by Laura Childs
All eyes jumped to the tomb Ava had just pointed at. Which was the opportune moment for the werewolf to suddenly leap out!
“Arrh!” growled the werewolf, scrambling on top of the tomb, then sinking down into a menacing crouch.
“Eeeek!” cried the guests. Those who were thoroughly startled by the werewolf’s surprise appearance backpedaled quickly, while a few brave and curious souls moved closer. All in all, they were perfectly delighted to be scared out of their wits.
* * *
“That sure went well,” said Ava, as Carmela wove her car down St. Charles Avenue. They were scurrying home so they could change into formal attire for tonight’s big ball.
“It did, but now I feel like Cinderella, rushing home to change,” said Carmela.
“Oh yeah?” said Ava. “Then who am I supposed to be, the ugly stepsister?”
Carmela chuckled. “If the glass slipper fits. After all, it is called Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball.”
“Jeez,” said Ava. “The last thing I want is to turn into a pumpkin.”
“Or end up with a bumpkin,” said Carmela.
“How are we gettin’ there?” asked Ava. “Since we’re supposed to meet our sweeties at the hotel.”
“Hang on to your garters, Babcock is sending a limo for us.”
“For us? That sounds extremely glam.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Carmela. “I think some guy . . . um, owed him a favor.”
* * *
Their white stretch limousine glided up to the circular drive in front of the Hotel Barnabas.
“Holy gumbo and grits,” said Ava, peering out the window at the red carpet and all the lights. “I feel like I’m hangin’ with P. Diddy. Or like I’m one of those celebs you see on E! Entertainment.”
“Just make sure everything’s strategically covered when you step out.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to end up on some crazy Internet peep show.”
The driver pulled open the door and Ava, in her full-length black and purple gown, stepped out carefully. She lifted her chin, posed carefully, and gave a big smile to three very bored-looking photographers who’d probably been sent out by their very bored editors. “Please,” she called out as she dramatically threw up an arm, “no photos.” Which only served to capture their attention and make them rush forward to snap copious photos of Ava.
“You minx,” said Carmela. She gathered up the skirt of her strapless black gown as the two of them hurried up the steps and into the ornate hotel lobby.
Ava arched an eyebrow. “Ain’t I just? But isn’t this fun?”
“You know,” said Carmela. “It kind of is.”
* * *
The hotel’s Millennium Ballroom was already crowded with men in tuxedos and women wearing hybrid costumes that combined ball gowns with masks, outlandish headgear, and other fun trinkets.
The band, the New Improved Headbangers, was dressed in bright orange jackets and black slacks and were already blasting the roof off the place. Their horn section was just capping off a rousing version of “Down to New Orleans,” then the whole band jumped in to play “Apache Rose Peacock.” Gilded pumpkins, silvered cobwebs, and tree branches hung with fluttering ghosts lent an air of Halloween elegance as guest swirled on the dance floor.
“The bar,” said Ava, glancing around. “I’m supposed to meet Charlie at the bar.”
“Let’s do it,” said Carmela. “I think we could both benefit from a cool, refreshing drink.”
They threaded their way through the revelers, dodging a man in a black sequined dinner jacket and a woman in a gold ball gown with a boa of brown, furry rats strung around her neck.
“Lots of cool costumes,” said Ava as they bellied up to a bar that was swathed in orange and gold.
“Take a look at that bondage couple dancing over there,” said Carmela.
“Mmn, studded leather, chains, and a little skin peeping out. Be still my heart.”
“Ava!” said Carmela.
“Just looking,” she said primly.
They ordered Witches’ Cauldron cocktails, which were basically a lethal concoction of rum and fruit juices.
Ava took a sip from her giant goblet. “Tasty.”
Carmela took a sip and made a face. “Strong.”
“Too strong?”
“I can live with it.”
“Look,” said Ava. “There’s Baby and Del over there.”
“And Tandy and Darwin.”
