by Laura Childs
“We got a tip,” said Gallant.
“Anonymously?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“I don’t know,” said Carmela. “That seems awfully convenient to me. Maybe you were getting too close to the truth and—”
“Hey,” said Gallant. “It’s what we got.”
“But what if it’s classic misdirection? What if somebody planted the trocar and then called in the tip?”
“It’s possible, anything’s possible,” said Gallant.
“Was there blood residue on the weapon?”
“We’re working on DNA right now.”
“But you’re still going to hold Merriweather.”
“Absolutely. For as long as it takes.”
“Listen,” said Carmela. “I have some information that may or may not impact this case.”
“Now what?” said Gallant. He didn’t sound happy.
Carmela hastily told him about the land deal and Spangler Enterprises and her theory that Conrad Falcon stole the land right out from under Jerry Earl.
“Are you sure about all this?” Gallant said in a tone dripping with skepticism. “That Falcon is behind Spangler Enterprises?”
“I’m . . . well, it’s all a theory,” said Carmela. “Which is why I need your help. I need you to please muster your resources and dig into this! See if it’s true.”
“Why are you so bent out of shape about this investigation?” Gallant asked. “When we probably already have our man?”
“I’m worried you might have the wrong man! And that Conrad Falcon will get off scot-free!”
“I can try to find a connection, but I can’t promise anything. It’s crazy around here. Really . . . I have to go.”
“If you find out anything at all, call me!”
But Gallant had already hung up.
• • •
CARMELA CHANGED INTO JEANS, A SWEATER, AND tennis shoes, and headed off on a morning walk with Boo and Poobah. They skipped down Dauphine Street and cut down Conti Street, going past the Pharmacy Museum and the Historic New Orleans Collection, skirting close to the Voodoo Museum.
A lot of museums here, Carmela thought. A lot of history. But what was the history behind prospecting for gold? Or digging up old dinosaur bones? Somehow, those things had to tie in with Jerry Earl’s murder, right? And with the murder of Eric Zane?
She kicked it into high gear then as she jogged along with the dogs. Of course, they were doing an easy lope while she was rattling her fillings loose, sweating profusely, and chugging along like the little engine that could. Or at least was trying very hard.
As they came flying through the porte cochere and into the inner courtyard, Carmela found a delivery boy standing at her door. He was shifting about uncomfortably, looking uncertain, while he tried to balance an enormous white cake box.
“My cake!” Carmela called out. She’d almost forgotten about it!
The delivery boy turned. “Are you Carmela Bertrand?” He looked supremely hopeful.
“That’s right. Are you from Duvall’s Bakery?”
He nodded.
“Let me put the dogs inside then I’ll give you a hand with that cake.”
So, of course, Boo and Poobah got tangled up in their leashes and almost tripped the delivery boy. But Carmela finally got everything straightened out. The large white cake box was deposited safely on her dining room table, the delivery boy was tipped, and the dogs were . . . well, they were definitely eyeing the large box, their pink tongues hanging out.
“No,” Carmela told them. “This cake is totally off-limits. There will be no begging, sniffing, or nibbling at frosting. There will be no accidentally knocking this cake over. This cake is for an important charity event tonight. Now, do you understand? Please nod if you understand.”
That said, Carmela gingerly opened the box and peered inside. The intoxicating smell of sugar, butter, chocolate cream, and fondant wafted up at her. She closed her eyes and inhaled.
Boo and Poobah edged dangerously close to the cake.
Carmela held up an index finger and glared at them.
They hunched their shoulders and slunk back.
Carmela smiled to herself as she feasted her eyes upon the cake. It was a four-tiered beauty, iced in vanilla frosting and each layer edged with small bouquets of pink and yellow flowers. Bands of fondant pearls coursed down the sides of the cake. Gorgeous. On the bottom layer, Crescent City Bank had been grandly spelled out in poufy fondant. Not so gorgeous, but it was what she had to work with. That was the trouble with a commercial project like this. It was . . . well, commercial.
