Chapter 12

 

OPULENT and at the same time slightly decayed, the Garden District is one of the most photographed, beloved, and coveted neighborhoods in all of New Orleans. The homes, which include Italianate, Greek Revival, and Moorish-style mansions, are the ne plus ultra of the Southern belle epoque.

Tonight, carved jack-o'-lanterns flickered up and down Third Street, one of the toniest of drives. Their smiles, scowls, and wacky expressions glowed in the dark, lighting the way for all the Halloween revelers who were getting a jump-start on the holiday.

“That's the house right there,” said Carmela, leaning forward. “You see the lamppost with the witch hunched around it?”

The cabdriver slowed down as his eyes took in the decked-out neighborhood. “Wowee,” he exclaimed. “Is this the party you're goin' to? Someone sure spent a purty penny to decorate the neighborhood.”

“Right here,” said Ava, as he eased the cab to the curb in front of a stunningly large Italianate house. “This is Baby's place.”

“I wish I had the night off,” said the driver. “I'd sure enjoy escortin' two fine ladies to that par-tay.” He turned around and smiled, revealing a missing tooth and looking for all the world like a jack-o'-lantern himself.

Carmela glanced at his picture and cab license in the plastic protector: Jake Bujold. “Jake, we'd love to invite you in—”

Jake raised a hand and stopped her before she could continue. “Ma'am, I wasn't fishin' for an invite. I need to drive the drunks home tonight. Someone has to help keep the streets safe.” He peeled off a business card and handed it back to Carmela. “But just in case you ladies need a ride home later, give a holler.”

“We might do that,” said Carmela as she paid the fare, then slipped out of the cab after Ava.

“Hurry up,” called Ava. She gave a quick shimmy to adjust her dress, pulled herself to full Amazonian height on four-inch spiked stiletto heels, and headed for the front entry, where two valets were manning the double doors.

Carmela caught up with her. “This is gonna be good,” she enthused.

Ava wiggled her hips again and tossed her feather boa around her shoulders. It poufed out, releasing a few errant feathers into the dark night and causing Carmela to sneeze.

“Bless you,” said Ava.

“I need all the blessings I can muster,” muttered Carmela. She was beginning to get cold feet about her costume. “I'm not completely sure this costume was the best idea in the world.” “Honey, you look adorable,” cooed Ava. “You're the cutest little Spider-Woman I ever laid eyes on.”

“You think?” said Carmela. Her black, form-fitting bodysuit had a red hourglass sewn on the front with decorative white stitching that ran across the rest of her body like spider webs. A loose-knit black shawl entwined with black plastic spiders was draped across her shoulders. More spiders were entwined in Carmela's hair, and her glass ring was imbedded with a preserved spider.

“The only thing is . . .” began Ava.

“What?” asked Carmela, feeling slightly paranoid now, worrying that the costume might be a little too form-fitting.

“Think about it, cher,” giggled Ava. “Look at the message you're sending. Whoever mates with you dies afterward.”

“Huh,” said Carmela, as they made their way inside. “I should be so lucky.”

 

“OH MY,” SAID AVA, HER HEAD TWISTING FROM side to side, trying to take it all in.

“Easy,” laughed Carmela. “You're starting to look like that kid from The Exorcist.”

“Everything's just so ... so gorgeous and glam!” exclaimed Ava, continuing her unabashed perusal of Baby's house. “Splendiferous, in fact.”

Always known for her over-the-top decor, Baby Fontaine had completely redone her entryway since Hurricane Katrina had wrought some roof and water damage. Pink silk had been replaced by Prussian blue textured wall covering. Shining brass sconces flanked a wall mirror with Rococo brass frame and inlay of tortoiseshell. Carved cypress moldings crowned the entry room. An enormous crystal chandelier dangled above a huge circular staircase that curled up to the second floor. The overall effect was very Gone With the Wind. “Welcome,” said Del. Dressed as one of Napoleon's officers, Baby's husband sped across the parquet floor, then greeted them with a sweeping bow.

“Ain't you the chivalrous gent,” said Ava, flipping her boa at him.

