Parchment and Old Lace

by Laura Childs

  Then Ava’s head and shoulders appeared in the open window. “Come on, I’ll pull you up.”

  Carmela grabbed Ava’s outstretched hands and, as if she were making a technical alpine ascent, half walked up the side of the house while Ava strained and pulled.

  “Jeez, you’re heavy,” Ava said. “What’d you eat tonight?”

  “Shut up and pull harder.”

  Thirty seconds later they were both standing inside Vesper’s house, their voices low and whispering, peering down a dark hallway.

  Carmela lifted a hand and pointed. “I’m pretty sure this hallway splits the house in two. I think it leads directly through to the front entry.”

  “Good,” Ava said. “That means it’ll also lead us to a staircase. Did you happen to see a staircase when you were here before?”

  Carmela had to think for a moment. “Yes. I saw one just before the maid showed me into the sitting room.”

  Ava froze. “There’s a maid? A live-in maid?”

  “I don’t think she lives here, no. I don’t think anybody could stand living with Vesper.”

  “Good point.”

  They tiptoed down the dark hallway until a staircase opened up just to their right.

  “Here we go,” Ava said. “Hang on to your undies.”

  The stairs were carpeted, but the aging wood beneath the carpet creaked and groaned like old bones as they slowly made their way up to the second floor.

  “You know,” Ava said, “I always wanted to live in one of these grand old homes, but now I’m not so sure. They’re all so creaky. And they all have that old house smell.”

  “That’s history for you,” Carmela said.

  “Or Vesper’s lousy cooking.”

  They were at the second-floor landing and not sure what their next move should be.

  “What do you think?” Ava asked. “Just open a couple of doors and peek inside?”

  “We came this far.”

  Ava moved down the hallway toward the back half of the second floor. “Let’s try this room. I think I see a dim light on inside.” She pushed open a set of double doors, paused, and let loose a low whistle. “Take a look at this happy crappy. I think we just found Vesper’s boudoir.”

  “Let me see,” Carmela said, eager to have a look for herself. Would it be all prim and proper? Or just straight-ahead basic furnishings?

  “It’s decorated, like, in bordello style,” Ava giggled.

  Carmela gazed around. Ava was quite correct; Vesper’s bedroom did carry a hint of bordello. There were tiered velvet curtains with tiebacks, an elaborate four-poster bed covered with puffy heart pillows, an honest-to-goodness fainting couch, and a vanity table with a huge circular mirror. Only instead of being done in crimson red, like a movie-style bordello would be, it was all blue. And not even Williamsburg blue or Persian blue. The place was the blue of an ugly, fading bruise.

  “Get a load of that painting.” Ava was practically convulsing with laughter now, pointing at a painting of Vesper Baudette that hung over the white brick fireplace. It depicted her as a much younger, slimmer woman, wearing a long V-neck gown and doing a sort of peekaboo pose from behind an elaborate fan.

  Carmela shook her head. “The things rich people do.”

  “She must fancy herself some type of movie star.”

  “No,” Carmela said. “It’s pure costume. This is a woman who gets off on costumes.”

  Ava looked around. “So where are they? The costumes, I mean.”

  “Time to check out the other rooms.”

  The bedroom next to Vesper’s must have, at one time, belonged to Edward Baudette. It was decorated in a masculine blue-and-green-check wallpaper with matching bedspread. There was a heavy mahogany dresser and four-poster bed.

  “Everything in this house is so blue,” Ava complained. “Don’t these people like bright colors? Maybe Hello Kitty pink? Or vivacious animal prints?”

  “Not everyone has your keen sense of style,” Carmela said.

  It was in a room at the very front of the house that Carmela and Ava discovered Vesper’s costume collection.

  “Whoa,” Ava said as she swung the door open slowly. “This is spook city.” She stepped into the room. “It’s like being in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”

  Carmela was right behind her, taking it all in. The room that housed Vesper’s costume collection was huge, with three arched windows that let in a spill of yellow light from a streetlamp. It was populated by about twenty mannequins, all of them carefully arranged and wearing antique costumes.

