Gossamer Ghost (23 page)

“Keep looking,” said Carmela. “There's supposed to be a second mask.”

Ava's footsteps whispered across the silk carpet. “Maybe over . . . oh yeah, Carm. Here it is.”

Carmela was at her side in an instant. “Who is it? Is it Napoleon?” She stared fixedly at the second death mask. It was an image of what had once been a rather large man with a heavy nose and pronounced, bony cheekbones.

“I don't know,” said Ava, sounding flustered.

Carmela studied the mask. “It's not him.” She'd Googled Napoleon's death mask and studied several different images. This mask didn't resemble any of the masks she'd seen. “The Napoleon mask isn't here.” She didn't know if she felt relief or disappointment.

Unfortunately, Carmela didn't have time to savor either emotion, because a sudden creaking noise sounded at the front of the house. A door opening. Then the sound of heavy footsteps shuffling into the portico.

“Crap on a cracker!” said Ava. “The dude left Baby's party early.”

“We have to get out of here,” Carmela whispered.

“How?”

“Same way we came in. All quiet and sneaky.”

“Where do you think he is now?” asked Ava.

Carmela tensed as footsteps started down the hallway.

Please no
, Carmela prayed.

The footsteps hesitated, then another door creaked open and a faint light spilled into the hallway. There was a noise that sounded like ice cubes tumbling into a glass.

Wasting no time, Carmela grabbed Ava and pulled her into the hallway. Soundlessly, they snuck through the darkness and into the relative safety of the sunroom.

When they got to their entry point, they jumped into overdrive. Ava stuck a long leg over the windowsill, pulled the other leg across, and hopped down, landing soundlessly in the foliage below. Carmela gave a quick look back over her shoulder and hoisted herself up. She was sitting on the window ledge, poised to scramble out, when she felt a hard jerk.

What the . . . ?

She was stuck, unable to move, unable to escape! Panic fizzed in her brain as she looked back and saw that her doggone skirt had hooked on part of the window fixture!

“I'm stuck,” Carmela whispered to Ava.

Ava reached a hand up and waggled her fingers. “Hurry up.”

“I'm
try
ing,” said Carmela. She managed to slide forward maybe an inch or two before she was hung up again.

“It's your skirt,” said Ava.

“I
know
it's my skirt, but I can't exactly take it off.”

“Just give yourself a good hard push and let 'er rip,” said Ava.

Carmela slithered forward as her skirt slid up above her knees.

“That's it,” Ava coaxed. “Give me your hands and I'll give you a good tug.”

“Okay.”

Ava, who had both height and heft on Carmela, grasped her friend. “You ready?”

Carmela nodded as Ava gave such a heroic jerk she thought her arms would be yanked from their sockets.

Riiiiiip!

Carmela popped through the window like a champagne cork exploding from a bottle. She toppled onto Ava with such force they both tumbled to the damp ground.

“Eeyuh,” said Ava, wiggling nervously, “I hope there aren't worms.”

“Forget the stupid worms. We've got to get out of here!”

Helping each other up, they dashed around the side of the house and headed for the street. Gasping for air, nervously looking back over their shoulders, they beat feet down the dark, deserted street. It wasn't until Carmela's car was in plain sight that they finally felt safe.

G
ABBY
spun out a length of cream-colored velvet ribbon and gazed at Carmela. “Where did you and Ava disappear to last night?”

“You don't want to know,” said Carmela. It was Thursday morning at Memory Mine and Carmela was regretting her sneaky little foray into Titus Duval's home. They'd barely escaped discovery and she'd had fitful, nightmarish dreams about death masks all night long.

“You two ducked out with a couple of guys?” she asked.

“Nooo,” said Carmela.

“Went home early?”

But Carmela had made up her mind to remain mum on the subject. It wouldn't do any good to give Gabby a blow-by-blow account of their little creepy-crawl. She'd just fret about it. Or somehow manage to spill the beans to Babcock. And Carmela really didn't need that right now. Babcock was already on her case about freelance investigating.

“Okay, so you're not going to tell me. Then how about explaining those weird wedding gowns that are hanging in your office. Is there some secret ceremony I don't know about?”

Carmela smiled. “Those are our ghost dresses. For when Ava and I ride the Ghost Train tomorrow night.”

“I do remember you mentioning that. So you guys bought tickets?”

“We're actually
characters
on the Ghost Train,” said Carmela.

“Yeah?”

“Jekyl asked us to help out. He's been hired to do all the spooky, moody decorations and Ava and I were recruited to be part of that décor.”

“That sounds pretty cool. I wish I could get Stuart to attend an event like that.”

“It would do him good,” Carmela agreed. “Loosen him up.”

“He's always so focused on business.”

“Unlike us?”

“Oh, we're focused on business, too,” Gabby smiled. “It's just that our business happens to be lots more fun.”

“You got that right,” Carmela agreed.

