Skeleton Letters (25 page)

“Just happened,” said Carmela. “And not only that, Ava and I were
there
. In fact . . . we found him hanging in his room at the outreach center where he works.”

“All purple and blotchy-faced,” said Ava.

“What?” screeched Jekyl.

Carmela filled him in quickly about Brother Paul, as well as how she'd been named by KBEZ-TV as the single eyewitness!

“That's awful!” Jekyl sympathized. “For you and for Brother Paul. But you make it sound as if Brother Paul might have been a little . . . intense. Of course, his heart was definitely in the right place.” Jekyl sighed. “Now who's going to take care of those poor homeless guys?”

Carmela dropped the phone to her chest and gazed at Ava. “Jekyl wants to know who's going to take care of all those poor homeless guys now?”

Ava shook her head vigorously. “Not me, if that's what he's asking!”

“I don't know,” said Carmela, back on the line again with Jekyl. “They'll probably fall through the cracks like everything else does in New Orleans.”

“That's a rather sour indictment of our city, wouldn't you say?” said Jekyl.

“Yes, well . . . there's a reason we're known as the Big Easy and not the Big We're Really on Top of It,” said Carmela. “So . . . what was your news?”

“Well, certainly not as gruesome as yours,” said Jekyl, “but major, nonetheless.”

“Okay,” said Carmela.

“I spoke with my friend Riley Simmonet,” said Jekyl, “who's the art director at
Delta Living
magazine? And, guess what, sweetie, he wants to
photograph
your home!”

“Um . . . he what?” said Carmela.

“You know,” said Jekyl, his excitement ratcheting in intensity, “he's hot to stage an actual photo shoot! With you as the subject! Do a real glamorous lady-of-the-manor-type thing.”

Carmela's mouth drooped into a nervous frown. “You're not serious.” Truth be told, she hated the idea. Posing, being a photographer's subject, just wasn't one of her favorite things.

“You're making a face, aren't you?” said Jekyl. “I can tell.”

“No,” Carmela lied, “I'm really not.”

“I can absolutely envision the perfect photo layout,” enthused Jekyl. “You wearing a romantic gown, posed in front of your marble fireplace. Or looking very Southern and fey as you lounge on that brocade fainting couch.” He paused to catch his breath. “Exciting, no?”

“No,” said Carmela.

“What?” Jekyl squawked. “Don't tell me you're not interested!”

“I'm not interested,” said Carmela.

“What's he saying?” asked Ava, plucking at Carmela's sleeve.

“Jekyl wants me to do a photo spread for
Delta Living
,” Carmela whispered.

“Yes!” said Ava, giving a vigorous fist pump. “You gotta do it!”

“I told him no,” said Carmela.

“But it's a done deal,” came Jekyl's pleading voice. “I made all the arrangements and scheduled the photo session for Saturday morning.”

“
This
Saturday?” Carmela cried.

“Perfect!” Ava cheered.

“I really don't want to do this,” Carmela pleaded. It just didn't feel right to her. Could she get out of it? She
had
to get out of it!

Jekyl let loose a colossal sigh. “Listen, Carmela, you want to sell that house of yours, don't you?” Now his voice carried an edge.

Carmela was taken aback. “How is selling my house connected to posing for a magazine?” It sounded stinkyfishy to her.

“It's all very intricately connected,” Jekyl assured her. “A photo spread in
Delta Living
is the most powerful marketing tool you could ask for! Think how prospective buyers will eat it up!”

Carmela worried her lower lip with her front teeth. Jekyl made a good point. Homes that had been featured in fancy magazines
did
have a certain cachet attached to them. Fact was, buyers simply adored any publicity that was attached to their purchase.

“Okay,” Carmela said, slowly. “I'll do it.”

“Atta girl!” said Jekyl.

“On one condition,” Carmela told him.

“What's that?”

“This photo shoot remains extremely low key.”

 

 

“We have to call Baby and tell her about Brother Paul,” said Ava. She'd ferried the dishes into the kitchen and was wiping her hands on a checked dish towel.

