Chapter 9

WHILE Ava dashed upstairs for her meeting with Gordon, Carmela wandered through Moda Chadron, coveting the gorgeous haute couture pieces that were on display. First she fell in love with a petal-pleated pink organza dress. Then a plunging gown with a full, crinkly skirt caught her eye. Then she decided she just couldn't live without the asymmetrical-cut black dress, no matter what it cost.

Carmela plucked the price tag from where it was tucked inside the neckline and peered at it. Hmm. On the other hand, maybe she could live without the dress. It was sexy and scintillating, yes. But affordable? No. Not in the least. So maybe she'd have to satisfy her designer fix by shopping at The Latest Wrinkle, her favorite little resale shop over on trendy Magazine Street.

Now that Carmela had established that Moda Chadron's lofty prices were completely beyond her range unless she reconciled with Shamus and his money (and she'd sooner gnaw off her own foot than let that happen) she focused on the atelier itself. Housed in a magnificent brick building that had once been a warehouse, Moda Chadron projected an elegant, rarefied air. Chadron, the man behind the spectacular designs and the rehabbed building, had chosen soft dove gray as his key color. That subtle and soothing tone was carried throughout. In the whisper-soft carpeting, a grouping of upholstered brocade chairs, and the silk draperies that hung at the tall windows and ended in a little puddle on the floor.

Within the atelier itself were dozens of racks of clothes, antique cabinets filled with camisoles, scarves, and lingerie, and a scatter of marble pedestals that displayed humongous floral arrangements that lent a jungle effect. At the far end of the room, just to the left of the circular staircase, was a long, gleaming white desk where the sales associates congregated. Behind that were oversized fitting rooms. Soft music—Carmela was pretty sure it was Mozart—played on the stereo, and the front door opened constantly to let in well-heeled customers.

Some twenty minutes later, Ava came tripping down the carpeted staircase from the second-floor business office and design studio. She had Gordon van Hees firmly in tow.

“We meet again,” said Gordon, extending an outstretched hand to Carmela. “Although so much has happened since.” He gazed about Moda Chadron, let a tone of dismay creep into his voice. “Amber's death has put us all in a sad, contemplative mood.”

“She seemed like a lovely girl,” said Carmela.

Gordon nodded. “Amber was gifted with a natural talent for the runway, and she was smart. Just amazingly bright. She'd been a business major at Tulane, you know.”

“I didn't know that,” said Carmela.Ava jumped in, trying to lift them all out of their suddenly somber moods. “I told Gordon that you've agreed to assist me with the decorating,” she said, nudging Carmela.

This, of course, was news to Carmela. “I'd . . . uh . . . love to,” said Carmela, slightly taken aback. Do I even have time for this? I sure hope so!

“Excellent, excellent,” said Gordon. “We're looking for over-the-top spectacular, so don't be afraid to take chances. I'm a huge proponent of pushing the envelope. Sometimes I even have to nudge Chadron a bit—play Pierre Berge to his Yves Saint Laurent.”

“Got it,” said Carmela, looking around, wondering how on earth they were going to transfer this lovely shop into a venue with a spooky, over-the-top theme.

“And please, dear ladies,” continued Gordon. “Do shop around. And if you should see a creation you simply can't live without, there's a chance I might be able to arrange a sizable discount.”

“Really?” squealed Ava. “Then we better take a closer look. C'mon, Carmela.”

They waved good-bye to Gordon.

“Sizable discount?” whispered Carmela. “I already know what I want. There's this black—”

“Honey,” interrupted Ava, and she was practically drooling, “I want it all!”

While Ava tried on a blue silk dress with a tight, Renaissance-inspired bodice, Carmela happened to strike up a conversation with one of Chadron's regular models, a young woman by the name of Yasmin. It didn't take Carmela long to elicit a few details from her.

“So you knew Amber?” asked Carmela.

Yasmin nodded. Tall, impossibly skinny, she sported dark, close-cropped hair. The kind of haircut Ava always referred to as a “collaborator” cut. Referring, of course, to the French women who'd had their heads shaved at the end of World War II as punishment for fraternizing with Nazi officers.

Overhearing Carmela's questions, Ava came sashaying out of the dressing room to ask a few questions of her own. “Do you know if Amber was seeing anyone?” Ava asked Yasmin.

