Crepe Factor (18 page)

“Still,” Cotton said, “the Meechums are a wonderful family. So generous and civic-minded.”

As Cotton prattled on, praising his benefactors, Carmela wondered if he was the one who'd tried to break into Martin Lash's house two nights ago—after they had already broken in. “I was wondering,” she said, interrupting him again, “if you're familiar with the developer Trent Trueblood?”

“The man who's building the Parson's Point Townhomes,” Cotton said immediately. “Of course I know
of
him, but I've never met the man personally.”

“As far as you know, the town houses won't interfere with the ecology of the area?” Carmela asked.

Cotton seemed to weigh her question. “I'm sure they'll have some impact, but our organization isn't putting up any
opposition to them. Not to my knowledge, anyway. It's only a few smaller homes surrounded by protected land.” He cleared his throat and peered at her. “You ask a lot of questions, don't you?”

“I'm a curious sort of person,” Carmela told him. She wondered if Cotton was relieved that the lawsuit Martin Lash had filed against Trueblood would now be dropped. And if he was relieved, why would that be?

But before she could ask another question, Cotton held up his wineglass and rocked it back and forth.

“Time for a refill,” Cotton said. And walked away.

“He wasn't very friendly,” Ava said.

“He doesn't like to answer questions,” Carmela said.

But twenty minutes later, Carmela and Ava were also ready to walk away. Because, seriously, how long can you guzzle cheap white wine and pretend to be intrigued by so-so amateur photos and paintings?

But Ava being Ava, she didn't want to call it a night just yet. So Carmela suggested they stop at Mumbo Gumbo for a nightcap.

*   *   *

Quigg Brevard was standing near the bar when Carmela and Ava walked in. His dark eyes lit up at the sight of Carmela.

“My evening has reached maximum perfection when two lovelies such as yourselves show up at my restaurant,” Quigg said in his trademark big-cat growl.

“Oh, you are so full of it,” Carmela said. But did she mean to put him down? Or was she a little bit flattered? She wasn't sure.

Wearing a perfectly tailored navy blue Armani suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, Quigg moved to greet them.
He gently took each of their hands and raised it to his lips. Then he pulled Carmela into a tight bear hug and startled her with a light but serious kiss on the lips.

Oh my!

Then Quigg steered Carmela and Ava to a giant black leather bumper car booth. “Just tuck in here,” he told them, “while I see about some drinks and appetizers.”

“Nice to have a man who takes charge,” Ava said as she settled into the plush booth.

“But he's trying to take charge of my life,” Carmela said.

Ava gave a conspiratorial wink. “Oh, come on, you like it a little, don't you?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Just relax and enjoy the attention. Think of Quigg as a little somethin' on the side.”

“I think Quigg would prefer to be my main course.” Carmela leaned back and looked around. Mumbo Gumbo was a hip restaurant with sun-washed brick walls, sleek eggplant-colored bar, giant potted palm trees, and wicker ceiling fans that spun lazily overhead. “Louisiana Christmas Day” played discreetly over the sound system.

Quigg was back a few minutes later with a platter of cranberry crab cakes and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label Brut.

“Say now,” Ava said as Quigg poured champagne into crystal flutes. “This is pretty fancy.”

“Only the best for you ladies,” he said, but he was smiling at Carmela. “Now please enjoy.” He squeezed into the booth and sat close to Carmela.

Carmela was ready to hit the panic button. Coming here had been a bad idea—why hadn't she seen that? Babcock could come storm-troopering in at any moment. Or he could
have undercover officers watching the place. Then where would she be? Maybe . . . maybe the best thing to do would be to bring up Babcock and put Quigg on the defensive.

“Babcock's been doing a fair amount of investigating,” Carmela said. “And he's discovered that the fork the killer stuck in Martin Lash's neck is the same type used in your kitchen.”

Quigg leaned back and rested his right arm along the back edge of the booth, precariously close to Carmela's shoulders. “Pretty much every kitchen in Louisiana uses the same brand. It means nothing.”

“Actually, it does mean something,” Carmela said. “It means you're still a suspect.” She wondered why Quigg was suddenly so casual about this.

Quigg waved off her suggestion. “Me and who else?”

“You really want to know?” Carmela held up an index finger. “First we have Allan Hurst, owner of Fat Lorenzo's.”

“Lash's horrible review must have cost Hurst a fortune,” Quigg said.

“Hurst also had a booth at the Winter Market, not that far from yours.” Carmela held up another finger. “Then there's Josh Cotton.” At Quigg's questioning look, she explained. “He's one of the officers in Martin Lash's environmental group. And let me tell you, they did not get along.”

“We just left him at the Napoleon Gallery,” Ava said, munching a crab cake. “Cotton acted all nicey nice about Lash, but I'm not buying it.”

“You've actually done some serious investigating,” Quigg said. “I'm impressed.”

