Gossamer Ghost

by Laura Childs

  “Not sure what you expected, sweetums. Scarlett O’Hara’s life was anything but easy.”

  Dozens of glowing lanterns lined Baby’s ornate portico. White, filmy spiderwebs stretched across three jelly palm trees, and the ivy that curled up the side of the manse had hands, arms, and legs sticking out of it, giving it the appearance of a carnivorous plant that had just enjoyed a few tasty snacks. Austin Powers, a member of KISS, and Charlie Chaplin were gathered on the front porch, taking in the night air and smoking cigars.

  Baby and her husband, Del, stood front and center in the elegant entryway, smiling and greeting guests. When Baby saw Carmela and Ava, she fairly beamed. Then she hitched up her long diaphanous skirt, poked her knight in shining armor in the ribs, and said, “Carmela . . . Ava!” Breathlessly administering multiple air kisses, she added, “We’re so glad you could make it.”

  Del Fontaine, Baby’s attorney husband, clasped a hand to his chain mail and knelt down on one knee. “M’ladies, welcome to our humble castle.”

  “Del and I always dress as one of history’s most romantic couples,” Baby explained. “This year we’re Guinevere and King Arthur.”

  “That’s cool,” said Ava. “Just watch out for Sir Lancelot. I hear he’s a real home wrecker.”

  “Oh you,” Baby giggled. Then to Carmela she cocked her head and said, “No Babcock?”

  “He’ll probably turn up sooner or later,” said Carmela.

  “More likely later,” said Ava. “Her guy’s a workaholic.”

  “But it’s all for a good cause,” said Baby. “I mean, he’s still investigating that murder, isn’t he? Marcus . . .”

  “Joubert,” supplied Carmela. “Yes, yes he is.”

  “So he . . .” Baby’s eyes went suddenly wide. “Carmela, my dear. What are you wearing around your neck?”

  “That necklace happens to be vintage Cartier,” said Ava, sounding a little jealous.

  “I should say so,” said Baby. “Wow, that is some incredible bauble. Please tell me it’s a gift from your absentee boyfriend.”

  “I wish,” said Carmela. “No, I’m afraid the necklace is just on loan. From Countess Saint-Marche, the lady who’s opening the high-end jewelry store in Marcus Joubert’s old . . .”

  “Right, right,” said Baby, nodding. “I remember.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Carmela, “has Mavis Sweet showed up yet?”

  Baby frowned. “I’m not sure. People keep piling in and I try to greet everyone, but . . . well, things have been a little crazy.” Her eyes flicked to the front door where a new group of guests was spilling through.

  “No problem,” said Ava. “We’ll wander around and see what kind of trouble we can get in.” She grabbed Carmela’s arm and pulled her into the fray of the party.

  And it really was a fray. Tuxedoed waiters carried silver trays of champagne flutes, a rock band played in the library, and, everywhere, costumed revelers drank, danced, kissed, and caroused. Baby’s enormous home, with its Aubusson carpets, ginormous white S-curved sofa, and fireplace so big you could roast a pig in it, was more than conducive to a raucous party.

  “Car-mel-a!” came an eager voice.

  Carmela and Ava spun, only to find Gabby rushing toward them. She had her husband, a disgruntled-looking Stuart, in tow.

  “Oh my gosh,” marveled Carmela, “you really are getting some mileage out of that cute Annie Oakley costume.”

  “And such cool six-guns,” said Ava.

  “I’m sure you all remember Stuart,” said Gabby, showing him off like a prize heifer. “Masquerading tonight as Buffalo Bill.”

  “Howdy, pardner,” said Ava. She gave him a slow wink.

  “Hi.” Stuart, stone-faced and some thirty pounds overweight, looked supremely uncomfortable in his outfit of buckskin and fringe.

  “How’s business?” Carmela asked. She felt obliged to say something to him.

  “Sales have been a little flat,” said Stuart, grabbing hold of her question like a rabid jackal. “But extended warranties and fluid flushes have been a real bright spot, thank goodness.”

  “That’s terrific,” said Carmela. She’d just run the table on conversation starters with Stuart.

