Skeleton Letters (6 page)

“Have you ever heard of a robbery gone good?” asked Ava.

“Point well taken,” said Carmela. “But seriously, Baby, Ava and I have pretty much bought into the theory that Byrle died trying to thwart the robbery of Père Etienne's crucifix.”

“I didn't know about that,” said Baby.

Ava nodded. “The crucifix is gone. Just disappeared into thin air.” She made a skimming gesture with her hand and said, “
Pfft
.”

“That's news to me,” said Baby.

“It was rather admirable on Byrle's part,” said Ava.

“But still a heinous outcome,” said Baby.

“Baby, can I get you something to eat? Gumbo and a slice of bread?” asked Carmela.

Baby loosened the blue silk scarf from around her throat. “Sure, honey, that would be nice. Del's on a business trip, so I've just been rattling around all by myself.”

Carmela brought out a tray of food for Baby and restarted her CD, grateful that things had finally settled down to a dull roar.

“What have you heard from Babcock?” Baby asked, between bites.

“He's been a champ,” said Carmela. “When he found out Ava and I were at the church this morning, he definitely took an interest.”

“And when he found out Byrle was a friend of ours,” said Ava, “he promised to jump right on the case.”

“That's wonderful!” said Baby.

Carmela gave a strangled smile. Babcock hadn't promised that at all. In fact, he'd been a little noncommittal. But it wouldn't help to assuage Baby's grief if she told her that.

“And Babcock's keeping you in the loop?” Baby asked Carmela.

Again Ava jumped in. “You can count on Carmela to get the straight poop. Right from the horse's mouth.”

“Wrong end,” Carmela muttered.

But Ava's confidence in Babcock helped relax Baby. That and the wine.

“Besides staying in the loop on the investigation,” said Baby, gazing at Carmela, “I have another favor to ask.”

“If you want a refund for Wednesday's calligraphy class,” said Carmela, “no problem. I understand completely if you're just not up for it.”

“No,” said Baby, “that's not it at all.”

“Then what?” asked Carmela.

Baby fidgeted. “After everything that's happened today, this is going to sound awfully frivolous.”

“Come on, honey,” urged Ava, “just spit it out. You'll feel better.”

Baby took a quick sip of wine and aimed a lopsided smile at Carmela. “You know I'm chairperson of this year's Holidazzle Tour,” she began. The Holidazzle Tour was a walking tour of holiday-themed homes in the upscale Garden District.

“Okay,” said Carmela.

“And one of my Holidazzle homes just fizzled out on me.” Baby squinted, then corrected herself. “Actually, Madge and Bryan LeBeau, the owners of the home, are in the throes of getting a divorce . . .”

“You're saying the dazzle went out of their marriage,” said Ava.

“Something like that,” said Baby. “Actually, Madge caught Bryan with a . . .” She cleared her throat. “. . . A
girl
friend, but that's beside the point.”

“Actually, that's sort of interesting,” said Ava.

Baby plunged on ahead. “So I was wondering, Carmela, if you'd agree to decorate your Garden District house for the Holidazzle Tour?”

Carmela didn't hesitate. “Oh no. I couldn't.” The Garden District house had been Shamus's home originally and the one she'd finally received in their long, drawn-out divorce settlement. And now that she had it and wasn't even living there, she had to figure out what to do with it. Sell it, keep it, burn it down?

Baby looked disappointed. “You did Holidazzle once before.”

“Sure,” said Carmela, “but that was different. That was when Shamus and I were still
married
.” She shuddered at the thought of Shamus, who worked a cushy job doing little to nothing as vice president at his family's chain of Crescent City Banks. “Now I'm not even living there.”

“So much the better,” drawled Baby. “You won't have to worry about hordes of visitors tromping through and disturbing your privacy.”

“Baby . . . ,” said Carmela, sounding pained.

“It would only be for two weekends,” Baby pointed out. Clearly, she didn't want to take no for an answer.

Carmela let loose a deep sigh. Decorate her empty house for the Holidazzle Tour? How would that work, anyway? Could you really make an empty home look all cheery and holiday happy? Or would it just end up looking staged and empty?

