Tragic Magic (18 page)

Hunched next to his wife’s coffin, Garth looked like a broken man. His complexion was pale as a ghost, dark circles engulfed his eyes, and his clothes seemed to hang on him like a scarecrow’s. Carmela’s heart went out to Garth, and she wondered how on earth he’d make it through the rest of the service.

As if in answer, Reverend Robertson closed his book and told the crowd, “And now, Garth would like to say a few words.” The reverend reached a hand out to steady Garth, then Garth took a tentative step forward.

Pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, Garth stared at the crowd blankly, then said in a shaky voice, “I’d like to read a final poem for Melody.” He paused, cleared his throat, then continued. “It was written more than a hundred years ago by Edgar Allan Poe and serves to sum up our . . .” Garth’s voice cracked and faltered, and then he bowed his head. Reverend Robertson put a hand on Garth’s shoulder and said a few whispered words to him, but Garth shook his head. He wanted to continue. After taking several deep breaths, he licked his lips and began his reading:

“What the heck?” Ava muttered to Carmela as Garth continued his reading. Her eyes met Carmela’s and they gazed at each other, both slightly confused. “Isn’t that kind of a weird poem?” she whispered.

“Weird for a funeral,” Carmela murmured under her breath.

“And what’s with all the fire images?” Ava whispered back. “Kind of creepy, if you ask me.”

Carmela just nodded.

Once Garth finished the final stanza of his poem, the string quartet broke into Beethoven’s
Für Elise
. That was the signal for the pallbearers to gather around Melody’s casket. Once assembled, they grabbed the brass handles, bent down, then grunted in unison as they hoisted their heavy burden to their shoulders. Then it was a short, stiff-legged march to the gaping doorway of the family crypt. The coffin was carried in and slid onto a small stone slab, and then the pallbearers shuffled back out, looking slightly red-faced and flushed from their grim task. As the funeral director shoved the heavy door closed, a final, dull thud sounded.

Raising a hand in a comforting gesture, Reverend Robertson murmured, “May our Heavenly Father receive thee into his loving arms for all eternity.”

Bowing their heads en masse, the crowd responded with a gravelly “Amen.”

The funeral service was concluded.

But Carmela’s curiosity was more than piqued. Watching Sawyer Barnes and Olivia Wainwright engage in a more animated conversation now, she wished desperately that she could be a little mouse behind the tombstone and eavesdrop on them. And just as she toyed with the idea of actually going over there, of butting in on their private confab, the two shook hands and parted. Well . . . so much for that notion.

Ava tapped Carmela on the shoulder. “What do you think
is the protocol? Should we go express our condolences to Garth?”

“It’s probably the right thing to do,” said Carmela.

“You go,” urged Ava. “You know him better than I do. I’m gonna go talk to Sidney over there. See what that little twerp has been up to.”

Carmela walked over to where Garth was standing and waited in a sort of cemetery receiving line for a few moments. “It was a lovely service,” she told Garth when she finally arrived at the head of the line. “I’m so very sorry about Melody.”

Garth Mayfeldt clasped Carmela’s hands in a rough but trembling grip. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.” His red-rimmed eyes looked sunken and hollow.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know,” said Carmela.

“Please,” Garth implored her, “just keep your eyes and ears open as promised. The police are still completely hung up on the insurance money and don’t seem to be building a case against anyone but me!”

“I promised to help and I will,” Carmela assured him. “But what I’m most concerned with right now is you. You look utterly exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine,” Garth responded in a hoarse voice, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

“Can you take some time off from the shop?” Carmela asked.

Garth shook his head. “Better not to. Now there’ll be twice as much work to do.”

“But not twice as much business,” said Carmela.

Garth suddenly looked even more glum. “No. Unfortunately not.”

“I’ve heard talk . . .” Carmela began. She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase her concern.

“About how Fire and Ice may be insolvent?” rasped Garth.
Now he looked both grief-stricken and angry. “Yes, I’m sure you have. But I’ll manage. I always do.”

“You certainly wouldn’t be the first French Quarter business to restructure or even throw in the towel,” Carmela told him gently. “And you won’t be the last.” She knew first-hand the difficulties that small shop owners faced.