  “Doesn’t it feel like Miss Havisham is going to come greet us at any moment?” Ava asked.

  “Great Expectations. Except there’s no rotting cake.”

  Ava was still put off by the bizarre spectacle. “Pretty weird, huh?”

  “It’s beyond that. None of the mannequins have heads.”

  Ava inhaled sharply and put a hand to her mouth. “Holy guacamole, you’re right. No wonder everything seems so strange. They’re all headless.” She stretched an arm out and touched one of the dresses, a long velvet number that looked like it might even be from the Victorian age. “I wonder why no heads?”

  “Why do I have a feeling that if we opened a closet door there’d be a pile of heads?” Carmela said.

  “That is a seriously distressing thought.”

  Then Carmela’s mind jumped back to the mission at hand. “Lace. We’ve got to look around and see if we can find some antique lace.”

  “Maybe over here,” Ava said. She headed for a large glass display cabinet set against the wall.

  Carmela was just steps behind her. “I wish we could see better.” She could make out a few pairs of gloves, a hat, and what else was in that case? She didn’t dare turn on an overhead light.

  Ava reached a hand around the cabinet, fumbled, and flicked on a switch. Immediately, the interior of the cabinet was bathed in soft pink light.

  “Better,” Carmela said. Her eyes searched the display cabinet, looking for a spool of lace. There were lace hankies, gloves, shawls, and even a lace parasol. But no spools or strands of lace.

  “You see anything?” Ava was searching, too.

  Carmela shook her head. “No, nothing. Rats.”

  “Listen,” Ava said, “if Vesper really used her lace as a murder weapon, she wouldn’t have left it out here on display. It’d be secreted away in a closet or something.”

  But ten minutes later, after searching through all the closets and chests of drawers, no lace had materialized.

  “We got nada,” Carmela said.

  “Disappointing,” Ava said.

  Carmela checked her watch. “And we’ve been in here way too long. Somebody’s bound to come home soon.”

  “Okay, let’s blow this pop stand.”

  “Same way we came in?” Carmela asked.

  “It worked the first time.”

  They trooped back downstairs, but Carmela hesitated at the bottom of the staircase. “I wonder . . .”

  “What? You want to search the downstairs rooms, too?”

  “Only if we can do it in under two minutes. My warning radar is starting to bleep like crazy.”

  “Okay,” Ava said. “I’ll check out the rooms on the right; you do the rooms on the left.”

  Carmela ducked into Vesper’s library, rifled through the desk drawers, and pulled open two floor-level cupboards. Still zilch. She dodged back out into the center hallway and dipped into the next room. That turned out to be a kind of media room with even less possibilities for hiding something.

  She met up with Ava in the front entry.

  “Did you find anything?”

  Ava shook her head no.

  “Time to go, then,” Carmela said.

  “Maybe we should just waltz out the front door,” Ava suggest
ed. She put a hand on the doorknob. “There doesn’t seem to be any kind of security—”

  Bleep, bleep, bleep! An alarm began bleating like crazy.

  “—system,” Ava finished. “Crap. Now what do we do?”

  “I don’t know!” Carmela cried. In her mind’s eye she could see the two of them tumbling out the back window right into the waiting arms of the police. Arrests, booking, and disgrace would follow.

  “We either have to run,” Ava said, “or hide.”

  “Hiding’s not a viable option. Vesper might come strolling in at any minute.”

  “Or she might get an alert on her cell phone!”

  Carmela parted a curtain and glanced out at the street. “Uh-oh, too late.”

  “What?”

  “See for yourself.”

  A dark-colored blue car with a gold shield painted on the front door suddenly glided up to the curb.

  “We’re starting to find ourselves in fairly deep doo-doo,” Carmela said as she flattened herself against a wall.

