Gossamer Ghost (22 page)

Ava waved a hand. “Aw, it's just something I threw on. I always try to be a little fly.”

*   *   *

Thirty minutes later, the party got even crazier. The band was blasting out a toe-tapping rendition of “Clarinet Marmalade,”
couples were dancing and singing at the top of their lungs, champagne was being consumed directly from the bottle, and Babcock finally showed up.

“I was wondering when you were going to get here,” said Carmela. For some reason, he'd brought Charlie the tech along with him. Carmela didn't know if they'd just come from a nasty crime scene or if they were both here to party. No matter, the minute Ava spotted Charlie she swept him up in a quick embrace and took him to a corner where they could enjoy a quick canoodle.

That left Carmela facing Babcock, who seemed a little tired.

“Excuse me,” said Carmela, who was feeling no pain. “But you're supposed to be wearing a costume.” Babcock was dressed impeccably in an Armani suit.

He smiled tolerantly at her. “This is my costume.”

“Say what?”

“I came as a hedge-fund billionaire. Note the bespoke suit and Church's shoes?”

“Tricky,” said Carmela. “And here I thought you were just a well-dressed cop.”

“That, too,” said Babcock. His arms encircled her and he pulled her close. When she was pressed up against him, feeling his warmth and smelling his yummy aftershave, he bent down and kissed her tenderly.

Carmela felt her heart race (it couldn't just be the champagne!) and her entire body begin to melt. “Want to leave?” she whispered in his ear. “Go back to my place?”

Babcock shook his head regretfully. “I can't. I'm still on the clock and still smoothing out details for that Zombie Chase on Friday.”

“Hmm,” said Carmela, pulling away slightly. “A Zombie Chase.” Hadn't she experienced that already?

Babcock saw her look of apprehension and grinned. “Oh, you're going to like this. It's basically a rousing game of paintball where you tag zombies for charity. I told you about this event, remember? We're trying to raise money to buy new computers for all the units. You have to come. Ava, too.”

“It doesn't sound all that fun,” said Carmela, hedging.

“I'll make a deal with you,” said Babcock. “I'll put on a tux for the Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball tomorrow night if you come to the Zombie Chase on Friday. Is it a deal?”

“Deal,” she said, but not without a certain amount of trepidation.

S
O
of course Ava wanted to make a second run at the buffet table.

“Have you tried the oysters Rockefeller yet?” she asked. Scooping up three cream-and-bread-crumb-filled oysters with a silver slotted spoon, she deposited them on her plate. “Because these tasty little mollusks are to
die
for. Or at least worth plunging into a food-induced coma for. Oh, and pray tell, why did Babcock just up and leave this party and take my adorable little stud muffin along with him?”

Carmela scooped up a helping of shrimp
étouffée.
“He claimed they were still working.”

“You believe him?”

Carmela shrugged. “Sure.”

“Working,” said Ava. “That blows.”

“You know what, I bet there are five dozen men right here at this party who would love to meet you. Who would
kill
to meet you.”

Ava brightened. “Ya think?”

“Rich, Garden District guys,” said Carmela, really piling it on now.

Ava fluffed her hair and gazed around. “When you put it that way it does sound slightly . . . irresistible.”

“Ladies!” Jekyl exclaimed as he hurried over to join them. “Where have you been all night?”

“Right here eating,” said Ava.

“What's up, killer?” asked Carmela.

But Jekyl's eyes were suddenly fixed on Carmela's necklace, which, interestingly enough, Babcock hadn't commented on or even noticed.

“What
is
that priceless bauble that's encircling your lovely swan-like neck?” Jekyl demanded. “Dare I ask, have you cultivated a new admirer?”

“Same old, same old,” said Carmela. She touched the necklace with an index finger. “This gaudy little piece happens to be borrowed.”

“As in something borrowed, something blue?” he asked.

“Noooo,” said Carmela. “It's actually on loan from the Countess Saint-Marche.”

“Countess Cuckoo,” said Jekyl. “The jewelry lady you told me was moving into the Oddities space.”

“That's right.”

“Looks like the two of you are already best buddies.”

Carmela suddenly felt uncomfortable, almost regretting her decision to wear the necklace. “We aren't. It's just that she . . .”

“She twisted Carmela's arm,” said Ava, jumping in.

And maybe my head
, Carmela thought.
After all, I was even considering her as one of my suspects.

Thankfully, Jekyl let the whole matter drop. “So what mischief have you two gotten into so far?”

“Not nearly enough,” said Ava.

