Parchment and Old Lace

by Laura Childs

  “Don’t you think it might be a solid lead?” Gabby was practically preening now.

  “I think it’s a fantastic lead. One that warrants serious investigation.”

  “So what are you gonna do?”

  That question gave Carmela pause. “Well, I honestly . . . Jeez, I hate to say this, Gabby, but I think I have to tell Babcock.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t want to. I mean, I’d love to go cowboying in and pin Naomi’s ears to the wall if I could. But this is serious. This is big-time. If she really was the event planner, then maybe she honchoed those posters, too.”

  “And maybe she’s the one who dropped that snippet of parchment in the cemetery,” Gabby said.

  “Which could point to her as a stone-cold killer,” Carmela finished. “Okay.” She touched a hand to her chest. “Whew. This is a lot to take in. I’m going to call Babcock right now.”

  Gabby nodded. “I can’t wait to hear what he says!”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until Carmela finally got Babcock on the phone that she realized she might have to seriously spill the beans to him. On just about everything.

  “I just came across some very important information,” Carmela told him. “But first I have to make a full confession.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath and then Babcock said, “You’re in love with somebody else.”

  “No,” Carmela said. “Of course not.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It always is. But try me anyway.”

  “Well . . . Wednesday night we went back to the cemetery.”

  “What!” Babcock’s voice boomed so loudly in Carmela’s ear that she practically winced with pain. “Wait a minute. Who’s we?”

  So Carmela told him about how Ava, Ellie, and she went back to Lafayette Cemetery to try to commune with Isabelle’s spirit.

  “You what?”

  “Do we have a bad connection here?”

  “You communed?”

  “Tried to.” Carmela paused. Why had it sounded so logical when Ava explained it and so crazy when she did? Clearly, Babcock was horrified by their foolhardy actions. Oh well, the next thing she was going to tell him would no doubt tip him over the edge.

  “And then what?” Babcock demanded.

  “And we found something.”

  “What?” It wasn’t so much a question as a shriek of anger.

  So Carmela had to tell him about snooping around the mausoleum and coming up with the snippet of parchment.

  “You’re crazy, you know that? You’ve really gone off the deep end.”

  Carmela could tell Babcock was winding up for a nice line drive of indignation, so she interrupted him. “There’s more.”

  This time he squawked like an injured crow.

  But when she finally told him about the parchment matching up with the poster for Naomi’s event he fell dead silent.

  Carmela waited. And waited. And waited some more.

  “Edgar,” she said, almost whispering. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m thinking,” he said.

  Carmela made a leap of faith. “But it’s a good lead, huh?”

  His answer surprised her. “It’s not terrible.”

  “Come on, this is really something.”

  “It could be,” Babcock said.

  “See, I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.”

  “Oh, I’m still mad. I’m just thinking-mad.”

  “I’ve never heard that expression before,” Carmela said.

  “Probably because I’ve never felt that way before. It’s going to take some time getting used to.”

  “But you’re for sure going to follow up on Naomi Rattler and the parchment, right? Please tell me you’re going to follow up on this.”

  “I’ll look into this on one condition,” Babcock said. “You have to promise to stop going off on all these crazy tangents.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Was that a yes?”

  Carmela crossed her fingers. “Sort of.” She was still going to attend the casino party tomorrow because she was determined to keep an eye on Julian Drake. He still held a prominent place on her watch-what-happens list.

  “Okay, then,” Babcock said.

  “Wait a minute,” Carmela said. “You have to tell me what happened with Oliver Slade. You brought him in for questioning . . .”

  “Oh, that,” Babcock said. “Turns out there was a backlog of calls on Isabelle’s phone all right, but our tech guy determined it was from many months ago.”

  “Really? So nothing recent?”

  “It would appear not.”

  “So Slade’s not going to be arrested, because he wasn’t really harassing Isabelle.”

  “Let me put it this way,” Babcock said. “Oliver Slade walked out of here an hour ago.”

  “So you don’t see him as a viable suspect?”

  “Ah, probably not,” Babcock said. “But I want you . . . wait, are you still at your shop?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to send a uniformed officer over to pick up that snippet of parchment. The poster, too, if I can have it.”

  “Sure. Okay.” Carmela paused. “You’re not mad at me?”

  “I don’t know,” Babcock said. “I think I’m too dazed by your foolhardy stunts to make any kind of rational assessment right now.”

  “Okay. Can I ask you one question?”

  “What? What?”

  “Are you coming to Baby’s party tonight?”

  “Carmela,” Babcock moaned. “No.”

  * * *

  “What’d Babcock say?” Gabby asked. She’d been darting past the doorway to Carmela’s office, not quite eavesdropping but certainly anxious.

  “Let’s just say he was somewhat taken aback,” Carmela said.

  “But he’s going to keep looking into things? Talk to Naomi Rattler?”

  “He said he would.”

  Gabby frowned. “I guess you had to tell him about going back to the cemetery, huh?”

  Carmela rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah.”

  “How’d he take it?”

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  “He was mad?”

