Crepe Factor (28 page)

“Cooter's been cleared,” Moony said. “He's working undercover.”

“Are you people plum crazy?” Teasdale screamed. “Get out.”

“Where's Jewel?” Carmela demanded. “Is he in his office?” She glanced around Teasdale toward the back of the plant.

“You're not setting foot back there!” Teasdale screamed.

“Watch me,” Carmela said, darting forward, trying to push her way past him.

But Teasdale was ready for her, throwing a shoulder out, blocking her passage with his wide hips.

“Come on, Squirrel,” Moony shouted. “Let's take this goober!”

That sent Teasdale backpedaling away from them, fists bunching as if ready to fight, his face as dark and threatening as a thundercloud. “I'm calling the police,” he threatened. “Gonna have you people arrested!” He spun on his heels and waddled toward the back of the plant.

“Go ahead and do that,” Ava said, darting in to add her two cents. “Call the police. We've been trying to get hold of them for the last hour!”

One of the workers, a skinny guy in a white apron and paper hat, who'd been watching the whole exchange, said, “Mr. Jewel isn't here.”

“Do you know where he is?” Carmela asked.

The skinny worker shrugged. “I heard something about a fancy caviar tasting.”

Carmela rocked back on her heels and clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh my gosh. That's right! There's a wine and caviar tasting tonight—a black-tie event—over at the Hotel Vendue!”

Squirrel grabbed her by the elbow. “Come on, girl. What are we waiting for!”

*   *   *

They all squished into Carmela's car again and roared back across the bridge. This time Moony wanted to drive with Carmela riding shotgun. Ava got stuck in the backseat next to Squirrel with Cooter alternately licking her knees and trying to curl up in her lap.

“Hurry up,” Ava cried. “I'm going crazy back here. It feels like I'm riding in some kind of clown car.”

“That's because you are,” Carmela said.

They zipped their way through the CBD, the Central Business District, Carmela waving her arms and shouting directions. At Canal Street, they almost collided with a
streetcar, the driver wildly clanging his bell at them, chastising them. Finally, Moony brought them into the French Quarter.

“Lookie this!” Squirrel shouted as they turned down Bourbon Street. The colorful neon lights, the wall-to-wall bars and clubs, made it look like a fun house arcade for big kids. “They even got bars here with topless dancers. Ain't that something? Look at that one . . . Scarlett's Cabaret. Sounds classy. Think we got time to stop?”

“No, we don't have time to stop,” Carmela yelped. “And get your mind out of the gutter.” She glanced at Moony, who was driving but craning his head in a million different directions, clearly dazzled by the sights and
plinkety-plink
music that spilled out of the raucous clubs. “You, too, Moony. Stop looking around for loose women and keep an eye on the pedestrians and stoplights. This isn't some jerkwater town, you know, this is New Orleans.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Moony said. “Bright lights, big city. Where we headed again?”

“The Hotel Vendue.”

“Is it fancy? Sounds fancy.”

“More like ultraexclusive,” Carmela said. “It's five star.”

“Probably got free movies like the Super 8,” Moony muttered.

“I wouldn't exactly say we're dressed for a black-tie event,” Ava said. “I mean, my shoes are slathered in mud and I feel like I've got bugs crawling in my hair.”

“Ava,” Carmela said, “you can't take a shower just yet. So please try to deal with it, okay?”

Just as they were careening down Dauphine Street, Moony honking at a horse-drawn jitney, trying to get it to move out of the way, Carmela's phone rang. She grabbed it out of her bag and fumbled it, her phone immediately
slipping to the floor. But when she scooped it back up, she could see from the caller ID that it was Babcock—
finally
returning her seventy zillion calls.

“Carmela, where are you?” Babcock cried as soon as she answered. He sounded anxious, bordering on upset. “What's going on? You left me something like fifty-seven voice mails. What's this about a Gulf surgeon?”

“Sturgeon,” Carmela said. “Not surgeon.”

“And sending squad cars, lights and sirens, to some former shrimp factory in Gretna?”