Yasmin shrugged as she considered the question. “There was this one guy by the name of Remy.”

“Remy,” said Ava, digesting the name. “He works here?”

Yasmin gave a disdainful laugh. “No way. But I know he's the manager at one of the nearby costume shops.”

“The big one here in the French Quarter?” asked Carmela. “Or the one over in Faubourg Marigny?”

Yasmin shrugged. “Maybe . . . here in the Quarter? Why do you want to know?”

“We're just looking into things,” said Ava. “A friend of ours is sort of implicated in Amber's death, and we're checking all the angles.”

“Okay,” said Yasmin, fingering the multiple layers of leather cords strung with tiny charms that hung around her thin neck. “That's cool.”

Carmela studied the girl. She figured Yasmin probably lived on Marlboro Lights and bottled water. And an occasional hunk of Bibb lettuce thrown in for dessert.

“So Amber was dating this guy Remy?” Carmela asked.

“I don't know if you'd call it dating, per se,” said Yasmin. “She went to a party with him once or twice.”

“At the costume shop?” asked Ava.

Yasmin frowned at them like they were idiots. “No, some big mansion in the Garden District. Some fat cat's place.”

“That's a pretty nice part of town,” said Carmela. “Did you ever tag along?”Yasmin looked colossally bored with their questions. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe like once,” she answered. “But those parties weren't exactly my scene.”

“You remember exactly where this house was?” Carmela asked.

Yasmin brushed a minuscule piece of lint from her long, lean skirt. Carmela figured she was wearing one of Chadron's creations, a little piece of silk knit that sold for thousands.

Yasmin closed her eyes, leaned back against the wall, and thought for a moment. “Maybe on Iberville?” she said. “I know it was right near the cemetery.”

Carmela figured that Yasmin had to mean St. Louis Cemeteries No. 1 and No. 2. She had no idea who resided on Iberville Street. But she knew someone who might know: Baby Fontaine. Baby knew everybody who was anybody in the Garden District.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, AVA HAD POURED HERSELF into a green strapless chiffon gown and was admiring herself in a three-way mirror, tossing her hair, doing graceful little pirouettes.

“That dress looks utterly spectacular on you,” said an enthusiastic male voice. “Please tell me you're planning to buy it.”

Both Ava and Carmela whirled around to find Chadron, the designer himself, smiling with admiration.

“Buy, no,” said Ava. “But I'm sure as heck going to try to finance it.”

Chadron's smile turned slightly hesitant.

“Oh, hey,” said Ava. “We're just kind of goofing around here. I'm Ava Grieux, and this is Carmela Bertrand. We're doing the decorating for your Halloween fashion show. I just had a meeting with your partner.”Chadron stared pointedly at Ava. “Oh my goodness,” he said, putting a hand to his face in an old Jack Benn -type gesture. “Oh course. You're that darling girl who runs the magic shop.”

“Voodoo shop,” corrected Carmela.

“Yes,” said Chadron. “Of course. That was the night...” Chadron shook his head at the too-painful memory. He touched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching it gently. “Such a terrible, terrible tragedy. We all loved Amber so much. She was such a beautiful, talented girl.”

Now Chadron reached for Ava's hand in a sympathetic gesture. “We do know each other, don't we?” Chadron turned to gaze at Carmela. “And you're Ava's friend.”

“Carmela,” repeated Ava.

“Carmela,” echoed Chadron. “And you do . . . what?”

“I own the scrapbook shop over on Governor Nicholls Street,” said Carmela. “Memory Mine.”

Chadron rolled his eyes. “Oh, for heaven's sake. Of course you do! That darling little shop with all the lovely, lovely paper and bits of fiber.” Now he grabbed Carmela's hand and patted it. “Talented, talented,” he told her.

“Losing Amber must be very hard on you,” said Carmela. “And on your business.”

“Simply awful,” agreed Chadron. “She was like family. Everyone who works here is like family.”

“Do you know . . . have the police learned anything new?” asked Carmela. “Do they have any suspects yet?” She knew exactly who Lieutenant Edgar Babcock and his investigators viewed as suspects, but she wondered if Chadron knew as well.

