Crepe Factor (23 page)

“You know, you're the second person in here this week to ask about these forks.”

Carmela was instantly jerked back to the here and now. “Who else asked?”

Ned scrunched up his face. “A police detective by the name of Gallant. He was quite interested because . . .” Looking uncomfortable now, he let his voice trail off. “Well, because . . .”

“Because of the murder,” Carmela said. “At the Winter Market.”

“You know about that?” Ned shook his head. “Hell of a strange thing.”

“Tell me about it,” Carmela said. “I was there.”

*   *   *

Just as Carmela approached the front door of her apartment, she did a quick about-face. She crossed the courtyard and slipped in the back door of Juju Voodoo. She hadn't talked to Ava all day, so her friend had no idea of the horrible murder that had taken place in Boothville the previous night. Time to clue her in.

Ava was standing behind the counter, busily arranging red and blue moon goddess pendants and earrings. She looked vaguely Christmasy in her bright red plastic bustier paired with a dark green leather skirt. Her four-inch stiletto sandals had white furry pom-poms on the toes.

“Are those pom-poms on your toes or did you just mug a bunny rabbit?” Carmela asked.

Ava looked up and dimpled prettily. “Be careful. You might just find a pair of these tucked under your Christmas tree.”

“Be still my heart.”

“Speaking of which, what's the latest on your love life? Still two-timing Messieurs Babcock and Brevard?” Ava fluttered a hand to her chest. “And I say that with the utmost respect, no judgment intended.”

“Things have taken a slightly wacky turn,” Carmela said.

Ava's eyes twinkled. “What? In your life? Nooo.”

Carmela drew a deep breath and proceeded to give Ava a blow-by-blow description of what took place the previous night. The dead guy, the blood and gore, the slow-talking cop, and, finally, Babcock swooping in for the coup de grâce
rescue with a modicum of screaming and scolding on the side. When she'd finally finished her tale of woe, Ava's eyes were bugged out and her mouth hung open.

“Wha . . . so somebody whacked your real estate guy?” Ava squeaked. “Seriously?”

“Either that or it was a very elaborate hoax and the joke's on me.”

Ava sped around the counter, swept Carmela into her arms, and gave her a big, squeezy hug. “Doggone it, I knew I shouldn't have let you go down there all by yourself!”

“I wasn't exactly alone. A crazed killer put in an appearance just before I got there.”

Ava gave a final squeeze and then gawked at her. “So who do you think did it? I mean, why was this Trueblood guy stabbed?”

“I don't know. There must be some connection to Martin Lash that we don't know about . . .”

“Besides the defunct lawsuit,” Ava said.

“Besides that. Or maybe Babcock's theory is correct after all. He thinks Trueblood might have been embroiled in a horrible dispute with one of his contractors and things turned ugly.”

Ava put up a hand and twirled a twisty gold earring. “It all sounds very weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And Babcock was furious with you for going down there? He completely exploded?”

“About a seven-point-nine on the Richter scale.”

“So what's
your
theory about this second murder?” Ava asked. “You're the one who's a regular little Nancy Drew.”

Carmela held up both hands, then dropped them to her sides. “I don't know. I've turned it over in my head a million times and I still can't figure it.”

“The connection I see is that Martin Lash lived down near the bayou and Trueblood was building townhomes there.”

“Isn't that what a clever lawyer would call
circumstantial evidence
?” Carmela asked.

Ava shrugged. “I don't know. I'm not very legal. Legal-minded, anyway.”

Carmela held up an index finger. “There is one other thing that links them.”

“What's that?”

“They were both murdered with Bocker cutlery.”

Ava eyed Carmela carefully. “So you're saying maybe a chef did it? You think it was that Fat Lorenzo's guy? What was his name again?”

“Allan Hurst.”

“Or what about that woman at the tea party who dresses like a cover girl for
Muscle Magazine
? The one who's connected to the food website?”

“Helen McBride.”

“Could the killer have been either one of those two characters?” Ava asked.

Carmela shrugged. “I don't know. Both of them hated Lash with a vengeance, but I can't imagine that either of them was remotely acquainted with Trueblood. So your guess is as good as mine.”

Ava frowned. “I don't have a guess.”