“Babcock, forget about that!” Carmela cried. “There's been a huge change of plans. Wait . . . hold on.” She punched Moony hard on the shoulder. “Turn left here. Wait . . . watch out!” The Easy Slider food truck had veered in front of them, holding up progress. “Don't hit that truck!”

“Are you talking to me?” Babcock asked.

“No, I'm taking to Moony,” Carmela said just as Cooter hung his head over the seat and started yapping loudly in her ear.

“Who the hell is Moony?” Babcock screamed. “And what's that dog I hear barking? Is that one of yours? I thought they were with Shamus this weekend.”

“Never mind that,” Carmela said.
Yip, yip, yap
 . . . Cooter had spotted something that had set him off, probably a corner hot dog vendor. “The thing is . . . we need you to come to the Hotel Vendue! Like . . . immediately!” Carmela grabbed the dog's collar and twisted it, trying to get him to quit barking. “Shut up!”

“What!”

“Not you. Cooter.”

“Who . . . why . . . ?” Babcock sputtered in sheer frustration. “What's going on?”

“Just meet me at the caviar and wine tasting in five minutes. I'll explain everything.”

“Honey, I can't come to a caviar tasting. I'm not dressed for it. Besides, don't you know I'm working?”

“No, no, this
is
about the murders—and the Jewels. The murders were all about the caviar!”

“Caviar? Jewels? What are you talking about?” His voice rose to a squawk that became a tangle of static. “Carmela, you're not making any sense!”

Chapter 29

M
OONY
ran the car right up onto the sidewalk and lurched to a stop.

“Sir!” A valet stepped in front of the car, looking like a Napoleonic solider in his red uniform and gold braid. “You can't park here, sir. This is for drop-offs only. We have a red carpet event tonight, sir!”

“That's what I'm talkin' about,” Ava cried as she pushed open the car door and stuck out a shapely mud-spattered leg. The rest of them spilled out, too. Moony and Squirrel, Carmela and Cooter.

The snippy society page reporter for the
New Orleans Star
rushed forward, eager to see who'd just arrived, pinching her photographer's arm to get his attention. But when she saw Carmela and Ava, all muddy and sunburned, and Moony and Squirrel, looking like flophouse refugees, she reared back, her
prim and proper sensibilities utterly rocked to the core. Cooter saw the reporter staring openmouthed and immediately rushed over to jump up, christen her white dress with his muddy paws, and administer a big old doggy smackeroo. And just as the society reporter opened her mouth to howl in protest, a rival TV reporter aimed his camera at her.

Flashbulbs popped like cheap cheeseburgers, more cameras swung their way, and black-tie guests aimed stunned looks at Carmela's motley crew.

No matter. They all charged down the red carpet, heading for the Hotel Vendue. Into the lobby they went, following a gaggle of well-heeled people. A desk clerk caught sight of them and came rushing out, just about breaking his leg in an effort to stop them, but it was like trying to halt the Visigoths from raiding Saxony. No dice.

“Where's the wine and caviar tasting?” Carmela shouted.

The desk clerk looked to his left and then hesitated, deciding not to tell them.

“Never mind,” Carmela said. “It's probably upstairs in the ballroom.”

“You know where that is?” Squirrel asked.

“This way,” Carmela said. She headed toward a wide flight of marble steps and everyone followed her. Up they ran, down the hallway and straight through the double doors of the Magnolia Ballroom. A well-dressed older couple saw them coming and flattened themselves against the wall, as if they were terrified of catching bubonic plague.

Carmela skidded to a halt just inside the entrance to catch her breath and look around. The ballroom couldn't have been more elegant. A string quartet played a sprightly tune. Guests were dressed to the nines in black tie and gowns. At least two dozen major wine vendors had makeshift bars set up, where they were pouring their finest vintages. And in the center of the
room, an enormous ice sculpture of a leaping fish poked high above everyone's heads. Shimmering and spectacularly lit by colored lights, Carmela figured this had to be caviar central.

“You know,” Ava said, “we do look a tad bedraggled. And the boys are wearing cutoffs.” Of course, that didn't stop her from helping herself to a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

“These folks are some heavy hitters,” Moony said, awed by the crowd of two hundred or more.

