Postcards from the Dead (16 page)

Chapter 16

T
HE
interior of Grand Folly Costume Shop glowed like a theater marquee as overhead pinpoint spotlights bounced and reflected off racks of glitzy, glamorous costumes. Sequins, spangles, and gold lamé seemed to be the watchwords here, along with velvet Venetian costumes and shimmering black witches’ gowns. On shelves overhead, plastic, faceless heads showcased hats, wigs, sparkly tiaras, and majestic crowns of every style and color. Amid all this faux splendor, the smell of mothballs, cigarettes, and cleaning fluid hung redolent in the air.

A slim young woman with pale skin and maroon-colored hair stood behind the front counter. She held a small sewing tool in one hand and appeared to be ripping the back seam out of a black taffeta vampire costume.

“Excuse me,” said Carmela. She’d dropped Ava off at her shop and hustled over here, hoping to find some answers.

The girl looked up and Carmela recognized her. In fact, the girl had worked here for a number of years. “You used to have blue hair, didn’t you?” asked Carmela.

The girl smiled faintly. “Not for a couple of years, but yeah. That was me. In my blue period.” She chuckled. “Just like Picasso.” Then she gave Carmela her full attention. “I’m Beth. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a costume,” said Carmela.

“Sure,” said Beth. She nodded toward the crowded racks that seemed to extend deep into the shop. “Pick out whatever you want. Or is there something specific you want me to pull?”

“How about a little information?”

“Pardon?” said Beth.

“Here’s the thing,” said Carmela. “A friend of mine rented a clown costume here recently. And I was wondering if it’s been returned yet.”

Beth’s brows knit together. “You want to rent it?”

“That’s right,” said Carmela.
And I want to know who rented it.

“We’ve got a boatload of clown costumes,” said Beth. “Our Bozo and Clarabelle costumes are extremely popular.”

“This was a specific clown,” said Carmela. “An opera character by the name of Canio? Do you suppose you could check your records?” When Carmela had been here before, the shop had used a little ledger to check costumes in and out.

“Everything’s on computer now,” said Beth. “Listed by category.”

“Okay, so if you entered clown and last Wednesday’s date, the rental information might pop up?”

Beth frowned. “That should work. Theoretically.”

“Can you give it a try?”

Beth hit a few keys, waited for a list to come up on the screen, then hit another couple of keys. “Okay, I’ve got one rental here for a clown costume. Our number one thousand and forty-six.” She glanced up. “But it doesn’t say what type of clown.”

“When was it checked out?” asked Carmela.

“Checked out Wednesday morning and returned the following day.”

“Do you know who rented it?”

“Doesn’t say,” said Beth, “because they paid cash.”

“Do most people pay cash? Or do they put it on a credit card?”

Beth shrugged. “Usually a card, because we require a small deposit.”

“So that particular costume is back in stock?” asked Carmela. “Number one thousand and forty-six?”

Beth hit another couple of keys. “I don’t see that it was . . . yeah, it should be here.”

“Can you show me the rack?”

Beth led Carmela past racks of showgirl, cowboy, and vampire costumes. At a pile of fright masks, made even more terrifying by strands of long black and white goat hair, they hooked a left and ducked into a kind of alcove. Leering clown masks and floppy clown gloves hung on the walls. Oversized clown shoes littered the floor. An enormous rolling rack of clown costumes was jammed against the wall.

“The costumes look kind of creepy this way,” said Carmela. “Like any minute they might become . . . animated.”

“Clowns always scared me as a kid,” said Beth, giving a little shudder. “Maybe they still do. Anyway . . .” She backed away. “Just holler if you need help with anything.”

“Thanks.”

“And if you need any last-minute costumes,” said Beth, “we’re gonna be open until midnight every night up until Fat Tuesday.”

Carmela pawed through the rack for a few minutes until she found the Canio costume. It hung on its hanger looking limp and inert. Grabbing the hanger, Carmela hooked it onto the rack, then spread out the costume. Was it the same one? It sure looked the same. White with pompoms down the front, gathered at the wrists. And voluminous enough, Carmela thought, to hide any figure, large or small.

So who had worn this costume?

Had it been stashed in Zoe’s tote bag? Or had someone shucked into it while hidden in a nearby room or convenient broom closet? Maybe Durrell or Sullivan Finch or even Billy Laforge? And what about Joubert, who gave her the creeps and seemed so interested in all things horrifically odd? Or Whitney Geiger, whom she was still trying to track down? Lots of suspects, not much information.

Carmela reached up and pulled down the mask. Mirthful eyes stared at her along with an upturned mouth.
Who wore you?
she wondered.
Who slipped inside your silky folds and turned you into a capering, creeping being?

