Gilt Trip (4 page)

Carmela bristled a bit. Who'd been talking behind her back?

“Who on earth told you that?” she asked Margo.

Margo drained the rest of her tea in one gulp. “If you really must know, it was Jekyl Hardy.”

“Ah,” said Carmela. That explained it.

Jekyl Hardy was an antique appraiser, premier Mardi Gras float builder, and one of Carmela's bestest, closest friends. But when it came to spreading gossip and the rumor du jour, Jekyl was worse than a runaway train. He yapped to the Pluvius krewe as well as confided in the Rex krewe. Then he confabbed with his friends at the New Orleans Museum of Art as well as every antique dealer up and down Royal Street. If a yellow dog happened to wander across his path, Jekyl would probably talk to him, too.

“I'm flattered that Jekyl thinks so highly of me,” said Carmela. “But there's absolutely no way I can get involved. You see, I promised Detective Babcock—”

Margo's perfectly waxed brows rose in twin arcs. “Babcock?” she hooted. “Who's this Babcock person? I thought Detective Gallant was in charge!”

Carmela cringed inwardly. No way did she want to share the details of her love life with this much-married Garden District doyenne.

“He's . . . um . . .” She wasn't about to tell Margo that Babcock was her honey, so she said, “Detective Babcock is Detective Gallant's superior officer.”

“And you're well acquainted with this Babcock person?”

“Ah . . . yes, I am,” said Carmela. She noticed that Gabby had moved a few steps closer to them. Gabby was obviously caught up in Margo's plight and seemed distraught that Carmela was reluctant to help.

“He's Carmela's boyfriend,” Gabby said suddenly in a small, squeaky voice.

Margo's eyes lit up and she smacked her fist against the counter, jangling her armload of bangles. “That's absolutely perfect!” The jangling seemed to please Margo because she repeated her gesture again saying, “Now I really must insist! It would appear you're privy to all sorts of information!”

“No,” said Carmela, backpedaling. “I'm not privy to anything at all.”

Gabby crept forward some more. “Couldn't you just help her a little?” she asked.

Carmela threw a horrified look at Gabby, who was gazing at her with pleading eyes. Unfortunately, the balance of power in the room had just subtly shifted. Now it was two against one.

Carmela pressed her lips closed as the silence grew deafening. She wished for a customer, a delivery person, anyone, to come galloping in and interrupt this bizarre standoff.

“Please?” Margo said in a cajoling voice.

“Please?” said Gabby. “You know you're good at this.”

Carmela released the sigh she'd had bottled up inside her. “I'll
think
about it,” she said, reluctance heavy in her voice.

Margo was suddenly jubilant. “I
knew
you wouldn't let me down!” she cried. She clasped her hands together and smiled at Gabby. Tears leaked from her eyes.

“Mmn,” said Carmela.
What did I just get myself into?

“Come to my house tomorrow morning,” said Margo. “And I'll pull together a list of names for you.”

“You mean names from the party or names of people who hated Jerry Earl?” Carmela asked.

Margo weighed her question for a few moments. “Both, I suppose.”

“Sure,” said Carmela. “Whatever.” Anything to extricate herself from this unnerving conversation.

But Margo was thrilled beyond belief that Carmela had climbed on board to fight her cause. She smiled, sniffled, snuffled, and wiped her eyes with a tissue. Then her gaze fell upon the shadow box that Carmela had been working on. She poked a bejeweled finger at it and said, “What is this sweet little thing?”

The wooden frame box, which had been artfully spackled with blue and cream paint, was about two inches deep and held bits of torn paper, a bouquet of dried flowers, a tiny bird's nest, and a small blue and pink feathered bird.

Carmela picked up the shadow box carefully. “It's just one of the many crafts we do here. Scrapbooking isn't just about photos and albums, you know. You can create memories or celebrate a person or event with all sorts of things—shadow boxes, miniature albums, collages, scrapped jewelry, you name it.”

Margo reached out a finger and gently stroked the box. “It's lovely.”

“Thank you,” said Carmela.

“No, thank
you
,” said Margo. She turned a relieved smile on Gabby again. “And thank you, my dear, for being so helpful. For being on my side.”

“No problem,” said Gabby.

“So tomorrow,” said Margo, turning back to Carmela.

“Tomorrow,” said Carmela.

