at what appeared to be the head table, a large cut glass tumbler in front of her. It was less than half full with clear liquid, and Carmela wondered if it was water or vodka.

  Who are you kidding? Of course it’s vodka.

  A few seats away from Vesper, Naomi Rattler cradled little Bing Bing in her arms, feeding her tidbits of food that presumably came from the buffet.

  “Do you see that?” Ava stage-whispered. “Naomi brought her dog. She didn’t have that critter with her in church, did she?”

  “Not that I noticed,” Carmela said.

  “Would you bring Boo and Poobah here?”

  “Only if they were invited.”

  “Then why bring . . . ?”

  But Ava was quickly interrupted by Ellie, who came scurrying over to greet them.

  “Carmela! Ava! I’m so glad you could make the luncheon.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ava said.

  “Is this Edward’s doing?” Carmela asked.

  “He said he’d handle the planning, so I suppose so,” Ellie said. “Do you really think Vesper would have popped for a fancy buffet and an open bar?”

  “Well, maybe the open bar,” Ava snorted.

  Ellie rolled her eyes. “You’re probably right about that.”

  Carmela gripped Ellie’s hand. “Your eulogy this morning was just beautiful, honey. You honored your sister with a very heartfelt speech.”

  Ellie gazed at her. “Even the revenge part?”

  “Especially the revenge part,” Carmela said.

  Ellie’s voice grew quiet. “I need her killer brought to justice. I firmly believe that Isabelle won’t rest until that happens.”

  “Babcock is working as hard as he can,” Carmela assured her. “He was even at the church earlier. Did you see him?”

  “No,” Ellie said. “But I have to say I’m heartened that he showed up.”

  “And Bobby Prejean’s office is offering their full support.”

  “He told me that,” Ellie said. “In fact he’s here.” She looked around the room, which was getting more and more crowded with every passing minute. “Well . . . I know he’s here somewhere.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll track down that hunky D.A.,” Ava said.

  “Maybe you two should hit the buffet table first,” Ellie suggested. “Get a jump on the crowd.” She gave a little wave accompanied by a wan smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Let’s definitely hit the buffet,” Ava said. “I could use some good vittles, now that you mention it.”

  The chafing dishes were filled with the best Mumbo Gumbo had to offer. Crawfish étouffée, shrimp gumbo, jambalaya, trout meunière, apple fritters, creamy rice pudding, and, of course, red rice and beans.

  “This is fantastic,” Ava said as she sped through the line and began loading her plate.

 
“You can always count on Quigg’s head chef to lay out a fine spread,” Carmela said.

  “I’m gonna drop my plate over there,” Ava said, pointing to a table. “And then hit up the bar for a couple glasses of fancy French wine.”

  “Sounds good,” Carmela said. “Just let me grab a couple of these cocktail sausages.” She took two, debated over the pan of green mussels, and then scooped three mussels out of their creamy, garlicky broth. She was just about to find her table, when Bobby Prejean cut in next to her.

  “We meet again,” Prejean said.

  “Say, thanks for not revealing the fact that I stopped by your office yesterday,” Carmela said. “Babcock gets a little territorial if he thinks I’m investigating behind his back.”

  “No problem. In fact, I’m glad you’re asking so many questions. I wish more people would. We . . .” He shook his head. “Everyone at our office just loved Isabelle. She was such a rising star. She was really going places.”

  “That’s so interesting,” Carmela said, “because that’s what I heard about you.”

  “Me?” Prejean looked surprised. “Nah, I’m just a humble public servant.”

  “No aspirations to the statehouse?”

  “Well . . . maybe someday. But definitely not for a few years.”

  “You know,” Carmela said, “Babcock really is working like crazy on this case. He’s got his assistant Bobby Gallant chasing down leads, too. They’re both tenacious as all get-out.”

  “And thank goodness for that,” Prejean said. As he took a scoop of crawfish ravioli, peals of laughter broke out nearby and he and Carmela both glanced toward one of the tables.

  Julian Drake was sitting there, sipping a glass of bourbon and flirting with a skinny blond woman who was picking at a plate of food. Drake looked confident, happy, and mildly in lust.

  “Julian Drake,” Prejean whispered to Carmela. “That’s who Babcock should be taking a good, hard look at.”

  “I think he already did,” Carmela said. “I mean, Drake was questioned immediately after Isabelle’s murder, right then and there in the cemetery. And the next day, too.” Carmela worried her upper teeth against her lower lip, and then said, “You seem very suspicious of him. Is there something I should know?”

  Prejean pulled Carmela out of line and over to an omelet station that had been momentarily deserted by its chef. “The thing is, our office has recently begun to take a hard look at Drake and some of his casino buddies.”

  Carmela’s eyebrows shot up. “Why is that?”

  “Moving under the radar, they’ve managed to arrange land swaps, received permission from certain state officials to bypass construction ordinances, and personally bought up some of the land adjacent to the new Elysian Fields Casino.”

  “And this is all illegal?”

  “Yes and no,” Prejean told her. “We know there has been a fair amount of bribes, payoffs, and good old-fashioned cronyism. Trouble is, we can’t make anything stick. And everybody, from the city council to the local ward bosses, wants that old amusement park cleaned up. It’s basically been a pile of junk for over ten years.”

  “So in their eyes the casino project is a good thing,” Carmela said.

  “It is in mine, too, but only if it’s done legally.”

  Carmela’s radar was suddenly pinging like crazy. “And you’re investigating this.”

  “Trying to.”

  “Was Isabelle working on this, too?”

  “She was,” Prejean said.

