Keepsake Crimes (24 page)

TANDY PASTED A FINAL RAGGEDY ANN STICKER
on her scrapbook page. She’d titled her page, “When I Grow Up . . .” and below her headline of colorful, bouncing type had created a photo montage of Julia, her two-year-old granddaughter, interspersed with Raggedy Ann stickers depicting the beloved doll in various astronaut, karate, and nurse costumes. “Uh-oh,” she said, glancing up toward the front window. “Incoming.”

Carmela looked up just in time to see Rhonda Lee Clayton, Jimmy Earl’s widow, pulling open the door to her store. She winced and jumped out of her chair. The set of Rhonda Lee’s jaw and the fiery look on her face told her this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“I don’t think Rhonda Lee’s here to make a scrapbook,” said Baby in a low whisper.

Rhonda Lee Clayton launched into her tirade before the door swung shut and whacked her on the backside.

“I’m going to shut you down if it’s the last thing I do!” Rhonda Lee screamed at Carmela. Rhonda Lee, dressed in a long, black skirt and oversized sweater, suddenly seemed to bear a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Rhonda Lee, take it easy,” cautioned Carmela. “What’s got you so upset?”

“Upset? Upset?” shrilled Rhonda Lee. “I’m more than a little
upset!
” Her normally pale face had two rings of color high on her cheeks, making her look even more hysterical.

Tandy, never one to be left out of a good catfight, decided to interject herself into the fray. “Hey Rhonda Lee, how do?” She gave a friendly wave from where she sat at the back table.

“Stay out of this, Tandy,” Rhonda Lee snapped. “This is between me and Carmela!”

“Rhonda Lee,” said Tandy sharply, “don’t go postal on us.” She stood up and advanced on the screaming woman. “You’re a lady, remember? Ladies don’t go postal.”

“I’ll do whatever I want!” spat back Rhonda Lee. “My husband is
dead!
” She turned wild eyes on Carmela. “And it was
your
husband who killed him!”

What is this,
wondered Carmela,
some kind of delayed stress reaction?

Now it was Baby’s turn to wade into the fracas. “For heaven’s sake, Rhonda Lee,” said Baby, adjusting the silk Hermes scarf draped about her neck, “you are
so
over the top. Ya’ll know Shamus wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides,” she said, adding a modicum of logic, “he’s a Meechum. And you know the Meechums are a good, upstanding New Orleans family.”

I wouldn’t be so sure of that,
Carmela thought to herself.

“Of course Shamus didn’t have anything to do with poor Jimmy Earl’s death,” said Carmela, putting a real note of authority in her voice this time. No way was she going to back down to
this
woman.

Rhonda Lee dug in her purse for a hankie, then dabbed at her eyes. “My life is
ruined
,” she moaned. “My
daughter’s
dreams are completely shattered. And all because of Shamus Meechum.” Rhonda Lee gazed about Memory Mine with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ll shut you down!” she declared again. “As God is my witness, I’ll shut you down! Then you’ll see what it’s like to have
your
life in shreds!”

Carmela gazed at Rhonda Lee with what could only be called bemused pity. In fact, she might have allowed herself to be halfway intimidated by this woman’s threats if she hadn’t just seen Rhonda Lee grinning ear to ear in the doorway of a room at the Calhoun Motel two nights ago. Opening the door of her somewhat
déclassé
motel room to the likes of Jack Dumaine, the partner of her dearly departed husband. On the other hand, Rhonda Lee
had
just lost her husband, which meant she should still be accorded a small amount of leeway. Very small.

But Rhonda Lee was fixated on how she was going to ruin Carmela. “I’ll put you out of business,” she cried again. “Have the landlord padlock your door!”

As Carmela stared at Rhonda Lee Clayton and listened to her rantings, she suddenly found herself wondering if this was just an idle threat, or did Rhonda Lee really know something? “Rhonda Lee,” said Carmela suddenly, “do you know who owns this building?”

That question halted Rhonda Lee in her tracks. Rhonda Lee blinked, her nostrils flared, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “Whaaat?” she croaked.

“Do you know who owns this building?” Carmela asked again. This time her voice rang out with even more authority.

