Skeleton Letters (22 page)

“You did,” said Carmela. “So please don't pass up this opportunity to be a fashion muse on my account. Or because Gabby suddenly has a suspicious mind.”

“Really?” said Ava. “You think I should do it?”

“I think you should,” said Carmela. She popped the cork and poured two glasses of wine.

“You don't think my being a muse for Voodoo Couture would be a kind of... slap in the face? To you and Gabby?”

“Not at all,” said Carmela. She handed Ava a glass of wine, then took her by the arm and led her to the dining table. They sat down, knees touching. “All I'm asking,” said Carmela, “is for you to exercise caution.”

“I will,” said Ava, taking a sip of wine. “You know me, caution's always been my thing.”

Carmela stared at her. “I mean really.”

“Okay,” said Ava. “Okay.” She took another sip of wine. “Does this mean you're going to be investigating Drew Gaspar now?”

“I'm not sure,” said Carmela. She moved her wineglass around in little circles on the table. “I don't have that part figured out yet.”

“In that case, would you come with me Saturday afternoon to look at the Voodoo Couture clothes?”

“Will Drew Gaspar be there?”

Ava scratched her nose. “I don't think so. Not yet, anyway. There's this boutique on Magazine Street that's carrying the first dozen or so pieces. I was supposed to try them on and then . . . I don't know . . . think about the direction of the line, I guess.”

“Of course, I'll go with you,” said Carmela.

Ava grinned. “You're my BFF. Always got my back.”

“I try to,” said Carmela.

 

 

They were halfway through their drunken chicken when Carmela said, “I forgot to tell you. I talked to Johnny Otis today.”

Ava's fork clattered to her dish. “You
what
?”

“I tracked Johnny Otis down.”

“Isn't he Babcock's
numero uno
suspect?”

“He was until they had to kick him loose,” said Carmela.

“And you talked to him,” said Ava, dumbfounded. “A real-life career criminal. How did you manage that?”

“Not without some problems,” said Carmela. “First Kimber Breeze came storming into my shop, trying to do an interview . . .”

“Hold everything,” said Ava. “Please tell me you shagged her scrawny butt right out of there?”

“Actually, Gabby did the honors on that. But not before Kimber let slip what trucking company Johnny Otis worked for. So I called up his dispatcher, found out where he was making a delivery, and went over there to
parlez-vous
with him.”

“Girl, you've got some chutzpah!”

“Thank you,” said Carmela.

“So what'd you say to him?”

“I told a few white lies about being a reporter and then asked a few questions.”

“Weren't you scared?”

“A little,” said Carmela.
Actually, a lot.

“Because Johnny couldn't have been happy to see you.”

“He was incredibly hostile,” said Carmela. “Really angry.”

“The kind of anger that could kill somebody?”

Carmela thought for a few moments. “It sure seemed that way when I was talking to him. Or
trying
to talk to him.”

“There you go,” said Ava, flipping a hand up. “Johnny's the guy you have to focus on.”

“I don't know,” said Carmela, thinking about Norton Fried and his silver collection. Suddenly, a whole lot of folks were looking more and more suspicious.

 

 

“This is great coffee,” said Ava. She was relaxing on the couch, a pillow behind her head and her legs stretched out. “Makes me want to just laze the night away.” She raised her eyebrows and said, “What do you think? Should we order up a movie or something? A good, ten-tissue chick flick? Or maybe a comedy. Just not one of those goofy Pauly Shore or Harold and Kumar movies.”

“I was thinking you and I should do something a little less passive,” said Carmela.

Ava looked intrigued. “You want to hit some dance clubs? We haven't been to Dr. Boogie's since forever!”

“What about a drive out on Trempeleau Road?”

Ava's brows knit together. “Huh? What's out there?”

“Remember Brother Paul? He told us the Seekers had a church out that way?”

“Oh man,” said Ava, holding the back of her hand to her head, “you want to
go
there and check them out? You
believed
Brother Paul?”

“Yes, I think I did.”