“Cher,” said Ava. “Who’s that guy staring at you?”
Carmela frowned as she glanced around. “What guy?” Was Babcock hanging back somewhere, watching her, and doing his undercover cop impression?
“That guy over there in the weird green slacks and shiny black jacket.”
Carmela’s eyes continued to search the crowd. She saw a lady in an ermine cape, a man in a black velvet tux, a woman in a medieval-looking gown, and . . .
“Boyd Bellamy,” Carmela murmured.
“Who?” said Ava.
Bellamy gave a knee-jerk reaction when Carmela spotted him, and quickly turned away. Started jabbering, in fact, to a woman in a poufy red dress.
“Boyd Bellamy, my landlord,” Carmela explained. “You remember . . . the guy who drop-kicked Mavis out of her space so he could lease it to the countess. The one who insulted us at the buffet table last night.”
“Oh, that jerk. So why do you think he was watching you?”
Carmela shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he wants to kick me out of my space, too. He came tromping into Memory Mine a couple of days ago chortling about how he’d love to relocate me.”
“Don’t do it.”
“I have no intention of moving. I’ve got an ironclad lease, or so my attorney insists.”
“Good girl,” said Ava. “Smart girl.”
“Ava. Oh, Ava.” Charlie Preston was creeping toward them, grinning like a lovesick puppy. He was dressed in a T-shirt and tux, and wore a blue baseball cap that bore a yellow CSI logo.
Ava took one look at him and snatched the cap from his head. “Take that silly thing off.”
“What?” said Charlie, looking a little hurt. “You don’t like it?”
“Nope.” Ava snuggled up next to him and rubbed a bare shoulder against his chest. “But I’m glad you showed up.”
Charlie suddenly looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “I thought about you all day long.”
“Just the day?” teased Ava. Which made Charlie blush even more furiously.
“I don’t suppose you know the whereabouts of Detective Babcock, do you?” Carmela asked.
“Oh, he’s here,” said Charlie. “Somewhere.”
Carmela cast her eyes into the crowd again. When she still didn’t see Babcock anywhere, she took a step closer to Charlie. “Charlie, sweetie, do you know if there’s anything new in the Marcus Joubert investigation?”
Charlie swallowed hard. “You know I’m not supposed to talk about ongoing cases.”
“But it’s just us,” Ava cooed.
“We were there,” Carmela reminded him. “We’re already part of the inner circle.” They weren’t really, but, hey, it was a shot.
“What . . . what do you want to know?” Charlie stammered.
Carmela came at him like a snapping turtle. “Anything you can tell us!”
“Well,” said Charlie. “It appears there might have been more of a struggle than we initially thought.”
“How so?” asked Carmela.
“The vic’s clothing was extremely ripped and disheveled.”
“Interesting,” said Carmela. So Joubert had struggled mightily to fight off his assassin. “What else?”
“Trading secrets?” a familiar male voice teased.
Carmela jumped like a scalded cat. Then she whirled
around as Babcock’s arm encircled her waist.
“We wouldn’t do that,” Carmela told him.
Babcock flashed her an easy grin. “Sure you would.”
Ava came to Carmela’s rescue. She poked an index finger into Babcock’s starched white shirt. “You. Are late.”
He gave her a wink. “But I’m here now. All dressed up with no . . . wait, I do have someplace to go.” He took Carmela gently by the arm. “Namely the dance floor.” He spun her out into a crowd of slow-dancing partiers.
Carmela nestled close to him as they danced. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show up.”
He smiled down at her. “Really? Even after I sent a big-time limo to pick you up?”
“That was nice,” Carmela admitted. She relaxed in his arms, enjoying the music, the closeness, the background chatter and party atmosphere. There were plenty of fancy balls held in New Orleans all year round. But this one, the Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball, was one of her favorites. It was dressy but not as seriously dressy or high society as some of the Mardi Gras balls or major charity balls. In other words, the pressure was off.