And most important,
Were you there when Kimber Breeze was killed?

* * *

WITH HER QUESTIONS UNANSWERED AND HER MIND
in a whir, Carmela sought out the familiar and the comforting. Her scrapbook shop on Governor Nicholls Street.

“What are you doing here?” asked Gabby, giving a start as Carmela walked through the front door. “I thought you went to Kimber’s funeral.”

“The operative word being
went
,” said Carmela.

“Okay. So how was it?”

“Strange,” said Carmela. “The entire KBEZ-TV contingent showed up and captured the entire service on film.”

Gabby’s face fell. “Are you serious? That’s just awful.” She shook her head dismissively. “Don’t you think the media’s gone plum crazy? And not just our local media, but national, too. I can’t stand all those talking heads spouting their own political manifestos or fawning over celebrities.”

“Take a number and get in line,” said Carmela. “You’re not the only one who thinks it’s nuts, that news isn’t really news anymore.” She glanced toward the back of the shop, where two women were working away on scrapbook pages. “Have we been busy?”

“Not too much,” said Gabby. “A little flurry of customers this morning, but now it feels like everybody’s taking a breather and gearing up for tonight. For a big Saturday night.”

“I suppose,” said Carmela, touching a finger to a packet of charms that included miniature keys and cameos.

“Do you have plans?” asked Gabby. “With Babcock, I would imagine?” She smiled shyly.

“Just coming back here,” said Carmela.

There was confusion on Gabby’s face, and then she said, “For . . . ? Oh, you mean the open house? At Oddities? You’re really
going
to that?”

Carmela nodded. “Ava’s all hot and bothered about it, so yeah, I guess I’m going.”

“For some reason I wish that shop weren’t smack-dab next to ours,” said Gabby. “It’s just way too creepy for my taste.”

“You mean creepy Joubert,” said Carmela. “You get a bad feeling from him.”

“Yes, I do,” said Gabby. “You know me, I’m pretty easy going and amenable. And I don’t usually take an instant dislike to someone. But that guy gives me the willies.”

“Interesting,” said Carmela. Gabby was a fairly decent judge of people. If she’d detected an odd vibration, there just might be something there.

“So please be careful tonight,” said Gabby.

“Don’t worry,” said Carmela. “It’s an open house, the joint will probably be mobbed, and we’re only staying for a short time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Gabby. “Just take care.”

* * *

“THIS IS LIKE DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN,” CARMELA
joked. Just when she thought she’d escaped the weird vibes of the costume shop, Ava had brought over an armload of outfits for them to try on.

“Look at this one,
cher
,” said Ava, excited to the point of being practically breathless. “Midnight-blue velvet with a va-va-voom neckline. I think it’s the inner
you
!”

“You realize,” said Carmela, “this isn’t a costume party tonight. It’s merely an open house.”

“But we’re going to Oddities. Which means we really should dress the part.”

“Then we should be contemplating dead squirrel hides and finger bone earrings,” said Carmela. “Instead of glamour gowns.”

“You’re no fun,” grumped Ava. “You’re just not getting
into
this.” She dug through her mountain of dresses, pulled out a different one, and held it up for inspection. “Mmm, maybe this yellow taffeta number?”

Carmela gazed at the poufy sleeves, flouncy skirt, and black trim on a yellow bodice. “Maybe a trifle too saloon girl?”

But Ava wasn’t about to give up. “Try to pep it up,
cher
. After all, it’s Mardi Gras, our most favorite time of year. And we are gonna party! Perhaps if
I
put something on, you might catch a wee bit of spark?”

“Do that,” said Carmela, feeling bad that Ava was trying so hard. “And I’ll go get us each a glass of wine.” Happy to distance herself from the costume caravan for a short while, Carmela went to her kitchen and poured out two glasses of Merlot. While she really had very little interest in attending the Oddities open house, she did have a passing curiosity about Joubert, the owner. For some reason, he’d tweaked her inner early-warning radar. And he’d for sure raised Gabby’s hackles.

“Oh,
cher
!” Ava called from the other room. “Come take a look at this.”

Carmela padded back into her bedroom, followed by Boo and Poobah. The dogs were regarding this costume activity with great suspicion. Then again, dogs weren’t big on dressing up. In fact, whenever Carmela saw dogs sporting little coats and sweaters, they always looked embarrassed. As if they knew, deep down, that the grand creator of canines had never intended for them to wear Gucci or Burberry.