“Well . . . turtle poop,” said Ava. She blew out air and sucked in her cheeks, giving a look of general discontent.

“Change of plans, then,” said Carmela. “You stay here while I go snoop on my own.” And she meant it, too. She could go solo. Might even be easier if she went alone.

“No way,” said Ava, finally pushing herself up. “I'm not going to let you traipse around in the swamp all by your lonesome.”

“It's not the swamp.”

“If it's off the sidewalk, it's swamp.”

“So you're coming?”

“Do chickens have lips?”

 

 

“We look like ninjas!” Ava chortled, as they sped down Highway 45. Both women had changed into black leggings and black oversized sweaters. Ava had even added a wide black headband to corral her mass of dark curly hair.

“I'm not sure ninjas wear cowl-neck Michael Kors sweaters,” said Carmela, a smile twitching at her lips. For some reason, Ava had perked up considerably.

“They would if they were fashion-conscious ninjas,” said Ava. “And watched
Project Runway
.”

“You really are addicted to that show.”

“Because that's my big dream,” said Ava.

“You mean go to New York and take part in a design competition? Try to create an honest-to-gosh collection?”

“No, silly. To look like Heidi Klum!”

They both fell silent then, watching the woods and fields disappear and the land turn more lush and verdant. Rain had lashed down earlier, but now it was barely sprinkling.

“We're out in the bayou,” Ava observed as stands of tupelo trees flashed by, and blue-black stretches of brackish water.

“Not quite,” said Carmela. “But we're getting awfully close.”

“Gators around here?”

“Mmm, probably.”

Ava glanced nervously out the passenger window, as if a twenty-foot albino alligator might be huffing alongside the car, wanting to take a chomp. “Who in their right mind would build a church way out here in the middle of nowhere?” she asked.

“Oh, just off the top of my head,” said Carmela, as they breezed through the village of Mayport, “maybe . . . some sort of cult?”

“You think?” said Ava. “So maybe the Seekers
do
have something to hide?”

“Possibly,” said Carmela. As they flashed past a dirt road with a leaning wooden signpost, she tapped her brakes and exclaimed, “Holy smokes, I think that was Trempeleau Road.”

“That's where we're going? Where we're supposed to turn?”

“I think so.” Carmela eased her foot off the brake and coasted over to the side of the road. “That's what we're here to find out.” She K-turned her car, then headed down the narrow road.

“How far we gonna go?” asked Ava, after they'd bumped along for five minutes or so.

Carmela let the car roll to a stop. “This is probably as close as we should venture.”

“But . . . you know where this church is located?” asked Ava.

Carmela frowned. “Not really.”

“Then what makes you think it's around here?” asked Ava.

“For one thing,” said Carmela, “the road pretty much ends here. She stared out the windshield at swaying trees. “For another . . . oh, just call it intuition? A hunch?”

That was good enough for Ava. “Okay.”

As they climbed out of the car, Carmela said, “I left my keys in the ignition. Just in case.”

Ava grabbed her arm. “Just in case what?”

“We have to make a fast getaway?”

“Let's hope it doesn't come down to that.”

Carmela and Ava bushwhacked through a stand of gum trees and emerged in a low, swampy area. Long grass squished and overhanging branches swatted their faces.

“Wet,” said Ava, in a stage whisper.

Carmela backtracked a few steps, cut over to her left, then said, “Better here. There's a kind of trail. The grass is knocked down, so probably somebody drove this way not so long ago.”

“Lucky us,” said Ava.

“Where's your ninja sense of adventure?”

“Back home in my sock drawer?”

But a few minutes of pushing through the forest brought success.

“Does that look like a church to you?” Carmela asked. Some two hundred yards ahead of them, a white building seemed to shimmer through a tangle of trees.

“If it's a church,” said Ava, “then it came complete with a silo.” She hunkered down, hiding behind an overhanging tree branch. “See? It looks more like a barn. Where you'd keep cows and stuff.”