“Please,” said Garth, “my only thought right now is finding justice for Melody.” He reached out and gripped her hands again. “And if you can help in any way . . .”

“My dear, dear Garth,” said Olivia Wainwright in somber, mellow tones. She’d cut directly to the head of the line and now stood firmly ensconced at Garth’s left elbow. Her cultured face wore a look of utmost concern.

“Olivia . . .” Garth responded. He seemed pleased to see her.

Olivia placed a hand on Garth’s shoulder and caressed it gently. “It’s all right,” she cooed, trying to comfort him.

Carmela watched Olivia’s hand move up until her entire arm encircled Garth’s neck in a gentle hug. Carmela couldn’t help noticing the wide gold band and enormous pear-shaped citrine ring wrapped around Olivia’s middle finger. A matching pair of citrine earrings dangled from her ears. Carmela couldn’t resist a peek at Olivia’s necklace. Yup. More citrines. Gorgeous gems. Real killer pieces. The kind of serious gold and gem pieces that . . . and now something clicked in the back of Carmela’s head . . . that she’d seen in the glass cases at Fire and Ice?

Okay
, Carmela decided,
Olivia must be one of Garth’s premier customers. Nice to have people of that ilk supporting your store.
And then, as Olivia’s hand continued to make small circles on Garth’s shoulder, Carmela wondered for the first time if there was something going on between Garth Mayfeldt and Olivia Wainwright. Was this hug just a little bit beyond the verge of mere friendship?

When Olivia finally tore herself free, she turned to face
Carmela. “Our boy is going to be just fine,” she said in grand-pronouncement style.

“Of course he is,” responded Carmela.

“He simply needs lots of support,” continued Olivia.

Carmela wondered if Olivia meant emotional support or financial support.

Reverend Robertson cut in then, wishing Garth well as he took his leave.

“Olivia,” said Carmela, seizing this small opportunity to speak to her. “I hate to bring up business, but Ava and I have made real strides with Medusa Manor.”

“Oh?” said Olivia. Her eyes followed Garth as he shook hands with several other mourners.

“In fact,” Carmela continued, “it’s probably good that we grab a quick meeting so I can give you a progress report.”
And maybe ask a few questions
, she thought to herself.

“Hmm,” said Olivia, glancing at her watch, acting even more distracted. “I suppose I could find some time today.”

“That’d be great,” said Carmela. “Say your home . . . three o’clock?”

“Fine, fine,” said Olivia, turning her attention back to Garth.

“Ready to head back?” asked Ava, digging in her purse for her sunglasses.

“I suppose so,” said Carmela. There were still two dozen or so people milling about, but that probably wouldn’t last long. They’d begin scattering any moment. “What were you grilling Sidney about? I saw you two with your heads together.”

“He’s such a strange duck,” said Ava. “I was telling him a little bit about the Mendelssohn Asylum and now he’s all hot to put it on his tour.”

“I noticed that Mindy showed up with some of the Restless Spirit Society folks; maybe you could hook those two up.”

“The cheerleader and Sidney,” chuckled Ava. “Now that’d
be a combo. Like Jennifer Aniston hooking up with Marilyn Manson!”

“Did you notice how cozy Olivia was with Garth?” asked Carmela.

“She did seem awfully affectionate, now that you mention it.”

“I hate to say this,” said Carmela, “but it seemed like Olivia was a little sweet on Garth.”

“That would throw a twist into things,” said Ava. “You sure she’s not just a really good customer?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” said Carmela.

They walked in silence for a few moments, past a large tomb with a sculpture of a kneeling angel on top. Then Carmela said, “Just for
what if
purposes . . . what if the two of them had wanted Melody out of the picture?”

“Seriously?” said Ava, her eyes widening. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Garth seems awfully upset.”

“I’m sure remorse can assume the appearance of mourning,” said Carmela.

“Okay,” said Ava. “If you’re headed in that direction. Then what if Garth doesn’t figure into the equation at all? What if Melody and Olivia got into some sort of horrible argument? One thing led to another and . . .
kapow
! It wouldn’t be the first time business partners feuded.”

“It
was
an unequal partnership,” murmured Carmela. “Olivia put up the money, while Melody did all the grunt work.”