*   *   *

Carmela helped two women pick out paper for trick-or-treat bags, then showed them how to fashion the paper into tubes, add pieces of candy, and then secure the ends so the whole thing looked like a big, gorgeous Tootsie Roll. Then, when she had a few moments, she ducked into her office to work on her ghost dresses.

Since the dresses were already nicely tattered, Carmela set about adding some extra pieces of gossamer, using pieces of fabric to lengthen sleeves, drape the skirts, and add shroud-like details about the waist.

Then came the really fun part—painting the gowns. First Carmela brushed on long zigzags of white tempera paint. Then she mixed together equal amounts of gray and green powdered paint. She spattered the dry paint onto the still-wet paint, creating a subtle hint of mold.

Perfect.

Sewing on a few carefully placed sequins gave the dresses some sparkle, and then she dabbed on spatters of silver.

Carmela remained caught up in her ghostly couture project until there was a soft knock at her door.

She glanced over. “Yes?”

It was Mavis, looking as tentative and apologetic as ever.

“I don't want to interrupt,” said Mavis.

“You're not,” said Carmela. “I'm practically finished here.” She dipped her brush in a puddle of gray paint and spattered on a little more paint, freestyle.

“I wanted to thank you for the invitation last night,” said Mavis.

“You should really be thanking Baby, since she was the gracious hostess.”

“I know that and I already did. But you're her good friend. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have been invited to the party at all.”

Carmela smiled. “I take it you enjoyed yourself?”

“I had a blast!” said Mavis. “Really, the whole event was amazing. The food, the guests . . . everything.” She stood there in a brown dress, looking a little like Cinderella after the ball. Back in her ratty old clothes.

“Have you got everything at Oddities all packed up?”

“I'm just working on the last few bits,” said Mavis. Then she brightened. “But I received an interesting call some twenty minutes ago. From a friend of yours—Jekyl Hardy. I met him at the party last night.”

“Jekyl? What on earth did he want?”

Mavis grinned. “He wanted to borrow a few pieces from Oddities to decorate his Ghost Train.”

“I thought everything from Oddities was packed and ready to go into storage.”

“It is,” said Mavis. “Or was. But then he offered me money to rent a few items, so I decided to pull out a few choice pieces for him. Apparently, he wants to decorate one of his train cars in a kind of Victorian Sherlock Holmes theme.”

“That actually sounds pretty neat,” said Carmela.

“That's what I thought, too,” said Mavis. “Anyway, I dug out a Sherlock Holmes–style cap, an old-fashioned pipe rack, leather steamer trunk, a watch, a few old books, and some more cool stuff.”

“So Jekyl asked you to come and set it all up, too?”

“Oh no, Mr. Hardy said he'd personally take care of arranging things. In fact, he seemed very intent on that. But he did invite me to come aboard the Ghost Train and kind of keep watch over things. So I'm thinking I might do just that.”

“That's a great idea. You know”—Carmela pointed at her handiwork—“that's what these gowns are for. Ava and I are going to be wearing them—posing as ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Mavis giggled and Carmela was pleased to see her suddenly light up with enthusiasm. “That's wonderful! It'll all be one big happy family.”

“Carmela.” Gabby was suddenly at the door. “Telephone.”

“I've got to take this,” said Carmela.

Mavis gave a quick wave and ducked out. “And I've got to get going.”

Carmela picked up the phone, expecting to hear Ava's soft drawl. Instead it was the countess.

“How was your big blowout last night?” cried the countess. “Did you wear the necklace? Did you look terribly haute couture
and stunning?”

“I think I did,” Carmela laughed. “I certainly received multiple compliments.”
And a nasty jab from Glory.

“I knew you would. Oh, Carmela, I'm thrilled you wore the necklace. I hope you told absolutely everyone where it came from.”

“I sure did.”
Sort of.

“You are so sweet,” the countess gushed.

“I want to get the necklace back to you as soon as possible, though.”

“Do you have it with you? At Memory Mine?”

“It's here,” said Carmela. She glanced at the red leather box sitting on her desk.

“Perfect. I'll be dropping by my new shop later today with my decorator to finalize some measurements. You can give it to me then. I'll just pop in and grab it.”

“Perfect,” said Carmela.

“Au revoir,” said the countess.

Carmela hung up the phone and glanced at the jewelry box. The necklace had been a stunner and she'd definitely enjoyed wearing it. Probably, if the countess had more such pieces in her inventory, her business was going to flourish here in New Orleans.

Or was it?

Carmela suddenly wondered why the countess had moved from Palm Beach, a noted enclave of the super wealthy, to New Orleans. Yes, New Orleans had upscale pockets, like the Garden District and Lake Terrace. But weren't there a ton
more
rich ladies in Palm Beach? And nearby Boca Raton and Miami? Wouldn't the chances of selling high-ticket estate jewelry be even greater there?

It sure seemed like it would.

