“And you hit him,” said Officer Dutrey, taking in the situation.

  “I'd like to hit him again,” snapped Carmela.

  “Ma'am,” said Officer Dutrey, “are you okay? Were you harmed in any way?”

  “Kimber Breeze and her pack of idiots at the TV station are behind this,” Carmela told Dutrey through clenched teeth. She could feel herself beginning to lose it. “All because of poor Amber's murder in the alley behind Ava's voodoo shop and—” Carmela stopped, put a hand to her mouth. She knew she was rambling. “Give me a moment, okay?” she asked.

  Dutrey nodded. “Take all the time you need, ma'am.”

  Walking a few paces on badly wobbling legs, Carmela told herself she had to calm down, that she was probably babbling on without making any real sense.

  Forcing herself to take deep, cleansing breaths, the kind she and Ava had learned about in yoga class but never really practiced, Carmela watched as Officer Dutrey talked on his phone and made an abrupt hand gesture at Harvey.

  Carmela seemed to exist in a dreamlike state for the next five minutes or so. Until another car, a plain red Chevy Caprice, rounded the corner at top speed. As it rocked to a stop, Carmela noticed the twirling red light on its dashboard. Then the driver's door was flung open, and Detective Edgar Babcock climbed out.

  Carmela took one look at him and started to cry.

  Chapter 20

  “VIEWERSHIP,” snarled Carmela, curled on the chaise lounge in her apartment. “This whole crappy werewolf stunt was about luring in viewers and advertisers. Kimber Breeze, idiot that she is, thought she'd try to scare me to death. Or scare me into giving some ridiculous interview that would hustle up more interest in her stupid werewolf story.”

  “She almost succeeded,” said Ava. She was focused intently on Carmela, trying to force-feed her a praline.

  Detective Babcock was watching both of them with slight amusement. After he'd transported Carmela home and withstood the onslaught of two welcoming dogs, he'd hustled across the courtyard and narrated the whole sordid scenario to Ava. Ava, of course, had been overcome with worry and rushed right over to take care of Carmela.

  “If you can't eat a praline, cher, at least try a chocolate chip cookie,” urged Ava. She'd dug some cookies out of the frozen depths of Carmela's freezer and had already wolfed down half a dozen of the frozen discs herself along with a glass of Chardonnay.

  Carmela shook her head. Now that she'd harnessed her anger, she was trying to make it work to her advantage. “I'm not in a sugar mood, what I want is . . .”

  “Something salty?” asked Ava. “How about a nice chocolate-dipped pretzel?”

  “I think what she really has a taste for is revenge,” said Babcock mildly. They were all seated around Carmela's small dining room table. Boo and Poobah had picked up on the tension in the room and were now dancing and snorting at their feet, vying for attention.

  “Not revenge, but justice,” said Carmela, finally able to focus her thoughts. “I want to take very specific legal action against Kimber Breeze and WBEZ-TV.”

  “Can she do that?” Ava asked Babcock. He was amusing himself by paging through one of the glossy gossip magazines Ava had left at Carmela's.

  “Sure,” Babcock responded. “In fact I wish she would.”

  “How would she do that?” asked Ava.

  “The police have already made an arrest, so that's the beginning of a criminal action right there. Now Carmela is free to launch a civil suit, too.”

  “So she needs . . . what?” asked Ava. Then answered her own question by saying, “A lawyer, I suppose.”

  Babcock nodded. “That would do the trick.” He turned the gossip magazine slightly, squinting at the centerfold story.

  “Do you have a lawyer?” Ava asked Carmela.

  Carmela shook her head no.

  Ava pulled the boat-neck collar of her yellow knit shirt down over her shoulders as she thought for a moment. “You're probably not gonna like this, cher, but Shamus is the one with good connections to lawyers. Heck, there are probably dozens of lawyers just hanging around that big old bank of his. Working on their briefs or tort or whatever it is lawyers work on.”

  “Rattling their sabers,” muttered Babcock.

  “Yeah, probably,” Carmela responded. “But, Ava, I really don't want to get Shamus involved in this. I don't want him poking his big nose in anything.”

