“To the exclusive tasting room at Chateau Carmela,” enthused Ava. “Atta girl. Nothing wrong with a little lateral transfer. Shows you got your priorities straight.”

  Boo and Poobah danced around Carmela's feet as she heated the food, then served it up in bowls. “Be good now, and you can lick these clean when we're done, okay?”

  Two happy woofs told her they agreed.

  “Have you thought about what kind of divorce settlement you're really going to ask for?” said Ava as they were eating. Carmela groaned. “Figuring all that out seems so crass.”

  “Divorce is crass,” said Ava. “It's a hard-nosed business negotiation. Two parties have to sit down and say, 'If you take this, then I get that.' “

  “Sounds more like trading marbles in fourth grade,” said Carmela.

  “Good analogy,” said Ava. She set her dish down on the floor, watched as Boo and Poobah shoved their furry snouts into it. “Too bad Shamus doesn't just keel over from a bad ticker or something. That way you'd walk away with the whole enchilada. With divorce you only get half the enchilada.”

  “Not really an enchilada then,” said Carmela. “More like a chili relleno.”

  “Whatever you do, cher, don't give the ring back. Even if you have to swallow it.”

  Carmela jumped up, turned on the TV set. “What I have to do is get a lawyer, that's the place to start.”

  “Get a nasty one,” urged Ava. “Ooh, speaking of nasty . . .”

  Kimber Breeze's head filled the television screen.

  “Here we go again,” sang Carmela, knowing this report would probably be another big sack of lies.

  “To recap this ongoing story,” said Kimber, adopting a serious face and staring straight into the camera as it tracked in for a close-up, “New Orleans police are still baffled over the death of a model this past Wednesday night. Strange bite and claw marks, along with as-yet-unidentified hair found on the victim's body, would seem to suggest a vicious animal attack. But crime scene investigators are not ruling out a human attack, either.”

  The scene switched to a clip of an elderly woman with a pinched face and gray, uncombed hair. “There's a werewolf running around the streets of N'Orleans at night,” she shrilled. “And it wouldn't be the first time.” “Where do they find these people?” guffawed Ava. “Do aliens bring them? Are they rejects from the planet Zorak?”

  Then Kimber was back, doing her best to look baffled as well as concerned. “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Some say a werewolf is prowling our city. The mysterious half-man, half-beast creature that has existed only in legend.” Kimber paused, letting a few beats go by. “Until, perhaps, now.”

  Carmela grabbed the remote and flipped the TV off. “Anyone for silver bullets or wooden stakes?”

  “Wooden stakes only work with vampires,” Ava pointed out. “And even then I'm not so sure.”

  Carmela picked up her glass of wine, swirled it gently, then took a sip. “It would seem Kimber Breeze is doing her best to put forth the bizarre theory that a werewolf is stalking New Orleans.” Carmela knew how ridiculous the whole thing sounded. In fact, Kimber's wild theory made her angry. But somehow, the whole notion plucked away uncomfortably at the limbic part of her brain, the reptilian brain that still carried a deep, primal fear of such strange and bizarre things.

  And the idea of a strange beast terrified Carmela. After all, she hadn't forgotten the sensation of someone pushing her down and the nauseating feeling of hot breath on the back of her neck.

  “She really is flogging this werewolf thing, isn't she?” laughed Ava.

  “I'd like to flog her,” muttered Carmela.

  Chapter 16

  ARE you going to take pictures at the funeral?” asked Ava. She was toying with Carmela's digital camera as they zipped along Highway 1, heading toward Hermitage, just northwest of Baton Rouge.

  Carmela nodded, then reconsidered. “Well, maybe afterwards. Of the graveyard anyway. I understand it's quite old. Maybe I can get something we can use as wall decor to sort of augment the rubbings.”

  Ava studied herself in the rearview mirror, tilting her head left then right. “Do you think I'm gettin' crow's feet?”

  “Nope,” responded Carmela. She was watching the road more carefully now, looking for the turnoff.

  “Bags under my eyes?”

  “You look fantastic,” said Carmela. “Better than fantastic.”