“What do you think?” asked Ava. She stood before the mirror in a floor-length black crepe dress with a V-cut, ruffled bodice. She’d added a black leather lace-up corset to accentuate her narrow waist and ample derriere.

“You look like you just stepped out of
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
.” Carmela chuckled. When Ava frowned, she added, “You know, the character Esmeralda?”

“Think of a better analogy,” Ava replied in a slightly frosty tone.

Carmela didn’t miss a beat. “You look like Morgana, the gorgeous witch in
Camelot
.”

This time Ava smiled broadly. “Much better.”

Chapter 17

T
HE
Vieux Carré
, or French Quarter, after dark was like stepping into the distant past. Narrow brick buildings stood shoulder to shoulder with their second-story balconies of wrought iron. Old-fashioned streetlamps cast a warm, intoxicating glow. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves rang sharply off the cobblestones as liveried carriages rolled by carrying enthralled tourists. And, a few blocks over, on the black ribbon of Mississippi that looped through the city, the mournful toot of a tugboat echoed softly.

Governor Nicholls Street was lit up like a Christmas tree this Saturday evening. Visitors thronged the sidewalk, peering into antique store windows where sterling silver teapots, oil paintings, and fine china enticed under pinpoint spotlights. Tunes cranked loudly from Dr. Boogie’s music bar down the street. Waiters from the St. Honoré Chowder Restaurant were standing on the street giving out free samples. And outside Oddities, a good-sized crowd seemed to be lining up.

“Yipes,” said Ava, “you think they’re only letting in the beautiful people? That it’s like Studio 54 or something?” She’d been whipped up ever since they’d parked the car around the corner on North Rampart.

“That’s right,” said Carmela, “it’s probably exactly like a club scene. There’s a selection process to admit only the hot, young kids. So maybe we should just turn around and leave while we’re ahead.”

Ava plucked at her cape. “No way. I’ve been looking forward to this event for days.”

“You’ve only known about it for days.”

“Whatever,” said Ava, stepping up her pace.

Carmela adjusted the stand-up collar on her jacket. She’d finally settled for a snugly tailored black patent leather jacket paired with slim black slacks. Ava said it was a contemporary revival of the Yves Saint Laurent smoking jacket look from the seventies; Carmela just thought it looked a little S&M.

As they got closer to Oddities, Carmela realized that the cluster scrum at the front door was centered on Ed Banister and Raleigh from KBEZ-TV. They were there with cameras and a small crew that consisted of a sound guy and a grip.

“Look at this!” Ava exclaimed. “They’re setting up to film!”

“Wonderful,” Carmela said, in a tone that indicated it really wasn’t wonderful at all. She hadn’t given Ed Banister a definitive no on the TV interview and was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up. Just let the whole thing die a slow death.

But Ava, ever eager to have her mug appear on camera, raced to greet them. “What are you guys doing here?” she asked, dancing around excitedly.

“Filming the open house,” said Raleigh.

“Ongoing footage for our documentary,” explained Banister.

Carmela came up to join them. “You’re still working on that?” she asked.

“Oh, sure,” said Banister. “We’ve maybe got only a third of what we actually need.”

“How long is your doc going to be?” asked Carmela.

“Maybe fifty minutes to an hour,” said Raleigh.

“An hour at least,” said Banister.

“And this is a legitimate documentary you’re producing?” asked Carmela. She was still suspicious that her postcards or Kimber’s murder might somehow creep in.

“Absolutely aboveboard,” said Banister. Tonight, instead of his business suit and gold Rolex he was wearing khakis, a charcoal sweater, and, this time, a stainless steel Rolex. “This is all about real people in New Orleans who participate in Mardi Gras. We’ve already filmed a couple of krewes and interviewed some of the float builders.”

“And you’re not going to include anything about Kimber’s murder?” asked Carmela.

“No way,” said Banister, shaking his head. “Not in the documentary. In fact, we’re hoping to enter it in some regional film festivals, so there’s no way we’d include that type of thing.” He directed his gaze at Carmela. “You know, since you’re so gun-shy about doing a story on the postcards, why don’t you at least be interviewed on camera? You’d already consented to an interview last Wednesday night . . .” His voice trailed off, obviously thinking about how Kimber’s untimely death had brought that evening to a crashing halt.

“Carmela would love to be in your documentary,” said Ava, dimpling prettily.

“Thank you, but I think I’m going to take a pass,” said Carmela.

“But if we could do anything to help . . .” Ava offered.

“Maybe you could,” said Banister, stepping toward them. “We’d love to get into one of the float dens and maybe even one of the big private parties.”

You know,” said Carmela, thinking of the Pluvius krewe’s party tomorrow night and then Baby’s big party on Monday night, “maybe I could put in a word.”