Carmela headed for her kitchen. “First coffee and kibbles, then we’ll whip up our frosting.” Boo and Poobah followed her, watching as she measured out a nice strong ration of coffee, set it to brew, and then portioned out food for them.
While the coffee brewed and the dogs snarfed their breakfasts, Carmela whipped together batches of chocolate frosting and buttercream frosting. When both frostings were thick and ready to work with, she poured them into plastic pastry bags.
Now came the tricky part.
Squeezing gently, Carmela formed a crooked twig-like line of frosting on top of a sheet of waxed paper. She went over it a couple of times until it took on the appearance of nubby bark. Then she squeezed out another six crooked twigs.
She surveyed her handiwork. Pretty good. Using a silver knife, she carefully lifted one of the twigs, carried it over to the cake, and placed it across the top tier. It looked good. Very realistic, in fact. The other five twigs followed.
Changing to a smaller tip on her pastry bag, Carmela began the painstaking process of creating the bird’s nest. She basically squirted out five skinny lines of chocolate frosting, then crosshatched over them with lines of buttercream frosting. Then she repeated that process three more times. Since the frosting was still sticky and pliable, it was fairly easy to join the four sides together, round them out a little bit, and fashion them into a nest.
“It’s working,” she told the dogs. “It’s really working.”
She carried the nest to her cake and, holding her breath, carefully placed it on top. Again, it looked pretty good.
Now she took her miniature feathered birds and placed two on either side of the nest and three more birds on the tier below. Because of her careful placement, the birds looked as if they were perched on her twigs.
Carmela didn’t want the necklace to get lost in the nest, so she fashioned a piece of pink silk around a puff ball of cotton and stitched it closed on the bottom. The pink silk pillow went into the nest, and the beautiful diamond pendant puddled right on top of it.
Easy to admire, easy to bid on.
“Ta-da!” she sang out, with Boo barking her approval. “We did it.”
She glanced at the clock, stunned that it was already past one o’clock.
“Holy mackerel.” She looked at the dogs. “Did you guys forget? You’re supposed to be packed!”
The words were barely out of her mouth when there was a sharp knock at the door.
“Daddy!” said Carmela. She pulled open the door and let the dogs launch their assault on Shamus.
“Jeez!” he cried out. “Take it easy. We’ve got all weekend to party, kids.” He glanced at Carmela, then dug his hand into the bag of Fritos he was carrying. “Did the cake get here? Did you decorate it?”
“Nice to see you, too, Shamus. Yes, I decorated the cake. Just finished it, as a matter of fact.”
Shamus sauntered over to the table and took a peek at it. “Hey, it looks good! You do nice work, kid. I knew I could count on you.” He stuck a finger out to grab a bit of frosting.
Carmela slapped his hand and said, “Frosting and Fritos? Give me a break.”
“Hey, the Fritos are organic, right?” He rolled up the bag, tossed it to
ward the trash can, and missed. He made an “Aaaaah” sound.
“You want to take the cake with you?” Carmela asked.
Shamus rolled his eyes. “It’s hard enough to stuff two dogs with all their beds and toys into a Porsche.”
“You could always get a more sensible car,” Carmela pointed out.
“Please. That would be so bad for my image.”
Carmela smiled. “I can see that. You wouldn’t want to look too sensible.”
“Huh?” Shamus said. Then he made a kind of gangling motion toward her, which Carmela deftly sidestepped. “So I understand you sold the old homestead?”
“That’s right. It’s over and done with.”
“What a pity.”
“You didn’t really want it, Shamus. In fact, you didn’t particularly want to live there with me.”
“Still, that house had been in my family for years.”
“Yet nobody stepped up to buy it.”
Shamus glared at her. “Tell me, do you have the buyer’s check in your hot little hand?”
“No, not yet.”
“Then the sale’s not complete,” said Shamus. “It’s not technically final until you sign the papers and deposit the check!”