So why, Carmela wondered, was the countess switching cities? Or was she? Maybe she was keeping her Palm Beach store. Maybe this shop was supposed to be Lucrezia west.

Curious now, Carmela sat down and Googled “Lucrezia.” She came up with a nail salon, a candle shop, and a modern dance troupe.

She typed in “Lucrezia Palm Beach.” Still nothing.

Hmm. Well, let's try “estate jewelry Palm Beach.”

That spawned a number of hits. Mostly for high-end jewelry stores, but none with the name Lucrezia.

And then, as she scrolled down, something caught her attention. A headline from the
Palm Beach Daily News
that read,
Cat Burglar Strikes Again on Cocoanut Row!

Curious now, Carmela clicked and read the entire article. Which, basically, had been written some six months ago and detailed how a very skillful thief had broken into the home of a wealthy Palm Beach resident on Cocoanut Row and stolen an entire cache of precious jewelry.

Carmela blinked hard as her mind raced, jumping to conclusions. Conclusions that were probably quite illogical. Unless . . .

No. It couldn't be, could it? Could the countess and her husband, who had been vaguely introduced as an entrepreneur, have engineered this particular jewel theft? Could the strange vibes she'd been getting from the countess be based on the fact that the woman was possibly a notorious thief?

Could be. Then again, maybe not.

Good thing Carmela had Jekyl on speed dial.

“Hello, buttercup,” was Jekyl's greeting when he answered the phone.

“Do you have caller ID or do you greet everyone that way?” Carmela asked.

“Everyone,” Jekyl laughed. “What's up?”

“You know that photo you snapped of Ava and me last night?”

“Sure.”

“Does it show my necklace fairly well?”

“Give me a moment and I'll check.” There was silence for a few moments, and then Jekyl came back on the line and said, “Pretty well. Why?”

“Do you have a way to run that necklace through the National Art Fraud Registry and see if it's stolen goods?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I think I am.”

“I can do it but . . . well, who do you think stole it?”

“Mmn . . . maybe the woman who lent it to me.”

“You mean the Countess Saint-Marche? With the phony-baloney title?”

“That's right, and I'm thinking her story might be phony, too. I don't know that she ever did own a high-end jewelry store in Palm Beach.”

“And you arrived at this conclusion . . . how?”

“I just found an article from the
Palm Beach Daily News
 . . .”

“Ah, the Shiny Sheet.”

“That's right,” said Carmela. She quickly related the article to Jekyl, and then told him about her Internet investigation and how she'd been unable to find any record or mention of a jewelry shop in Palm Beach owned by a countess.

“So now you think your countess and this pussycat thief are one and the same?”

“I don't know that at all, but I'm just curious enough that I'd like to check her out. She and her merchandise. And you, my dear, are my resident antiques guru and art expert. And now, I guess, jewelry expert.”

“Okay,” said Jekyl, “I'll get back to you.”

The minute Carmela hung up the phone she immediately regretted her suspicions. Probably, she decided, she was just being super paranoid. Probably, the countess really was on the up-and-up and she shouldn't be so inquisitive. Shouldn't go looking for problems.

Then again . . .

Just to make sure, just to ease her addled mind, Carmela ran a quick Google search to see if any jewelry heists had taken place in Dallas around the time the Napoleon death mask had been stolen from Wallace Pitney.

Much to her disappointment, she didn't find a thing.

*   *   *

Late afternoon found Carmela with bunches of cheesecloth spread out on the craft table.

“Now what's going on?” asked Gabby. “More ghosts?”

“I'm making a couple of shrouds to compliment our gowns,” said Carmela.

“Shrouds,” exclaimed Gabby. “You don't miss a trick, do you? Who would think of shrouds?” She shivered. “The whole notion is so . . . so . . .”

“Ghostly?”

“Ghastly. Still, I can see where you're going with this.”

Carmela glanced at her watch and pursed her lips. “You know what? I'm gonna have to come in and finish these tomorrow.”

“Even though we're going to be closed for Halloween?” said Gabby.

“Has to be done. Plus, I've got to take off now because I promised to help Ava with her Cemetery Crawl. After that, it's off to the Pumpkins and Bumpkins Ball with Babcock.”

“Wow,” said Gabby. “Big night.” Then she added, almost wistfully, “Well, have fun.”

“Oh!” said Carmela. She dashed into her office and returned with the jewelry case. “The countess is going to drop by later. Can you give this to her?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Let's hope there isn't
, Carmela thought to herself.

*   *   *

By the time Carmela arrived at Juju Voodoo, Ava was frantic.

“Look at this place!” she screamed. “We're hip-deep in customers!”

“Calm down,” Carmela told her. “That's a good thing.”

“I know, I know,” she jabbered back.

Carmela did a quick check of the shop. Madame Blavatsky was doing a tarot reading in back, Miguel was helping two customers at the counter, and there were another half dozen customers wandering around, looking at shrunken heads, love potions, and saint candles. So she did what came naturally to her, she plunged in to help.