  But Ava was both bold and practical. She peered out the window, trying to see what was actually going on.

  “What’s happening?” Carmela asked. Her heart was hammering inside her chest.

  “Not to worry,” Ava whispered. “It’s just some stupid rent-a-cop.”

  “Private security?” That wouldn’t be so bad. At least those guys weren’t armed. Were they?

  “Yeah.” Ava sounded hugely relieved. “I don’t think he’s gonna do much of anything. Oh, see, he’s just shining his spotlight at the front of the house.”

  “Is he getting out of the car?”

  “No, he’s just sitting there like a blob.”

  Carmela breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Let’s just wait until he leaves and then we’ll—”

  “Oops.”

  “Now what?”

  “Crap on a cracker, Carmela. You better take a gander at this.”

  Carmela flew over to the window and peered out. A New Orleans Police Department cruiser had just rolled up behind the private security officer.

  “Now it’s seriously serious!” Carmela cried.

  “Time to exit stage left,” Ava agreed.

  “And pray that cop doesn’t come stumbling around back.”

  They pounded down the hall—they were way past tiptoeing at this point—and tumbled out the back window. Ava managed a passable somersault while Carmela made a daring leap of death and landed (where else?) in a thornbush.

  Clutching each other, panting wildly, they pushed their way out to the back cobblestone alley and clopped away, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and Vesper’s house.

  “Here. In here,” Ava hissed. She grabbed Carmela’s arm and yanked her into someone’s backyard garden.

  “Now what?”

  Ava did a quick reconnoiter and pulled Carmela into a black wrought-iron gazebo that was covered with curling vines.

  “Holy smokes,” Carmela said. “That was close.”

  “Too close for comfort,” Ava said. She plucked a thorn from Carmela’s hair, then surveyed her own sorry state. “Aw, my sweater’s all ripped. Do you know how many acrylics had to give their lives for this?”

  “Darn,” Carmela said.

  “You think you can darn it?”

  “No, I . . . never mind.”

  “Listen,” Ava said. “Now that we found a good hiding spot, I think we should just sit here and chill out.”

  Carmela wasn’t so sure. “But what if those cops come looking for us?”

  “They won’t,” Ava said. “Because they don’t know it’s us.”

  “That’s completely terrifying.”

  “What is? The jumping and stumbling and hiding part?”

  “No,” Carmela said. “That you’re starting to make sense.”

  Chapter 26

  MEMORY Mine was busy for a Saturday morning. Customers swarmed in, regulars as well as an influx of tourists who had happily stumbled upon the charming little French Quarter shop by chance.

  “What are those little boxes that you’ve got in your window display?” one woman asked. “Are they memory boxes? Are they decoupaged? Are they for sale?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Carmela told her. “But we carry all the materials, and I can show you how to make one for yourself.”

  Another woman wanted scrapbook paper with a newborn baby theme, so Carmela led her back to the paper racks.

  And on it went. A woman who wanted handmade paper, another who asked about polymer clay. And through it all, Carmela worried about her little creepy-crawl last night.

  Had she or Ava left any clues or telltale signs at Vesper’s house? Would the police find some evidence and, at Vesper’s urging, come swooping down on them? Worse yet, would Babcock find out?

  When there was a slight break, Gabby brought Carmela a cup of chamomile tea. “Here,” she said, setting the cup down on the table. “I thought you could use this. You seem like you’re a little on edge.”

  “Thanks.” Carmela wrapped her hands around the cup and took a sip of tea. “Mmn, good. Yes, I am.”

  “What’s that on your neck?”

  “What?”

  “Where you were just scratching,” Gabby said. “Do you have a rash?”

  “No, I just, um . . . had a close encounter with a thornbush.”

  “What? Maybe you better tell me what happened.”

  “Oh, Ava and I had ourselves a little adventure last night. One I might live to regret.”

