by Laura Childs
“Perfect,” Carmela said.
The women all started working on their flower petals, except for Tandy. She wanted to make super huge flowers, so Gabby fixed her up with a slightly larger template.
Once the flowers were made, the next project on the agenda was a surprise ball. And to Carmela’s surprise, everyone wanted to make one.
“I’ve got, like, a jillion nieces and nephews,” Margery said. “So this might be just the thing for them.”
“Explain, please,” said Josie.
Carmela held up a small red rubber ball. “What you do is anchor a long strip of crepe paper to a ball and then start wrapping. As you wrap the strips, you insert little gifts, like tiny toys, charms, candy, or fortunes. Then when the ball is all wrapped up, you put a gold sticker on it and tie it with ribbon. It’s great for the holidays—for kids or as party favors.”
“Could I do all candy?” Josie wanted to know.
“Of course,” Carmela said. “You can do anything your heart desires.”
Thirty minutes later, the table was a riot of crepe paper flowers and surprise balls. In the meantime, Gabby was busy snipping hunks of wire into three-foot pieces and bending them into circles.
“Okay,” Gabby said. “Set aside your surprise balls for a moment, it’s time to grab your flowers and fashion your wreaths.”
She passed out the wire and everyone slipped their flowers on and anchored them in place. Then the ladies began searching the scrapbook shop for embellishments. Josie decided to create delicate pink bows for her wreath. Margery stamped angels onto cardstock and was busy cutting them out. Once her angels were cut into tags, she would color them using a copper-colored pen.
Baby, who was sitting next to Carmela, nudged her friend and said, “What’s this I hear about you witnessing a murder the other night?”
Carmela wrinkled her nose and whispered, “Oh, you heard about that?”
“Well, it was a fairly nasty business, so the Times-Picayune served it up as a feature story,” Baby said. “But my neighbor Deb Darling was actually at the Winter Market and told me that she saw you there. Apparently the police had roped off a spot and you were being questioned?”
“Because Ava and I witnessed the whole thing. Can you believe it? Some girls’ night out, huh?”
“Must have been awful.”
“It was hideous,” Carmela said. “Like something out of a horror flick. But you know what? The truth of the matter is, Ava and I didn’t really see the whole thing. We only saw that guy, Martin Lash, come staggering out from behind the row of tents.”
“With a meat fork stuck in his throat,” Baby said, a trifle aghast.
“Yup.” Carmela took a slug of Coke. “And the worst part is . . .”
“There’s a worst part?” Baby asked. “Besides just the really bad part?”
Carmela nodded. “Babcock thinks that Quigg Brevard did it.”
“Your Quigg?”
“He’s not really my Quigg,” Carmela hastened to say.
“He used to be.”
“No, no, not for a long time. That relationship is ancient history.”
“Still,” Baby said, “Quigg always struck me as pretty much of a pussycat.” She smiled to herself. “Well, maybe a bit of a tomcat, because he always seemed to have an eye for the ladies. But I can’t believe Quigg would ever outright murder someone.”
“Tell that to Babcock,” Carmela said. “He’s suspicious because Martin Lash . . .”
“The dead guy,” Baby said.
“The dead guy,” Carmela said. “The dead guy gave Quigg’s restaurants some really rotten reviews. And then Quigg got on his high horse and confronted Lash and the two of them had a knock-down, drag-out fight right in the middle of the Winter Market for everyone to see. I mean, food was thrown.”
“No!” Baby said.
“And then not five minutes later, Martin Lash wound up with a meat fork stuck in his neck, spurting blood like the Trevi Fountain.” Carmela touched a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. “And that’s why Babcock is looking so hard—and disdainfully, I might add—at Quigg.”
“So what’s Quigg doing about it?” Baby asked. “I mean, has he hired an attorney to defend him? Or maybe even a private detective to help find the real killer?”
Carmela blinked at the “private detective” part.
“Oh no,” Baby said. “He didn’t.”