“Whatever,” said Carmela.
“I suppose I’ll see you at the Cakewalk Ball tonight,” said Shamus.
“Wait,” said Carmela. “You’re going?”
Shamus nodded. “Of course. Crescent City Bank needs to be properly represented.”
“But what about the dogs? I thought you were going to spend time with them tonight.”
“They’ll be just fine,” said Shamus. He bent down, grabbed a dog bed, and tucked it under one arm. He struggled to grab the second one. Hunched over like Quasimodo, he headed for the door and said, “Okay, kids, let’s haul anchor.”
“Wait!” said Carmela. “You can’t forget their toys.”
“They’ve got plenty of toys at my place,” Shamus growled.
“You can’t forget Boo’s little red gingerbread doll. She can’t go to sleep without it.”
“Aw crap,” said Shamus. He sighed and dropped the beds. “Where is it?”
Carmela looked around. “I’m not sure.” She gazed at Boo. “Boo Boo, where’s your dolly?”
Boo lay down and proceeded to lick her front paws, seemingly unconcerned.
“Come on, Boo, I don’t have all day,” said Shamus. He glanced sharply at Carmela. “Do we really need the darn thing?”
“What do you think?”
They finally found it under the bed.
Chapter 24
WHEN the door closed behind Shamus and the dogs, Carmela sank into the couch. At one time, she would have felt sad to bid good-bye to the little family that she’d made. But today she just felt relieved. Still, Shamus had liked the cake, so there was that one little bit of positivity to hang on to. And hopefully, his curmudgeon sister Glory would be impressed as well. If she wasn’t . . . well, tough.
But things were bound to improve. Because tonight, Edgar Babcock would presumably join her at the Cakewalk Ball. A little shiver of anticipation tingled deep within her. It had been a long week with her sweetie being out of town, and she couldn’t wait to catch up. Not only bending his ear about the two murders, but doing some remedial snuggling, too.
When the phone rang, she was almost too tired to pick it up. Then she remembered Bobby Gallant. Was he calling her back?
He was indeed.
“You were dead wrong,” was Gallant’s opening salvo.
“What are you talking about?” said Carmela.
“Conrad Falcon doesn’t own that land you told me about. In fact, he has nothing to do with it.”
“Sure he does,” said Carmela. “It’s not X marks the spot, but he probably owns it in some tricky kind of way. It’s owned under a different entity than Falcon’s aboveboard corporation. Probably that other company I told you about—Spangler Enterprises.”
“I checked,” said Gallant. “There’s absolutely no connection between Conrad Falcon and Spangler Enterprises.”
Carmela was shocked. “You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Then what can you tell me about Spangler?”
“Nothing at the moment,” said Gallant. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
And rub my nose in it. “Oh. But can you—”
“Sorry. Gotta go.”
Click.
“Doggone!” Carmela almost tossed the phone across the room, except there was another knock at the front door.
She stormed over to the door and yanked it open. “What?” she cried.
A young man in a delivery uniform shrank back. “I was supposed to pick up a cake? For delivery to the Art Institute?”
“Oh. Right. Come on in.” Some of her anger began to dissipate. This kid hadn’t done anything to her. Why take it out on him? “It’s right here on the table.”
The delivery boy hefted the box an inch off the table. “Could you maybe get the door for me, ma’am?”
“Sure enough,” said Carmela. She held the door open as he eased his way out. “Thanks. Don’t drop it,” she told him.
“I’ll try not to,” he called back.
Stiletto heels rang out like gunshots from across the courtyard. Carmela looked and did a double take. An enormous black plastic bag was moving slowly toward her.
“Is that you?” Carmela asked.
Ava’s head cranked out from one side. “Cher, help me!” came her plaintive voice.
Carmela ran over to help, grabbing the bottom half of the garment bag that was dragging on the ground. “This weighs a ton!” she exclaimed. “What have you got in here besides dresses? Gold bars?”