“I could help you decorate,
cher
,” volunteered Ava. “You know how much I love holidays.”

“Thanks a bunch,” said Carmela, “but your favorite holiday is Halloween. You're the one who goes all misty eyed over goblins and witches.”

Ava gave an energetic nod. “That's all true, but I can work up some Christmassy spirit if I have to.”

Carmela looked skeptical. “Not like you do for Halloween.”

“How about this,” said Ava, “I could
try
.”

“See?” said Baby, nodding her approval. “Ava's on board.”

“Whoop-de-doo,” said Carmela.

“Come on,” urged Ava. “Be a sport.”

Carmela looked at Ava, then turned her gaze on Baby. She looked so sad and bereft, how could Carmela not say yes?

“Okay, you win,” said Carmela. “Yes.”

Baby broke out in a wide grin. Good-hearted Carmela, who'd pretty much been on the hook the whole time, had needed only a gentle tug. “And remember,” said Baby, “all the proceeds go to charity.”

“Which one this year?” asked Ava.

“Rescued sea turtles,” said Baby. “All those poor little sweeties who are still being plucked from the oily swamps and wetlands. The loggerheads, hawksbills, and leatherbacks.” Baby had a soft spot in her heart for turtles and even had a pet snapping turtle named Sampson who tolerated no one but her.

“Ohhh,” said Ava, turning imploring eyes on Carmela. “Turtles. Now you have to do it!”

“Okay, okay,” said Carmela. Hard to argue with the both of them. Even harder to argue against charity for turtles.

“Then it's a fait accompli,” declared Baby. “Ava will help decorate and I shall list your home on the official Holidazzle Tour program.”

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Baby had departed and both Carmela and Ava were beginning to yawn. The day's events had finally caught up to them, frazzling and fraying their nerves.

Ava stood up, stretched her arms above her head, and said in a slightly hopeful tone, “Maybe we should go back to St. Tristan's tomorrow and take a look around.”

Carmela stared at Ava. She knew that
take a look around
was code for snooping. “What do you think we're going to find? Some kind of clue? A suspicious person skulking around the back alley?”

Ava shook her head. “Nothing that obvious. But maybe, just maybe, we can pick up a vibe or two.”

“Maybe we can pick up a vibe,” Carmela repeated. To her way of thinking, it sounded awfully lame.

But Ava was not to be dissuaded. “Come on, Carmela . . . you pretty much promised Baby you'd look into things. You can't back out now.”

Carmela pursed her lips and made a face. “Babcock's gonna kill me. He hates it when I get involved.”

“Still,” said Ava, “a promise is a promise.”

A
S they crept down the narrow back alley in the sputtering rain, St. Tristan's Church looked like a spooky Gothic castle this morning. Its aged gray granite was stained black in several places, while rounded turrets with narrow windows rose up and lent a foreboding atmosphere. To make matters worse, fog had rolled in from the Mississippi to shroud the adjacent graveyard with its tilting, decaying grave markers.

“I forgot how creepy it was back here,” said Ava. “I know we're smack-dab in the middle of the French Quarter, but this graveyard and fog make it feel like we're lost in Transylvania.” Indeed, the soft rain served to dampen sounds, while the fog gave everything an ethereal, soft-focus appearance.

“We could still try getting in the main entrance,” said Carmela.

“With that cop stationed there? No way would he let us in.”

“So we sneak around the back,” said Carmela, “seeking alternate means per your plan.”

“Look,” said Ava, glancing sideways. “The dig is still going on back here.”

“Awfully close to the graveyard,” said Carmela.

The two of them tiptoed over to a sharply spiked, black, wrought-iron fence.

“Don't say that,” said Ava. “It creeps me out.”

“It's just a fact,” said Carmela. “The graveyard encroached on the site of the old church. On top of the ruins.”

“You're telling me they have to move bodies?” asked Ava.

“I guess so,” said Carmela.