“But the night is still young,” said Carmela. “Or at least we are.”

“Wait,” said Jekyl. He pulled out his iPhone and held it up. “Scrunch together, ladies, so I can record this moment for posterity. That's right, bend forward, show a touch of décolleté, and say
soufflé
.”

“Soufflé,” Carmela and Ava said together as Jekyl's flash popped.

Pleased with his snapshot, Jekyl went barreling off to find Baby, while Carmela and Ava wandered into one of the salons. This room carried a more masculine theme with leather sofas, dark green wallpaper, and fox and hound paintings.

Ava nudged Carmela. “That guy over there.”

“What guy?”

“Perched on the end of the sofa. He's the one who was dining at Mumbo Gumbo last night.”

Carmela followed Ava's gaze and saw that it was Titus Duval. He was drinking amber liquid from a cut glass tumbler and carrying on a rather intense conversation with two other men. “Titus Duval,” she said. From the look of his costume, his broad-brimmed hat and brocade vest, he was either dressed as a riverboat gambler or a pimp from the '70s.

“He's the rich guy,” said Ava. “The one who's on your suspect list. The one you think could have stolen that death mask.”

“I feel like everybody and his brother is on my suspect list.”

“That would also make him a murderer.” Ava was watching him intently.

“Point taken.”

“What do you think he's discussing so intently with those other two fat cats?” asked Ava.

“Kicking puppies, foreclosing widows' mortgages, and the optimum wax for grooming one's handlebar mustache,” Carmela joked.

“I do kind of like that silver fox look,” said Ava.

“And I'd like to ask him a question or two.”

Ava nudged her. “He's getting up, better go get 'em, tiger.”

Carmela trailed Duval to the bar. He ordered another whiskey while Carmela asked for a glass of champagne. She glanced sideways at him with what she hoped was an ingratiating smile.

“We meet again,” said Carmela.

Duval glanced at her. “Hello.” He couldn't have been more bored.

“At Mumbo Gumbo last night?” Carmela prompted. “And you spoke at the service this morning.”

That brought a ghost of a smile to his face. “Of course.
Hello.
”

Carmela decided to dive right in. “There's something I'd like to ask you.”

Duval looked suddenly wary. “What's that?”

“Did you have a meeting with Marcus Joubert the night the death mask was stolen from that Dallas collector?”

Duval blinked. “Excuse me.
Who
are you again?”

“Carmela Bertrand. I . . .”

“Never mind,” said Duval. “I'm actually not that interested. And I'm certainly not interested in answering any of your questions.” And with that he picked up his drink and walked away.

*   *   *

“No way was he going to answer my questions,” Carmela told Ava.

“Then he's a jerk. A rude jerk.”

Carmela shrugged. “He either doesn't want to get involved or he's extremely involved.”

“Huh,” said Ava. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Didn't you tell me Duval lived right here in the Garden District?”

Carmela nodded. “You know that enormous home two blocks from here, the one with the mansard roof and pair of stone lions out front?”

“That's where he lives?” said Ava. “That place is big-time, like one of those old dinosaur mansions in Beverly Hills or Bel Air. Pickfair or something like that, places where the stars lived.”

“Stands to reason he'd have a big place, since Duval's got big money.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “My overactive brain has just hatched the most intriguing plan.”

Carmela took one look at Ava and said, “Uh-oh, you've got that sneaky, snarky look on your face. What are you thinking?”

“I think we should go creepy-crawl Duval's house and see if that Napoleon mask is there.”

Carmela was horrified. “You mean break in? We can't do that!”

“But you'd like to.”

“Well . . . sure. I mean, I suppose I would.”

Ava set her glass down with a loud
clink
. “Then let's do it. Let's throw caution to the wind and live every week like it's Shark Week.”

“Oh dear Lord,” Carmela muttered. But she followed Ava outside just the same.

*   *   *

The night was still as death, the almost-full moon hiding behind a wall of dark clouds. Most of the jack-o'-lanterns had sputtered out by now, the melted candle wax dribbling down the curbs and sidewalk. The sidewalks were practically devoid of people.

“I can't believe we're doing this,” Carmela said as they hurried along. She was having second and even third thoughts about their breaking and entering. What if they got caught? What was the penalty? And what if they went to all the trouble of sneaking inside Duval's home and found absolutely nothing? If something really went awry, she'd have only herself to blame. Sure, Ava may have hatched this crazy scheme, but she was a willing participant. Unless, of course, she called a halt to the plan this very minute. She opened her mouth just as Ava said . . .