“Why?” said Carmela.

“Because you promised Baby you were going to investigate,” Ava reasoned. “And tonight's murder goes hand in hand with your investigation.” She paused, cocked her head, and gave a slightly apologetic smile. “You're Baby's secret agent.”

“Lucky me.”

“Better hurry up and do it fast,” Ava prompted. “And hope Baby hasn't already heard about it on the ten o'clock news.”

But when Carmela called Baby to tell her about stumbling around and finding the Seekers, then going to Storyville Outreach and finding Brother Paul dead, she was shocked beyond belief.

“No, I haven't seen the news,” Baby fretted into the phone. “Oh, dear me,
another
murder.” She paused for a few seconds. “And you think it's clearly related to St. Tristan's? That means you're on to something, Carmela!”

“If it does, then I'm not aware of what I'm on to,” said Carmela. “There are dozens of loose threads hanging out there, but I don't seem to be able to pull anything together.”

“Just that you seem to be getting close is exciting,” said Baby.

“Not for me,” said Carmela. “I just feel horribly guilty about the Brother Paul thing. Like I might have been somehow responsible!”

“How on earth do you figure that?” asked Baby.

“Because,” said Carmela, “it feels like a nasty chain reaction. Brother Paul was the one who
told
us about the Seekers, and then Ava and I went there tonight and got discovered, and then . . .”

“Oh, honey, I don't think . . . ,” said Baby.

Still, Carmela wasn't convinced. Her heart just felt sad and leaden.

“Did you tell Babcock you paid a visit to the Seekers?” asked Baby.

“No, I did not,” said Carmela. “He was so crazed over Brother Paul's death and the fact that Ava and I were there that I figured I'd save that little surprise for later.”

“But you are going to tell him?”

“I think I pretty much have to,” said Carmela. “It could be related, and, well, I do have a guilty conscience.”

“You'll do the right thing,” Baby assured her.

Ava felt the same way.

“I agree with Baby,” said Ava. “You have to tell Babcock where we were tonight and about running into the Seekers.”

“You mean spill my guts about the whole sorry mess?”

“The whole rotten enchilada,” said Ava. “Of course, I certainly don't envy you having that conversation with him.” She tossed a furtive glance toward the door, obviously planning her escape route.

“What?” Carmela yelped. “You're not going to stick around and help me explain things? I have to go it alone?”

“He's
your
boyfriend!” Gingerly, Ava touched two fingers to her throat and added, “Besides, I think I might be coming down with something. All that traipsing around in the damp woods has left me feelin' under the weather.”

Carmela was slightly suspicious of Ava's sudden ailment. “Maybe I should fix you a nice cup of tea with lemon?”

“No,” said Ava, making a beeline for the door, “I'll just dump some Nyquil on the rocks and add a Kahlua chaser.”

 

 

Edgar Babcock wasn't one bit happy when Carmela finally called him. In fact, when she gave him a kind of quick-fire synopsis, he was livid.

“You waited until
now
to tell me about the Seekers? Completely after the fact?”

“Um . . . it makes a difference?” said Carmela. She felt sheepish and stupid even asking the question.

“Of course, it does! Your foray to the Seekers church . . . er, place of worship . . . is a critical piece of information. Possibly even evidence.”

“I don't see how it's actual evidence,” said Carmela. “It's more just happenstance. Kind of like our being at Storyville Outreach tonight. We happened to be there, Brother Paul happened to get killed.”

“Don't try to double-talk me, Carmela,” said Babcock. “You know very well I'm not a big believer in coincidences.”

“I'll remember that,” said Carmela, a chill in her voice now. “And did you by any chance happen to catch the ten o'clock news? Specifically KBEZ-TV?”

“Hardly,” said Babcock, “since I've been mucking around at a murder scene. Why do you ask?”

“Then you missed Kimber Breeze naming me as the sole eyewitness—in Byrle's murder as well as Brother Paul's!”