“And do you know Trent Trueblood?” Carmela asked.

“I've heard the name,” Quigg said. “He's some sort of real estate developer?”

“Exactly,” Carmela said. “Against whom Martin Lash
personally filed a lawsuit. Except now Lash is dead so the lawsuit goes away.”

“Poof,” Ava said.

A slow smile spread across Quigg's face. “Carmela, you are amazing—all the information you've dug out, I'm impressed. You have to keep working on this. You're going to clear me yet.”

“Only if Babcock doesn't kill me first,” Carmela muttered.

“You?” Quigg said. “Noooo.”

Carmela shook her head. “He's ready to hawk a rat at me.”

“But I need you!” Quigg said, his self-preservation kicking in big-time. “Look how much you've figured out. You're a regular Agatha Christie.” He picked up the bottle of champagne and refilled their glasses. “What I want to know . . .” His eyes flicked over toward the bar and he said, “Hold everything, I've got to run over and talk to those people.”

Carmela followed his gaze. Harvey and Jenny Jewel were standing near the bar, looking around. “Those people?” she said. “The caviar people?”

“You know them?” Quigg asked.

“I was just introduced to them at the Reveillon dinner this past Saturday night,” Carmela said.

“Harrison knows them real well,” Ava said. She made goo-goo eyes at Quigg. “You remember my sweetie, don't you?”

“Sure,” Quigg said. “The rich kid.”

Ava grinned. “That's right.”

“Well, the Jewels have a new company that's sourcing some wonderful caviar,” Quigg said. “From Finland, I understand.” He slid away from Carmela, ready to get up. “I'm about to order an entire case for the holidays.”

“Go for it,” Carmela said. She was happy to be rid of him.

Ava picked up the bottle of Veuve and said, “Ready for another glass,
cher
?”

Chapter 18

“Y
OU'RE
here nice and early,” Gabby said as she let herself into Memory Mine and turned on the lights in the front window.

Carmela was bent over the craft table in back, working on a half dozen paper luminaries. Rulers, scissors, X-acto knives, and tape were spread out all around her. A hot glue gun, looking like a high-tech hair dryer, stood at the ready.

“Tell me about it,” Carmela said. “I know it's weird that I'm here. Thursday's usually my late day when I swing by Century Printing and pick up orders for our customers. But I promised Toby Brewer a set of luminaries, so here I am. I've just got to get these done.” Toby Brewer was the manager of Glissande's Courtyard Restaurant, located directly across the street from Memory Mine. Toby had seen the Halloween luminaries Carmela had created (bats with grinning faces)
and fallen in love with them. Now, much to her distraction, he'd ordered a set of Christmas-themed luminaries for the restaurant.

“You're a regular little workaholic,” Gabby said.

Carmela shook her head. “Not really. Truth is, I've been putting this project off for weeks. And now . . . well, I'm behind the eight ball.”

Gabby smiled. “But I bet you still went to the Art and Wine Stroll last night.”

Carmela ducked her head. Caught like a rat in a trap. “Well . . . yeah. But only because Ava coerced me.”

“And only because you wanted to poke around and investigate some more.”

Carmela put up a hand to smooth her hair, which she worried needed a trim. “Funny you should mention that.”

Gabby slipped her tweed coat off and laid it on the counter. “What?”

“We ran into Josh Cotton, the second-in-command at the Environmental Justice League.”

Gabby made a rolling motion with her hands. “And . . . ?”

“And I still think he's a viable suspect.”

“You think everybody's a suspect. How many people are on your list so far?”

“Four?” Carmela said in a small voice.

“There you go.”

*   *   *

Customers dropped in, a large order of scrapbook paper was delivered, and still Carmela continued to work. Luckily, Gabby handled everything with ease and a deft touch as Carmela painstakingly cut shooting stars into her twelve-by-eighteen-inch sheets of specially ordered red cardstock. When the stars were finally done, she perforated
each sheet along the top and bottom. When assembled, those perfs would emit tiny pinpricks of light.

The hard part, the cutting part, finally done, Carmela folded each sheet into a five-sided lantern and carefully glued it at the seam. A handle went on the top of the luminary, then a strand of silver silk ribbon, accented with silk leaves and a sprig of artificial holly, was tied around the middle of the luminary.

Between customers, Gabby had been over to check on Carmela's progress. When she saw the luminaries were all but finished, she said, “Those look fantastic. Now all you need to do is put a candle inside.”

“To test one,” Carmela said. “And hope that the design is perfect.”

“Then let's do it.”

“You mean light a candle and turn off the lights? But we've got customers.”

Gabby turned to face the four customers who were browsing racks of paper. “Ladies,” she said sweetly, “do you mind if I turn out the lights for two seconds? We're testing a paper luminary.”

Nobody minded. In fact, everyone crowded around to see. So Carmela lit a candle inside one of the luminaries and Gabby doused the lights.