Now Chadron looked even more saddened. “A detective has been over here several times, asking questions, looking around. But I must say, he's been incredibly tight-lipped when it comes to revealing who they view as suspects.” Chadron shifted his gaze back to Ava. “Is that fellow still working for you?” he asked. “The first one they questioned?”

“You mean Giovanni?” said Ava. “Yes, he is. But we're positive he had nothing to do with it. He was actually a friend of Amber's.”

“A friend,” murmured Chadron. “Yes, I suppose Amber had lots of friends. Young people always do.”

“We've been admiring your designs,” said Carmela. Seeing Chadron's obvious distress, she decided to change the subject to something a little more neutral. “They're absolutely fantastic!”

Chadron crossed his arms and grimaced. “You think so, really? Because I have these absolutely crippling bouts of self-doubt.”

“We saw the article about you in the Times-Picayune a couple months ago,” said Ava. “About taking your collection to New York.”

“Those tents at Bryant Park!” exclaimed Chadron. “Such a madhouse. An absolute madhouse. And those crazy New York women. So skinny, must live on nothing but air.”

“It must be thrilling to show your collection alongside major designers,” said Carmela. “Plus you must garner tons of orders from New York's finest stores.”

“Bergie's,” Chadron stage whispered. “Bloomie's.”

“Congratulations,” enthused Carmela.

“Now if I can just get some local publicity for my little atelier,” said Chadron, making an expansive gesture over his shoulder. “I'd love to bite off a piece of the local market, so to speak.”

“Chadron,” called one of his salesclerks. “We're ready for Mrs. Todman's fitting.”

Chadron made a rueful face at Carmela and Ava. “I must be demented,” he told them. “Trying to service my clients and committing to this runway show Halloween night. And all because the French Quarter Merchants Association was fishing around for something new. I had to go and stick my dainty foot right in it.”

“You can count on us to come up with some moody decor,” said Ava.

“Thank you,” said Chadron. It's comforting to know there's someone I can count on.” He hesitated for a moment, then peered at Ava with a speculative look. “I have to ask . . . have you ever done any modeling?”

“Who, me?” said Ava, clearly pleased. “Just swimsuits and evening gowns in beauty pageants. Of course, I was runner-up in the Miss Teen Sparkle Pageant and then festival queen at Pickled Watermelon Rind Days. In fact, I still have my tiaras.”

“You're tall enough, thin enough,” mused Chadron. He took a step back, giving her a serious appraisal. “Not as young as I usually prefer ...”

“Watch it,” said Ava. “I'm not that old.”

“Yes,” said Chadron, absently. “I do need two more models, and I think one of them could be you.”

Ava rested a hand on her hip and struck a casual pose. More like a slouch, really. “You realize I'm just an amateur,” she told him, obviously thrilled to be singled out.

“We'd have to do something about your hair, of course,” said Chadron.

Ava peered at him nervously. “What did you have in mind?”

Chadron pulled his face into a thoughtful grimace. “Tease it into a gigantic bird's nest, pile in strings of pearls and bunches of grapes, then spray it all silver.”

Carmela winced. “Sounds pretty extreme.”

“We're actually hoping for bizarre,” agreed Chadron.

“Then I'll do it!” exclaimed Ava. “On one condition.”

“What's that?” asked Chadron.”Carmela models, too.”

“What!” Carmela and Chadron exclaimed together.

“She's a natural,” Ava pointed out. “Pretty, slender, tres sophisticated.”

But Chadron wasn't quite buying it as he gave Carmela a speculative look from head to toe.

“Plus Carmela knows lots of ladies who buy expensive clothing,” added Ava.

“On the other hand,” said Chadron, looking thoughtful, “you might be perfect after all. Tell me, dear, can you manage four-inch stilettos without clomping like a Clydesdale or breaking your pretty neck?”

“I think so,” said Carmela, still not believing Chadron would seriously consider using her as a model. Models were really tall girls, and she was barely five six.

“Excellent,” said Chadron. “Now, the real question is, can you get those lovely friends of yours to attend my runway show?”

“Probably,” said Carmela.

Chadron waved both hands in a kind of benevolent fashion designer blessing. “Then it's settled,” he pronounced. “Your fitting is Monday at 5:30 PM.”