“I'm crazy about your Mae West look,” he told her with a grin, then turned to survey Carmela's costume. “And our own itsy-bitsy spider, too.” He dropped an arm around each woman's shoulder and propelled them into the main salon, which was jam-packed with guests oohing and aahing over each other's costumes. “Come join the party. And I guarantee, it's quite a party.”

“Give a man a free hand, and he'll run it all over you,” quipped Ava in a Mae West accent.

“Love it,” roared Del as he turned them loose and went back to his meet-and-greet duties.

“Are you going to keep that up all night?” asked Carmela as they melted into the crowd of revelers. She wondered just how many Mae West bon mots Ava had memorized.

“Just aiming to get into character,” replied Ava. “And make myself a little more approachable, too.”

“I wouldn't Worry about that,” replied Carmela with a smile. “When you walk into a room, most of the men's tongues tumble out of their mouths. When I enter, all the strange men slither out of the woodwork.”

As if on cue, Shamus suddenly materialized right before Carmela's eyes.

“Hello Carmela,” he said, hobbling toward her, a white plaster cast on one foot.

“See what I mean?” sighed Carmela. She leveled an unhappy gaze at her soon-to-be ex, wondering what he was doing here. Wasn't this supposed to be a Shamus-free zone? “And what exactly are you supposed to be?” Carmela asked him, taking in Shamus's dark blue knit cap, matching knit sweater, and stretch ski pants. She decided that Shamus looked like a cross between a gimpy cat burglar and a deranged member of the Bulgarian ski team.

“What do you think I am?” said Shamus, sounding more than a little huffy.

Ava jumped in for a little fun of her own. “Snow bunny? Chalet lizard?”

Shamus glared at her.

“You two enjoy,” said Ava. “Marriage may be an institution, but I'm too young to be committed.” She waggled her fingers at Shamus and was off.

“Good luck with Glory,” Shamus called after her in an acerbic tone. “She's wearing the same costume, you know.”

Ava stopped dead in her tracks. “Not quite,” she called back. Then she grabbed a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, downed it completely, and grabbed another one before the stunned waiter could take another step.

Carmela stifled a laugh.

“Nice to see you laugh,” said Shamus. He peered at her, this time offering a warmer gaze.

Carmela allowed a cautious smile back. After all, it was only two days ago that this very same man had been a ranting, panting nutcase. “How's your toe?” she asked him. “Is it really broken?” She inspected the cast. The darned thing looked real, but knowing Shamus, it could just be part of his costume.

“Not my toe,” said Shamus. “A bone in my foot. The cuboid bone, if you really want to know. And does it ever hurt.” He glared at her. “Jeez, you think I'd get a plaster cast put on my foot just to garner a few sympathy votes?”

Yes, thought Carmela, but she didn't say so out loud.

Rescue came in the form of Baby, who was dressed as Glenda, the Good Witch of the North.”Welcome to my party, Munchkins,” she said, waving her magic wand and spreading her arms wide. Then Baby grabbed Carmela and hugged her tight. “Do you need to be rescued?” she whispered in Carmela's ear.

Carmela shook her head no, then said, “What a fantastic party. And I can't wait to visit the buffet table. After printing up your menus, I'm pretty primed for the real thing.”

Baby looped an arm around Carmela. “Then step right this way.” She paused, looked at Shamus. “Care to join us?” From the tone of her voice it was obvious she didn't really care to have him tag along at all.

But Shamus shook his head and held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Pass. I'm going to find the bar and curl up with a Scotch and water.”

“Tootles, then,” said Baby, pulling Carmela away. When they were out of earshot, Baby gave Carmela a worried look. “I didn't invite him,” she said vehemently. “Cross my heart. Del had some business thing going at Crescent City Bank, and one thing led to another ...”

“Don't worry about it,” said Carmela, waving a hand. “I've had practice aplenty in avoiding Shamus.” Of course, Glory's another story, she thought to herself.