  “I understand that,” said Ava. “You don't want to be personally involved with Shamus any more than you have to. The man is a skunk and a cad and a philanderer. But I see this as a completely different issue.” She grasped Carmela's hand, gazed anxiously into her eyes. “You could have been seriously hurt tonight, cher. If you don't take some sort of major action right away, Kimber Breeze could continue with her bizarre tricks, maybe hurt somebody else.”

  “Good point,” said Babcock. He'd lobbied to call Shamus in the first place and had been immediately shot down by Carmela.

  “You think?” asked Carmela.

  Ava nodded. “You said you want justice. Shamus and that big old bank of his have got plenty of money to buy you some good old-fashioned justice.”

  “It's the Southern way,” added Babcock.

  “You think I should call him,” said Carmela, ignoring Babcock's remark.

  “Yes, I do,” said Ava. “Appeal to the gentleman that's buried within him. Get him to ride to your rescue like a knight astride a white horse. Besides, Shamus is already ticked off at Kimber Breeze for putting his little door-kicking performance on TV. So he's probably motivated.”

  “Aha,” said Carmela. Deep down, she knew Ava was right. Shamus was a self-proclaimed take-charge dude. Her little incident tonight would be infinitely appealing to him. “I suppose I should call him now.” “There's no time like the present,” said Ava.

  Carmela sighed. “All right. You win.” She got up, squared her shoulders. “This is gonna take a while. You two gonna stick around?”

  They both nodded. Babcock reached for another magazine.

  “Okay,” said Carmela, heading for the bedroom where she'd have a little privacy. “Wish me luck.”

  SHAMUS WAS OUTRAGED. “YOU WHAT?” HE screamed.

  “Got chased,” Carmela told him again. “By a werewolf. Stalked, really.” Shamus, she was beginning to believe, suffered from AADD, adult attention deficit disorder. More and more, she had to repeat things to him.

  “And you hit him with what?” barked Shamus.

  “A pitchfork.”

  “A pitch pipe?”

  “Pitchfork,” shouted Carmela. “You know, like a devil carries.”

  “Devil?” said Shamus. “Like in the devil?”

  “Have you been drinking?” asked Carmela. “Or have squirrels just been gnawing your phone line?”

  “No,” said Shamus, huffy now. “It's just such a bizarre story.”

  “Of course it is,” said Carmela. “The thing is, will you help me? Can I count on you to sic one of your good old boy lawyers on Kimber Breeze and her scummy TV station?”

  “Hell yes,” said Shamus, always up for a good squabble. “I've been itching to get back at those assholes. I'll phone one of my attorneys tonight. Probably Dewayne Jeffson. Dewayne's one tough sumbitch. He'll be burning up the lines to WBEZ as well as the FCC.” “That's exactly what I was hoping for,” said Carmela, heartened now. “Thank you, Shamus.”

  “You're welcome, darlin'.” He paused. “You know, this shit wouldn't happen if we were still together.”

  “Sure it would, Shamus. It'd just be different shit.”

  “Don't say that. We had a good thing going. Still could if we wanted to.”

  “Shamus ...” pleaded Carmela.

  “Hey, honey, are you really okay?” he asked. “Physically, I mean.” A note of interest crept into Shamus's voice. “Maybe I should come over there, babe. Spend the night. Offer a little husbandly companionship and comfort.”

  “Your offer is duly noted,” said Carmela. “But not accepted.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah,” said Carmela.

  “I TOLD YOU,” SQUEALED AVA. “SHAMUS TO THE rescue!”

  “Excellent,” said Babcock, once Carmela revealed the full outcome of her talk with Shamus.

  “Shamus's lawyer to the rescue,” corrected Carmela. “Big difference.” She started to yawn, tried to suppress it, wasn't very successful.

  “You're tired,” said Ava. “I better toddle off.” She stared pointedly at Babcock. “You coming too? Detective?”

  “In a minute,” he told her.

  Now Ava was hesitant. “Well. . . okay. I suppose.” She paused at the door. “Call if you need me, Carmela. Or if you just want to jabber.”

  “Night night,” said Babcock.

  “What?” said Carmela, once Ava had finally left. “What?” “A couple things,” said Babcock. “And then I'll get out of your hair.”

  Uh-oh, she thought, then stared expectantly at him.