Carmela had already spotted a deputy mayor conversing with a federal court judge. There were also pockets of Garden District socialites as well as local TV personalities, bankers, lawyers, and restaurateurs. She also noticed Helen McBride flirting outrageously with the wine vendor from Castle Cellars and Allan Hurst bending the ear of the man who she was pretty sure owned a chain called Captain Tommy's Seafood Restaurants.

But that was all irrelevant to her now. Driven by anger and a renewed sense of purpose, Carmela elbowed her way through the crowd, heading straight for Harvey and Jenny Jewel's caviar display.

And there was Harvey Jewel himself, resplendent in a Brioni tuxedo, white hair slicked back, looking like a foodie homecoming king. A smarmy grin lit his face as he glad-handed guests, accepted compliments, and urged everyone who hadn't already tried it to have a taste of his pride and joy Jewel Caviar. The ice sculpture fish stood on the table behind him, surrounded by enormous silver platters filled with smoked salmon and dozens of open jars of caviar.

Carmela flew through the crowd and accosted Harvey Jewel.

“You,” she said, shaking a finger at him. “You're a thief and a murderer. I'm going to see to it you spend the rest of
your living days behind bars.” She was screaming and didn't care who heard her.

Harvey reared back as if slapped, then regained his balance and goggled crazily at her. “You're . . . you're insane!” he sputtered.

Carmela leaned in closer. “You want to tell me about the black market caviar?” she asked, fairly seething. “And explain why you murdered Martin Lash and Trent Trueblood!”

Harvey's head snapped back and forth like a trapped animal. “Where's hotel security?” he shouted. “This crazy woman needs to be removed at once!”

Ava moved in on Harvey now, Squirrel and Moony backing her up. “You're in big trouble,” she said.

Harvey Jewel was waving frantically now. “Help, please! Have this rabble removed!”

Jenny Jewel came flying to her husband's side like the Wicked Witch of the West. “What's going on?” she shrilled. Anger and stress had pulled her face tighter than a death mask.

“We're taking you down,” Carmela said. “Your days of thievery and murder are over.”

Jenny bared her teeth and pinched her hands into claws. “Leave us alone,” she shrieked. “Get out.” She tilted her head back and yelled, “Securityyyyy!”

Five seconds later, a burly guy in a navy blue blazer was there. “What's going on?” he asked.

Jenny thrust out an arm and pointed to Carmela. “Evict this intruder!”

The security guy put a hand on Carmela's shoulder, hoping to steer her away with a minimum of fuss. But Moony and Squirrel jumped in to intervene.

“Take your hands off her, you varmint,” Squirrel ordered.

“Call the police!” Jenny screamed.

“Yeah, call the police,” Ava screamed back at her. “So we can get this out in the open.”

By that time, a crowd of onlookers had formed around them. Everyone curious, fascinated, and maybe a little stunned by all the shoving and shouting.

“Don't you dare . . .” the security guard growled at Squirrel. Letting go of Carmela, he lunged for him.

Bad idea. Moony pulled his right arm back and clocked the security guard right in the jaw. And then Cooter, sensing his human might be in trouble, lunged for Jenny Jewel.

“Arghhh!” Jenny cried as Cooter's big paws began shredding the front of her silk dress. “I'm being attacked!”

But Cooter, suddenly spotting the trays filled with smoked salmon, bounced off Jenny and jumped onto the table.

“Crap on a cracker,” Ava said. “Cooter, no!” She tried to grab his collar. “Bad dog!”

But Cooter was a dog on a mission. He lapped up hunks of smoked salmon faster than a Hoover vacuum could suck a rug clean. Bits of pink fish flew through the air, spattering everyone.

“Somebody help!” Harvey Jewel shouted as Jenny continued to freak out. Then another security guard rushed in and Moony and Squirrel started swinging at anyone in the near vicinity.

“Dear Lord,” Jenny said, sinking against the table as if she was about to faint. Which is when the precariously balanced ice sculpture began to wobble like crazy.

“Watch out!” Ava shouted. “The ice sculpture!”