  “You know those old-fashioned cartoons where steam pours out of a character’s ears?”

  Gabby cocked her head. “Yeah?”

  Carmela grimaced. “That was Babcock.”

  * * *

  Twenty-five minutes later Officer Chester Farley arrived at Memory Mine. He was a burly officer with an Inspector Clouseau mustache who came creeping into the shop like he was following a potential suspect down a dark alley. Carmela half expected him to pull out his nightstick and line everyone up against the wall.

  “Carmela?” Officer Farley said when he caught sight of her. “Carmela Bertrand?”

  “That’s me.” She would have sworn his hand hovered above the can of pepper spray fixed to his utility belt.

  “I’m supposed to pick up some evidence.”

  “I’ve got it right back here,” Carmela said. Officer Farley followed her to the big craft table where she had it all ready to go.

  “This is what kind of store?” he asked.

  “We’re a scrapbook shop,” Carmela said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, you know, arranging photos in albums where the pages have been designed and embellished.”

  “Sounds real artsy.”

  “It is,” Carmela said. She opened a business-sized envelope and showed him the scrap of paper. “Tell Babcock that this is the snippet of parchment I found in Lafayette Cemetery.”

  Farley nodded. “Gotcha.”

  “And this is the poster that matches that particular sc
rap of parchment. It advertises the concert that Naomi Rattler helped organize.”

  “Rattler,” said the officer. “Interesting name.”

  Carmela slid the poster into a large manila envelope. “Isn’t it?”

  “I knew some Rattlers who lived over by Des Allemands. Not very nice people, though. Two of the men were poachers.”

  “What did they poach?” Carmela asked.

  “Alligators, nutria, wild turkeys, you name it,” said Officer Farley. “If you could eat it, skin it, or wear it, they wanted it.”

  Carmela handed him the envelope. “Now there’s a lovely thought.”

  * * *

  One of the crafts Carmela loved working on was gift bags. So when two women came in and asked about them, Carmela was more than happy to give a quick demonstration.

  “You’re Mandy,” Carmela said to one of the women that she recognized. “You’ve been in before, right?” Mandy had long, folksinger-type hair and wore a flowered top over skinny jeans.

  “I bought a bunch of your Halloween paper last month,” Mandy said. “To make trick-or-treat bags and some other stuff for my kids. Everything turned out so great that I brought my friend Joanie with me today.”

  “We’re glad you came back,” Carmela said.

  “And we’re hoping you can give us some spiffy ideas for gift bags,” Joanie said.

  Carmela smiled. “I think we can manage that.”

  Carmela started with a simple white gift bag, eight inches by ten inches in size, with plain rope handles at the top. Carmela collaged on a sheet of red mango leaf paper, then tore strips of pink Japanese lace paper and glued those on, too. Then she cut out some glossy red hearts in three different sizes, pasted those on, and decided her gift bag still needed embellishing. First, she glued on some gold crinkle paper that she’d torn into random strips. Then she crumpled up a sheet of white paper, daubed it in gold paint, and added a few judicious touches of gold. For the pièce de résistance, she glued on a large gold angel embellishment and replaced the rope handles with filmy gold ribbon.

  Her two customers watched in amazement as Carmela deftly turned a basic bag into a work of art.

  “Gorgeous,” Joanie said. “Just perfect.”

  “But you’re a professional,” Mandy sputtered at Carmela. “We . . . I can’t do that.”

  “Of course you can,” Carmela said. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Follow the exact steps that I did, only use a green and gold palette.”

  “Okay,” Mandy said.

  “Do the dabbing thing with the gold paint. But, instead of adding an angel, use a different type of charm. Maybe a gold key or some silver mesh leaves.”

  “I could do that,” Mandy said.

  “And I’m going to make one using a blue and purple palette,” Joanie said.

  “That’s the spirit,” Carmela said. “Just look around the shop, especially at all the art papers, and I’m sure you’ll pick up lots of ideas.”

  Carmela wandered back to the front counter where Gabby was experimenting with some new rubber stamps.

  “Just look at these,” Gabby said. “They’re animals and they’re all done in a Japanese woodblock style.”

  Carmela peered at Gabby’s random stampings. There were shy-looking deer, cuddly bears, an inquisitive little mouse, and some very cute rabbits.

  “These are adorable,” Carmela said.

  “Plus they’re oversized. Even if you just use one of these stamps you can make a great card design.”

  “I can also see them stamped on velvet throw pillows. Using some permanent gold ink.”

  “Adorable,” Gabby agreed. Then she gazed at Carmela. “You’re still thinking about the murder, aren’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “No, you’re very good at hiding things. But I can tell. You’re worried that time is passing and you still don’t have an answer.”

  “I know Babcock is following up, but I worry that we’re still not getting close,” Carmela said. “There are suspects, but they’re all obvious suspects. What if there’s somebody out there who’s a crazy wild card? Somebody we don’t know about or completely overlooked?”

  “Scary thought,” Gabby said. She glanced over at the door and murmured, “Speaking of crazy, here comes the countess.”