“Anything you do would be greatly appreciated,” said Banister. “I know you’re very well connected . . .”

“She is,” gushed Ava.

“Not really connected,” Carmela corrected, “but I know a few folks who might be open to your filming.”

“Fantastic,” said Raleigh. “We definitely need more behind-the-scenes footage.”

“Let me make a couple of calls,” said Carmela, “and I’ll get back to you.”

“Appreciate it,” said Banister.

“That was very sweet of you,” said Ava, as they walked into Oddities.

Not that sweet, thought Carmela. It had suddenly occurred to her that being around the TV people afforded her a direct pipeline to any new information about Kimber. And maybe, just maybe, she could offer some of that information to Babcock.

* * *

THEY WERE HIT WITH A WALL OF SOUND AND A CRUSH
of people. “Grenade” by Bruno Mars blared out over the sound system. Guests dressed as vampires, fairy princesses, skeletons, Chinese courtesans, and Venetian lords were crowded elbow to armpit within the narrow brick walls of Oddities. Other guests were glamorously attired in black tie and ball gowns. Carmela figured that most of the guests, especially those costumed and finely garbed, had stopped by on their way to fantastical Mardi Gras balls. Some guests, like her and Ava, had dressed up just because it was Mardi Gras and the New Orleans tradition pretty much dictated you wear a costume.

“This is some place, huh?” said Ava. She gaped at the glass cases filled with strange curiosities. “Look over there, I see some human skulls and an old butterfly collection.”

“Did you catch the Egyptian mummy?” asked Carmela. A painted wooden sarcophagus leaned against the wall. She wondered if a real, bandaged mummy slumbered inside. And, if they burned tannin leaves at midnight, would the creature suddenly come lurching out? Carmela shook her head to clear it. Strange thoughts had been swirling in her brain for the past couple of days. Too strange, she told herself.

“
Cher
,” said Ava, “have a drink.” A tall, ethereal-looking waiter in a shiny black tuxedo held out a tray of drinks. Ava had already helped herself to a goblet filled with a lethal-looking red potion. A green gummy worm curled over the side of her glass.

“What are these?” Carmela asked, as she took one.

“Cosmopolitan,” said the waiter. He gave a sickly grin and said, “Enjoy.”

Carmela took a sip. The drink was strong, slightly sweet, and, when she swallowed, it warmed her gullet thoroughly. “Good,” she rasped to Ava.

But Ava was suddenly enchanted by a stuffed monkey. “What is that thing?” she asked.

Carmela gazed at the slightly dusty little creature who was locked forever in a comical pose, wearing a red velvet jacket and cap. “I don’t know. Maybe a spider monkey or a capuchin? I’m not all that familiar with monkey varieties.”

“It’s a rhesus,” said Joubert. He seemed to materialize in front of them like a vampire emerging from the fog surrounding Carfax Abbey.

“Mr. Joubert,” said Carmela. She knew she’d run into him sooner or later. After all, his shop was barely twelve hundred square feet.

“Oh hey,” said Ava, a grin lighting her face. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ava Gruiex. Proud proprietor of Juju Voodoo.”

Instead of shaking Ava’s hand, Joubert bent forward and solemnly kissed her knuckles. “Charmed,” said Joubert, which prompted a stream of giggles on Ava’s part.

“You’ve got a terrific shop,” said Ava. “All these darling collectibles make me want to swoon.”

“Really great,” said Carmela. She didn’t want to appear uninterested in his merchandise, even though she pretty much was. Dead monkeys and dried bones just didn’t trip her trigger.

“From a lifetime of collecting,” Joubert simpered.

“Did the TV people interview you?” Ava asked. “We ran into them outside.”

Joubert gave a quick smile. “They certainly did. I have a nice collection of antique Mardi Gras masks as well as some vintage ball invitations, and they were quite interested in those.” He glanced at Carmela. “Ephemera, I believe you’d call it in your line of work. The invitations, I mean.”

“Just make sure you keep your vintage invitations stored between sheets of acid-free paper,” said Carmela. “Otherwise mold and all sorts of other nasty things have a way of creeping in.”

“Thank you for your suggestion,” said Joubert. “When things quiet down I may have to slip next door and purchase a few items from you.”

“Do that,” said Carmela, edging away from him. She was getting the same creepy feeling from him that Gabby had. Carmela wasn’t sure what it meant. That she thought Joubert might come on to her, that he possessed some ulterior motive, or that he was just plain creepy? Good question. The fact remained, something was off-kilter.

