Chapter 17

HOW was the funeral?” asked Gabby. “Sad,” said Carmela. “And relatively uneventful, thank goodness.” She'd dropped off Ava, dashed home to let the dogs out, and had just pushed her way through the front door at Memory Mine. The door she'd had to have repaired following Shamus's nasty little snit fit. “How's business here?”

“Heating up,” said Gabby, as she ripped open a FedEx box, gathered up the contents, and carried it all to the counter. “Oh, there's lunch if you'd like, a roast beef po'boy from the Pavilion Deli.” Gabby was bent over the front counter now, happily sorting out their new shipment of stickers and foam stamps.

“Dressed?” asked Carmela.

“Yup,” said Gabby. “The works. Mayo, tomatoes, pickles, and coleslaw. Oh, and Baby brought lemon icebox pie.” “Fantastic,” said Carmela, as she threaded her way through the store, heading toward her little office. “I'm famished.”

“Hey cupcake,” called Tandy. She was sitting at the craft table alongside Baby, working on a scrapbook page. “We heard you went up to Hermitage this morning. That poor girl's funeral.”

“A sad business,” said Baby. She pushed a wisp of blond hair behind an ear, revealing gleaming Chanel earrings.

“What's sad,” said Carmela, slipping into a chair alongside Baby, “is that I'm not one iota closer to figuring out what happened that night.”

Baby put a hand on Carmela's arm. “It's not up to you to solve this murder, honey. That's for the police.”

“They don't seem to be any closer than I am,” replied Carmela. “But, yes, Baby, I hear you. I know exactly what you're saying.”

Now it was Tandy's turn to put her two cents in. She scrunched her face into a serious look and focused hard on Carmela. “And it's completely unfair that Ava's fortune-teller guy . . . What's his name?”

“Giovanni.”

“That Giovanni dragged you even further into this mess,” said Tandy. “You were just an innocent bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She nodded hard, her tight curls bouncing as if to punctuate her sentence.

“Exactly,” said Baby. “So have a slice of pie and forget about it.”

“Thank you,” Carmela told her friends. “Your words means a lot to me.”

“You mean our criticism?” Tandy's laugh was slightly sheepish.

“No, your support,” said Carmela. “I don't know what I'd do without friends like you.” “Honey,” said Tandy. “We don't know what we'd do without this place!”

“We are scrapbook addicts,” agreed Baby. “We should probably seek immediate intervention.”

“And treatment,” said Tandy.

“Check ourselves into a weekend scrapbook retreat,” chuckled Baby.

“What are you two working on, anyway?” asked Carmela. She was heartened by her friends' kindness, could feel the damp cloud of Amber's funeral lifting slightly.

“Not much,” said Baby. “But if you've got a new idea, we'd sure be open to it.”

“Do you have a new idea?” asked Tandy, looking interested.

Carmela nodded. “I was going to save this project for my Dream Weaver classes, but it might be fun to take a test run.”

“On what?” asked Baby.

Carmela stood up, slid out one of the drawers in her flat file, and pulled out two white cardboard templates. “They're templates for purses,” she said, laying the pieces in front of Baby and Tandy. “I've got these two all ready to go.” She paused. “Here's the thing. First you stamp and decorate them, which is a lot trickier than it sounds. Then you fold them up so they really look like a constructed handbag. See, I've already made dotted lines for folding. To finish them off, you add side tabs, a handle, and maybe a fancy closure.”

“What's the finished size?” asked Baby. She was already folding her template, eager to get a sense of what her little purse would look like when it was finished.

“About eight inches long, six inches tall,” said Carmela.

“A purse,” said Tandy, slowly warming up to the idea. “For what purpose?”

“Decorated with beads and fibers, they make adorable gift bags,” said Carmela. “For jewelry or candles. Or a piece of lingerie. Or maybe even some homemade cookies.”

“I love the idea,” said Baby. “And I already know what my design is going to be.”

“What?” asked Tandy, still studying her template.

“I'm going to cover my template with pink and gold floral paper, then add gold trim, some beading, a bow closure, and a velvet ribbon handle. All in the same pink and gold colors, of course.”