Rhonda Lee was temporarily derailed by Carmela’s bravado. And she also seemed to interpret Carmela’s question as some sort of
trick
. She clenched her jaw tightly and pulled herself up to her full height, which was difficult, Carmela noted, when you were only five foot two. “I can find out!” Rhonda Lee spat at her. “I have
friends
.”

I’ll just bet you do,
thought Carmela. She almost said,
Like Jack Dumaine?
She would have loved to see the look of utter surprise on Rhonda Lee’s face, but she held her tongue instead. No sense revealing her cards at this stage of the game. Especially when she wasn’t sure what game was even being played out here.

“Rhonda Lee,” said Carmela slowly, wondering if she could somehow get a piece of the puzzle to click into place, “do you know anything about Jimmy Lee being involved with Bufford Maple and a fellow named Michael Theriot?”

“What is she
talking
about!” shrilled Rhonda Lee to Tandy. “Will somebody
please
tell me what she’s babbling about?”

Rhonda Lee was so worked up that every time she spoke, spit flew out of her mouth. It wasn’t pretty, although at this point, it was starting to seem pretty darn funny.

Baby put a hand on Rhonda Lee’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s time you get going, dear,” she suggested in a gentle yet firm tone. Clearly, Baby had grown tired of Rhonda Lee’s hysterics.

Tandy closed in on Rhonda Lee’s other side. “Gosh, look at the time, Rhonda Lee. Don’t you have to be somewhere? Sure you do.”

They escorted Rhonda Lee to the front door of the shop, trying to usher her out as gently as possible. Carmela remained standing where she was. Her friends were doing a masterful job with what had been a totally whacked-out situation. For that she’d be eternally grateful.

There were a few more muffled exchanges, then the front door banged shut. Tandy turned and threw her hands in the air. “What a fruitcake,” she declared.

“Bonkers,” said Baby. “Absolutely bonkers.”

Is she really?
wondered Carmela.
Or does Rhonda Lee know something but is just too upset to piece together what she knows?

 

 

AS CARMELA WAS ABOUT TO FLIP THE LIGHT
switch and lock up for the day, the phone rang.

Sighing, she contemplated not even answering it, but her conscience got the better of her.
Hey lazybones, it’s a business, remember?

She groaned and reached for the phone. “Good afternoon,” she said. “Memory Mine Scrapbooking.”

“Carmela?” came the voice on the other end of the line. “Hi, there. It’s Alyse Eskew at the Claiborne Club.”

The Claiborne Club,
thought Carmela.
Lucky me. The club that isn’t sure they want to admit any new members right now. I guess Alyse’s remark about that has really stuck in my craw, as my momma would say.

“Hello Alyse,” said Carmela with not much enthusiasm.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Alyse purred, “I know how busy you are.”

“Mm-hm,” replied Carmela.

“Say Carmela,” asked Alyse, “do you still have that list we faxed you?”

Carmela’s mind was blank for a moment. “The list?”
What list is Alyse babbling about?

Alyse gave a nervous titter. Obviously, this conversation wasn’t all that pleasant for her, either. “You know, the one you used when you created all those adorable place cards, then hand-lettered the names onto them?”

Carmela was suddenly confused. “You wanted the list
back
? I’m not sure I even have it anymore.”
Probably tossed the darn thing out,
she thought to herself.

Then Carmela added, more out of curiosity than anything, “Isn’t that luncheon being held tomorrow?”

“Yes, but we’re just tidying up loose ends,” Alyse assured her. “Trying to keep our records in order.”

“Sure,” muttered Carmela. “Whatever. If I run across it, I’ll pop it in the mail to you.”

Carmela dropped the receiver back in its cradle, feeling distracted.
Who cares about a dopey list when Shamus is probably still downtown being beaten with a rubber hose? Give me a break!

R
AIN lashed at the windows, pounded on the roof, gushed in torrents down the drain spouts. Cozied inside her apartment, Carmela figured that tonight’s big Orpheus parade would
have
to be declared a washout. How could the floats and bands even survive in weather like this?

In fact, with this much rain pouring down, New Orleans would be lucky if Canal Street didn’t flood completely and revert to being a real canal again! Carmela was so focused on the storm that when someone pounded on her door, she wasn’t even sure if she was hearing right.

But when she finally threw the door open, there was Ava, looking soaked and disheveled.

“Didn’t you hear me out there?” Ava grumped. She shed her raincoat like a snake shedding its skin, then did another little shake and dance that left a large puddle on the floor.

