Gilt Trip (5 page)

“You
are
a clever little crime solver,” said Ava. “You're the Nancy Drew of the Big Easy.”

“Well, it isn't so easy these days,” said Carmela. “With Babcock out of town, we're going to be privy to a lot less information. You know as well as I do that Bobby Gallant is playing this fairly close to the vest.”

“Eh, I'll make the call,” said Ava.

“Good girl,” said Carmela. “Then come on over for dinner tonight, okay?”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” said Ava. “Whatcha gonna whip up,
cher?
”

“I hadn't thought about it. What would you like?”

“I wouldn't mind some of your shrimp
étouffée.
But anything's great.”

“You got it,” said Carmela. She hung up, thought for a few moments, and dialed the phone again. It took a good five minutes to talk her way through all the gatekeepers, but finally she had Bobby Gallant on the phone.

“What?” he said, sounding brusque and none too friendly. “I'm busy.”

“I forgot to tell you something,” said Carmela.

“What?”

“I said I—”

“I heard you,” said Gallant. “I meant what did you forget to tell me?”

“Oh,” said Carmela. “The thing is, I kind of peeked inside Jerry Earl's office last night.”

“What!”

“I said I—”

“Cut to the chase, Carmela.”

“I got turned around in the hallway,” said Carmela, “when I was looking for the laundry room. And I sort of stumbled into Jerry Earl's office.”

“Okay,” said Gallant. “Is there a point to this? Is it leading somewhere?”

“The point is,” said Carmela, “I might have
heard
someone outside. At the window. Well, really, the French doors.”

“You
did
hear someone or you
might
have heard someone?” asked Gallant.

“It's hard to say,” said Carmela. “But I had the strangest feeling that there was someone out there.”

“You're sure it wasn't just the wind? Or noise from guests?”

“Yes. No.” She hesitated. “I'm not sure.”

Gallant sighed.

“There's something I need to ask you,” said Carmela. “I noticed there were an awful lot of antiquities on display in Jerry Earl's office. Do you know if any of them are missing?”

“We don't have any idea on that yet.”

“When you do know, can you let me know?” asked Carmela.

“No!” said Gallant.

Stunned by his vehemence, Carmela hung on the phone for a few more moments. Until finally, she realized he'd hung up on her.

A
S
Carmela stirred butter, flour, salt, and pepper into a rich golden brown roux, her front door bell rang. Boo and Poobah let out anxious yips, rushed over to the door, and staged a brilliant flanking maneuver worthy of the Napoleonic Wars.

“Down, doggies,” Carmela said as she wiped her hands on her apron and pulled open the door.

Ava immediately held out a bottle of Syrah.
“Laissez les bons temps rouler.
Let the good times roll,
cher.
”

“Immediately!” Carmela said, pointing Ava toward her dining room table, where two red wine glasses and a bottle opener waited.

Ava clicked over to the table in her lime green heels and plunked herself down. Along with her trademark skintight jeans, she wore a low-cut blouse that perfectly matched her shoes.

“You're wearing your Jimmy Choos,” Carmela remarked. “The ones you found at The Latest Wrinkle.” The Latest Wrinkle was their favorite resale shop on Magazine Street. They pretty much haunted the place looking for designer duds, especially jackets that hinted at Chanel.

“Some fancy lady must have got sick of the color,” said Ava, sticking out a shapely leg and pointing her pink-lacquered toes. “But I think it's punchy. I can't tell you how many lovely comments I've gotten from men!”

“Ava, honey,” said Carmela, retreating to the kitchen, “you'd get comments from men if you wore a potato sack and two-dollar flip-flops.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Ava. She pulled the cork with a flourish and carefully poured out two glasses of wine.

In a pan sizzling with butter, Carmela sautéed onion and bell pepper. Then she added paprika, salt, black and red pepper, and finally fresh shrimp. She added water, covered the pot, and checked a separate pan of rice. Called to Ava, “Dinner in about fifteen minutes.”

“Smells delish already,” said Ava.

Carmela joined Ava at the dining room table and accepted the glass of Syrah from her. “So tell me. Did you reach Charlie?”

“I talked to him,” said Ava.

“I hope you did more than that.”

“Okay, I flirted with him,” said Ava. “And then I asked my questions. He answered them okay, but swore me to total secrecy.”

“Of course he did,” said Carmela. She took a hit of wine, waggled her fingers, and said, “So what'd he say? Anything about the murder weapon?”