“Of course he did.”
“He really asked you to get involved?”
“More like pulled me into it,” Carmela said. “He says I’m the only one he really trusts.”
“And of course you have the ear of the lead detective.”
“No, I don’t,” Carmela said. “Not for this. Babcock isn’t telling me squat. I’m on my own. Out on a limb, you might say.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Baby said in a low voice. “You’re pretty good. You’ve managed to unravel more than a few crimes in your day.”
“Which pretty much infuriates Babcock.”
“You two have a tempestuous relationship, don’t you?”
“It’s cooling on ice right now. Since Babcock shut me out completely.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Baby asked.
“Like I want to thumb my nose at him. Like I want to snoop around and figure things out for myself.”
Baby reached over and patted Carmela’s hand. “Then do it, honey. You’re one smart cookie, don’t you know?”
* * *
The wreaths turned out beautifully, the surprise balls were charming, and Tandy’s flowers morphed into six gigantic red and purple blooms. She ended up attaching them to long green pipe cleaners, so she could stick them into a large ceramic pot.
“That was so much fun,” Gabby said, half yawning, as everyone trooped out the door, heartfelt thank-yous drifting back to them. “But I’m ready to go home.”
“Then go,” Carmela said. “Just . . . go. I’ll roll the phones over to the answering service and lock up.”
Gabby managed a crooked smile. “Yeah? But what about straightening up the craft table?”
“There’s not that much to do. So just take off. Have a nice evening.”
“Thank you, I will,” Gabby said, pulling on her jacket.
Two minutes later, Carmela was all alone, wandering through her shop, straightening up a little, but deciding to leave most of it until morning.
Then the phone rang.
“Hello? Memory Mine.” Carmela hoped it wasn’t a customer wanting some last-minute favor. But it was Quigg. “How did it go today?” she asked him. She meant the questioning by the police.
“Terrible,” Quigg said. “They’re utterly convinced I’m a stone-cold killer.”
“But you’re not.” At least she hoped he wasn’t.
“Tell that to your boyfriend. He was ready to beat me bloody with a rubber hose. Carmela, you said you’d help me. I’m feeling frantic here.”
“I’m trying, Quigg, I really am.”
“Then please try harder. You don’t know how close they came to actually detaining me today.”
“But they didn’t. They let you go, right? I mean, you are out?”
“Yeah, I’m over at Mumbo Gumbo. I’ve got bills to pay and customers to charm. Anyway, they asked the same old questions over and over again. Why was I arguing with Lash? Did I leave my booth? For how long? Over and over until my head was spinning.”
“Maybe you passed their little test. Maybe they’re finally finished with you.”
“Only your boyfriend knows for sure, and he didn’t look anywhere close to being satisfied. He looked frustrated and distracted.”
Carmela knew that look. It meant Babcock wasn’t done with Quigg. Not by a long shot.
“If you can pull anything out of your hat, Carmela .
. .”
“I know,” she said. “I hear you.”
“Carmela, you mean everything to me . . .” Quigg’s voice went hoarse as he choked up. And then, suddenly, he was gone. Hanging up the phone because he didn’t want her to hear him breaking down.
Damn, Carmela thought. Quigg was really hurting. Really scared. But what could she do? How could she ever hope to resolve this?
Her mind twirled at warp speed. Quigg needed her. Babcock wanted her to stay clear of the case.
But from everything Carmela knew about Martin Lash, he wasn’t exactly a model citizen. If only he’d had the decency to get murdered several miles away. Maybe out there in the bayous he loved so much. But no, he had to collapse at her feet and die in front of her very eyes.
So what’s a girl to do?
And then a thought struck her. Hmm. It was a long shot. It was slightly dangerous. But it might just shake something loose.
Chapter 11
“THANK you for riding shotgun,” Carmela said to Ava. They were blasting down Highway 23 in her Mercedes, radio turned to B97 FM, headed for Martin Lash’s house in Triumph, Louisiana.