“Well, there you go. It looks like we're still up a creek without a paddle.”

Chapter 23

C
ARMELA
walked back across the flagstone courtyard toward the appealing solitude of her apartment. She figured she had just enough time to flake out and take a nap before she had to get dressed up and walk the dogs down to Jackson Square. After she handed them off to Shamus she'd hopefully meet up with Babcock and they'd . . .

She stopped short when the leaves on her banana palm began to tremble and shake.

“Who's there?” Carmela called out. What she was really thinking was,
What now?

The palm shook again as Quigg Brevard stepped out of the lengthening shadows.

“This is getting to be a bad habit of yours,” Carmela said. She decided she was also honor bound to discourage it.

Quigg grabbed her by both arms. “I had to see you, Carmela. I know you've been avoiding me and, believe me, it's been torture. May I come in?” He threw a hopeful glance at her front door. “Just for a few minutes so we can talk? We need to catch up.”

Visions of Babcock danced in Carmela's head. He definitely wouldn't approve of her spending any time with Quigg, much less any time alone with him in her apartment. Still, Quigg had materialized of his own accord and they did have a few things to talk about. Trent Trueblood being one.

“Well?” Quigg said.

Carmela made a hasty decision. She knew that Babcock was busy at work, defending the city from evildoers, so he probably wouldn't show up unexpectedly. Thus, she was safe. For now.

“Okay,” she said, unlocking the door. “But just for a couple of minutes. I have to deliver my dogs to my ex and then I've got a date.”

“My, my, such a full social schedule,” Quigg said.

Carmela turned around and said, “Be nice.” Then she pushed open the door. As she knew they would, Boo and Poobah flung themselves at her, kissing, licking, dancing, and whining. When they suddenly noticed Quigg standing behind her, they stopped and gave him a chilly look. A look that clearly said,
Who dat?

“It's okay, babies,” Carmela said. “He's just a friend.”

“
Just
a friend?” Quigg said as he walked into her apartment and looked around. “Mmn.” He spun in a half circle. “Nice. Cozy.”

Carmela gestured toward the dining room and pointed at a cane-backed chair. “Why don't you have a seat over there while I take care of these two rascals.”

Quigg ignored her direction and plopped himself down on
the leather sofa in the living room, acting as if he owned the place. “You've fixed the place up since I was here last,” he said. “Upgraded the furniture and bought some nice artwork.”

“Hard to resist with all the galleries around here,” Carmela said. “And the settlement from the divorce helped, too.” She poured food into the dogs' bowls and gave them pans of fresh water.

“Where do you keep your wine? Oh, never mind, I see the wine rack.” Quigg stood up, stretched languidly, and moved into the dining room. His fingers moved across the wine rack, almost judgmentally, until he finally found a bottle he approved of. “This looks like a decent rosé.” He walked into the kitchen. “Have you ever tried Domaine Chandon Étoile Rosé? It's California grown, but it could easily pass for Italian. Corkscrew?”

Carmela pulled open a drawer and passed him a corkscrew. She flattened herself against the refrigerator, feeling stressed. Feeling uncomfortable that the two of them were smooshed so close together in her tiny kitchen.

“Why don't you take the wine into the dining room?” Carmela said. “I'll bring in the glasses.” She ushered Quigg out of the kitchen and grabbed a silver tray. She placed coasters, cocktail napkins, and two wineglasses on the tray and carried it into the living room.

Quigg had put the opened bottle of wine on the coffee table and was once again sprawled on the sofa, legs crossed and an arm stretched across the sofa back as if waiting for Carmela to snuggle in.

Carmela placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down primly in a small leather club chair that was conveniently out of Quigg's reach.

Quigg picked up the bottle and poured them each a glass of wine. As he passed one of the glasses to Carmela he
said, “I called you earlier today. Not only did you avoid taking my call, you didn't bother calling me back.”

Carmela wasn't about to take criticism, not after all she'd been through on his behalf. “Quigg, did it ever occur to you that I have a personal life as well as a business to run? I can't always be at your beck and call.”

“You don't want to be my beck-and-call girl?”

“Quigg!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He held up a hand, chuckling. “Bad joke. You know that I appreciate everything you've done for me.”