“Bless you,” said Margo. She gave a shy wave then pushed and jangled her way out the front door.

When they were finally alone, Carmela pointed a finger at Gabby. “You were
not
helpful.”

“Carmela, please,” said Gabby. “You're good at what you do. The investigating part, I mean. So why not put it to good use?”

“Maybe because it always gets me in a heap of trouble?”

“Not always,” said Gabby.

Carmela turned the shadow box over and studied it absently. “And just how am I supposed to figure out this murder anyway? I don't have a clue in the world about where to start!”

“I know you'll think of something,” said Gabby. “Besides, your meeting with Margo tomorrow should be helpful. Especially if she puts together a kind of hit list.”

“Or in her case, a shit list,” Carmela mumbled to herself.

L
UCKILY,
they got busy. Customers trickled into the shop looking for paper, charms, albums, and rubber stamps.

While Gabby rang up sales at the front counter, Carmela helped one of their regular customers, a woman named Mindy, find some rubber stamps and ephemera for her travel scrapbook project.

“You see,” said Mindy, “I've got all these great photos of Rome and Venice and I'm just not sure how to organize them.”

“You want an entire album devoted to your trip?” asked Carmela.

Mindy nodded as she fingered a small album. “I think so, yes.”

“Well, that album you have in your hand would work beautifully,” Carmela pointed out. The album had a pebbled brown cover and was eight-and-one-half inches by ten inches in size. “You could mount one of your photos on the front cover using a sheet of GlueFilm.”

“I've got a great photo of some Roman statuary,” said Mindy.

“Perfect,” said Carmela. “You mount the photo under GlueFilm to protect it and make it semi-permanent, then color the edges with bronze or gold paint to simulate the look of a frame. Then you simply glue it to the cover.”

“So that sets the tone for the interior, too?”

“It can,” said Carmela. “In fact, I've got some sheets of scrapbook paper with neat travel images on them. And I know we've got a packet of ephemera here that contains some Italian postage stamps.”

“Perfect!” said Mindy.

Carmela hummed to herself as she unpacked a box of rubber stamps. She was happy she could help inspire her customers. It was always gratifying to get them pointed in the right direction on a fun creative project.

On the other hand, some projects were not fun. Case in point, helping Margo Leland. If Babcock found out . . . well, he
couldn't
find out! It was as simple as that. If he found out she was pussyfooting around the investigation, he'd blow a gasket. And that was never pretty.

“Carmela?” Gabby had tiptoed up behind her.

“Hmm?” She was still a little miffed at Gabby for insinuating herself in the Margo Leland conversation.

“Want me to run down to Pirate's Alley Deli and get you a po-boy for lunch? One with fried oysters?”

Carmela gazed at Gabby. “That's not really playing fair.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Gabby was suddenly all smiles and innocence.

“You know that's my all-time fave.”

“Then that's what I better pick up.” Gabby gestured toward the front of the shop. “You can keep an eye on things?”

“Natch,” said Carmela. It was hard staying mad at Gabby. She really was a terrific assistant. With good intentions and a heart as big as all outdoors.

By the time Carmela located a fleur-de-lis rubber stamp for a customer, cut a swath of purple velvet ribbon for another, and gave tips to two more women on how to create a fiber art collage, Gabby was back.

She thrust a brown paper bag into Carmela's hands and dashed back up to the front counter.

Feeling a rumble in her stomach, knowing what juicy goodness was dripping away inside her paper sack, Carmela retreated to her office for a quick lunch. As she unwrapped the po-boy sandwich, she mulled over the events of the morning. Exactly how was she going to investigate Jerry Earl's murder without alerting Babcock and throwing him into a tizzy? Her sandwich, dripping cole slaw and mayonnaise from beneath the toasted bun, was certainly a delicious mess. Just like poking her nose into the investigation would likely be.

Hmm.

Delicately lifting the top bun, Carmela popped a fried oyster into her mouth. And licked her fingers. Oh well, some things were just meant to be messy. Case in point, po-boys and murder investigations.

Nibbling at her sandwich, Carmela eyed the shaker box that sat on her desk. She hoped her class, which kicked off in just a few minutes, would intrigue her customers. She'd never done this kind of project before. Most of her previous classes had focused on paper, lettering, stitching, using brads and beads, or Paperclay. But this was new and different. So . . . fingers crossed.