But everyone was too busy shoving and pushing to notice. And just as Harvey Jewel grabbed a silver fork and tried to jab Carmela, the fish tumbled forward and struck him directly on the head!

“Owww!” Harvey cried. His knees buckled like a cheap
card table as he went down. The fish followed him, shattering into thousands of bright little shards.

“Holy MacNamara,” Ava shouted. Arms outstretched, she fought to maintain her balance as she—and everyone else—began stumbling on the ice shards underfoot.

Which was the perfect time for Babcock and a contingent of police officers to arrive. He gaped at the collapsed Harvey Jewel, shattered ice sculpture, and dog, Cooter, who was now lapping up spilled caviar with a vengeance.

“Carmela, oh my Lord! What happened?”

Carmela grabbed Babcock and pointed to Harvey Jewel, who was curled up on the floor moaning. “There's your killer.” She waved at Jenny Jewel, who was spinning and hissing like an alley cat. “And I'll bet she's in on it, too.”

“Murderer?” Babcock said. “These two?”

“It's all about hijacked caviar . . .” Carmela began, just as a metallic clatter sounded above the bickering and two EMTs rushed in pulling a gurney.

Babcock held up a hand to Carmela as if he were a traffic cop. “Hold, please.” Then he watched for a few moments as the EMTs bent over the semiconscious Harvey Jewel. “Okay, go. Give me the whole thing.”

As if she were on a game show and had only fifteen seconds to come up with the correct answer, Carmela quickly explained the matter of the illegally harvested fish, the caviar, and how she was fairly confident that the Jewels had murdered Martin Lash and Trent Trueblood.

Babcock blinked rapidly and his head seemed to bob back and forth on its own. He uttered only a few words during her entire garbled explanation.
Preposterous
and
unbelievable
were two of those words.

As Carmela's story wound up, Harvey Jewel began to
groan. Then he started muttering feverishly as the EMTs loaded him onto the gurney.

Carmela pointed at him. “You're going down.”

But Harvey Jewel, playing possum now and figuring he might be in the clear, threw Carmela a smirking, triumphant smile as he was wheeled away.

“No,” Babcock yelled. “Stop!” He gestured to one of his officers, who promptly whipped out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed Harvey Jewel to the side of the metal gurney.

“You're under arrest,” Babcock said.

“I didn't do anything,” Harvey Jewel screamed.

“You've been poaching Gulf sturgeon,” Squirrel shouted. “We found the fish pens. We know you were harvesting fish illegally.”

“I'm innocent,” Harvey shouted back. “I swear I am. My caviar comes from Finland! I could show you actual invoices!”

“This fish story,” Babcock said to Carmela. “It's really true?”

“I was just there,” Carmela said. “We were all there. We saw the fish with our own eyes.”

“Excuse me.” Helen McBride had edged up next to them. “This sounds like the makings of a very tasty story.”

“Stand in line,” Babcock said.

“I'd portray law enforcement in a very favorable light,” Helen said.

Allan Hurst elbowed his way in, too. “How about a new story on me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Helen said. “Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder, frowned, and said, “Where do you think you're going?” Jenny Jewel had been surreptitiously trying to back away.

“Get over here,” Babcock ordered. “I need to talk to you.”

“Ask her about Martin Lash,” Carmela said, practically baring her teeth at Jenny Jewel. “Tell him!”

“Yes, tell me how Martin Lash was involved,” Babcock said.

“I-I-I . . .” Jenny chattered.

“Take your time,” Babcock said.

“Bu-bu-bu . . .” she started again. Jenny had begun blubbering like a baby, her mascara streaming down her face and pooling under her eyes, making her look like a sad raccoon.

Babcock was starting to lose his patience. “Come on, spit it out.”

“I don't know anything,” Jenny sputtered. “I'm innocent, I tell you.” Her eyes were open wide, her chin was quivering. “I don't know a thing about this.” She peered at Carmela. “Fish pens, you say?”

“She's in just as deep as Harvey is,” Carmela told Babcock.

“I'm not, really,” Jenny said. “I only handled a teeny-tiny part of the sales and marketing.”

“Lies,” Carmela said. “Which will all come out in depositions from all their employees.”