Carmela continued to glower at him.

“I do, I really do.”

“Glad to hear it,” Carmela said. “And please chew on this. In case you haven't already heard, last night I went down to Boothville to meet with Trent Trueblood.”

“The real estate guy, yeah. You said you were gonna check him out.”

“That's right. Only when I got there, Trueblood was dead. Somebody had stuck him with a butcher knife and he bled out on the floor of his shiny new sales office.”

Stunned by her words, Quigg rose up from his seat and leaned toward Carmela, but she put up a hand to ward him off.

“No, Quigg, sit down and let me finish.”

Carmela filled him in about calling the local sheriff, then making the decision that she pretty much had to call Babcock. Quigg whistled and rolled his eyes at that part.

“As you might have guessed,” Carmela said, “Babcock's coming down there precipitated a horrible fight between the two of us. Which ended with him telling me to unconditionally back off on any kind of investigation.”

Quigg moved his wineglass around, making little wet circles on her coffee table. “I suppose you can't blame him
for being worried. I mean . . . a second murder?” Her words finally seemed to be sinking in. “My Lord, Carmela,
you
could have been the one who was killed!”

“I know that.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their wine.

Finally, when Quigg thought an appropriate amount of time had passed, he gave her a puppy dog look. “Carmela, what about me?”

She shot him a hard look. “What about you?”

“You've been an incredible help so far in clearing my name and narrowing down some potential suspects. Why, if it wasn't for you, I'd probably be sitting in jail by now.”

“Don't flatter yourself, Quigg. They're not nearly ready to drag you to the slammer.”

“No, I'm serious!”

“Quigg, are you listening to me? I don't see what more I can do . . .”

“You can keep on digging, that's what you can do,” Quigg urged. “You must be incredibly close to finding the murderer.” He was getting agitated now. “I mean . . . you scheduled a meeting with Trueblood and then . . . wham! Somebody goes and kills him. That's just amazing—you have to be on the right track!”

“More like being on the right track to becoming the next victim!” Carmela yelped. She said it so loudly that both dogs bounded over to make sure she was okay. “Would that suit you, Quigg? If they found the killer standing over my body and a meat fork dripping with blood, would you finally feel exonerated?”

Boo and Poobah cast stern doggy looks at Quigg.

“Carmela, you know I didn't mean to imply anything of the sort. Heck, your safety is
everything
to me,” Quigg said hastily. “It would shatter me if something happened to you.”

Now the dogs glanced back at Carmela as if the ball was in her court.

“Oh jeez,” Carmela said. Where
was
this conversation going?

Quigg leaned forward and said, in a hushed whisper, “And what about our personal relationship? Did our kiss the other night mean nothing to you? Carmela, I have feelings for you. Genuine feelings.”

This was the moment Carmela had been dreading, the moment she hoped would never come. But here it was, sitting in front of her like a giant meatball plopped on top of a plate of spaghetti.

“Quigg,” she said, picking her words carefully, “you are a dear friend. I will always hold you special in my heart, but I am truly in love with Babcock.”

Quigg waved a hand as if completely dismissing her words along with her feelings for Babcock. “Carmela, I know you believe you and Babcock are meant for each other, but I know that isn't true. You won't be with him forever. So until then, my dear, I'm prepared to wait.” He flashed her a triumphant look. “For as long as it takes. Because I know my day will come.”

Carmela reached over and patted his hand. “I don't think so.”

Quigg smiled confidently. “Oh, but I do. Which is why I know you're going to keep helping me.”

“Quigg, I don't dare.”

“I know you're not going to abandon me. Even if your investigation has to be incredibly covert.” Quigg picked up his wine, drained his glass, and stood up. “So thank you, my dear. Thank you for still believing in me. For still going out of your way to help me.”

“Don't thank me, Quigg. It's not like that.” Carmela stood up.

Quigg took two steps toward her. “How would you like to be thanked, Carmela? Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“No!”

Watching them eagerly now, Boo and Poobah both wagged their tails.

“Stop that!” Carmela told the dogs. “Don't you dare give him an ounce of encouragement.”

“Smart dogs,” Quigg grinned. And with that he strode out of her apartment.