  That was the countess’s cue to burst through the door. Today she was wearing a purple suede jacket with a black peekaboo top, and sleek black slacks tucked into black leather boots. She looked, Carmela thought, like a kinky riding instructor.

  “Carmela. Gabby,” the Countess Saint-Marche purred. “How are my two most favorite neighbors?”

  “We’re good,” Carmela said. “Just working away.”

  “Being crafty,” Gabby said.

  The countess grabbed Carmela by the arm and pulled her aside. “I have something to tell you,” she said in a loud whisper.

  “Oh really?” Carmela let herself be steered back toward the album display.

  Now the countess was practically breathless. “I’m probably not supposed to say anything, but this is news. Big news.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your sweetie dropped by my shop this morning.”

  “Wait. You mean . . . Babcock?”

  The countess nodded.

  “Really?” Carmela squeaked. “This morning?”

  The countess gave an emphatic nod. “First thing. And . . .” She widened her eyes as she paused to add emphasis to the rest of her announcement. “He wanted to look at rings!”

  Carmela felt her throat tighten up. “Um . . . uh . . . diamond rings?”

  “Sweetie, is there any other kind?”

  “Well, sure.” Maybe a nice topaz ring or moonstone for Christmas? But a diamond ring? As in an engagement ring? Yipes.

  “Of course I tried to steer him toward the most expensive diamond!”

  Now Carmela just looked terrified. “Did he pick one out?” She was definitely not ready to settle down again. Fact was, she still had a bad taste in her mouth from being married to Shamus.

  “No, he did not select one,” the countess said. She pursed her lips. “It was kind of a disappointment.”

  Kind of a relief, Carmela thought. Maybe Babcock had changed his mind. Maybe, after looking at rings—and looking at the hefty price tags—he’d decided to back off. She hoped he had. That would be good. In more ways than one.

  “Oh, Carmela,” the countess said. “We’ll get one of those spendy little baubles on your finger yet.”

  Carmela hoped not. Because not only was she not ready to settle down, she still hadn’t figured out if the countess’s title was genuine or not. Or if her merchandise was, either!

  Chapter 24

  THE private party room at Parpadelle, one of the fanciest restaurants in the French Quarter, was aglow for Baby Fontaine’s surprise birthday party. Winged brass sconces festooned the elegant rose-colored walls, and crystal-draped chandeliers hung from the ceiling. An enormous dining table was swathed in white linen and surrounded by wingback chairs that were elegantly upholstered in textured gold fabric.

  “This is gonna be some wingding,” Ava said, as they strolled into the dining room. “And look, it’s going to be a sit-down dinner for . . . what? Almost forty guests?”

  “It’s a banquet all right,” Carmela said. She noted that two even more elaborate chairs sat at the head of the table. “A banquet for Queen Baby and her consort.”

  “Think Baby will be surprised?”

  “I’m positive she will.” There were twenty revelers already gathered at the party and Carmela knew most of them. They were either scrapbooking friends or people she’d met at Baby’s Garden District home at one or another of her lavish parties.

  “Ooh, and there are canapés,” Ava squealed as a black-coated waiter approached them and tipped his tray a
s if to coax them.

  “Caviar on toast points or jalapeno popper spread on butter crackers?” he asked.

  “One of each,” Ava said as they helped themselves.

  “Thank you,” Carmela said.

  “Mmn, this is soooo much better than the food that Slade dude tried to pawn off on us last night,” Ava said.

  “Better caliber of guests, too.”

  “And I can’t wait for the music to start pumping.”

  A blue bandstand, set next to a low stage, was emblazoned with silver letters that proclaimed The Sweet Jazz Quintet. The musicians were seated there, looking very suave in their matching tuxedos, and playing soft jazz.

  “They’re all subdued and cool right now,” Ava observed. “But see . . . there’s a trombone and saxophone leaning against the bandstand. Once they start howling away on those brass instruments this party will really pop.”

  “Ava,” Carmela said. “Did you do something to your hair?” For some reason, Ava’s hair seemed to be twice its normal size.

  Ava patted her head happily. “Oh, not really.”

  “Come on, you did something.”

  “Okay, if you must know, I got a weave today. That manicurist I go to, Bambi, she does Botox and weaves, too.”

  Carmela studied Ava’s massive amount of hair. “So what kind of hair is that?”

  “Human, I guess. Or at least half human.”

  They grabbed glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and stood there, enjoying the scene. As the room filled up, the music began to heat up, too, just as Ava had predicted.

  “Carmela! Ava!”

  Both women turned and let loose high-pitched shrieks when they caught sight of their dear friend Tandy. They flung their arms around Tandy as she cooed happily and administered air kisses.

  “Ooh,” Tandy said. “I just knew my honey pies would be here tonight.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Carmela told her. She’d slopped half her champagne on the floor. Oh well.

  “It’s a major event,” Ava said.

  Tandy, in a black cocktail dress that made her look positively waifish, craned her head around and asked, “Is Baby here yet? I wanna see Baby.”

  “She’s gotta show up pretty soon,” Ava said. “After all, she is the guest of honor.”