  Fortunately, Gabby pushed Stuart toward the buffet line and Ava aimed Carmela at another tray of drinks.

  “Don’t you just love champagne, cher? All those tiny bubbles dancing happily across your tongue.” She raised her glass in a salute, gazed across the room, and said, “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” said Carmela.

  Ava inclined her head. “Look what somebody’s black cat just dragged in.”

  Carmela turned around, thinking it must be Babcock. Instead her eyes fell upon Shamus. She grimaced. “I was afraid he’d show up here,” she told Ava.

  “I know, Baby’s so sweet she can’t bring herself to drop Shamus from her guest list.”

  “And look who else,” said Carmela, her tone suddenly wary.

  “Carmela,” came a grating voice. Glory Meechum, Shamus’s big sister and bona fide crazy lady, had just closed in on her like a great white shark going after chum. Glory was a parsimonious meanie who controlled the purse strings for the Meechum family and their chain of banks. When Glory told Shamus to jump, he generally inquired, “How high?”

  “Hello, Glory,” said Carmela, fighting to keep her voice neutral, vowing not to get drawn in to one of their typical verbal slugfests. “You remember Ava?”

  “Hey there,” said Ava. She smirked at the blue scrubs Glory was wearing and said, “I take it the doctors at Summer Hill gave you an overnight pass?” Summer Hill was a nearby mental institution.

  “This is a nurse’s costume,” Glory hissed.

  Shamus, dressed as a vampire, complete with fangs, was suddenly at Glory’s side. “Are you two having a nice conversation?” he asked hopefully. Only, because of the fangs, it came out conver-thashun.

  “No, Shamus,” said Carmela. “We are not.”

  “C’mon,” Shamus wheedled. “Can’t we all just be friendsth?”

  “I think we tried that once and it went rather badly,” said Carmela.

  But one of Glory’s wandering eyes had suddenly landed on Carmela’s necklace. “Goodness be,” she said in a slightly condescending tone. “Will you look at that necklace?” She turned to Shamus. “Carmela must have snagged a rich new boyfriend, though I can’t imagine how she ever managed that.” Her grin darkened. “It’s more likely a sugar daddy.”

  “Okay,” said Carmela, spinning on her heel so fast her skirt practically became a deadly weapon. “We’re going to help ourselves to the buffet.”

  Carmela and Ava left Shamus and Glory behind in their dust.

  “Talk about the Croods,” said Ava.

  “If I never saw that woman again . . .” said Carmela. They caromed into the dining room where a sixteen-foot-long table, festooned in white linen, held an imposing array of silver chafing dishes.

  “Holy fried oysters,” said Ava. “Will you look at this food? There’s andouille sausage, and trout meunière and shrimp in remoulade sauce.”

  “And pork chops with bing cherries,” said Carmela, grabbing a plate.

  “I’m loading up as we speak,” said Ava. “Ooh, and chocolate cake, too.”

  The dark chocolate cake had been cut into squares to replicate clods of earth. Peaks of green frosting formed the grass and red and yellow gummy worms crawled through each piece.

  “Nothing like sugar-rich cake,” said Carmela, helping herself to a large piece.

  “Right,” said Ava, grabbing an even bigger piece. “If I’m gonna push my body to adult-onset diabetes anyway, I may as well enjoy this.”

  “Calories, calories,” came a taunting male voice.

  Carmela and Ava both looked up at the same time to find Boyd Bellamy, Carmela’s landlord, sh
aking a finger at them.

  “Excuse me?” said Ava.

  “If you gals want to keep your girlish figures,” he leered, “you’d better lay off those rich desserts.”

  Ava looked at Carmela. “Did he just chastise us?”

  “It sure sounded like it,” said Carmela.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” said Ava. “We’re not gals and we sure don’t need a Porky Pig look-alike telling us how to fill our plates.”

  Bellamy fairly bristled. “It was simply an observation. Heh heh. A joke.”

  “Go peddle your jokes somewhere else,” said Ava, as she and Carmela headed out with their plates.

  “Imagine that,” said Carmela, as they settled into wicker chairs on Baby’s sunporch. “That overweight slug criticizing us.”