“Wait a minute,” said Carmela, crouching low, homing in on a small blaze that seemed to be growing brighter with every passing second. “I see people moving about now. See, over by that fire pit?”

“I think I see people,” said Ava, squinting. “But they're wearing . . .”

“Robes,” finished Carmela. “Brown robes.”
Just like the killer at St. Tristan's had worn. Is this whack-a-doodle, or what?

“Oh man,” said Ava, looking spooked, “with the robes and flames and everything, this looks like something out of a John Carpenter movie. Like crazy devil worshippers. I mean, listen, do you hear that weird noise? They're, like,
chanting
.”

“Yes, they are,” said Carmela, locking her jaw tightly. Was this some sort of evil cult that Brother Paul had been up against? If so, why didn't he just launch a full-scale exposé? Take it to the media? Or make an appeal to local law enforcement?

“Holy shiitake mushrooms,” said Ava, as more cult members appeared. “They look like a cross between the Klan and a bunch of Ozark Mountain snake handlers.”

“Shh,” cautioned Carmela. “Keep quiet and stay low.”

“Don't worry,” said Ava, “those guys look serious.”

Carmela thought for a few moments. If she could ease herself a little closer, perhaps she could see what they were rallying around. Like maybe . . . a stolen crucifix?

“Stay here,” she told Ava. “I want to inch closer and get a better look.”

Ava's eyes went wide. “You're gonna leave me here?”

“Just for a few minutes.”

“No way,” muttered Ava, “I'm tagging along. You're not gonna leave me stranded in buckthorn and poison oak, or whatever this stuff is.”

“Okay,” said Carmela, “but caution's the watchword.”

“I'll try not to sneeze,” said Ava.

They sneaked forward through the darkness, parting low branches as they went. The earth was cool, spongy, and wet underfoot, and Carmela could feel dampness seeping slowly through the soles of her shoes. Her shoes, great. Why had she worn Ferragamos tonight and not Keds? Or better yet, why hadn't she pulled on rubber wellies?

To make matters worse, the rain had started up again and now it pattered down, weighing down branches even more and making forward progress difficult and downright uncomfortable.

“Jeez,” whispered Ava, “another storm's rolling in.”

Rain poured down with greater intensity. Overhead, shards of lightning streaked across the blue-black sky.

“Not good,” Carmela muttered as she crept forward. Thunder suddenly rumbled and roared, drowning out all night sounds.

Carmela used her sleeve to wipe rain from her eyes. If she could only get about ten feet closer . . . but first there was a clearing she had to wiggle across.

She tried to time her leap with the lightning. After the final crackle fizzled out, she dove from one sheltering clump of trees to the next.

Except it didn't quite work out that way. Right in the middle of her leap, a second flash of lighting exploded overhead, like a transformer gone haywire.

And Carmela and Ava were suddenly illuminated. Caught in nature's spotlight, like terrified actors on a stage!

Within moments, they were swarmed by robed figures. Two on either side of Ava, two more bookending Carmela. The robed figures didn't exactly force them to walk forward, but they weren't allowing a lot of other options, either.

“Hey, you goombahs,” Ava screamed, “don't touch the merchandise!” She shrugged her shoulders and tried to pull away, but her guardians stuck tight as burs.

“Walk,” ordered one of the hooded men.

“This is ridiculous!” Ava shrilled. “What's a bunch of guys like you doing in a dumb old swamp, anyway?” She tossed her head, trying to look coquettish. “I saw a cool roadhouse a couple miles back—Swamp Man Bobby's? Whaddya guys say we blow this pop stand and go grab ourselves a cold one, huh?”

Carmela glanced back over her shoulder. “They're not listening to you, Ava.”

“I see that!” Ava fussed. “And, quite frankly, I'm shocked, since the two of us girls make a lovely combo platter.”

“They're true believers,” said Carmela.

“Yeah?” said Ava, still struggling. “That's just peachypoo.” Now her voice rose. “But will somebody please tell me exactly what it is they
believe
in!”