“This is gonna sound totally whacky,” said Ava. “But do you know what a trocar is?”

Carmela shook her head. “Nope.” She had no idea what it was, but it didn't sound good.

“It's some kind of unpleasant implement used by funeral directors.” Ava wrinkled her nose. “A tool that's used during the embalming process.”

Carmela leaned back in her chair. “Oh man. That sounds positively . . . hideous.”

Ava grimaced. “It does, doesn't it?”

“Wait a minute, are you telling me that's how Jerry Earl was stabbed?”

“I'm afraid the word Charlie used was
eviscerated
,” said Ava.

“But Gallant was so sure it was a knife,” said Carmela. She was having trouble wrapping her brain around this information. Stabbed was one thing, eviscerated sounded . . . totally maniacal and crazy!

“The medical examiner definitely said trocar,” said Ava. “And judging from what Charlie told me, that's the guy who has the final word.”

“Wow.” Carmela wondered why Gallant hadn't mentioned it to her on the phone. Then decided she knew why. Because the less information she had, the less apt she was to meddle. Yes, it was going to be more than a little tricky walking this investigatory tightrope.

“And now I have to go out with him,” said Ava. “Charlie, I mean.” But she didn't sound one bit upset.

“I've been thinking about the whole murder scenario,” said Carmela. “And it seems to me the killer had to be pretty strong to overpower Jerry Earl, stab him, and then lift him into the dryer, right? So maybe there was more than one killer. Remember I told you about the couple doing drugs in the bathroom?”

“But you didn't actually see them, did you?” asked Ava.

Carmela shook her head slowly. “No, I didn't.”

“Too bad.” Ava took another sip of wine and said, “I have to say, that was a pretty crazy party. I've attended my share of wild warehouse raves, but Margo's party topped out majorly on my wack-o-meter.”

“You think?” said Carmela. “What about the Mardi Gras party you threw at Juju Voodoo?” Juju Voodoo was Ava's pride and joy, her cozy little shop just across the courtyard that was stuffed to the rafters with magic charms, evil eye jewelry, voodoo dolls, and saint candles. “One of your guests swore to me that he was an honest-to-goodness werewolf.”

“I think he was just off his meds,” said Ava.

Carmela laughed and stood up. “I better go check my shrimp.”

“Wait.” Ava picked up the bottle and topped off Carmela's wine. “It's good to keep the cook happy.”

Carmela swirled the inky Syrah in her glass and smiled. “If you really want to keep me happy, you can set the table.”

“I'm on it,” said Ava.

While Carmela pulled together the final stages of the meal, Ava set out yellow Fiesta ware plates and bowls for each of them.

“What about flatware?” Ava asked.

“Over there in that mahogany cabinet.”

Ava pulled open the top drawer and said, “Hey, girlfriend. You got new knives and forks and stuff?”

“Not really,” said Carmela.

Ava held up a spoon to the light. “And it's embellished with the letter
M
. Wait a minute . . . don't tell me. You didn't!”

“M for Meechum,” said Carmela. “That's right, I finally talked Shamus out of the good silver.”

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“Told him he needed to polish it. And since Shamus abhors menial labor of any sort, he gladly traded the stainless steel for the sterling silver.”

“You literally pried the silver spoon out of Shamus's mouth,” said Ava, clearly impressed. “Good for you!”

Ten minutes later, the table set, two white candles flickering, they sat down to eat. Two drooling dogs sat nearby, watching with beady eyes.

“Perfection,” said Ava. “Hot, creamy shrimp
étouffée
on rice and creamy cole slaw. You know the way to my heart.”

“Or an early grave,” joked Carmela.

“Please,” said Ava. “Who cares if New Orleans is infamous for our slightly unhealthy food? We're
happy.
That's what really counts! I mean, do you really want to live in hippy-dippy land and eat tofu burgers and baked kale?”

“Not me,” said Carmela. “In fact, everything turned out so smashingly well tonight, I'm probably going to repeat this same menu for Babcock. To make up with him.”

Ava frowned. “Are you two lovebirds in a peck fest?”

“More like a duel of wills. He called this morning and told me to basically mind my own business. So I'm sure he'll go absolutely postal if he finds out I'm meeting with Margo tomorrow.”