“Oh, Carmela, you're such a modern girl,” laughed Baby. “So self-assured and self-sufficient. Now that one . . .” She pointed at Ava, who was posed in front of the marble fireplace and seemed to have gathered quite a gaggle of admiring men. “That one I worry about.”

Swaying her hips and rolling her eyes, Ava was laying on her best Mae West swagger.

“I like my clothes to be tight to show I'm a woman, but loose enough to show I'm a lady,” she told her admirers. Then she turned slightly, lifted a bare shoulder, and glanced back at them. “And I only like two kinds of men. Domestic and imported.”

* * *

 

ZOMBIES, WITCHES, VENETIAN LORDS AND ladies, Harry Potters, and a Queen Elizabeth, who had a five o'clock shadow under his white makeup, milled around inside the house and spilled out through the French doors onto the backyard patio. Notes from a string quartet could be heard as they played outside in the gazebo.

Just as Carmela was admiring a woman in a plumed and plunging cockatiel costume and edging toward the buffet table with Baby, Tandy Bliss came slaloming through the crowd.

“You've absolutely outdone yourself this year, Baby!” exclaimed Tandy. “I don't know how you do it!” Dressed in a cowgirl outfit complete with short skirt, vest, hat, and boots, Tandy enveloped the two women with hugs and dispensed a multitude of air kisses.

Once Carmela had extricated herself from Tandy's embrace, she finally allowed herself a longing gaze at Baby's main buffet table. To put it mildly, the arrangement was drop-dead gorgeous. Two giant candelabras, set at each end of the mahogany trestle table, blazed with claret-colored candles. A giant centerpiece of orange mums, bittersweet, purple grapes, curly willow, preserved oak leaves, and the glitter pumpkins she'd decorated sat in the middle. But the pieces de resistance were the main entrees of chicken jambalaya, baked shrimp casserole, and Cajun meatloaf that sat succulent and savory in gleaming brass food warmers. The piquant aromas of wine, seafood, garlic, sweet basil, thyme, Tabasco sauce, and cayenne pepper drifted up enticingly.

“Oh Lord,” moaned Tandy. “Somebody hand me a plate.”

“Will you look at those shrimp,” marveled Carmela. “They're almost the size of bananas!”

The dessert table, of course, was a whole 'nother thing. Here Baby's caterer had worked some deft Halloween magic. A sheet of Plexiglas covered an open coffin where a skeleton wearing a tuxedo lay in quiet repose. Above Mr. Bones, out of reach of his bony hands, was a full complement of desserts.

A German chocolate sheet cake had been cut in irregular squares and tumbled onto a serving platter to look like clods of earth. Each “clod” was topped with green frosting, coconut grass, and, of course, brightly colored gummy worms.

A bowl of rice custard was accented with marzipan beetles.

Pralines shared a crystal plate with smiling chocolate bats.

And a colorfully striped plastic snake curled around the footed cake stand that held a Louisiana pear cake.

“What's that old Southern saying?” drawled Tandy, peering at the snake. “Red, black, yeller, kill a feller?”

“That's for the poisonous variety,” pointed out Baby. “This one is red, yellow, black. Really quite harmless.”

“So the saying should be red, yellow, black, y'all come back,” laughed Carmela.

“Holy smokes, Carmela,” said Tandy, as if she'd just remembered. “Did you know Shamus was here tonight? And his wacky sister Glory?”

Carmela nodded. “Already talked to Shamus. Glory I'll try to avoid.”

“She always manages to make a scene, doesn't she?” said Tandy at the exact moment a woman's voice rose in a strangled, high-pitched cry of outrage.

“What the . . . ?” said Baby, as all three of them turned to see what was going on.

“I'm fine!” came a shrill, insistent female voice. “I told you that already. Can't I just enjoy myself?”

Carmela peered through the crowd and was shocked to see the designer, Chadron, trying to grasp the arm of a struggling blond woman in a red silk dress. Her words slurred as the blond pushed her way past them, rumbling in her matching handbag even as she tried to maintain possession of her flute of champagne.

“I just need some air” the woman complained. “It's so hot in here I can't breathe.” As she stepped out onto the back patio, she placed a cigarette between rouged lips and touched a tiny jeweled lighter to it. “So just back off!”