“Isn't this exciting? We're just like Cagney and Lacey.”

“I was thinking Lucy and Ethel,” said Carmela.
Go? No go?

“Here we are,” said Ava, as they crept up on Duval's monster-sized mansion. It was Second Empire style, a look that was derived from many of Paris's monumental buildings. The home featured a mansard roof pierced with multiple dormers. Narrow arched windows seemed to gaze down at them with haughty disapproval.

Carmela trailed a hand along the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the entire property. “Are we sure about this?”

But Ava only put a finger to her mouth. “Shhhh,” she whispered. “This way.”

They snuck past the stone lions, stepped onto a cobblestone path, and followed it through almost total darkness. Hanging tendrils of Spanish moss brushed their shoulders like so many spidery fingers. A few more steps brought them into the backyard.

“I figure we've got a better chance back here,” said Ava.

“Better chance of getting caught?”

“Silly girl. Of prying open a window and slipping in.”

“How are we going to manage that?” said Carmela. “Do you think Duval has one of those plastic key holders that looks like a rock?” She gazed around the lush backyard. Between the sweep of arborvitae and clumps of banana palms, it was like being in a jungle. A kidney-shaped pool, lights glowing to reveal azure blue water, added to the tropical feel. Carmela saw something shimmer at the bottom of the pool and wondered if it was a snake.

“We just have to find some little nook or cranny,” said Ava. “Something opportune.” She slipped through the shrubbery and up to a pair of French doors. Unfortunately, when she rattled the handle gently, the doors were clearly locked.

“What'd I tell you?” said Carmela.

But Ava was not to be deterred. She snuck along the side of the house, one hip pressed against the damp stone foundation, her fingers crawling along, searching out every nook, cranny, and window ledge.

“Here,” said Ava.

“Where?” said Carmela. Ava had practically disappeared into the darkness. The only clue was the faint rustling of leaves.

Ava let loose a low whistle and said,
“Here.”

Carmela took a deep breath, stepped into a flowerbed, brushed past a palm tree, and found herself in the secluded alcove where her friend was hiding.

“This window is open,” Ava whispered. “I think we can ease it up a notch and then shimmy in.”

Carmela's heart hammered inside her chest. Should she? Shouldn't she? The “good girl” inside her said no, but it was too late. She heard a creak as the window slid up. Then, quick and stealthy as a ninja, Ava climbed through.

“Come on!” said Ava. She held out a hand.

Carmela grabbed on to her, stepped up onto some kind of mechanical watering apparatus that was hidden among the plants, and suddenly found herself tumbling through the proverbial rabbit hole and into Titus Duval's darkened house. She blinked, smoothed her dress, and glanced around nervously. “Where are we?”

“Some kind of sunroom,” said Ava. “Come on, let's go.”

Together, they tiptoed across a tiled floor, bumping toes into overstuffed chairs and knocking a lampshade askew. When they reached a dimly lit hallway, they were able to see a little better. Small brass sconces, set just above eye level, lit the way.

Clutching each other, they headed into what had to be the interior of Duval's house. They passed two closed doors, heading for the main living area.

“Wait a minute,” said Carmela.

Ava stopped.

“Back here,” said Carmela. She took two steps backward and gently pushed open one of the doors they'd just passed. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a small brass lamp set on a massive oak desk. But it was enough to illuminate most of the room. “I think,” she said, “that this is Duval's study.”

The room smelled of incense and gun grease. One wall held a mahogany bookcase packed with expensive-looking leather-bound books. Another wall was covered with a jumble of interesting art pieces—African masks, curved pieces of carved jade, several small oil paintings.

“C'mon,” said Carmela. “We need to take a closer look.”

Carefully, quietly, they shuffled in.

“He likes guns,” said Ava, pointing to an antique derringer that was encased in a glass shadow box. “And look at this . . . some kind of framed document.”

Carmela moved closer. “It's a letter signed by Jean Laffite. Wow. This piece has got some history on it.”

“And must have cost him a pretty penny,” said Ava.

When they moved to the next case, their breath came faster and their mouths literally dropped open.

Staring out at them was a face. But not really a face—because it was a marble death mask. Eyes closed, lips pursed delicately, cheekbones smooth and rounded, it appeared to be a woman's face.

“Jackpot,” whispered Carmela.

“This is sooo creepy,” said Ava. “Imagine having that
thing
staring at you while you're perusing the evening paper? Or during a storm, when the lights are flickering and . . .”