by Laura Childs
Jewel popped to his feet and stuck out his hand. “We meet again,” he said. When Carmela hesitated, wondering if Quigg had mentioned her last night, he said, “The Reveillon dinner? My company furnished the caviar?”
“Of course,” Carmela said, clasping his hand. “It’s lovely to see you again. And I have to tell you, that was delicious caviar, a treat one is not soon to forget.”
Jewel fairly beamed. “Glad to hear it,” he said, rocking back on his heels, obviously pleased.
“It really is fantastic caviar,” Toby chimed in. “Fact is, our head chef just placed an order for several cases. We were just going over delivery dates.”
“I imagine importing caviar can be somewhat dicey,” Carmela said. “Fish being what they are.”
“Ha ha,” Jewel chuckled.
“Although, as I recall from the other night, you mentioned that you had a fairly reliable vendor?” Carmela asked.
“A wonderful wholesaler in Finland,” Jewel said. “Jakobstad Farms.”
“Our chef was so taken with the quality of the caviar, he’s already planning a special dish,” Toby said. “Tagliarini pasta topped with poached salmon, crème fraîche, and a generous dollop of caviar.”
“Wow,” Carmela said, suitably impressed. “That sounds a whole lot better than plain old mac and cheese.”
Harvey Jewel reached into his briefcase and dug out a small jar of caviar. He bounced it in his hand and then handed it to Carmela. “For you, dear lady.”
Carmela was stunned. “For me? Oh my goodness. Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure,” Jewel said. “Please enjoy it with the very best champagne you can possibly afford.”
“I absolutely will,” Carmela said. In her head she was already planning a special New Year’s Eve treat for Babcock. If he didn’t have to work, that is. Otherwise she would gladly go facedown in the tasty little eggs all by herself.
“Of course,” Jewel said, “the very best caviar you can buy would be beluga from the Caspian Sea, but that’s almost all fished out. Very difficult to obtain unless you’re on a first-name basis with someone in the Russian politburo.” He continued, “The next-best caviars are sterlet, ossetra, and sevruga. Then there are all sorts of fish roe that are commercially produced, some good, some just plain awful. But our caviar, Jewel Caviar, is comparable to very fine ossetra.”
“It most certainly is,” Toby said. “I’ve tasted your caviar and it’s got that Caspian pop—a nice firm snap in your mouth as you bite into an egg. Absolutely first-class.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Carmela said. She held up the tiny jar and studied the blue and white image that was printed on the shiny label—a grinning fish happily blowing bubbles that, she supposed, were supposed to be caviar eggs. Delicious caviar eggs filled with tiny bursts of flavor. Yum yum.
Chapter 19
“THIS Gingerbread Tea Party is going to be a blast,” Ava chortled to Carmela as they climbed the wide marble steps of the Evangeline Women’s Club. “I’ve always wanted to see how Garden District ladies fritter away their afternoons while the rest of us poor peons are working our fingers to the bone.” Ava made a quick check of her hands, just to make sure her jet-black nails still had rhinestones glued to each tip.
True to form, Ava had dressed in her chicest biker babe outfit. Tight black pants with silver studs running down the length of them, black lace-up suede vest without a blouse underneath, and studded stiletto heels. She was a vision in what she liked to call Goth couture. Carmela, on the other hand, looked so sedate in her beige knit suit she could probably be mistaken for either a missionary or a Republican. Which might not be a bad thing, considering this crowd.
Carmela rang the bell and held her breath. Two seconds later, a doorman opened the door and was practically rocked back on his heels by Ava and her understated getup. “Uh . . . welcome. Ladies?” he said, as if that particular moniker was severely in question.
“Thank you,” Ava said as she sashayed past him, her confidence burbling over.
Estelle Slawson, grande dame of the Ladies Charity League and the chair of the board of directors of the New Orleans Art Museum, made it her business to stand in the foyer and welcome every guest. So when Ava came bouncing in, the large pink flying saucer of a hat that was perched on Estelle’s sensibly coiffed head began to vibrate like it was ready to take off.