  “You know,” said Ava, whispering as though she were revealing state secrets, “I'm not exactly a dewy-faced twenty-year-old anymore.”“Who is?” said Carmela.

  Ava continued to scrutinize her face in the mirror. “But do I still look young enough to model? You know, my cheeks used to be as smooth as a baby's—”

  “But you've already been selected to model,” said Carmela, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You're the new face of ModaChadron.”

  Ava sighed. “Such as it is.”

  ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH WAS THE OLDEST CHURCH in the small town of Hermitage. A small stone structure that looked like it had seen better times, the dark red stone was sorely in need of a sandblasting. But large, leafy trees surrounded the church and lent an air of peace and tranquility. And a small whitewashed vicarage stood behind the church.

  Carmela parked her car in the small parking lot. From there they could see people dressed in black heading toward the graveyard that adjoined the property.

  “Has to be the place,” said Ava, sounding none too chirpy.

  Carmela nodded. “This is it.” Since there was only a simple graveside service scheduled, she wondered just how religious Amber's family had been.

  Joining the straggle of people, the two women walked toward the graveyard where a bronze casket rested atop a wooden bier. Bright green plastic grass surrounded it. Carmela shuddered. Funeral grass. There was nothing worse. Black metal folding chairs, looking aged and rickety, were set up in a semicircle around the casket, but nobody had taken a seat on them yet.

  Ava nudged Carmela as they got closer to the grave. “Look at who all showed up,” she murmured under her breath. Carmela studied the crowd that shuffled nervously about in the vicinity of the casket. Chadron and Angelique were there, Chadron looking studiously sober, Angelique gazing about with open curiosity. Yasmin was there, too, along with three other young women who were so amazingly thin Carmela knew they just had to be models as well.

  I'm not that thin, thought Carmela. Ava's not even that thin. How on earth are we ever going to fit into Chadron's clothes ?

  And Carmela caught sight of Gordon van Hees, too. He had moved over to chat quietly with Yasmin. Her short, dark hair made her look like she was wearing a skullcap, and her skin appeared almost translucent in the thin sunlight.

  Nearing the group, Carmela nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Guste, who had just taken seats on the black folding chairs.

  Margaret Guste daubed at her eyes with a tissue, then gave a slight nod toward Carmela. Thank you, she mouthed. Her husband sat next to her, staring straight ahead, not seeing the people or the event that was about to unfold before him.

  Carmela's heart went out to him. To both of them. There could be nothing worse, she decided, than to lose a beloved child.

  “The parents?” whispered Ava.

  Carmela nodded. “The Gustes,” she whispered back.

  “That's right,” said Ava. “She changed her name.” She gazed around at the crowd. “Well, it's certainly a well-dressed group.”

  A minister clutching a prayer book took his place at the head of the casket. He cast sorrowful eyes about the crowd, then began. “We are gathered here today to pay tribute to our dearly departed sister, Amber Elizabeth Guste,” he intoned. “May the good Lord give us comfort and strength as we grieve her death, for she was taken from us far too early in life.”

  Carmela sighed deeply and looked around. The Minister was very well-meaning, but his words were depressing rather than uplifting. Instead of focusing on an afterlife, he pressed on about Amber’s untimely death and the misery that everyone had to be feeling. The crowd picked up on his melancholy words and seemed restless. Yasmin stared at Gordon, Angelique kept eying the gaggle of skinny models, and Chadron seemed to be staring at a dark figure who was standing away from the crowd.

  Ava caught Carmela eyeing the figure too, and murmured, “Who’s that?”

  “Not sure,” Carmela said under her breath. And then the lone figure turned slowly and stared down the hill toward the gathering. “Santino,” hissed Carmela.

  Santino wore a black leather coat that hung past his knees. It was an article of clothing that seemed too hot for the day, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He had his arms crossed casually, but Carmela could detect tension in his pose. Santino’s long hair flowed down to his shoulders, and he seemed to glower at everyone as his eyes roved the crowd.

  “He looks pretty upset,” said Carmela.

  “The question is, what’s he doing here?” asked Ava.

  The Santino’s eyes fell on Chadron, and his stare tuned into a disdainful sneer.

  “Paying his respects?” said Carmela.