When the music ended, Babcock kissed the tip of her nose, then his lips traveled downward.
So nice, Carmela thought as he kissed her full on the lips. So lovely.
And then, out of nowhere, “I’ve got someone I need to talk to,” Babcock told her.
“Here? Now?” She couldn’t quite believe it.
Babcock smiled his crooked grin.
“You’re serious?” said Carmela. “You’re still on the job?”
“I’m always on the job.” He was leading her to one of the hors d’oeuvres stations where fancy cheeses and smoked oysters beckoned.
“No,” said Carmela.
“Ten minutes,” said Babcock. He hesitated, his blue eyes staring at her with great intensity.
“Okay,” Carmela relented. She had just spotted Jekyl scooping up an inordinately huge amount of shrimp dip onto his cracker. “I’ll go talk to Jekyl over there. Maybe lure him out onto the dance floor, too.”
“Ten minutes,” Babcock said as he slipped away.
JEKYL was dressed in a purple velvet jacket with shiny black lapels that may or may not have been genuine stingray. His slacks were a pale gray and his shoes high-gloss Gucci loafers.
“You’re like Babcock,” Carmela told him, pointing to his shoes. “Always with the spendy footwear.”
“That’s because I have terrible feet,” said Jekyl. “So I’m forced to buy expensive Italian or British shoes.” As if to explain, he lifted one foot off the floor. “I have extraordinarily high arches. Do you know how difficult it is to walk around with high arches?”
Carmela smiled tolerantly. She knew Jekyl enjoyed his upper-crust tastes. “Do you know how difficult it is to walk around in four-inch-high stilettos?”
Jekyl just smiled and popped another cracker into his mouth. “So what’s up? You look fab as always, sweetums. Is that gown new?”
“Old. But thanks anyway. Did you have a chance to check on that necklace?”
Jekyl dusted his hands together. “I did. And I didn’t find a goldarned thing that would indicate your precious borrowed necklace was stolen goods.”
“So that’s good.” Good goods.
Jekyl held up a finger. “That doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s not stolen.”
“Then it’s not good news. So where does that leave us?”
“First thing tomorrow I’m going to check a couple of other resources.”
“Thank you,” said Carmela. She touched his shoulder just as her cell phone chimed. “And Jekyl, please don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? This is just a silly little hunch that I’m following up. It’ll probably turn out to be a wild-goose chase.”
Jekyl just smiled benignly at her.
She pulled out her phone. “Jekyl . . . are you listening? I don’t want the countess to know a thing about this.”
“Mum’s the word,” he finally said.
Carmela turned away from him and said, “Yes?” The screen on her phone had indicated Unidentified Caller and she wondered briefly if there had been some sort of trouble at her shop. Or something else?
“Hello?” said a soft voice.
“Yes?” Carmela said again.
“Miss Bertrand?” Now the voice was so low it could barely be heard above a loud crackling noise.
Bad connection.
Carmela was only steps from a doorway, so she stepped out into a dimly lit hallway, hoping to find a quieter spot.
“Hello?” she said as she walked down the long, carpeted hallway. It was practically deserted here. And quite a bit cooler, too. “Hello?” she said again. Now she stepped through a puddle of light into a dim area that led to an outdoor patio. When she passed a door marked Utility Closet, she said, “I can hear you a little better now. Are you still there?”
“This is very important,” said the voice. Whoever it was sounded nervous and very upset. “Can you hear me?” Unfortunately, there was still a loud crackling on the line.
“I’m trying,” said Carmela. “Just give me a minute.” She walked farther down the hallway and stood next to a large linen cart. “Hello? Do we have a connection now?”
She heard nothing but dead air.
Carmela sighed heavily. Just my luck.
Just as she was about to hang up, a shadow seemed to materialize from the doorway across from her.