“Excuse me, miss,” Estelle said in a frosty tone. “I do believe you’re in the wrong place. This happens to be a private affair.”
“I think all affairs should remain private,” Ava replied. “Unless you’re definitely hot to marry the dude. Then it’s okay to tell your gal pals.”
Estelle’s eyes bugged out, her lips puckered, and she made an ugly sputtering sound. Then she spotted Carmela one step behind Ava and said, “Heavens to Betsy! This is your guest?”
“That’s right,” Carmela said. She recalled that Estelle was a good friend of Shamus’s sister, Glory. And that Estelle was severely allergic to peanuts. Carmela made a mental note to see if there were any peanuts to be found on the premises.
Jade Germaine, proud proprietor of Tea Party in a Box, was standing just inside the dining room, conferring with the catering manager. When she saw Carmela and Ava, she rushed over to give them both a big hug.
“Thanks for coming,” Jade said. She was over the moon with excitement. “Will you look at this high-class crowd? I sure hope my sweets and savories meet with their approval.”
“They’re going to love everything,” Carmela assured her.
“I owe this all to you,” Jade said. “Because you created such a fabulous scrapbook for me. That’s what got me this job.”
“Your own talent and personality won you this job,” Carmela said. “You’re the one with the smarts to match the right tea with the right pastry and tea sandwich. You’re the one who knows how to pretty up a tea table with gorgeous linens and china. Remember, I only showed you how to showcase your work.”
“And, from the looks of things, it’s terrific work,” Ava said, gazing at the half dozen or so tables that were already set up.
Each tea table was covered with a white linen tablecloth, trimmed with Venetian lace. Matching napkins were folded into elaborate bishop’s hats. The tables were set with Royal Albert Lady Carlyle china and Wallace Rose Point flatware. Flower arrangements of pink and white tea roses graced each table along with tiny tea lights in glass holders.
“Your arrangements look like something out of a magazine,” Carmela said.
“Ooh, thank you,” Jade said. She gave each of them a quick air kiss and said, “Wish me luck. I’m off to check on my scones.”
“Luck,” Ava said as Jade dashed off. Then, “Maybe we should mingle?”
“Maybe,” Carmela said. She noticed a pod of women staring curiously at Ava. “Or maybe not.” Maybe I shouldn’t have brought Ava along after all. Maybe I did her a terrible disservice.
“Oh, those ladies don’t bother me,” Ava said, practically reading Carmela’s mind. She dropped her voice. “You see that woman in the red suit? She looks like the serious decorator type who probably buys artisanal toilet paper.”
Carmela almost choked with laughter.
“And the one lady who’s wearing the gray sweater that looks like it’s made from mouse fur? She’s got what you’d call a bitchy resting face.”
“You sure know how to call them,” Carmela said, still chuckling. Then (thank goodness!) she recognized a familiar face and a skinny body. “Why, it’s Jenny Jewel.”
Jenny Jewel strolled over to greet them. She was gussied up in a white wool skirt suit with a jeweled pink flamingo pin on the lapel of her jacket.
“I thought I recognized a couple of familiar faces,” Jenny said. She pointed at Ava. “Ava. From the Reveillon dinner, right?”
Ava nodded. “And last night, too. Carmela and I
were sitting in a booth in Mumbo Gumbo when you walked in with your husband.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Jenny said. “Of course. You should have come over and said hello.” She smiled at Carmela. “You, too.”
“You looked like you were right in the middle of doing business,” Ava said.
“We were,” Jenny said. “Harvey and I had our work caps on. We were popping into all sorts of restaurants, really talking up our caviar, inviting the owners and managers to the big wine and caviar tasting Saturday night.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s our new product launch, don’t you know?”
“I just ran into your husband at Glissande’s Courtyard Restaurant,” Carmela said.
“They’re one of our newest accounts,” Jenny exclaimed. “We just adore Toby, their GM. He’s been awfully gracious and given us some very nice referrals.” She touched a hand to Carmela’s arm. “Tell me what table you two are sitting at, so I can join you.”