  “We can't find Santino anywhere.”

  “Why are you bringing that up?” Carmela asked.

  “Because it's all related,” Babcock explained patiently. “Giovanni working at Ava's shop. Santino's disappearance. WBEZ's werewolf fiasco tonight. It's like an intricate Chinese puzzle.”

  Carmela sat in silence for a few moments. Then she said, “Giovanni told me that Santino was going into hiding.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “But I don't know where.”

  “I hate to tell you this,” said Babcock, “but when people go into hiding, that's generally a sign of guilt.” He rolled up one of Ava's gossip magazines, the one that said “Angelina's New Love” on the cover in forty-eight-point type, obviously intending to take it with him.

  “I'd be in hiding, too,” said Carmela, “if the cops thought I murdered someone.”

  “Look,” said Babcock, pushing his chair back from the table and getting to his feet. Boo and Poobah immediately stuck their furry muzzles against his knees, hoping for a final ear tug. “All I'm saying is it's great that you're a nice and generous person who cares about Giovanni and Santino. But you need to be careful. How well do you really know these brothers, anyway? Why are you putting yourself at risk for them?”

  “I didn't know I was,” stammered Carmela. “Until tonight.”

  Chapter 21

  THE phone rang before Carmela's coffeemaker had concluded its morning sputtering and muttering and trickled out its hearty blend of chicory brew.

  “Let's hope this is good news,” Carmela told Boo and Poobah as she plucked hot rollers from her hair and bent to snatch up the phone. “Hello?”

  “How are you feeling?” Shamus asked, worry shading his voice.

  “Not bad. Running a little late.” A hot roller slipped through her fingers, and Carmela watched it bounce under the bed. Boo dropped to her tummy like a new Army recruit doing push-ups, stuck a paw under, and batted around, trying to fish it out.

  “You're going in to work today? After what happened last night? Babe, you should stay home,” Shamus commanded. “Take it easy.”

  “I'm fine,” said Carmela. “Besides, it's going to be a busy day.” She looked at herself in the mirror, decided her hair looked a little like an artichoke. Needs some gel or mousse or something.

  “My little entrepreneur,” sighed Shamus. “Always thinking business.”

  And where were you when I really needed business advice? wondered Carmela. Out snapping photos or wining and dining one of your little bimbettes.

  “I have a present for you,” said Shamus. “Turn on your TV.”

  “Huh?”

  “Turn on WBEZ,” urged Shamus. “Right now.”

  Carmela turned on the TV, flipped the channel to WBEZ. The morning anchor was just wrapping up the news. “Yeah. So?” she said. Then Carmela watched in awe as a graphic of a werewolf face suddenly flashed on the giant blue screen behind him.

  “We have an apology to issue ...” began the anchor.

  “Shamus!” squealed Carmela. “What's going on? Is this for real?” She watched, stunned, as the anchor extended a formal apology for what the station termed “an ill-advised werewolf stunt.”

  “I told you Dewayne Jeffson was lawyer enough to fry their asses,” chortled Shamus. “Don't you love it?”

  “I can't say I'm not pleased,” said Carmela. “Oh, Lordy, they're not going to mention my name, are they?”

  “Not to worry,” laughed Shamus. “Your involvement last evening shall go unmentioned.”

  “And what about Kimber Breeze?” asked Carmela. “Any repercussions for her?” She glanced down, saw that Boo had successfully retrieved the plastic roller and was munching contentedly on it. She snatched the roller from the dog's jaws.”Dewayne took care of her, too,” said Shamus. “Suspended from on-air work until further notice.”

  “Wow,” breathed Carmela. Ava had been right on. Shamus's connection to the Crescent City Bank chain really did give him the clout to make things happen.

  “What do you think?” Shamus asked in a wheedling tone. “Did I do good?”

  Carmela dropped the phone to her chest. Why couldn't Shamus have been this take-charge and decisive in their marriage? she wondered. Why couldn't he have come to her rescue a year or two earlier?

  “You did great,” she told Shamus, wondering if there was any possible way she could retain Dewayne Jeffson as her divorce attorney.