“Wow,” said Tandy. “You sure figured yours out fast.” She peered at Carmela. “A little help might be in order here, my dear.”

“What if you stamped purple and lavender flowers onto the white card stock,” offered Carmela.

“All over?” said Tandy.

“No, no,” said Carmela. “Let a small field of white show through, particularly in the middle.”

“I like that,” said Tandy. “Then what?”

“Maybe punch in a couple eyelets and string purple beads for the handle,” suggested Carmela. She got up from her chair again, started rummaging in another cupboard. “And use a purple bead with some of those crinkle fibers for a closure.”

“Great idea,” said Tandy. She rummaged in her craft bag, found a purple stamp pad, pulled it out.

“Here,” said Carmela. She handed over indigo blue, mauve, and lavender stamp pads. “You're going to need these. Oh, and green, too. You want to use lots of jewel tones and stamp multiple layers. Try to achieve an almost stained glass effect.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Baby.

“Eat lunch,” replied Carmela. “And have some pie.”

* * *

BUT JUST AS CARMELA TOOK A BITE OF HER po'boy, Gabby stuck her head in the office. “That Lieutenant Babcock is on line two,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Carmela picked up the phone. “What's going on?” she asked. “Who's topping your most wanted list today?”

“Still the usual suspects,” Babcock replied mildly. “I understand you took a little drive this morning.”

Carmela hesitated. How did he know? “How did you know that?”

“We had someone there.”

“Someone from your department?” asked Carmela.

“No, someone from the CIA. Yes, from our department,” said Babcock.

“Would that have been the skinny model with the gap-tooth smile or the lumpy guy standing at the back of the pack?” asked Carmela. Come to think of it, she had noticed someone standing off to the side.

“That information's confidential,” said Babcock.

“Did your guy see anything interesting?” Carmela asked, wondering if Babcock's guy, and she had to assume it was a guy, had spotted Santino.

“Not really,” replied Babcock, causing Carmela to think that Santino might not have been seen.

“I wanted to ask you about the poker chip that was found near Amber,” said Carmela.

“What about it?”

“Er . . . was it from one of the area casinos? Or do you think it came from one of those plastic home sets?”

Babcock exhaled loudly, obviously not pleased with Carmela's question. Then again, he was never thrilled by her questions. “That's confidential information,” said Babcock.

“Then why did you call me?” asked Carmela. “Why do you keep calling me?”

“Do you have any idea where Santino is?” asked Babcock. He sounded like he might be gritting his teeth. “He seems to have dropped off our radar screen.”

“No,” said Carmela. “Then again, that's probably confidential information.”

AN HOUR LATER, BABY AND TANDY WERE IN THE throes of making their little purses, and Carmela was ready to tackle the papier-mache pumpkins for Moda Chadron. They'd gossiped about Baby's party, the upcoming fashion show, Carmela and Ava's good fortune at being selected as models, and the big celebration in the French Quarter two nights from now. Carmela figured she'd procrastinated as much as she could and now had to buckle down. So she dragged her papier-mache pumpkins out from her office.

“You're doing more pumpkins?” asked Baby.

“For Halloween luminarias,” said Carmela. “To line the runway at Moda Chadron.”

“Good heavens,” said Baby, “it feels like Halloween is over.”

“That's because you had your big party early this year,” pointed out Tandy. “But most people are just gearing up.”

“I suppose they are,” said Baby.

“Look at that daffy woman on WBEZ,” said Tandy. “She's trying to whip everyone into a frenzy about werewolves.” She glanced at Carmela. “Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“You didn't,” said Carmela. She was busy painting her papier-mache pumpkin with a coat of adhesive. “But I think that silly reporter might be upsetting a lot of other people.”

“Kimber Breeze shouldn't even be on TV,” said Gabby, coming over to join them. “She's only happy when she's stirring up trouble.” “That's called making headlines,” said Carmela. “Garnering ratings.”

“Didn't Kimber Breeze cause Ava to lose a lot of business?” asked Tandy.