“Oh!” she said, surprised that someone was even there. Then she had a fleeting impression of something scary and green lunging at her, and then a dimly lit figure put a hand at the base of her throat and shoved her up against the wall. Hard enough to shake her up and make her teeth rattle.
Stunned beyond belief, feeling like a terrified butterfly held in place with a stick pin, Carmela stared wide-eyed at her attacker.
Green bug eyes glared back at her!
A mask? Has to be a mask. A costume!
“Who are you?” Carmela cried out. “What do you want?” But the bug-eyed man wearing a scaly-looking green alien suit just shook his head.
“Quiet,” he growled. “Shut up and listen.”
She fought hard to push his hand away, her fingertips flailing against his rubber suit. “Get away from me, you jerk, before I scream my head off! Do you know who my . . . ?”
This time her attacker clamped his rubber-clad hand directly over her mouth, cutting off her words.
Carmela fought back with renewed fervor, chewing at his hand, clawing at him desperately, trying to bang him in the head with the phone that was still clutched in her hand. But the green alien was too strong for her; he towered above her and outweighed her by easily seventy pounds.
Not a fair match, Carmela thought as she seethed inwardly.
The horrible green mask and bug-like body leaned even closer, smashing against her, practically choking off her breathing.
“Leave it alone,” the green alien hissed.
Carmela could see the edges of his rubber mask vibrating as he spewed out his threat. His breath was a lethal combination of beer, cheeseburgers, and garlic.
“What are you talking about?” Carmela managed to stammer. Her mind was an angry blur. “Leave what alone?”
“All your investigating. Stop being so nosy. Otherwise you and your cop friend are going to get hurt!”
“What?” she cried. “What are you . . . ?” But he’d pressed his hand tight against her lips once again.
“Listen to me,” he snarled. “Now you are going to stand here like a good little girl and slowly count to one hundred. You are not going to scream or run. You are not going to move.” With that, the green alien gave her a final shove and dashed down the hallway.
Carmela, shaking with anger, quivering from too much adrenaline juicing through her veins, was too
stunned to do anything at all.
Except use her phone. In a split second, she aimed it, one-handedly, toward the green alien’s back as he streaked down the corridor. And snapped his picture.
Now what? Gotta think.
Carmela knew she was experiencing a mild form of shock, but realized she had to do something to jump-start her brain. She had to think hard and take something away from this hideous encounter. Something she could use later. Something she could use to catch this horrible person!
Who had he been? Carmela wondered. And what exactly had he said to her?
Back off. He told me to back off.
Had the green alien been warning her to back off on the Oddities investigation? Or did his words have something to do with the countess and her jewelry?
Carmela touched a hand to her throat where the horrible green alien had touched her. Inches below she could feel her heart beating frantically like the wings of a dove.
Could the green alien have been one of Titus Duval’s minions? Had he figured out that she and Ava had snuck into his home last night?
Or was he one of Johnny Sparks’s henchmen? Had her visit to the pawn shop the other day set off some kind of trip wire?
Carmela’s first instinct was to run screaming to Babcock. Rush into the safety of his arms and plead and beg him to put out an all-points bulletin on this crazy person who had just accosted her.
No, I can’t do that.
Once again, she knew that if Babcock had any inkling that she was in physical danger, he’d put her in lockdown. Station armed guards all around her shop and apartment.
No, she had to tough this out by herself. She had to go back into the ballroom, find Babcock, and try to pretend this never happened. For now.
Later she would try to figure this out.
Because in one part of her mind—the part Carmela kept secret, the part where she harbored her talent for investigating and for exacting revenge—she knew she had just gazed upon a huge, hulking clue.
An actual physical threat, like the one she’d just experienced, surely meant that someone—probably Joubert’s killer—was worried and very, very desperate!
Carmela walked slowly down the corridor, struggling to mentally and physically pull herself back together. The music was coming to her loud and clear now, and she could hear the jubilant voices of hundreds of revelers.
