Photo Finished (9 page)

“You really want to see it?” asked Carmela. She had initially thought the ladies might be a little put off by her amateur sleuthing. Quite the contrary. They seemed
mesmerized
by the idea of trying to track down Barty's killer.

Carmela placed the actual medallion in the center of the table while Gabby slipped into the back office and retrieved a magnifying glass.

“Let me take a peek,” said Baby, reaching out a hand to Gabby.

Gabby handed her the glass.

Baby peered forward, studying the medallion with the heelprint. “This is the medallion you crafted from clay,” she said. “And you think you dropped it when you got out of your car.”

Carmela nodded. “I'm pretty sure I did.”

“You're right,” said Baby finally. “This definitely looks like it's been stepped on and kind of ground in by—what . . . maybe a lady's heel?”

“What are those, entwined G's?” asked Byrle. “Maybe a Gucci logo?”

Baby picked up a pencil, tapped at the page Carmela had printed out. “Not Gucci,” said Baby. “The initials read GC. And see here, there's a little crosshatch pattern in the background.”

Gabby took the magnifying glass back from Baby, stared at the now-squished medallion, then at Carmela's printout. Finally, she straightened up and looked around the table.

“Anybody ever hear of a designer with the initials GC?”

“No designer I know of,” said Baby, her hands unconsciously patting the gold and rust Versace scarf draped about her patrician neck.

“What about a local store?” asked Carmela. “It could be a private label thing.”

But nobody could think of a store or clothing shop that had the initials GC.

“Y'all are completely forgetting about Jade Ella,” said Byrle. “From what I hear, she and Barty were locked in the throes of a very nasty divorce.”

“That's what Shamus said, too,” said Carmela.

Gabby flashed Carmela an approving glance. “You're seeing Shamus again?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” said Carmela. “Shamus just sort of . . . dropped in on me last night.”

“Sounds romantic,” said Gabby, ever hopeful that the couple's marriage would rebound.

“It wasn't particularly,” Carmela told her. She looked around into the hopeful faces of her friends. “Don't hold your breath concerning Shamus and me.”

“Well, this information about Jade Ella and Dove is certainly intriguing,” declared Baby, getting back to the main thread of their conversation. “It seems that both women had a serious ax to grind with Bartholomew Hayward.”

Dawn nodded excitedly. “They really did, didn't they!” “And both ladies generally wear high heels,” said Baby, ever the fashion maven.

Gabby looked around the room, wide eyed. “I swear, it
did
kind of sound like someone in high heels taking off down the alley.”

“So either Dove Duval or Jade Ella Hayward could be considered a suspect,” said Baby.

“Or Chef Ricardo,” said Carmela. “But only if he wears Cuban heels.”

This new entry, tossed so casually into the pot, brought a stunned silence to the table.

Finally, Byrle spoke up. “Who on
earth
is Chef Ricardo?” Carmela quickly related her brunch experience from the day before and explained about the withdrawal of financing from Chef Ricardo's ill-fated Scaloppina Restaurant.

Baby nodded. “That's right. I
heard
about that. In fact, I think Del's firm might have represented one of the parties in a lawsuit. Turned out to be a real mess.”

“Buddy and I dined at Scaloppina once,” volunteered Dawn. “They served the best crab risotto I ever tasted.” She looked thoughtful. “Sad that the place had to close.”

“And under unfortunate circumstances, it would appear,” said Byrle.

“Sounds like Bartholomew Hayward might have had a few enemies,” said Gabby.

There were nods all around.

“Since this appears to be a crime of passion,” said Carmela, “what we need to do is try and figure out who hated Barty the most.” She gazed about the table, studying the troubled faces of her friends. “Anybody got any bright ideas?”

No lightbulbs clicked on.

T
ANDY came steamrolling in just as Carmela, Gabby, and Baby were eating salads that had been delivered a few minutes earlier by the French Quarter Deli. Dawn and Byrle had packed up their craft bags and left an hour earlier.