“Let's not think about it,” said Ava, “let's just keep . . .
oof
.” Ava suddenly lurched forward for about the tenth time. “Doggone.” She turned and stared peevishly at the cobblestones. “My heels keep catching. And then I look all stupid and ungainly.”

“That's because you're wearing four-inch-high stiletto boots,” said Carmela. “Honestly, who do you think can walk around in four-inch-high stiletto boots?” She chose not to mention that the boots were also spiked with silver studs and extended well above Ava's knees.

“I usually manage just fine,” Ava said pointedly, “as long as I don't have to prance about on cobblestones.”

“Oh crap,” Carmela breathed, as they rounded the back corner of the church. “The crime-scene tape is still up.” Black-and-yellow tape that warned
Crime Scene Do Not Enter
was strung like cobwebs across the back door. The warning tape fluttered and flapped in the chill breeze that swooped and swirled around them.

“But look here,” Ava pointed out, “some of it's already been pulled down. So probably a few people have already ventured inside.” She reached up and gently peeled away another piece of tape. “Oh boy, some more just came loose!”

“You like to live on the edge, don't you?” Carmela said, under her breath.

“The thing is,” Ava reasoned, “now it's not completely verboten to go in the back door. Now it's just a halfhearted warning.”

“Clearly,” said Carmela, “the police don't want people prowling around this church.”

“But we're not just people,” said Ava. “We're relevant personnel.”

“You think?”

“Sure,” said Ava. “We're witnesses. Sort of.” She backed up against the rough stone and hugged herself as if trying to keep warm. “Go ahead, try the door. See if it's unlocked.”

Carmela reached out a gloved hand, grasped the black metal door handle, and pushed down.

A sharp, dry click rang out.

“Imagine that,” said Ava. “It's open. Practically an invitation.”

Now Carmela's curiosity got the best of her. “You
are
in the Angel Auxiliary,” she reasoned. “So you do have access rights to the church.”

“That I do,” said Ava. “And you
are
my invited guest.”

Carmela took a deep breath and tugged at the heavy wooden door. It hesitated for a split second, and then rusty hinges creaked and the door yawned open to reveal a dark interior.

“Whoa,” said Ava. “Dark in there.”

“Now you're getting cold feet? Now that we've got access?”

“Not me,” said Ava, quickly stepping inside. Carmela followed as the door shut behind them with a loud whoosh, leaving them standing in semidarkness. Stone walls closed in around them, and underneath their nervous feet the cement floor felt hard and pebbled. All around them, the old church seemed to let loose deep, mournful sighs. Maybe the wind? Possibly the old furnace? Suddenly, this little backdoor foray didn't seem like a lighthearted game anymore.

“Have you been back here before?” Carmela asked. She glanced around at putty-colored walls, deciding it all looked rather austere and foreboding, with an unwelcome hint of dungeon tossed in for good measure.

“I
guess
I've been back here,” said Ava. “As I recall, it's kind of a twisty-turny labyrinth. Lots of little rooms with nooks and crannies. Kind of like . . . catacombs.”

“I wish you hadn't said that,” said Carmela. Her breathing was suddenly a little more shallow as her heart pinged with excitement. Or was she picking up something else?

“Let's just wend our way into the main part of the church,” suggested Ava. “So we can take another look at that side altar.”

“Lead the way,” said Carmela.

They crept fifteen feet down a long, dark corridor, Ava walking point, Carmela following closely behind. Their footfalls were soft and dampened in what felt like dead air.

Suddenly, Carmela let loose a low hiss and tugged hard on the back of Ava's sweater.

Ava stopped in her tracks. “What?” she asked in a whisper.

Carmela crooked an index finger and pointed to her left, toward a small, dimly lit room. It was a coatroom, what used to be quaintly referred to as a cloakroom. Only this room held actual cloaks. Or, rather, brown monk's robes that hung in a long row on tarnished metal hooks.

“Jeepers,” Ava said, under her breath. “You think maybe the killer grabbed one of those robes yesterday?”

“It's possible,” said Carmela. Looking at the robes gave her an unsettled feeling, like seeing a crust of snakeskin that had been hastily shed. Yet the serpent was still wriggling around out there.