  “No wonder some poor women develop body dysmorphia,” said Ava. “When they should just relax and enjoy their food.”

  “Agreed,” said Carmela. Then she paused, as a recurring thought suddenly bounced into her brain.

  “What?” said Ava. “You’re not stroking out are you?”

  “That guy Bellamy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t think he’d murder Joubert just to get rid of him, do you? Just so he could lease the space to someone else?”

  Ava stared back at her. “It never occurred to me. But from the sourpuss face you’re making, it’s obviously rattled around in your brain.”

  “Yes, just now.”

  “Doggone,” said Ava. “Here we are at an A-list party and we’re talking about that stupid murder again.”

  “Sorry,” said Carmela. And she meant it. “I really am sorry.”

  Ava waved a hand. “Ah, it’s okay. It’s only natural for you to . . . oh hey!” She waved a hand and a half dozen plastic skull bracelets clanked. “Mavis. Get out here, girl. Come sit with the cool kids.”

  Carmela pasted a neutral smile on her face as Mavis Sweet hurried toward them, carrying a plate of food and a glass of champagne. “Don’t say anything about . . .”

  “I won’t,” Ava whispered.

  “You made it,” said Carmela, as Mavis sat down to join them. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

  “I am, too,” said Mavis. She glanced around as if in shock. “This party is so . . . elegant. With real champagne, not just Cold Duck. And all these important people . . . it’s like something out of a movie.” She seemed pathetically grateful to be included in such a tony guest list.

  Carmela smiled with encouragement. Mavis’s words seemed so innocent . . . so heartfelt.

  “I really like your costume,” Ava told Mavis. Mavis wore a Cleopatra headpiece and a long gold tunic. She’d rimmed her eyes with kohl and the added makeup gave her a startling, bug-eyed appearance. “You look . . . interesting.”

  “Thank you,” said Mavis. “And you—your dress—it’s so glamorous.”

  Ava waved a hand. “Aw, it’s just something I threw on. I always try to be a little fly.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, the party got even crazier. The band was blasting out a toe-tapping rendition of “Clarinet Marmalade,” couples were dancing and singing at the top of their lungs, champagne was being consumed directly from the bottle, and Babcock finally showed up.

  “I was wondering when you were going to get here,” said Carmela. For some reason, he’d brought Charlie the tech along with him. Carmela didn’t know if they’d just come from a nasty crime scene or if they were both here to party. No matter, the minute Ava spotted Charlie she swept him up in a quick embrace and took him to a corner where they could enjoy a quick canoodle.

  That left Carmela facing Babcock, who seemed a little tired.

  “Excuse me,” said Carmela, who was feeling no pain. “But you’re supposed to be wearing a costume.” Babcock was dressed impeccably in an Armani suit.

  He smiled tolerantly at her. “This is my costume.”

  “Say what?”

  “I came as a hedge-fund billionaire. Note the bespoke suit and Church’s shoes?”

  “Tricky,” said Carmela. “And here I thought you were just a well-dressed cop.”

  “That, too,” said Babcock. His arms encircled her and he pulled her close. When she was pressed up against him, feeling his warmth and smelling his yummy aftershave, he bent down and kissed her tenderly.

  Carmela felt her heart race (it couldn’t just be the champagne!) and her entire body begin to melt. “Want to leave?” she whispered in his ear. “Go back to my place?”

  Babcock shook his head regretfully. “I can’t. I’m still on the clock and still smoothing out details for that Zombie Chase on Friday.”

  “Hmm,” said Carmela, pulling away slightly. “A Zombie Chase.” Hadn’t she experienced that already?

  Babcock saw her look of apprehension and grinned. “Oh, you’re going to like this. It’s basically a rousing game of paintball where you tag zombies for charity. I told you about this event, remember? We’re trying to raise money to buy new computers for all the units. You have to come. Ava, too.”

  “It doesn’t sound all that fun,” said Carmela, hedging.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” said Babcock. “I’ll put on a tux for the Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball tomorrow night if you come to the Zombie Chase on Friday. Is it a deal?”

  “Deal,” she said, but not without a certain amount of trepidation.