  “Whatever it is, you know I’ll stand by you,” Gabby said. “Unless you’re about to get hauled off to jail.” She paused when she saw the expression on Carmela’s face. “Wait a minute, it was something serious, wasn’t it?”

  “Ava and I went on a little creepy-crawl.”

  “You didn’t. Not back to Lafayette Cemetery, I hope.”

  “Close,” Carmela said. “But no cigar. Actually, we snuck into Vesper Baudette’s house to get a look at her collection of antique clothing.”

  “And she let you in?”

  “The operative words were snuck in,” Carmela said.

  “Ohhh. You mean you broke in?”

  “Like common thieves under cover of darkness, yes. Only we didn’t steal anything. But while we were taking a look around, we accidentally set off the alarm . . .”

  Gabby looked stunned.

  “And then the police showed up.”

  “Carmela!”

  “And then we had to jump out the back window and run away.”

  “But first you landed in thorns,” Gabby said. She frowned. “You two are courting disaster, you know that?”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Carmela said. “If I’m not careful I’ll start to believe it.”

  * * *

  Once there was a break, Carmela pulled out the gray silk shantung Tea Party in a Box scrapbook that she’d promised Jade Germaine. She knew she should be further along on it. Then again, she’d spent valuable time investigating Isabelle’s murder. And that was important, too.

  Jade had given her dozens of photos, so Carmela sorted through them, arranging them in individual piles. Photos of tea sandwiches on three-tiered trays, scones on a platter, a silver tea service, and one that she thought of as food porn, since the close-ups really did reveal the juiciness and freshness of the food.

  Carmela settled on a photo of an antique sterling silver tea set for the album’s cover. The silver popped on the pale gray fabric, looking elegant and tasteful. She knew Jade was pleased with the mauve and pink silk flowers she’d originally selected, so she affixed them permanently to the cover.

  Working happily for a good half hour, Carmela ignored the ringing telephone and new influx of customers, letting Gabby handle any and all pesky details and inquiries.
And just as she was feeling relaxed, just as she’d settled into a nice working rhythm, the jambalaya hit the fan. Babcock called.

  “A very strange notice came across my desk this morning,” Babcock growled in Carmela’s ear. “It seems there may have been a prowler at Vesper Baudette’s house last night.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty scary. Is she okay?”

  Babcock wasn’t buying her act of supreme innocence. “She wasn’t home.” Pause. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  “Me? No. I was at Baby Fontaine’s party last night. Ask anyone. I gave a stellar performance in a one-act play called Death on the Patio. I . . . well, we . . . even got a standing ovation.” She knew she was rambling and stopped abruptly. Swallowed hard.

  “Are you sure you weren’t doing a little freelance investigating?” Babcock asked. “I know it’s difficult for you to keep your nose out of police business.”

  “That’s so unfair,” Carmela said, “when all I’ve tried to do is help poor Ellie.”

  “I’m quite familiar with your version of helpfulness. One minute you’re holding Ellie’s hand and the next you’re out hunting for her sister’s killer. After your ridiculous trip back to the cemetery the other night I’ve decided that you really don’t know your limits. So I’m going to remind you—I am the detective, you are my girlfriend. And if you want it to stay that way, you better stop all this mischief.”

  “Goodness,” Carmela said. “You sure know how to turn a girl’s head.”

  “I’m serious, Carmela. You need to be very careful. There’s so much more going on right now that you don’t know about. That I don’t know about.”

  “Come on, what’s up?”

  “Carmela.” Babcock’s voice carried a warning note.

  “No, seriously. Tell me what’s going on that could possibly overshadow solving Isabelle’s murder.”

  “I can only tell you that I’ve been hearing strange rumblings around city hall. About some impropriety that’s been going on.”

  Carmela perked up. This was exactly what Prejean had told her.

  “You mean like payoffs and bribery?” Carmela asked. “That’s what Bobby Prejean has been saying all along. That Julian Drake and his Elysian Fields Casino buddies have been offering bribes to city officials in order to expedite their casino plans.”