Chadron, still hot on the woman's heels, tried to grab her arm and wrest away the flute of champagne.

Then Carmela, Baby, and Tandy watched in horror as the glass slipped through the woman's fingers, champagne splattered down the front of her dress, and the champagne flute dropped to the ground.

“Damn,” spat the woman as crystal shattered against brick and shards of glass flew everywhere. She stared morosely down at the demolished flute, then at her dress. “My dress is ruined, you idiot.” All around them, embarrassed guests averted their glances and moved away.

“I'll design you a new dress,” said Chadron, trying to pacify the woman, looking like he wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“Did you guys catch that little scene?” asked Ava, suddenly rushing over to join Carmela, Baby, and Tandy. Still stunned, the three women just nodded.

“And do you have any idea how much one of those Baccarat flutes cost?” muttered Tandy under her breath.

“Lots,” said Baby in a low voice. “But this little scenario has more drama than a soap opera. Kind of hypnotic to watch.”

“If you like watching train wrecks,” said Ava.

“So the woman is . . . who?” murmured Carmela, watching Chadron reach out to grasp the blonde's bare shoulder.

“His wife,” finished Baby. “Angelique.”

“I thought she looked a little old to be a model,” said Ava. She and Carmela were edging out onto the patio, while Baby and Tandy dropped back.

“In theory,” said Carmela, “they seem like they should be the perfect guests.”

“Perfectly horrible,” murmured Ava, as they watched the drama continue to unfold.

“Angelique, please ...” began Chadron. Then he suddenly caught sight of Carmela and Ava watching them and forced a hesitant smile to his face. “Ladies, enjoying the party? And such a beautiful night?” He tried to sound hale and hearty, but his voice was tense, the expression on his face was one of sheer misery.

“Hey there,” said Ava.

Angelique focused a cool, imperious glance at Carmel and Ava. “And who might you two be?” she asked. Angelique's blue eyes flashed angrily, her red silk dress with its plunging neckline revealed an acre of skin. Because of the spilled champagne her gown was plastered against her.

“Angelique,” said Chadron, fighting for control, “I'd like you to meet Carmela and Ava. They're two very creative people who are helping with decorations at the atelier. Carmela owns Memory Mine, a scrapbook shop, and Ava is the owner of Juju Voodoo.”

Angelique gave a cold smile. “The place where Amber was killed. I like this one already.”

Angelique's harsh words sent a chill up Carmela's spine. What a horrible thing to say, she thought.

Chadron looked almost apoplectic now. “Hush, Angelique,” he hissed. “This is not the time nor—”

“Don't you hush me!” spat Angelique. “Amber was a bitch, and you know it. You were the one who—”

“Enough!” growled Chadron, grabbing roughly for his wife's arm and this time managing to hang on.

“Or maybe,” said Angelique, narrowing her eyes at Chadron, “maybe you liked la belle Amber a little too much.” She threw a triumphant gaze at Carmela and Ava, as if she'd managed to spill the beans on something she really shouldn't have. “At any rate,” Angelique continued in a nattering, scolding tone, “it's clear you certainly don't make the smartest choices. In business or with women.”

“That's for sure,” muttered Ava.

Carmela gave Ava a sharp nudge, hoping to keep her friend's caustic wit at bay.

But Angelique was focused on Carmela. “What are you supposed to be?” she asked belligerently. And then, without waiting for an answer, said, “Spider-Man. How tedious. You must have stayed up all night figuring that one out.”

At which point Ava stepped forward and gently touched the fabric of Angelique's dress. “And I love your costume, too,” she said in a silken tone as a sly smile danced at her lips. “I always enjoy watching the Dark Shadows reruns on the SCI FI channel. You ever catch those? With the witch Angelique. Blond, loud, and really nasty. She's quite the character—almost cartoonish.”

Angelique's lips pinched together suddenly, and her face blanched white. From between clenched teeth she blurted out, “I need another drink.” And without waiting for Chadron, turned and hurried toward the bar.