Just as Carmela was enjoying the last bite of her sandwich, a loud voice cut through the normal clatter of the shop.

“Where is she?” came a cry.

“Probably huddled in her office,” said another voice, this one a little more strident and piercing.

Baby and Tandy?
Carmela wondered.
Here already?
She glanced at her watch and realized that they weren't early. Rather she was late. She swept the sandwich debris off her desk and into the wastebasket, then hurried out to greet her friends.

“You poor dear!” Baby Fontaine cried out when she saw Carmela. Her flawlessly coiffed pixie blond hair swung from side to side. Baby was fifty-something and luminous, gorgeously sporting designer jeans and a perfectly pressed pin-striped blouse with an Hermès scarf tied carelessly at the neck.

Tandy Bliss, who was short and skinnier than a cat left out in the rain, shrieked, “Poor dear nothing! Carmela loves getting caught up in these crazy investigations!”

“I do not!” Carmela said, more than a little offended.

“It must have been awful!” said Baby. “Finding that poor man stuffed inside a clothes dryer!”

“Was his tuxedo wet?” Tandy asked. “Or was it already perma-pressed by the time you found him? Then she snickered at the shocked expression on Baby's face.

“Murder is no laughing matter!” Baby admonished.

Tandy ran a hand across her tight crop of curled and hennaed hair, as if this gesture might mask her amusement.

“Does everybody know about Jerry Earl's murder?” asked Carmela.

“Oh honey,” said Baby, “it's been all over the TV. And tongues are definitely wagging all over town.”

“And you were there!” said Tandy. “It must have been a pretty gruesome scene, huh? Got any gory details you'd like to share with friends?”

“Tandy!” said Baby. “I never!”

“That's right, you never like to hear the good stuff,” chuckled Tandy. She poked an index finger at Carmela and said, “So . . . you're up to your eyeballs in this thing, huh?”

“Not exactly,” said Carmela. She was reluctant to spill too many details about the murder. It just seemed like . . . bad karma. To say nothing of bad manners.

“Ah,” said Tandy, “we already know what happened. The stabbing, the clothes dryer. Talk about a bad heat cycle.”

“Poor Margo,” said Baby. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the large back table they'd all dubbed Craft Central. “Just when she'd finally gotten Jerry Earl back home again.”

“Yeah,” said Tandy, “I'll bet she's really crazed and dazed.”

Baby nodded. “Margo likes to be . . . how shall I say it? In control at all times. But in a situation like this, a murder investigation, Margo's not going to have much say at all.”

“Which is probably why she asked me to help,” said Carmela.
Why not just throw it out there on the table?
she decided.

“Whoa,” said Tandy. “Seriously? She asked for your help?”

Carmela nodded. “She was just here.”

“Well, why shouldn't Carmela help?” piped up Baby. “She's good at piecing things together. Remember when poor Byrle was killed? Over at the church?”

“Terrible,” muttered Tandy.

Baby continued. “Carmela pretty much figured out that whole scenario. Helped bring the killer to justice and everything.”

“Yes, she did,” said Tandy. “And God bless her for that.”

“Margo Leland is lucky to have Carmela looking into things,” said Baby. She swiveled her gaze to Carmela. “Do you have any leads yet, honey?”

Before Carmela could reply, Tandy said, “You gotta follow the money. There's always something there. Greed always wins out. Oh, and I saw that guy Conrad Falcon on the news? He didn't seem one bit sorry about Jerry Earl Leland. Of course, they were arch rivals when it came to business.”

“Falcon had no love for Jerry Earl,” agreed Baby. “He probably figured that, with Jerry Earl released from jail, he'd be faced with more competition again. And his business would suffer.”

“Not anymore it won't,” said Carmela.

“Here's the card stock and vellum you asked for,” said Gabby. She dropped an armload of supplies in the center of the table.

“And here's something else you might like,” said Tandy. She dug into her scrapbook tote bag and pulled out a paper sack. Just like that, the fragrant smell of chocolate brownies wafted through the air.

“Treats!” said Baby as Tandy passed the brownies around.

“I can't believe that Tandy can eat constantly and still be skinnier than a stick bug!” said Gabby.

“Tandy's been blessed with a metabolism more powerful than a nuclear reactor,” said Carmela.

Tandy chuckled as several more ladies came in and joined them at the table. “It's always been that way.” She reached out and rapped her bony knuckles against the table. “Knock on wood.”