Carmela didn’t know what they might find there, didn’t even know if they could figure a way in, but it was all she could come up with on short notice.
“Quigg sounded pretty desperate, huh?” Ava said.
“Like he’s circling the drain.”
“I must say you’ve certainly taken a keen interest in helping him.”
“Probably because he asked.”
“Oh, I’m sure he asked you very politely,” Ava said. “Although Quigg’s charm has always been in being impolite. Exerting his machismo and being a little bit . . . forward.”
“Mm hm,” Carmela said.
Ava glanced sideways at her. “Has he? Been forward, I mean? Aside from that single stolen kiss you told me about?”
“Not really. And I don’t think we should talk about this anymore.”
“Your cheeks are flushed pink and you’re making a lemon face. I think Quigg is starting to get to you.”
“We’re not going to talk about this anymore.” Carmela reached over and turned the radio up louder.
R. Kelly’s sultry song “Down Low” filled the car. Keep it on the down low. Nobody has to know . . .
* * *
They passed through Port Sulphur and Empire, and then, some twenty minutes later, bumped across a narrow bridge, wooden planks rumbling beneath their tires, and rolled into the small, unincorporated community of Triumph.
“Jeez,” Ava said, “the joint looks deserted. They really roll up the sidewalks here, don’t they?”
“It’s a pretty small town,” Carmela said. “And it’s late.”
“Not that late.” Ava pressed her nose to the window as they cruised down what was probably the main drag. “There’s Booger’s Bait Shop. And Manny’s Pizza.” She giggled. “I hope they never get their orders mixed up.”
“Just keep your eyes peeled,” Carmela said. “We’re looking for Levee Road.”
It wasn’t all that difficult to find. Five minutes of driving around and a couple of wrong turns brought them across Highway 11 to Levee Road. From there they crawled along slowly for ten blocks or so, a few small homes popping up on their right, the Mississippi River turgid and dark to their left. Finally, they rolled to a stop in front of Martin Lash’s house, the place looking dark, deserted, and lonely.
“You wouldn’t call this an actual residence per se, would you?” Ava asked.
Carmela gazed at the ramshackle one-story wooden building that Martin Lash had called home sweet home. Thanks to pounding rain, searing heat, buckets of humidity, and the occasional hurricane, all paint had been blasted away and the exterior worn down to a dull gray. The sagging roof looked like it was covered with corrugated tin, a small porch hung off the front of the house, and the yard was basically an ugly patchwork of weeds and mud.
“There’s lots of commercial fishing around here,” Carmela said, “so maybe it’s more of a camp shack.” They climbed out of the car and stood on the side of the deserted roadway.
“I’d hate to be the Realtor who had to list this place,” Ava said. “One-bedroom, one-bathroom dumperoo with a river view if you don’t mind the rich, ripe odor of decomposing fish. Why do you think Lash lives way down here anyway? Correction, lived.”
“It’s probably what Josh Cotton said yesterday. Lash wanted to be close to the swamps and bayous.”
“A regular nature boy,” Ava said. “You think there are alligators crawling around here?”
“Sure there are. Well, not here here. But nearby.”
Ava studied her nails. “So what’s on the program now?”
But Carmela had already started for the house. “We’re going to sneak inside and poke around,” she said, her words drifting back to Ava.
But getting inside was easier said than done. When they approached the front door, they saw it had been fitted with a shiny Schlage padlock.
“Somebody’s security-minded,” Ava said. “Do you think we can pick that lock with a bobby pin?”
“I think that only works in B movies.”
“Okay, then can we pry it off?”
“Doubtful,” Carmela said. “Let’s see what’s going on around back.”
They tiptoed around the shack, stumbling when they hit a few spongy areas.
“This is awful,” Ava whispered. “I’m wearing my new Giglio Frederick reptile boots and don’t want them to get ruined.”
“Real reptile?”