“Which
we’re
doing now,” Ava pointed out.

“It never occurred to me,” said Carmela, “that Olivia might have gotten rid of Melody on her own.”

Ava squinted into the sun. “Do you think Olivia knows how to rig an incendiary device?”

“Don’t know,” said Carmela.

“If you ask me,” said Ava, “she seems like one of those entitled shopaholic babes who’s barely able to work a toaster.”

“I hear you,” said Carmela. “Okay, then what are we to
think of the dynamic duo of Olivia Wainwright and Sawyer Barnes? They were whispering like crazy, thick as thieves.”

“And here I thought they were rivals,” said Ava. “Sort of.”

“Maybe somewhere along the way, they joined forces,” said Carmela. She wasn’t sure why they would, but it felt like
something
was going on.

“
Cher
,” said Ava, “you’ve got a real tangle of suspects and motives. Probably more complicated than Babcock’s real list. You two should get together and—”

“I would if he’d return my calls,” snapped Carmela. “Or stop by my place.”

Ava gazed at Carmela with deep concern. “Trouble in paradise? Oh,
cher
, say it ain’t so.”

“It’s not exactly trouble, it’s just . . .”

Ava threw her arms around Carmela and gave her a hug. “There, dear heart, a python squeeze
pour vous
. Now . . .” She stepped back and delicately shook her index finger in Carmela’s face. “I want you to remember how dedicated Edgar Babcock is. He’s your own little Dudley Do-Right action figure, always fighting on the side of good. You wouldn’t want it any other way, would you?”

Carmela shook her head. “No,” she said slowly. “It’s just that his job demands more of him than I’m willing to share.”

“Look at it this way,” said Ava. “You were married to that puke Shamus, and he was unwilling to share
anything
.”

“Except the dogs,” said Carmela. “He didn’t mind taking care of the dogs.”

“You can’t base a marriage on dogs,” said Ava. “Heck, your marriage didn’t even last a single dog year!”

Carmela giggled. Ava had a point.

“Now you’ve got this terrific guy who thinks the sun shines out of your . . . well, you know what I’m saying,” laughed Ava. “So my advice is—hang in there, baby.”

Ava held Carmela’s hand as they passed a row of long, low
tombs decorated with fanciful wrought-iron crosses. Thirty years ago, before the city supervisors and cemetery historians had made a concerted effort to protect and care for these cemeteries, some of these tombs had actually cracked open and the bones of the hapless inhabitants spilled out for all to see. Now, thankfully, all cemeteries were accorded continual care and maintenance and regarded as historic properties and major tourist attractions.

“Of all the New Orleans cemeteries, I’ve always loved this one best,” said Ava. She stepped briskly off the white gravel path and over to a low, rounded tomb. “Looky here. This is the grave they filmed for the
Interview with the Vampire
movie. Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt stood right here.” She hugged herself and gave a sexy little jiggle. “Can’t you just feel their vibes?”

“Maybe they should put up a plaque,” said Carmela.

“No way,” said Ava. “This place needs to be protected. We’ve already got Sidney and his ghost walks parading through here. All we need are more frenzied vampire groupies making sacred pilgrimages.”

They walked a little farther, noting some of the more interesting carvings. Angel heads, a lamb with a cross, a man’s head on a lion’s body, a large head with a sorrowful, upturned gaze.

“That head would be perfect for one of our floating heads,” said Ava.

“Looks good to me,” said Carmela. “Can you take a mold?”

“Sure,” said Ava, “but maybe there’s even a better one. No need to settle for the first thing we see.”

As they circled around a white marble crypt, Carmela suddenly squealed with delight, “Oh my gosh!” She gestured frantically to Ava. “Come here and tell me what you see!”

Ava stood next to her and peered at the tomb. “Um . . . that one’s good, too. A woman’s face.”

“But what else do you see?” prompted Carmela. “What kind of woman?”

Ava squinted. “Medusa!” she suddenly shouted. Smiling, she reached out a hand and traced the carved head with the tips of her fingers. It was indeed a woman’s head ringed with a wreath of snakes that dominated one side of the tomb. The fearful Medusa of Greek mythology.