“Sorry, so sorry,” said Chadron, flashing a weak smile at Carmela and Ava, then dashing off to catch up with Angelique.

“Wow,” said Ava. “Isn't she a sweetheart.”

“And Chadron seems so even-keeled and normal,” marveled Carmela. “And talented.”

“Maybe it's another case of opposites attracting,” said Ava. “Kind of like you and Shamus.”

“Maybe,” allowed Carmela, although she wasn't thrilled to be lumped in the same category as those two.

* * *

 

AN HOUR LATER, DINNER EATEN, DRINKS IMBIBED, and countless friends greeted, Carmela and Ava found themselves back outside on the patio. They were seated on the cushioned bench of a giant garden swing, swaying gently, listening to a string version of “Walkin' to New Orleans.” All around them the party continued to pick up steam.

“You know Jake Meraux asked me to go out with him,” said Ava.

“Isn't he a little old for you?” asked Carmela. “I mean the man's got to be at least sixty.”

“Sixty-two,” said Ava. “But, you know, he's a big-time stockbroker, and he owns that gigantic house over on Chestnut Street.”

“Hey, honey,” said Carmela, “size isn't everything.”

“Good point,” said Ava, taking another sip of her drink.

“Carmela!” brayed a loud, brassy voice.

Carmela whipped her head around, expecting to see Angelique again. But her eyes fell on Glory. “Oh no,” she murmured. “Not another scene.”

Glory, the seams of her Mae West costume still straining mightily, advanced on Carmela and Ava.

“What do you want, Glory?” asked Carmela. Both she and Ava stood up, ready to do battle if need be.

Glory's beady eyes gleamed wickedly. She clutched a tall tumbler in her hand that held a finger full of Scotch. Carmela knew Glory had easily downed five or six shots. Not good, since Glory also gobbled anti-anxiety pills like they were M&M's.

“I wanna talk to you about your divorce,” said Glory. Only she slurred her words, so divorce came out di-force.

“Carmela's getting a di-force?” said Ava. “Fancy that.”“A hundred thousand and you walk away,” said Glory. “That's the deal. A single lump sum payoff.”

“Hah!” said Ava. “You think that's fair compensation for all the crap Carmela's had to put up with?”

“You stay outa this,” slurred Glory. She turned wonky eyes on Carmela once again. “Whadya say? The hundred thou?”

“I think,” said Carmela, “this discussion should take place in a lawyer's office and not at a Halloween party.”

“Good point,” chortled Ava. “Why negotiate when you're surrounded by evil-looking witches and devils, when you can sit in a lawyer's office that's filled with nasty, bottom-feeding—”

“That's enough,” said Carmela calmly, putting a hand on Ava's arm and pulling her away. “Glory, this is something Shamus and I will work out. By ourselves.”

 

“SHE REALLY FROSTS ME,” CRUMPED AVA. “Me, too,” said Carmela. “But it's not worth letting it get to you.”

“Yeah,” allowed Ava. “I suppose.” But she wiggled her hips and fluffed out her boa anyway, doing her best to assert herself.

“Ava,” said Carmela, “do you remember when we were at Moda Chadron yesterday, talking to Yasmin?”

Ava nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“She told us that Amber had gone with Remy to a party in a mansion over on Iberville. Some fat cat's place.”

“Yeah,” said Ava.

“I talked to Baby earlier. She's thinking it might be Hubbell Turner's place.”

“Who dat?” asked Ava.

“Hubbell Turner is a very prominent criminal defense attorney,” said Carmela. “Which means he's already quite comfortable rubbing shoulders with some of our city's more notorious criminal element.”

“So what are you thinking?” asked Ava. “That we should slip out the back gate and ankle over there? See what, if anything, is shaking?”

“Isn't it amazing,” said Carmela, “how you can read my mind.”

They eased their way along the tall hedge that lined Baby's backyard, heading toward a small opening. Just as the string quartet struck up a spritely version of “Blueberry Hill,” both women stepped through the hedge into the alley. In an instant, darkness swallowed them whole.