“You poor thing,” said Carmela, jumping up from the craft table to greet Tandy. “Come on back here and tell us what's going on. You want part of my salad?” she asked as she led Tandy toward the back. “Baby field greens with smoked turkey?”

Gabby and Baby focused looks of concern on Tandy. She seemed tired and distracted. Her usual tight mop of curls was frowsled. Already skinny to begin with, Tandy looked wan bordering on frail.

“Nothing to eat, no, thanks,” said Tandy as she collapsed into the wooden chair Carmela pulled out for her.

Carmela stared pointedly at Tandy. “Things aren't going well,” she said as she sat down next to her. It was a statement rather than a question.

“You wouldn't believe it,” said Tandy. “This has turned into the worst possible nightmare.” She leaned across the table and grasped Baby's hand. “Thank goodness Del agreed to represent Billy. He's the only bright spot in all of this.”

“He's happy to help,” Baby told her. “We all are.”

“If there's anything I can do . . .” began Gabby.

Tandy flashed Gabby a sad smile. “You're a sweetheart, but . . . well, we're all just in a hold pattern for now. As you might expect, Donny and Lenore are absolutely hysterical.” Donny and Lenore were Billy's parents, Donny being Tandy's younger brother.

“What news is there, if any?” Carmela asked, trying to steer Tandy away from the emotionalism of the issue and more toward actual facts.

Tandy leaned back and sighed. “Billy hasn't been formally charged with anything yet, but the police are completely hung up on those latex gloves.”

“I can't see where the gloves are all that relevant,” said Carmela. “Especially since Billy and Bartholomew Hayward and whoever else helped out in the back room wore them whenever they were doing furniture stripping or refinishing.”

Tandy grimaced. “There's another little wrinkle.”

“What's that?” asked Carmela, her ears perking up.

Tandy shifted uneasily in her chair. “The scissors that were found in Barty Hayward's neck?”

“Yes?” said Carmela.
Come on, Tandy, spit it out.

“The police found a couple flecks of gold paint on them. Similar to the gilding used to touch up frames in Barty's workshop.”

“Ouch,” said Gabby.

“That's not so good,” said Baby, commiserating.

“Still,” said Tandy. “The gold paint can be
explained.
And the scissors could
still
have come from Bartholomew Hayward's workshop.”

“Did Billy have any flecks of this gilt paint on his hands?” asked Carmela.

“No,” said Tandy. “Which is why, I suppose, the police are looking at the latex gloves so hard.”

“What possible motive do the police think Billy had?” asked Carmela.

“Oh, honey,” said Tandy, “they'd sooner grill someone to death and figure all that out later. I tell you, it's a travesty of justice.”

Baby nudged a sharp elbow into Carmela's side. “Tell Tandy about the heelprint,” she said in a low voice.

“What heelprint?” asked Tandy.

Pulling out her medallion and her printout, Carmela quickly related her story of finding the wayward little medallion in the back alley, noticing the heelprint, then enhancing the heelprint via embossing powder and her computer.

Tandy was stunned. “This is fabulous, Carmela!” She leaned forward and planted a grateful smooch on Carmela's cheek. “This almost
proves
there was someone else in the alley that night.”

“No, it doesn't,” said Carmela.

“Hallelujah,” sang Tandy, grinning ear to ear. “I'm going to tell Billy all about this wonderful
Exhibit A.
” She smiled over at Baby. “And Del, too. In fact, I see it as a major break in the case!”

“Please don't tell anyone,” protested Carmela.
Holy smokes, we don't know a thing about this print and Tandy's already got her hopes up. Maybe I shouldn't have even told her about it.

“Then I'm going to tell Billy that a star investigator is hot on the trail of the murderer,” said Tandy with great excitement.

“You shouldn't get your hopes up based on this,” said Carmela. “Even though a few of us have studied the heelprint, we're still utterly clueless.”

“Hope is the one thing that will see us through this,” said Tandy fervently as she dug in her voluminous leather purse and pulled out a set of keys. “Here,” she said, shoving the keys toward Carmela. “Billy asked me to give you these.”