  IT WAS CHADRON WHO DELIVERED THE MOST heartfelt and meaning eulogy of the day. His voice echoing through the picturesque graveyard, he talked about what a great talent Amber had been, what a shining star she surely would have become. At each compliment, Angelique rolled her heavily mascaraed eyes and tightened her lips, expressing her obvious displeasure. Yasmin, on the other hand, looked relaxed and radiant. She seemed to glow with the knowledge that she was now top model at the Moda Chadron house.

  When the prayers had been said, when the wreaths and sprays of flowers had been laid tenderly atop Amber’s casket, when final regrets had been conveyed to Mr. and Mrs. Guste, Carmela and Ava slipped off into the cemetery.

  “This part is really old, cher,” remarked Ava as they strolled among tilting markers that were covered in moss so dark and green it looked like velvet. “And look at the dates. They almost go back to Louisiana Purchase days a .”

  “It’s very beautiful here,” said Carmela. “Peaceful, too.”

  Live oaks draped in Spanish moss created a restful, highly atmospheric scene. A small reflecting pond contained dozens of tiny orange fish that seemed to darted in all directions as they ventured near. Beds of camellias and mums offered bountiful fall blossoms. And a small marble statue of an angel, it’s face pitted with age, seemed to watch knowingly over nearby gravestones.

  “Maybe Amber will really be at rest here,” said Carmela, her voice catching in her throat. Her final memory of the girl was seeing her sprawled rudely in the alley.

  “Let’s hope so,” agreed Ava, gazing around. “At least I don’t see him.”

  Just as Carmela had framed a shot of a granite headstone with a small lamb carved into it, Gordon Van Hees stepped, literally, into the picture.

  She lowered the camera, slightly startled.

  “Oops,” he said, backtracking fast, looking very embarrassed. “Didn't mean to do that.”

  “No problem,” said Carmela. She reconfigured her shot, took the picture.

  “You enjoy cemeteries?” he asked her. “I don't mean to imply that you're enjoying today's event, of course. Certainly not this terribly sad ceremony. But you are interested in their history and architecture?”

  “Call me strange,” said Carmela, “but I do.”

  “Nothing strange about it,” said Gordon. “We live in New Orleans, after all. Which means we're surrounded by our cities of the dead.”

  “That's for sure,” said Ava. “They're all around us.”

  “I'm curious,” said Gordon, as Carmela took a couple more shots. “Are you perhaps thinking of using any of these pictures in the decorating scheme for Moda Chadron?”

  “We're working on that,” Ava told him confidently. “We have some wonderful designs cooked up. Very sophisticated stuff.”

  “Excellent,” said Gordon.

  “Actually,” said Carmela, “I was thinking of incorporating a couple of these shots into a miniature theater I'm creating.”

  “Now that sounds interesting,” said Gordon.

  “No, I'm really kind of struggling with it,” Carmela told him. “My little theater needs something; I'm just not sure what. Maybe some sort of photo backdrop or maybe just a snippet of marvelous fabric.”

  “You're talking to the right man,” said Gordon, smiling. “I just happen to have access to yards and yards of the most incredible fabrics.”

  “I suppose you do,” said Carmela, remembering the clothes and the luxurious fabrics she'd seen at Moda Chadron.

  “And I'd be happy to . . . say, you don't stock ribbon at that scrapbook shop of yours do you?” asked Gordon. He scrunched up his face, looking slightly hopeful.

  “Yards of it,” said Ava, jumping in. “Carmela's got velvets, silks, beaded organzas, chiffons ...”

  “We absolutely must negotiate a trade, then,” said Gordon. “Some of my fabric snippets for your ribbon. You see, Chadron is still laboring away on clothing and headpieces for the Halloween Bash fashion show. He's got himself in a royal snit and has been absolutely screaming for purple velvet ribbon. I've been on the phone to our suppliers but . . .”

  “Carmela can do purple,” interrupted Ava. “As well as violet, amethyst, magenta, and everything in between.”

  “Talk about a lifesaver,” enthused Gordon. He held up his right hand, pinched his index finger close against his thumb. “Chadron was this close to ripping my head off this morning.”