“That's easily solved,” said Ava. “Just don't tell him.” She frowned and suddenly pointed a finger at Carmela. “Wait a minute. I just had a very nasty thought. What if Margo did it? What if
she
killed Jerry Earl?”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“For one thing, Margo could have easily lured him into the laundry room and stabbed him. And then cleaned everything up.” Ava snapped her fingers. “Yeah. I forgot to tell you. Charlie told me they found bloody towels stuffed in the washing machine.”

Carmela shuddered. “Oh man. It just gets worse and worse.”

“See?” said Ava. “It could have been Margo.”

“What possible reason could Margo have?”

“How about pure embarrassment?” said Ava. “What if, besides putting on the dog, Margo was putting on a brave face at her party? What if she was really furious with Jerry Earl because he disgraced her in front of all those Garden District swells?”

“Then why wouldn't she have just divorced him?” said Carmela. “Yet again. Instead of staging an elaborate party and acting like she was all gaga over him.”

“That could be part of her ruse,” said Ava. “With Jerry Earl out of the way, Margo doesn't have to settle for inheriting half of his money. She seizes what is literally a golden opportunity and inherits the whole enchilada.”

“Versus just a smaller chile relleno,” said Carmela. She took a sip of wine and rolled it around inside her mouth. “I hear you. I hear where you're coming from. But if Margo is truly guilty, why on earth would she ask me to look into things?”

“I don't know,” said Ava. “Maybe she thinks you can function as a kind of smoke screen. Maybe she's trying to get as many people as possible to stick their fingers into the pie and mess things up. Maybe she's trying to manipulate this thing from both ends.” She took a sip of wine. “I don't know, maybe you should just come right out and ask Margo if she did it.”

“I don't think so,” said Carmela. “I'm thinking I should just have a low-key meeting with her and let this thing play out. Sometimes people let slip a lot more information when you don't pry or ask questions.”

They cleared the dinner dishes together, gave a few judicious scraps to Boo and Poobah, then settled in the living room with the remaining Syrah.

“You bought a new print,” said Ava. She pointed to a framed etching of Andrew Jackson addressing his troops.

“It's just something Toby White had hanging in his antique shop. It finally went on sale.”

“It's nice,” said Ava. “Conservative but nice. But you gotta admit, Jackson's certainly no George Clooney.” She grinned wickedly as her cell phone burped from inside her purse. She pulled it out and glanced at the Caller ID. “Oh! It's Sully!”

Carmela raised one quivering eyebrow at her.

“Don't make the lemon face,” Ava said.

“What?” said Carmela.
Am I that obvious?

“That face you make every time he calls, like you just sucked on a sour lemon!” Ava hit a button on her phone and purred, “Hey there, sugar.”

Carmela was not a big fan of Sullivan Finch. He was an artist they'd met recently at a charity art show at the Click! Gallery. The fact that he painted what he called “death portraits” creeped her out. And his smart-ass, erudite Ivy League posturing bugged her like crazy. But Ava was a woman smitten, and when Ava was smitten, there was no stopping her.

As Ava cooed into the phone, Boo and Poobah crowded around her. Obviously they thought the cooing was intended for them.

“Hey, guys,” Carmela murmured softly. She grabbed Boo's collar and pulled her away. As she was reaching for Poobah, trying to get a grip as he wiggled around, she heard Ava say, “Seriously? Margo Leland?”

Now what?
Carmela thought to herself.
Does everyone and his brother-in-law know what's going on?
Was this going to turn into one of those high-profile society murder mystery cases? If that was the case, she was going to be crowded out and squished like the proverbial bug.

Ava shook her head as she set down her phone.

“What?” said Carmela. “Something about Margo?”

Ava put a hand to her heart and drew a deep breath.
“Cher
, I think we might have a problem.”

“What problem? What's wrong?”

“Margo Leland,” said Ava.

“I get that,” said Carmela. “What about Margo Leland?”

“Sully just told me that Margo commissioned him to paint a portrait of Jerry Earl.” Ava raised her right hand and made a spinning motion. “You know, one of his infamous death portraits.”

Something pinged deep within Carmela's brain. Something felt not right. “When?” she demanded. “When did Margo call him? Like . . . today?”

“That's the really cuckoo thing,” said Ava. “Sully said she called him last week!”

Carmela sucked in a sharp breath. Why on earth would Margo Leland commission a death portrait when Jerry Earl was still alive? Unless she had the ability to see into the future. Or worse yet, had manipulated the future!