“See!” said Ava. “You have gold on your mind. Aren’t you excited about the arrest? Aren’t you glad they finally caught him?”
“Maybe they caught him,” said Carmela as they squished and punched the garment bag through the doorway, then threw it down on the chaise lounge. “It’s just that after finding out about the land lease and all . . .”
Ava waved a hand as if solving the murder were a done deal. “Merriweather was on your radar all along, you smarty. In fact, that’s what I told Jekyl when I talked to him earlier today. He says kudos, by the way.” She looked around. “Where are the dogs?”
“Daddy’s weekend. He was just here to pick them up.”
Ava grimaced. “Ugh. Did he give you grief?”
“No more than usual.” As Ava dug through the garment bag, Carmela was still thinking about the land and the gold exploration and Spangler Enterprises. “I just don’t think these murders are one hundred percent solved. I don’t know where Merriweather fits in . . .”
Ava pulled out a short canary yellow party dress. “He doesn’t fit into this, but you will.” She held it up and said, “You like?”
“Yes, I do,” said Carmela. “It’s absolutely gorgeous and it matches a pair of too-tight shoes that I impulsively splurged on. But will it fit me?”
“We can always suck you in with Spanx and a few strips of duct tape if need be.” Ava pulled out a long, slinky red jersey dress. It had a plunging halter neckline and a breathtakingly open back.
Carmela gasped. “Ava! That one would look fabulous on you.”
“I totally agree. The gown is fab. Kind of a harlot’s delight.”
“It’s not that racy,” said Carmela. Actually, it did look a little hoochie momma.
“Then how about this?” said Ava. She held up a black, strapless number that was completely slit up the side. “Kind of Angelina Jolie, wouldn’t you say?”
“Red carpet worthy, for sure. You might even get a mention from Perez Hilton.”
“Mmn, what else?” said Ava. “Okay. No, I’m not loving it.” She held
up a navy satin dress with a sweetheart neckline, a bow at the waist, and a floor-sweeping hem. “This definitely goes in the ‘don’t even consider it’ pile.”
“I kind of like it,” Carmela said in a small voice.
“You do?”
“I think it’s pretty. Very feminine and demure with that floor-sweeping length.”
“Let’s leave the floor-sweeping to someone else, girlfriend,” said Ava. She pulled out a strapless, orchid-colored dress with a high-low hemline. “This one’s got the best of both worlds,” said Ava. “Party girl in front, a lady in the back.”
Carmela wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think orchid’s exactly my color.”
“And here I thought you were a little hothouse flower,” chuckled Ava. “Okay, I’ve got one more in here.”
“Let’s see it.”
Ava dangled a one-shouldered, champagne-colored gown in front of her. The tulle overlay was brushstroke jacquard, and the underlay was a metallic fabric. The dress was gathered at the right hip and had a flared skirt with a dramatic train.
“Now there’s a dress!” Carmela exclaimed.
“But it’s my dress,” said Ava. “And I think this is the one I’m gonna wear tonight.”
Carmela made a playful grab for the dress. “No, Ava! Champagne isn’t your color. You’ve told me a million times, it’s something you drink, not wear.”
“Nice try, cookie. But you know perfectly well there’s an exception to every rule. You see how that metallic underlayer warms the whole thing up? Why, it’s practically gold in color.”
“You win,” said Carmela. “Especially since it’s your dress.”
Ava shook her head, and oversized gold earrings in the shape of dollar signs shone and twinkled in the light. “And I’m gonna wear these earrings tonight, since you made me give up that diamond pendant.”
“Those earrings?” said Carmela.
“Yeah,” said Ava. “I think they lend just the right touch of gangster.”
“Okaaaaaay,” said Carmela. She fingered the short yellow dress. “So what do you want to do now?”
“Let’s have us a little fashion show and finalize our choices. And while we’re at it, maybe enjoy a cocktail or two to loosen things up.”