Perfection. The red lantern emitted a warm glow, the stars twinkled, and the tiny perfs cast just the right amount of light.

“That's just fantastic,” one of the customers marveled. “Could you show me how to make a couple of those?”

“Of course,” Carmela said.

Another woman squinted at the luminary. “Looks hard.”

“Not really,” Carmela said. “All you have to do is follow my pattern.”

*   *   *

Carmela was halfway through her Cobb salad from Pirate's Alley Deli when she looked at Gabby and said, “Why don't we close up shop and have you join me this afternoon?”

“What?” Gabby said, blotting her mouth. “At the tea party?”

“Sure. You're kind of a fancy-pants society-type gal.”

“Oh no, I'm not.”

“Well, you at least went to a private school. And you know all about tea drinking.”

“So do you, Carmela. What do you think you've been ordering from the Indigo Tea Shop in Charleston these past couple of years? Sawdust?”

“That's completely different. It's one thing to pick up the phone, order Assam or Darjeeling tea that comes in colorful tins, and charge it to your Visa card. It's another matter entirely to get all gussied up in a ladylike suit and pearls and attend a formal tea party.”

Gabby was bemused that Carmela seemed so nervous. “Oh please, you must have been to tea before.”

“Maybe once at Baby's house. But that was just tea and cookies between friends. And Sampson, her pet snapping turtle.”

“Didn't two of Shamus's aunts hold an engagement tea for you?”

“Yes, they did. Aunt Eulalie and Aunt Philomena from over near Slidell. Two little ladies who smelled like mothballs and, according to family legend, may or may not have accidently smothered their younger brother to death sometime back in the late '50s. But I was so nervous I hid in the butler's pantry the whole afternoon and nipped at the sherry. Please, won't you come with me?”

“You want to just close up shop right during our busy time? Our peak season?”

Gabby made a good point. “I guess not,” Carmela said.

“I've got an idea. Why don't you take Ava along? If you've got her as your wingman, nobody will give you a second look.”

Carmela considered this. First it sounded preposterous. Then it sounded absurd. Then, the more she thought about it, the whole idea sounded downright doable. “That's actually a very clever idea,” she said slowly.

Gabby looked amused. “I thought you might like it.”

“I'm going to call Ava right now and tell her to get changed.”

“Changed? Oh no,” Gabby said. “If Ava's going to function as your smoke screen, then you want her to show up in her full-blown leopard-and-leather glory.”

“Looking like a streetwalker.”

“If the stiletto fits, yes.”

*   *   *

When Carmela figured the luncheon crowd (usually high-test brokers and bankers keeping watch over family fortunes) had finally departed Glissande's, she put her six luminaries in a cardboard box and carried them across the street.

“Knock, knock,” she said as she stood in the entryway. Nobody was in sight. The hostess stand was abandoned and she couldn't see a single soul left eating in the elegant dining room. She stepped into the bar. Nobody there, either. No broker or banker knocking back a final finger of bourbon. But she could hear faint voices coming from the back of the restaurant.

Carmela threaded her way through the dining room, which was old-world glamour personified. Decorated in a French palette of pale blue, eggshell white, and yellow, the
room was both posh and plush. White linens graced the tables, diners sat on richly upholstered high-backed chairs. Windows were swagged with linen draperies, and bunches of dried lavender and white roses were arranged in enormous French crocks.

Toby Brewer's office was down a long hallway, just past two private dining rooms. The carpet was whisper soft and she could hear voices talking a little louder now.

“Mr. Brewer,” Carmela called out. “Toby?”

Just then, Cortina Clark, the restaurant's catering manager, stepped out of her office. Cortina was a petite African American woman with sepia-colored hair and wide-set oval brown eyes. Today she was dressed in an elegant paprika-colored skirt suit. When she recognized Carmela she broke into a welcoming smile. “Carmela. What are you doing here?”

Carmela offered her box of luminaries for inspection. “Delivering Toby's luminaries, I hope.”

“I'm pretty sure he's in his office,” Cortina said, turning to lead the way. She pushed open Toby's door and said, “Toby, Carmela's here to see you.”

“Send her in,” came Toby's muffled voice.

“Go on in,” Cortina said. And with a whisper of Dior perfume she was gone.

Toby met Carmela at the door. “My topiaries,” he said when he looked in the box.

“Luminaries,” Carmela said.

“Ah, right. Well, come on in and set them down.” Toby backed up and began clearing a space on top of his messy desk.

As Carmela entered his office, she saw that he wasn't alone. A distinguished-looking man in a pinstriped suit lounged in the club chair that faced Toby's desk.

“Excuse me,” Carmela said. “I didn't realize you had a visitor.”

“Not a problem,” Toby said. “We were just finishing up.” He smiled at Carmela and said, “Do you know Harvey Jewel?”

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.