  SO of course Ava wanted to make a second run at the buffet table.

  “Have you tried the oysters Rockefeller yet?” she asked. Scooping up three cream-and-bread-crumb-filled oysters with a silver slotted spoon, she deposited them on her plate. “Because these tasty little mollusks are to die for. Or at least worth plunging into a food-induced coma for. Oh, and pray tell, why did Babcock just up and leave this party and take my adorable little stud muffin along with him?”

  Carmela scooped up a helping of shrimp étouffée. “He claimed they were still working.”

  “You believe him?”

  Carmela shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Working,” said Ava. “That blows.”

  “You know what, I bet there are five dozen men right here at this party who would love to meet you. Who would kill to meet you.”

  Ava brightened. “Ya think?”

  “Rich, Garden District guys,” said Carmela, really piling it on now.

  Ava fluffed her hair and gazed around. “When you put it that way it does sound slightly . . . irresistible.”

  “Ladies!” Jekyl exclaimed as he hurried over to join them. “Where have you been all night?”

  “Right here eating,” said Ava.

  “What’s up, killer?” asked Carmela.

  But Jekyl’s eyes were suddenly fixed on Carmela’s necklace, which, interestingly enough, Babcock hadn’t commented on or even noticed.

  “What is that priceless bauble that’s encircling your lovely swan-like neck?” Jekyl demanded. “Dare I ask, have you cultivated a new admirer?”

  “Same old, same old,” said Carmela. She touched the necklace with an index finger. “This gaudy little piece happens to be borrowed.”

  “As in something borrowed, something blue?” he asked.

  “Noooo,” said Carmela. “It’s actually on loan from the Countess Saint-Marche.”

  “Countess Cuckoo,” said Jekyl. “The jewelry lady you told me was moving into the Oddities space.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Looks like the two of you are already best buddies.”

  Carmela suddenly felt uncomfortable, almost regretting her decision to wear the necklace. “We aren’t. It’s just that she . . .”

  “She twisted Carmela’s arm,” said Ava, jumping in.

  And maybe my head, Carmela thought. After all, I was even considering her as one of my suspects.

&n
bsp; Thankfully, Jekyl let the whole matter drop. “So what mischief have you two gotten into so far?”

  “Not nearly enough,” said Ava.

  “But the night is still young,” said Carmela. “Or at least we are.”

  “Wait,” said Jekyl. He pulled out his iPhone and held it up. “Scrunch together, ladies, so I can record this moment for posterity. That’s right, bend forward, show a touch of décolleté, and say soufflé.”

  “Soufflé,” Carmela and Ava said together as Jekyl’s flash popped.

  Pleased with his snapshot, Jekyl went barreling off to find Baby, while Carmela and Ava wandered into one of the salons. This room carried a more masculine theme with leather sofas, dark green wallpaper, and fox and hound paintings.

  Ava nudged Carmela. “That guy over there.”

  “What guy?”

  “Perched on the end of the sofa. He’s the one who was dining at Mumbo Gumbo last night.”

  Carmela followed Ava’s gaze and saw that it was Titus Duval. He was drinking amber liquid from a cut glass tumbler and carrying on a rather intense conversation with two other men. “Titus Duval,” she said. From the look of his costume, his broad-brimmed hat and brocade vest, he was either dressed as a riverboat gambler or a pimp from the ’70s.

  “He’s the rich guy,” said Ava. “The one who’s on your suspect list. The one you think could have stolen that death mask.”

  “I feel like everybody and his brother is on my suspect list.”

  “That would also make him a murderer.” Ava was watching him intently.

  “Point taken.”

  “What do you think he’s discussing so intently with those other two fat cats?” asked Ava.

  “Kicking puppies, foreclosing widows’ mortgages, and the optimum wax for grooming one’s handlebar mustache,” Carmela joked.

  “I do kind of like that silver fox look,” said Ava.

  “And I’d like to ask him a question or two.”

  Ava nudged her. “He’s getting up, better go get ’em, tiger.”

  Carmela trailed Duval to the bar. He ordered another whiskey while Carmela asked for a glass of champagne. She glanced sideways at him with what she hoped was an ingratiating smile.