“Actually,” said Carmela, “I think Ava's shop has done more business in the wake of Kimber's wacky broadcasts.”

Tandy shook her head. “Go figure.”

Gabby slit open a package of gold foil and handed a piece to Carmela. It was thin, flimsy material and required a delicate touch.

Carmela put a finger to her adhesive, testing it. Perfect. Tacky, but no longer wet. She took the sheet of gold foil and applied it to the surface of the pumpkin. Then she worked the foil carefully, patting it, smoothing out wrinkles as she went along.

“That looks good,” said Gabby.

Carmela eased another piece on, continued to smooth it gently. When the entire pumpkin was covered, she'd take a small dry rag and wipe it all over the surface. That technique would smooth out any final wrinkles, flake off any extraneous pieces.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gabby jumped, startled, and clamped a hand over her heart. “The back door,” she stammered.

Carmela slid out of her chair, patting Gabby's shoulder to reassure her. “Probably Ava. Forgot her key.”

But when she unfastened the latch and slid the door open a couple inches to peer out, two dark, piercing eyes stared back at her.

“Giovanni?” she said.

“What?” came Tandy's outraged squawk from behind her. “Who?”

“Don't let him in!” cried Gabby. Carmela stared out at Giovanni. “It would seem you are persona non grata here.”

“They don't know me,” said Giovanni. “I'm really a pussycat.”

“Sure you are,” said Carmela. “A man who divines tarot cards and has a brother who keeps wolves. Just garden-variety hobbies. Whatever happened to stamp collecting or building model airplanes?”

“That stuff's for wusses,” said Giovanni. He stared at Carmela. “So, are you going to let me in or not?”

“Not,” said a voice behind Carmela. It was Gabby, looking more than a little concerned. “Do you want me to call 911?” she asked. “I've got it on speed dial.”

Giovanni stuck his face closer to the door. “Boo,” he said.

Gabby retreated a step.

“Can Carmela come out and play?” he asked in a wheedling tone.

“Don't be such an asshole,” muttered Carmela. She pulled open the door, stepped out into the alley.

Giovanni stood there, his hands in his pockets, looking very tough-guy and urban in a black T-shirt, jeans, and brown leather jacket. “I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Fine,” said Carmela. “So talk.”

“Santino was still very upset Saturday night. And I understand that when he ran into you and Ava he acted a bit rash.”

“He's upset?” said Carmela. “Too bad. Lots of people seem to be upset these days.” She stared at Giovanni. “You show up for work today? I heard you blew it off yesterday.”

Giovanni shrugged. “Something important came up. But I was there today.”

“Ava's not sure what to do with you,” said Carmela. “She's impressed at how you handle customers, but she's not sure she can trust you. Then again, neither am I.” “What are you trying to say?”

“She doesn't want to fire you ...”

“Fire me? Hey, I need that job!”

“Something is going on, has been going on for some time. And we've been trying our darnedest to help. But you haven't been completely up front with us.”

“I'm sorry—” began Giovanni, but Carmela held up a hand.

“I don't want any more excuses,” said Carmela. “Or smoke screens.”

“You saw Santino this morning?” asked Giovanni.

“Yes, we did,” said Carmela, remembering how he'd held himself apart from the crowd.

“That Lieutenant Babcock is looking for him again,” said Giovanni. “Heck, the whole New Orleans Police Department is probably out looking for him.” Giovanni glanced over his shoulder and scanned the alley nervously. “I gotta tell you, we probably do need your help.”

“We've been trying to help,” said Carmela, feeling frustrated, knowing she sounded like a broken record.

“The thing of it is,” Giovanni rambled on, “you're smart. And Babcock will really listen to you ...”

“What are you afraid of?” asked Carmela. “What's Santino afraid of?”

“You don't understand,” said Giovanni.

“Because you haven't actually told me anything,” snapped Carmela. “So start playing it straight, okay? Where's Santino right now?”

Giovanni shifted from one leg to the other. “I can't tell you,” he said, then turned and walked quickly down the alley.