  JUST AS GABBY WAS RESTOCKING THE WIRE racks with paper, just as Baby and Tandy were finishing up their purse projects, just as Carmela was arranging an assortment of their new eight-by-eight-inch albums, Ava came galloping in, hair flying, blouse open a few buttons too many, worry still written across her face.

  “Honey, are you okay?” she exclaimed. A swathe of auburn hair swirled about her creamy shoulders, making her look like an eighteenth-century heroine in a Regency novel.

  Tandy turned toward Ava, an inquisitive look creeping across her thin face. “Pray tell, why wouldn't Carmela be okay?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding!” exclaimed a very out-of-breath Ava. “After last night?” She stared at Carmela, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “What? You mean you didn't tell them about last night? Your harrowing chase through the French Quarter? That awful werewolf stunt?”Carmela shook her head. She'd been hoping she wouldn't have to go into it all over again. But now Ava was fanning the flames, and it looked like she was the one who was probably going to get burned. Or at least outed. Once again.

  “Werewolf!” screamed Gabby.

  “What on earth happened?” cried Baby.

  Tandy's eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Oh my gosh!” she squealed suddenly. “This has something to do with that werewolf stunt WBEZ apologized for this morning, doesn't it!”

  So Carmela told her story, singing and dancing the whole thing like she was pitching a TV commercial to a bunch of marketing executives. Making silly faces and adding sound effects, trying to convey that last night's goings-on had been far more amusing than frightening. And, the funny thing was, in the cold, clear, rational light of day, the whole darn thing did seem awfully silly.

  A shiver ran up her spine. Yeah, right, she thought, reconsidering. Running through the French Quarter, that wacko breathing down my neck. Exactly my idea of fun.

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, FRIENDS HAD BEEN reassured, and a tentative calm had been restored in Memory Mine. Ava gave Carmela a quick hug, reminding her she'd be back at five, then dashed back to Juju Voodoo. Gabby was busy at the front counter. Tandy and Baby were busily stringing colored glass beads for their purse handles. And Gordon van Hees sauntered casually into Memory Mine.

  “Can I help you?” Gabby greeted him from behind the front desk with her customary warm smile.

  Gordon looked toward the back of the shop, saw Carmela, raised his hand in a friendly wave. “I'm here to say hi to the boss,” he told Gabby. “In fact, I brought a little something for her.”

  Carmela hustled up to the front of the shop. “Hi,” she said, meeting Gordon halfway. “I hope you're not worried about the decorations, because they're almost ready.”

  As he gazed about Carmela's shop, the friendly smile on Gordon's face morphed into an approving grin. “Not anymore,” he told her. “Now that I actually see your place. Your little scrapbook shop is quite fantastic. A veritable treasure trove.”

  “We're probably not all that different from your studio at Moda Chadron,” laughed Carmela. “Except we deal in paper and paint and glue sticks.”

  “And we deal in fine fabrics, of course.” Gordon took the fancy chocolate-colored box that was tucked under his arm and handed it to Carmela. “Dear lady, a small repayment for the ribbon you brought over yesterday. Which Chadron highly approved of, saving both my sanity and my scrawny neck.”

  “Good heavens,” said Carmela, accepting Gordon's gift. They moved up to the front of the store where she set the box down on the counter, removed the lid, peeled back several layers of tissue paper.

  “Oh my!” said Gabby.

  Nestled inside the gift box was a gorgeous array of fabric and lace. Swatches of Chinese silk, fine linen, Georgette crepe, toile, Mechlin lace, and reticella lace.

  “Is this organza?” Carmela asked Gordon, fingering a rich piece of purple fabric.

  He touched it gently, too, and nodded. Then indicated another piece of shiny gray fabric. “And this is silk douppioni. Donatella used it for a skirt last season.”

  “I can't accept this,” said Carmela. “It's too much.” She pushed the box toward him as if to give it back. Gordon pushed the box back toward her. “For your little theater,” he told her. “The one you told me about? The one that was so sorely in need of curtains or a backdrop?”

  “My theater,” Carmela said. “Yes, I did mention that to you, didn't I?”

  “May I see it?” asked Gordon.

  “I'll get it,” said Gabby. She reached down, grabbed the small paper theater, set it on the counter next to the fabric.

  “Oh,” said Carmela. “I guess introductions are in order. This is Gabby, my assistant.”

 

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