Carmela rushed to get her a towel. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “The storm was making so much noise I couldn’t tell
what
was going on.”

“Pour me a glass of wine, and all is forgiven,” said Ava, deciding that she’d pouted long enough. Plopping into one of the chairs that surrounded Carmela’s small wooden dining table, Ava ran long fingers through her tousled hair and gazed at the colorful papers and tags that were spread out on the table. “What’s all this?” she asked.

Carmela set two glasses of wine down. “Tags,” she told her friend. “I’m trying to put together a sample scrapbook page that’s really an assembly of tags with photos mounted on them.”

Ava studied the montage Carmela had assembled so far. It was really quite striking, all sorts of travel photos mounted on tags and then pasted on a terrific map background. She squinted. The map had to be either the Caribbean or Hawaii. She wasn’t exactly sure which, since she’d popped her contacts out a few minutes ago.

“I swear,” said Ava taking a sip of her wine, “I believe you could incorporate toilet paper rolls into a scrapbook page and make it look good.”

“Now that
would
be a challenge,” admitted Carmela. “But you didn’t brave thunder and lightning to pay me a social call tonight, did you?”

“Aren’t you the little psychic,” said Ava. “Let’s just wrap a turban around your head and call you
Madame
Carmela. Set you up in business in the back of my store. But, no, you’re right. Tandy called earlier. She was worried about you and asked me to stop by and check on you.”

“Did she tell you what happened after you left?”

Ava nodded. “That Rhonda Lee Clayton is truly certifiable. I can’t believe you didn’t just haul off and smack her one.”

“I thought about it,” admitted Carmela. “But mostly I just felt sorry for her.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t inform her in no uncertain terms that her little secret is out of the bag. I think it’s shameful the way she’s carrying on with her dead husband’s partner.”

Boo crept over to lie next to Carmela, and she dropped her hand to rub the little dog’s furrowed head. “I think Rhonda Lee knows something,” said Carmela.

“Knows what?” asked Ava, yawning.

“I think if Rhonda Lee could pull herself out of her hissy fit, she just might be able to put two and two together and figure out who killed her husband,” said Carmela.

Ava stared at Carmela. “Yeah? Then why doesn’t she just boogie on down to police headquarters and yak her little head off? Start
cooperating
with them?”

“Because Rhonda Lee doesn’t know what she knows,” said Carmela.

Ava blinked. “You think Rhonda Lee’s little pea brain actually knows something but she doesn’t know
what
she knows?” Ava repeated. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Carmela nodded thoughtfully. “Pretty much.”

“Are we talking repressed memory syndrome?” asked Ava. “Like that episode we saw on
Oprah
?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s that clinical,” said Carmela. “But I do think that Rhonda Lee Clayton, in her own stumbling, bumbling way, just might know why Jimmy Earl was killed. She just hasn’t put the pieces together.”

“Assembly required,” said Ava. “She ain’t no Nancy Drew.”

“You got that right,” said Carmela.

“But you, on the other hand,” said Ava, “are foaming at the mouth to take a crack at a perfectly good mystery that really could stand to remain unsolved. You want to figure out every precise little detail.” Ava raised one eyebrow at Carmela. “You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?”

Carmela rubbed at her temples as though she suddenly had a headache. “Ava, don’t.”

“You really don’t need to keep picking away at this,” Ava told her, “out of misplaced loyalty to that hairball Shamus.”

“We’ve been over this before,” said Carmela tiredly. “Maybe I
am
an idiot, but I still feel compelled to help him.”

“So you can negotiate a better settlement,” said Ava. “Really stick it to the Meechums when you start divorce proceedings.”

“Yes . . . no,” said Carmela.

Ava stared at Carmela, then shook her head. “I can tell by the look on your face, you’ve still got it bad for him, don’t you?”

Carmela didn’t say anything. She just felt defeated. Defeated and tired. All this intrigue was swirling around her, and she didn’t seem to be able to make heads or tails out of anything. Hell, she didn’t even have a
date
these days. Rhonda Lee thought
her
life was in shreds, and she at least had a
paramour.
Two nights after she tucked old Jimmy Earl into the family crypt at Saint Cyril’s, she was out catting around. No Heartbreak Hotel for her, just a hot night at the Calhoun Motel!