Carmela stood at the head of the table and waited for chairs to be pulled out, customers to be seated, and tote bags to be stowed.

“Okay,” she said finally, calling her class to order. “We're talking shaker boxes today.”

“This is so exciting,” one of the newcomers whispered. “I've never taken a class here before.”

“What I'm going to show you is just a quick example,” Carmela continued. She held up a sample of a finished shaker box. It was a semi-flat wedding bell shape made with a backing of silver card stock and a front piece of clear acetate.

“Why is it called a shaker box?” asked Tandy.

Carmela shook it and hundreds of small cream-colored beads made a whooshing sound.

“Ah,” everyone breathed. They got the idea.

“Shaker boxes are similar to flattened-out snow globes,” Carmela explained. “Basically see-through envelopes that have small bits of paper or beads inside. You start by cutting a piece of card stock into the shape of a circle, heart, or whatever, for the back. Then you cut a piece of clear acetate in the same shape to use as your front. The two sides are attached—stitched, glued, fastened with brads, or whatever your want—and then filled with punchies, beads, or seeds.”

“And we use them how?” asked Baby.

“It's just a fun little craft item that adds a bit of motion to a scrapbook page or the inside of one of your homemade greeting cards,” said Carmela. “Plus you can make one in any shape or theme that you want.”

Gabby indicated the dozen or so stencils that sat in the middle of the table. “We have an umbrella-shaped stencil if you're working on a scrapbook page about a rainy day. Or a heart-shaped stencil if you're doing a Valentine's Day. Wedding bell shapes if you're doing a wedding or anniversary.” She riffled through the stencils and held one up in the shape of a turtle.

“Oh!” one of the ladies squealed. “That's perfect for me. I'm putting together my snaps from a trip to Cabo San Lucas and we got to observe sea turtles at night. It was beautiful!”

Carmela grabbed a basket that was filled with tiny bags of seeds and crystals. She grabbed one of the bags and set it down in front of her turtle-loving customer. “These are tiny seashells. They'd be perfect to use as your filling.”

The woman's hand snaked out to grab the shells. “Thank you!”

All the crafters selected their supplies and got to work then. Carmela watched one woman cut heart shapes from hot pink cardstock and clear acetate. Then she selected red beads for the inside.

“Want to try the white beads?” Carmela asked. “It'd be more of a contrast to the paper.”

“No,” the woman said. “I want red.”

Carmela handed her the red beads, then watched as the woman quickly glued the sides of her shaker box. When she poured the red beads inside, Carmela turned away. The bright red was too reminiscent of blood. Of Jerry Earl being stabbed and flopping out of the dryer.

The killer must have been strong, Carmela thought to herself. And smart. Smart to have lured Jerry Earl away from that big crowd. Strong enough to kill him, manhandle him, and lift him into a machine. Unless there'd been more than one killer? Was that possible?

There had been that couple in the restroom nearby.

And where exactly had Jerry Earl been killed? Had it happened in the laundry room? Or in his office? She hadn't seen any blood anywhere, though the killer could have easily concealed the mess.

Clearly, she needed a lot more information if she was going to help Margo in any way.

As Carmela mulled over the murder, a thought struck her. She eased into her office and quickly called Ava at her voodoo shop.

“Juju Voodoo,” said Ava. “In harm's way? We got charms today.”

“Hey,” said Carmela. “You remember that crime-scene tech from last night? The one who was following you around like a lovesick puppy?”

“You mean Charlie?” said Ava.

“Was that his name? Okay, good. Could you please call him and work your prodigious female wiles on him? Flirt with him, then see if there's anything more on the murder weapon?”

“I can do that,” said Ava. “But just so you know, that might make me beholden to him. I might have to go out with him. On an actual dress-up date.”

“And that's a bad thing?” Ava was basically a serial dater anyway.

“It's just that I've been on so many blind dates lately, I'm probably entitled to a free dog.”

“But this would be for a very good cause,” said Carmela. “And just so you know, Margo stopped by the shop this morning and asked if I'd kind of look into things for her.”

“Of course she did,” said Ava, as if it were a purely logical thing. “Because you were the one who discovered Jerry Earl's poor mangled little body.”

“That and because Jekyl's been flapping his mouth all over town. Telling people what a clever little crime solver I am.”