Slowly Carmela accepted the keys. She knew exactly what they were for. They were the keys to Menagerie Antiques next door.
Gulp. What's all this about?

“Billy said he
trusted
you,” said Tandy. “You see, there are a couple customers who might stop by to pick up things. Billy thought if you had the keys to the store you could help out. As if you haven't done enough already!”

“How will I know who these customers are?” asked Carmela with a puzzled expression.

“Oh, you won't,” said Tandy blithely. “In fact, it's pretty much a hit-or-miss proposition. But if a customer
happens
to stop by here, and they're clutching a receipt in their hot little hand,
then
you could let them in.” Tandy paused, slightly out of breath. “Could you do that?”

Carmela nodded. “Sure.” She figured it was the least she could do. Barty Hayward hadn't been a particularly hospitable neighbor, but Billy was always polite and friendly. Plus he
was
Tandy's nephew.

Baby reached out and grasped Tandy's hands. “Come back tomorrow, will you? No sense sitting around and just stewing. We'll have some fun designing labels.” Baby tried to project an upbeat attitude. “You've got all those wonderful jars of strawberry jelly, I always make a gazillion batches of applesauce for the holidays . . .”

“Carmela makes her special caramel sauce,” said Gabby jumping in, trying to keep the ball rolling.

“What do you say?” prompted Baby. “Are you game?”

“Okay,” said Tandy as she gathered her coat around her. “Why not.”

It wasn't until after Tandy had left that Carmela remembered several of
her
customers had been using gilt paint on Saturday night.

 

 

“ARE THOSE FOR THIS SATURDAY?” BABY ASKED Carmela, nodding at the array of colored squares and photo corners spread out on the table. “For the Monsters & Old Masters Ball?”

“They will be if I ever get them done,” Carmela answered.

Monsters & Old Masters was actually a spin-off of the Art Institute's springtime Blooming Art Ball. During Blooming Art, two dozen pieces of artwork were selected for special display, and the same number of art patrons were tasked with creating floral arrangements that interpreted and complemented the artworks.

One year, Baby had been assigned a Claude Monet painting and she'd created a spectacular display of lilies and hyacinths floating in a Waterford crystal vase.

Because Blooming Art had proven to be a real money maker, and because party-hearty, costume-loving New Orleans folk were already head over heels in love with Halloween, Monsters & Old Masters, the slightly darker cousin to Blooming Art, was spawned.

Of course, the artworks that the museum selected had to remain in keeping with the Halloween theme. Which meant that many of the artworks had a spooky, slightly unsettling edge. Among the pieces selected by the current year's committee was a painting by American artist Josephus Allan of the Hudson River School, which depicted one of the Salem witch trials. Edward Hopper's American nostalgia style of art was also represented. And, at the last minute, the committee had added a dark and moody seventeenth-century painting of Roman ruins to the twenty chosen pieces.

The autumnal floral arrangements were equally in keeping with the Halloween theme: flowers in subdued autumn colors, baskets of dried leaves and grains, twisted twigs, grapevines, and branches of bittersweet.

“I've been asked to create menu cards as well as descriptive tags for the art and floral pairings,” Carmela explained to Baby. “It's kind of a fun little project.”

“What's on the menu?” asked Gabby. She was eagerly looking forward to attending her very first Monsters & Old Masters Ball on Saturday night. Baby and Del, always so generous, had reserved a table for eight and invited Carmela and Ava, Gabby and Stuart, and Tandy and Darwin to join them.

“Let's see,” said Carmela, consulting the list that had been faxed to her earlier. “Crawfish bisque, citrus salad, roast duck, sweet potato praline casserole, cranberry bread pudding, and lemon bars.”

“To die for,” moaned Gabby. I can't wait!”

“The Art Institute always could put on a decent spread,” commented Baby. She glanced at the red marbleized card stock on which Carmela had printed out the menu in twelve-point scrolling type. “That looks pretty. Now whatcha gonna do with it?”