“No way.”

“Way,” said Carmela. “Just off the top of my head, I'd say your department has a leak so big you could drive a truck through it.”

“Excuse me?” said Babcock.

“With Kimber pegging me as a witness in Brother Paul's murder, the entire city is going to think I had a front-row seat—even though, once again, I really didn't see anything!” She blew out an angry glut of air. “Just had the bad luck to turn up there, too!”

“Aw jeez, Carmela.” Now there was contriteness in Babcock's voice. “I didn't mean to drag you into this any more than you already are.”

“I really want to believe you,” said Carmela.

“Believe me,” said Babcock. “These news people always go off half-cocked.” He paused, thinking. “You think the other stations have it, too?”

“Probably.”

“That's tough,” said Babcock. “It means you're going to have to be doubly careful.”

“Careful about what?” What was he talking about?

Babcock answered her in his serious, law enforcement voice. “You've been named publicly as a witness, Carmela. In two homicides. You're going to have to be careful about showing your face around town!”

“I don't like the sound of that at all.”

Babcock mumbled something to himself, then said, “I'm going to put a car outside your apartment tonight.”

An icicle of fear stabbed at Carmela's heart. “Seriously? You think that's necessary?”

“Yes, I do,” said Babcock. “Considering your little shocker with Brother Paul and then your name being mentioned on the broadcast.”

“Hmm,” said Carmela. She wasn't sure if she felt relieved or alarmed. Maybe a little of both?

“What are you up to tomorrow?” asked Babcock.

“I plan to be at Memory Mine most of the day, and then I'm going to Baby's house in the evening.”

“Okay, we can cover you fairly easy. What about Saturday?”

“That's a little trickier,” said Carmela.

“How so?”

“I've got a photo shoot at the Garden District house, and then I have the St. Tammany Vineyard press party at night.”

“Can you skip it?”

“What?” Carmela's voice rose a couple of octaves. “Skip the press party? The one I've been working on nonstop for the past four weeks? No way. Not on your life.”

“Because of that guy,” said Babcock. Now he sounded just plain grumpy.

“You can say his name,” said Carmela. “It's Quigg.”

Babcock let loose an indelicate snort. “He'll always be
that guy
to me.”

“
I
CAN'T believe it,” Gabby said, in a voice that was both excited and filled with awe. “You landed smack-dab in the middle of trouble again! You're like some kind of rogue CIA agent or operative from
Mission Impossible
.” She was hunched over a mug of steaming Darjeeling tea, sitting at the front counter. Carmela was perched across from her on a wooden stool and had just spent the last fifteen minutes recounting the bizarre events of last night.

“Maybe so,” said Carmela, “but I can't say that I'm thrilled to be sitting at ground zero with Babcock telling me to mind my own business.” Carmela was pretty much devastated at the way things had turned out with Brother Paul, but what could she do?

“What's your next move?” asked Gabby. “Or are you just going to lay low?”

“That's the general idea,” said Carmela. “Oh!” She waved her fingers in front of Gabby's face. “I forgot to tell you. Babcock put a guard on my apartment last night, and there's supposedly some sort of tail on me today.”

“Seriously?” said Gabby. “Babcock's worried about your safety?”

“Uh-huh.”

Spinning around, Gabby peered past a collection of altered books and a display of holiday scrapbook pages that she'd just arranged in the front window. “I don't see anyone waiting around out there.”

“I don't think he'll be dressed in a trench coat and gray fedora and leaning against a lamppost,” said Carmela. “He'll probably be more . . . incognito.”

“I guess a tail is
supposed
to be invisible,” said Gabby.

“I assume so,” said Carmela. “If they're any good.”

Gabby gazed at her. “You're not going to, like, dash down to Pirate's Alley Deli and try to draw this guy out into the open, are you?”

“If I do any deli dashing, it'll be to bring back a sack of cookies or cupcakes,” Carmela assured her. “Not to willfully expose my police protection.”