  “Whoa,” Carmela said, her heart skipping a beat. “That adds a whole new perspective. I mean, what if Isabelle had stumbled upon something!”

  “You mean some information that led to her getting killed?” Prejean said. “I thought about that. I even talked it over with Babcock, but we couldn’t find any connection.”

  “But if Julian Drake was going to be the best man in her wedding, maybe that was the connection!”

  “If she’d uncovered some impropriety, I’m positive she would have told me. I mean, we worked together very closely and I trusted her. Trusted her completely.”

  But for Carmela, this new information put Drake squarely at the top of her suspects list.

  * * *

  “There you are,” Ava said when Carmela finally joined her. “You’ve been a busy girl, flirting with that cute D.A.” She gave a slow wink. “I was worried that he might sweep you off your feet.”

  “Hardly,” Carmela said.

  “Then I’m going to have to go over and flirt with him, since Chef Oliver hasn’t turned up yet.”

  “I don’t think he will. And you keep your distance from that chef if you see him again. The last thing you need is to get cozy with some kind of stalker guy.”

  “Some girls would kill to have a guy that crazy over them,” Ava said.

  “And some girls get killed because of it,” Carmela told her.

  “Okay, okay, I get it.” Ava glanced around. “Who’s the guy in the Sansabelt slacks making goo-goo eyes at you?”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Carmela said. “That’s Hugo Delton. He works in the D.A.’s office and he’s a creep.”

  “You do tend to attract that type. Hey!” Ava said, as Edward Baudette strolled past their table. “How are you holding up?”

  Even though he looked tired and a little grim, he greeted them politely.

  “Thanks for coming,” Edward said. His eyes were still red, and he had purple hollows under them from lack of sleep.

  “You gave a lovely eulogy this morning,” Carmela told him.

  Edward slipped into the chair across from her. “Thank you.” He managed a wan smile then tried to stifle the yawn that followed. “Sorry, I’m just so tired.”

  “I can imagine,” Ava said.

  “How’s Naomi holding up?” Carmela asked. Naomi’s emotional involvement with Edward seemed to run way beyond being warmhearted and friendly. She looked like she was lining him up for a permanent position. As her boyfriend, and then, after a suitable period of time . . . her fiancé?

  “Naomi’s holding up okay, I guess. She’s certainly been incredibly supportive to me.”

  “We noticed,” Carmela said.

  But Edward remained moody and just plain bummed. “Look at this,” he said. “All of the people that are here today were supposed to be our wedding guests. But they ended up as funeral guests.”

  “I’m so sorry about that,” Carmela said. Was she? Didn’t she still harbor a few suspicions against Edward? Oh yes, she did. She was still trying to figure out if he was legitimately grief stricken or was a greatly relieved fiancé pulling off an Academy Award–caliber performance.

  “But the funeral was beautiful,” put in Ava. “The flowers were to die . . . uh, I mean they were lovely.”

  “Yes, Naomi handled most of the details. Besides being a fashion blogger, she’s also a highly sought after event planner.”

  “Imagine that,” Carmela said.

  “I had no idea,” Ava said.

  “I spoke to Naomi last night,” Carmela said. “About Isabelle’s antique veil.”

  “Oh?” Edward said.

  “Because Ava and I were wondering if we could get a look at it,” Carmela said. “We’re both so very fond of antique lace.”

  “We really are,” Ava said, trying to look interested.

  Edward shook his head. “I really couldn’t say where it was. Probably at the apartment Isabelle shared with Ellie. So I guess you’ll have to ask her.”

  “I’ll do that,” Carmela said.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, with Ava on the hunt for Bobby Prejean, Carmela tracked down Ellie. But when asked about an antique veil, Ellie just shook her head.

  “What?” she said. “An antique lace veil?” She looked disturbed. “Dear Lord, is it anything like the lace Isabelle
was strangled with?”

  “I really don’t know,” Carmela said. “That’s why I’m trying to track it down.”

  “Well, this is the first I’ve heard about it,” Ellie said.

  “So it’s not at your apartment?”

  “If it is, I haven’t got a clue where it would be.”

  “Do you think the veil could be at Vesper’s house?” Carmela asked.

  “You could ask her,” Ellie said. “But trying to talk to her is like trying to get an audience with the pope.”

  Carmela was determined, however, and when she saw Vesper shaking hands with an older couple, a couple she recognized as being denizens of the Garden District as well, she swooped in for the kill.

  “Vesper,” Carmela said, sounding positively chirpy.

  Vesper stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Who are you?”

  Carmela touched a hand to her chest. “Carmela. Ellie’s friend, remember? I was there when you picked out the coffin, and at the visitation, and then at . . .”

  “No. I don’t remember.”

  “Listen,” Carmela went on breezily, as if nothing could deter her. “I was wondering when I could stop by and pick up Isabelle’s veil?”

  That question shook Vesper to her core.

  “What!” she shrieked. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

  Now Carmela employed a little white lie. “Because Ellie would love to have her sister’s veil as a memento. You certainly wouldn’t begrudge her that, would you?”

  “She wants the veil,” Vesper said. She spoke slowly, as if she were just learning English as a second language.

  Carmela kept a friendly smile on her face, even though she wanted to smack this woman. “That’s right. And I know you’re frightfully busy, so I’d be happy to stop by your home and pick it up myself.”

  “My home,” Vesper repeated.

  “Yes. How would tomorrow afternoon work for you? Let’s say two o’clock?”

  “Well, I don’t . . .”

  “That’s just perfect,” Carmela said. “I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  When Carmela was finally able to round up Ava, she was sipping a mimosa cocktail.