“Vinyl reptile. Which is probably why my toes feel sweaty. Oh, hey, look. There’s a back door.” Ava grabbed the handle with both hands and rattled it. It barely moved. “This isn’t working out very well. What’s plan B?”
“There is no plan B.” Carmela shrugged.
Ava put her hands on her hips. “There has to be a contingency plan, or at least some way to get in. Here, over here.” She stumbled through a tangle of weeds. “Let’s try this window. See that ratty old screen? It looks like it’s practically rusted out. Come over here and give me a boost.”
Carmela picked her way toward Ava, bent over, and laced her fingers together. “When I flip you up, try to grab ahold of those shutters. Then see if you can kick out that screen.”
“Got it.” Ava stepped into Carmela’s hands, jumped up, grabbed onto a shutter that was partially hanging off, and gave a powerful kick. There was a clatter as the screen fell to the ground, then a loud pop and the sound of breaking glass.
“Oops,” Ava said, her voice suddenly fading out, like a radio signal that had gone away.
“Be careful!” Carmela cried. But she was talking to dead air. Ava had already catapulted herself inside the shack. “Are you okay?” she hissed at the dark, gaping hole that, just seconds earlier, had been a functioning window.
Ava’s voice drifted back. “I’m okay, but the whole dang window popped out of the frame. Now there’s broken glass all over the place.”
“You didn’t get cut, did you?”
“I think I’m okay.” Ava’s head and shoulders suddenly appeared. Then she stretched a hand out. “Come on, I’ll reel you in.”
Carmela grabbed Ava’s hand as she scrabbled up the side of the house and was yanked through the window as slickly as Alice tumbling through the rabbit hole.
“Whoa, whoa,” Ava gasped. She was sprawled on the floor and Carmela had landed on top of her. “You’re crushing my chest—I can’t breathe!”
Carmela hastily rolled off her. “Dear Lord, I didn’t crack one of your ribs, did I?”
Ava placed both hands on her chest and felt around gingerly. “No, everything seems to be in place. Thank goodness I’m wearing my Lady Goddess Longline Bra. It holds me in pretty dang tight.”
They stumbled to their feet and glanced around the
dim interior.
“Now what?” Ava asked. She lifted her nose and gave a suspicious sniff. “It smells horrible in here. Like something died.”
“It’s probably just mice.”
“But you don’t know that for sure. What if it’s the ghost of Martin Lash?” Ava’s eyes grew big. “Maybe his spirit floated back here. The man died suddenly, so could be he’s not at peace yet.”
“You saw him yesterday and he looked peaceful enough lying in his overpriced casket. Besides, if your spirit could float anywhere it wanted to, would you come back to a dump like this?”
“Heck no,” Ava said. “I’d probably ectoplasm my way into a fancy mansion in the Garden District. Or find a Neiman Marcus store and go on a spiritual shopping spree.”
“Okay then.” Carmela looked around. The place was dark and spooky.
Every stick of furniture was covered with a white drop cloth so the room’s perspective took on a strange, humpy look.
“Did you bring a flashlight?” Ava asked.
“I’ve got one. But I’m kind of afraid to turn it on. If somebody sees the light playing on the walls, they might alert the local constable.”
“Who’d probably come swooping in here and arrest us,” Ava finished.
“So for now we just poke around surreptitiously,” Carmela said.
“What are we looking for?” Ava whispered.
“Not sure. I guess maybe something that might point the finger away from Quigg?”
“You mean like a clue? To solve a mystery?”
“Works for me.”
Ava crept forward a few feet and promptly stumbled over a low, leather ottoman. “Oops, clumsy me. Say, what if there isn’t a clue?” For all her bravado at breaking in, she was clearly having second thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Carmela said. “The thing is, Lash was murdered, right? In what was probably a crime of passion. So somebody must have seriously hated him. Maybe we can find something that sheds light on that. Maybe Lash was involved in some sort of criminal operation. Or maybe he was a secret drug dealer.”