“I think the one with the pink teapot,” Carmela said.
“Perfect,” Jenny said. “You know, I was afraid this tea party would be all stuffy and staid. But with you two girls here I know it’ll be lively.” She glanced around. “But first I have to go make nice with Estelle Slawson. Gag.”
* * *
And there was yet another surprise guest. Helen McBride from Glutton for Punishment, looking casually ragged in a gray knit skirt and pink hoodie topper.
“Oh my goodness,” Carmela said to Helen. “What are you doing here?”
“Social climbing?” Helen said, then laughed heartily until her laugh turned into a hacking smoker’s cough. She fished a hankie from her pocket and held it to her mouth for a few seconds.
Carmela hurriedly introduced Helen to Ava, who, strangely enough, now seemed much more appropriately dressed.
“So,” Carmela said, her curiosity burning. “You just popped in for tea?”
“Honey,” Helen said, “I get invited to a ton of these things—charity dinners, tea parties, restaurant openings, wine tastings. If it’s a happening thing involving food, I get an invitation. It seems that everybody has high hopes of being written up by Glutton for Punishment.”
“Except if it’s a bad review,” Carmela said.
Helen frowned. “Ah, like I told you before, we’re trying to steer clear of those for now. Just too much controversy.”
“You’re talking about the nasty reviews Martin Lash wrote?” Ava asked. “Those must have stirred up some major trouble.”
“And it all landed—kersplat—on me,” Helen said. She made a big point of dusting her hands together. “But not anymore.”
Carmela decided to dig a little deeper. “So bygones are . . .”
“Never bygones,” Helen said. “Martin Lash may be dead and buried—at least I hope he is—but he’s still a toad, in my opinion.”
Carmela found Helen’s vitriol slightly alarming. “But what a strange death. To be stabbed with a meat fork . . .” She tried to look appropriately outraged. “I don’t suppose you were there that night? I mean, at the Winter Market?”
Helen gave her a strange look. “No, I was at home popping Pepcid AC. I’d been to so many fancy dinners and restaurant openings that past week my stomach needed a night off.”
The merry tinkle of a bell punctuated their conversation and alerted them to take their seats.
“Your friend Helen is a strange duck,” Ava said as they sat down at their table.
“But is she a murderous one?” Carmela wondered.
Then, like butterflies in a garden, four women in pastel suits converged upon their table. Including Jenny Jewel, who took a seat on the other side of Carmela. Waiters arrived suddenly, pouring tea and delivering gingerbread scones with Devonshire cream.
Carmela turned to Jenny Jewel. “With Mumbo Gumbo, Glissande’s, and your other new clients, I’m guessing the Jewel Caviar Company has gotten off to a rousing start.”
“Actually,” Jenny confided, “it’s been fantastic. We’ve written so many orders we’re kind of amazed. We thought caviar might be a difficult sell to restaurateurs but it hasn’t been at all.”
Ava leaned forward. “And you’re manufacturing your caviar right here?”
“We’re not manufacturing at all,” Jenny said. “We import in bulk from Finland and package the caviar in our plant just across the river in Gretna.”
“You know,” Carmela said, “you have a great opportunity to get a write-up on the Glutton for Punishment website. Helen McBride, the editor, is sitting just a couple of tables away. I could introduce you if you’d like.”
Jenny smiled. “Yes, I know Helen. You could call us nodding acquaintances.” Then she dropped her voice. “Wasn’t it a terrible thing about that Martin Lash business?”
“You’re referring to his murder?” Carmela wanted to be perfectly clear.
“The rumor I heard was that Lash was killed over one of his freelance reviews,” Jenny said. “Which is just incredibly shocking to me.” She looked thoughtful for a few moments as plates were whisked away and a three-tiered tea tray placed in the center of their table. Then she said, “You probably don’t know this, but I’m on the board of directors for the Environmental Justice League.”