Twenty minutes later, having toured the shop, chatted with a couple of acquaintances, and made small talk with Devon Dowling, the chubby, affable, ponytailed owner of Dulcimer’s Antiques, Carmela was ready to leave.

But leaving wasn’t so easy.

For some reason, Carmela found herself in a small alcove, staring at an antique dagger, her exit cut off by a smiling, looming Joubert.

“I see you found your way into my little den of death,” said Joubert.

“That sounds fairly ominous,” said Carmela. She tried to make a joke of it, but her words felt hollow.

Joubert gave an appropriate smile. “It’s supposed to.” He picked up a battered, primitive-looking pistol and turned it so the handle pointed to Carmela. “This is one of the guns that wounded Cole Younger, one of the members of the James Gang.”

Carmela gingerly accepted the gun. “The James Gang?”

“Jesse and Frank James and Cole Younger and his brothers? The outlaws who terrified the Midwest and robbed that bank up in Northfield, Minnesota?”

“Oh, those guys,” said Carmela. “Long time ago. The Wild West.”

“That’s what makes it so interesting,” said Joubert. “As well as highly collectible.”

“And pricey, I would imagine.”

Joubert gave a knowing smile. “I’m asking four thousand dollars for that particular weapon.”

“Good luck to you,” said Carmela, finally managing to slip past him.

* * *

SKITTERING AROUND A GLASS CASE THAT HELD A
wrinkled Amazonian mask, Carmela looped an arm through Ava’s and gave a tug. “Time to exit stage left.”

Disappointment flared on Ava’s face. “So soon?”

Not soon enough
, Carmela thought to herself. “Just meet me outside, okay?”

The cool air that greeted Carmela was a welcome relief after the warmth and press of bodies inside. Plus, there’d been some strange aroma in the air. Incense, maybe? Or some type of scented candle? Whatever aroma had wafted through the shop, it had been strong and pungent and almost headache inducing.

“Carmela.” Ed Banister was suddenly at her elbow.

“Hey,” she said.

“I understand you’re looking into things.” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice. “Concerning, uh, Kimber’s murder.”

“How do you know that?” she asked. She gazed over at Raleigh, who had his camera pointed at a woman in an expensive-looking red suit. She was extremely animated and talking loudly about the fancy Mardi Gras brunch she was throwing for her friends tomorrow. “Oh, Raleigh told you?”

Banister nodded. “He mentioned it. And I think what you’re doing is a good thing, a smart thing. Especially since you have an in with one of the investigators.”

“I haven’t come up with a single piece of usable information yet,” she told him.

He looked thoughtful. “Yes, but maybe you’re the one who’ll cast a fresh pair of eyes on this tragedy. Maybe, as an outsider without any predilections, you’ll spot something the police won’t. Or haven’t.”

“Maybe.” But Carmela wasn’t all that convinced she would figure things out.

“Anyway,” said Banister, as Ava swooped over to join them, “good luck.”

“I was having so much fun!” Ava whooped. “And what a place. Did you see that life-sized Day of the Dead skeleton playing a guitar? I’d
kill
to have him serenading in my shop.”

“Make Joubert an offer,” said Carmela, as she and Ava ambled slowly down the street. “Because I don’t think the existing inventory is going to exactly fly off the shelves.”

“But it’s such neat stuff,” said Ava.

“It’s . . . unusual,” agreed Carmela. “I’ll grant you that.”

“I got an idea,” said Ava. “Let’s stop by Mumbo Gumbo. I bet the joint is rocking.”

“We’re going to be partying our brains out tomorrow night, as well as Monday and Tuesday, so let’s not,” said Carmela. “Besides, I’m ready to throw in the towel.” She glanced around. “Where did we park anyway? I thought we were right in front of Rendezvous Antiques.”

“Nope,” said Ava, pointing down Rampart. “We’re in front of that little souvenir shop.”

They strolled along, dodging dozens of folks who were cruising from bar to bar, carrying plastic
geaux
cups filled with liquid fortitude.

“It’s funny,” said Carmela, as they wandered past Pansy’s Fine Collectibles, then Dugan’s Used Books. “My shop is something like a block away, but I hardly ever find time to browse these places.”

“That’s because you’re all business,” said Ava. “When you get up in the morning, you click directly into business mode. I do the same thing. It’s like having blinders on. I just focus on what’s ahead for the day.”

“But that’s why Juju Voodoo is prospering,” said Carmela. Ava had built her business from the ground up. Starting with a small counter in Beckett’s Antiques where she sold saint candles and love charms, then moving to her current space as she expanded into wooden skeletons, masks, voodoo dolls, and evil eye jewelry.