  “Oh my,” said Ava. “And we're supposed to stop by later this afternoon for a fitting.”

  “Bring the ribbon in tribute,” warned Gordon. “And maybe he'll spare your lives.”

  Chapter 17

  HOW was the funeral?” asked Gabby. “Sad,” said Carmela. “And relatively uneventful, thank goodness.” She'd dropped off Ava, dashed home to let the dogs out, and had just pushed her way through the front door at Memory Mine. The door she'd had to have repaired following Shamus's nasty little snit fit. “How's business here?”

  “Heating up,” said Gabby, as she ripped open a FedEx box, gathered up the contents, and carried it all to the counter. “Oh, there's lunch if you'd like, a roast beef po'boy from the Pavilion Deli.” Gabby was bent over the front counter now, happily sorting out their new shipment of stickers and foam stamps.

  “Dressed?” asked Carmela.

  “Yup,” said Gabby. “The works. Mayo, tomatoes, pickles, and coleslaw. Oh, and Baby brought lemon icebox pie.” “Fantastic,” said Carmela, as she threaded her way through the store, heading toward her little office. “I'm famished.”

  “Hey cupcake,” called Tandy. She was sitting at the craft table alongside Baby, working on a scrapbook page. “We heard you went up to Hermitage this morning. That poor girl's funeral.”

  “A sad business,” said Baby. She pushed a wisp of blond hair behind an ear, revealing gleaming Chanel earrings.

  “What's sad,” said Carmela, slipping into a chair alongside Baby, “is that I'm not one iota closer to figuring out what happened that night.”

  Baby put a hand on Carmela's arm. “It's not up to you to solve this murder, honey. That's for the police.”

  “They don't seem to be any closer than I am,” replied Carmela. “But, yes, Baby, I hear you. I know exactly what you're saying.”

  Now it was Tandy's turn to put her two cents in. She scrunched her face into a serious look and focused hard on Carmela. “And it's completely unfair that Ava's fortune-teller guy . . . What's his name?”

  “Giovanni.”

  “That Giovanni dragged you even further into this mess,” said Tandy. “You were just an innocent bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She nodded hard, her tight curls bouncing as if to punctuate her sentence.

  “Exactly,” said Baby. “So have a slice of pie and forget about it.”

  “Thank you,” Carmela told her friends. “Your words means a lot to me.”

  “You mean our criticism?” Tandy's laugh was slightly sheepish.

  “No, your support,” said Carmela. “I don't know what I'd do without friends like you.” “Honey,” said Tandy. “We don't know what we'd do without this place!”

  “We are scrapbook addicts,” agreed Baby. “We should probably seek immediate intervention.”

  “And treatment,” said Tandy.

  “Check ourselves into a weekend scrapbook retreat,” chuckled Baby.

  “What are you two working on, anyway?” asked Carmela. She was heartened by her friends' kindness, could feel the damp cloud of Amber's funeral lifting slightly.

  “Not much,” said Baby. “But if you've got a new idea, we'd sure be open to it.”

  “Do you have a new idea?” asked Tandy, looking interested.

  Carmela nodded. “I was going to save this project for my Dream Weaver classes, but it might be fun to take a test run.”

  “On what?” asked Baby.

  Carmela stood up, slid out one of the drawers in her flat file, and pulled out two white cardboard templates. “They're templates for purses,” she said, laying the pieces in front of Baby and Tandy. “I've got these two all ready to go.” She paused. “Here's the thing. First you stamp and decorate them, which is a lot trickier than it sounds. Then you fold them up so they really look like a constructed handbag. See, I've already made dotted lines for folding. To finish them off, you add side tabs, a handle, and maybe a fancy closure.”

  “What's the finished size?” asked Baby. She was already folding her template, eager to get a sense of what her little purse would look like when it was finished.

  “About eight inches long, six inches tall,” said Carmela.

  “A purse,” said Tandy, slowly warming up to the idea. “For what purpose?”

  “Decorated with beads and fibers, they make adorable gift bags,” said Carmela. “For jewelry or candles. Or a piece of lingerie. Or maybe even some homemade cookies.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22