“Are you serious?” Carmela had been reaching for a tiny chicken salad sandwich and almost fumbled it. “So you must have known Martin Lash quite well.”
“I knew him slightly. Since I’m relatively new to the board and had only attended three meetings. Though I have to say, I understand some of his tactics were a bit rough, that he tended to strong-arm people. And I heard that he was forever threatening lawsuits or holding demonstrations.”
“He must have been a passionate man,” Carmela said.
“Yes,” Jenny said. “If Martin Lash thought you were causing damage to the environment, he was not above bringing a mob to picket your business for all the world to see.”
“So now that Lash is gone, there’ll no doubt be some major changes.”
Jenny sighed. “I hope so anyway. For the better.”
“Josh Cotton seems to be the heir apparent,” Carmela said. “Do you have faith in him as an executive director?”
“I think so. Josh seems like far more of a consensus-builder. He doesn’t have that do-it-my-way attitude. He’d rather use a carrot than a stick.”
Carmela was fascinated with Jenny Jewel’s connection to Lash and wanted to find out more.
“I understand that before Lash, um, died, Josh Cotton was talking to some of the board members about changing the direction of the group.”
“That’s true,” Jenny said. “But in a good way. A thoughtful way. Josh wanted the group to become a real part of the community. He felt it had been perceived as too much of an outside agitator and wanted to soften the image.” She hesitated. “It sounds like you’ve done some investigation into Martin Lash’s murder.”
“It’s just that I’m . . . interested,” Carmela said. She didn’t feel the need to tell Jenny Jewel that she’d seen Martin Lash breathe his last.
Jenny fingered her teacup. “Uh-huh.”
The waiter returned and was hovering at their table with a blue and white Chinese teapot. “For this course we’re serving a Chinese black tea with apple cinnamon spice,” he told them.
“No apple tea toddy?” Ava asked, while all around her the ladies tittered politely.
“I’m afraid not,” the waiter said as his face reddened slightly.
Carmela wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed over Ava’s “tea toddy” remark or because he’d been looking down her cleavage.
“You know,” Jenny said, “I wouldn’t mind a toddy myself.”
Which broke the ice and made everyone laugh in a nice, friendly way.
* * *
When Carmela finally returned to Memory Mine late in the day, Gabby was all over her.
>
“How did it go? Who all was there?” Gabby asked. She’d just been helping a customer select a number of rubber stamps with holiday themes.
“It couldn’t have gone better,” Carmela said. “During the final course Ava started talking about a new leather bar that had just opened in the Bywater District and she had everyone pretty much shocked and eating out of the palm of her hand. I could have danced around the room in my birthday suit and nobody would have noticed. It was great.”
“Glad to hear it. Was Glory Meechum there?”
“Thank goodness, no. Maybe she went off her meds again and is hiding under the bedcovers.” She glanced around. “Anything happening here?”
“We were just busy, busy, busy,” Gabby said. “Everyone’s gearing up for the holidays. Oh, and a few customers wanted to know about upcoming classes, so you might want to work on that sooner than later.”
“I hear you,” Carmela said. She shuffled off to her office and flopped down in her chair. She spun the chair from side to side, looking at the sketches and ideas she had tacked to her walls. She’d gazed at them the other day, but hadn’t really translated anything into an actual class. But now that the pressure was on . . .
Her eyes lit on some old sheet music. Maybe she could do a collage class right after the holidays? Yes, that might fit well between New Year’s and Mardi Gras.
And then there was the cigar box class she wanted to teach. Decorating or decoupaging wooden cigar boxes to use as purses or trinket boxes. And paper sachets. And masks with mojo. She really had to start working on all those classes as well.
Carmela was staring at her desk calendar, trying to come up with a reasonable schedule for the new classes when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID.
Babcock? No, the number wasn’t familiar.
“Hello?” Carmela said. “This is Carmela Bertrand. How can I help you?”
“Perhaps it’s I who can help you,” came a familiar voice.
“Who’s I?”
