Chapter 11

CARMELA was scrutinizing her racks of paper this Wednesday morning, trying to figure out what might tickle the fancy of her crafters for her afternoon Paper Moon class. Maybe her Japanese rice papers with the kimono designs? She pulled a few sheets out. And how about the suede papers? Sure, why not. The suede paper was gorgeous. She also grabbed a few sheets of vellum and foil paper and was debating over the cork paper when the bell over the front door did its high-pitched da-ding.

Carmela glanced up at the same time Gabby did. Gabby was standing at the front counter, creating a display with seals and rubber stamps, when a man in a blue uniform charged in.

“Carmela?” he said, looking at her.

“Gabby,” she said.

“Got a delivery here for a Carmela,” the man said.

“That’s me,” said Carmela. She set her stack of paper down and walked the few steps to the front. “Whatcha got?”

The man shrugged, then handed her a long white envelope. “Don’t know, ma’am, I just make the deliveries.”

“Thanks anyway,” said Carmela as he charged back out the door.

“That looks awfully small to be the foam core I ordered,” said Gabby.

“I don’t know what it is,” said Carmela. She hooked a fingernail under the envelope’s flap and flipped it open. “Oh. Tickets.” She glanced at Gabby. “For Saturday’s Cakewalk Ball. You know, from Margo.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in going to things like that,” said Gabby. “After Shamus dragged you to every charity and society event in town.”

“Eh,” said Carmela, “I kind of got pressured by Margo. She’s co-chair or something like that.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re going. Now I’ll have someone to hang out with.”

Carmela raised a single eyebrow. “What about Stuart?” Stuart Mercer-Morris, Gabby’s husband, owned eight Toyota dealerships and was known as the Toyota King of New Orleans. He dressed like a preppy, voted conservative, was a bit of a control freak, and lived and dreamed car deals. He got particularly excited when it came to fleet leasing.

“Stuart will be busy yucking it up with his friends as usual,” said Gabby. “And probably bragging about his cake.”

“What’s he planning to donate? I hope he didn’t pinch something from your jewelry box.”

“No,” said Gabby. “One of his managers has a wife who’s an amateur baker and cake decorator. She’s going to do a four-layer cake and incorporate a long strand of opera-length pearls and a diamond-studded key pendant.”

“Classy.”

Gabby wrinkled her nose. “You think?”

“It is for a car dealer.”

• • •

TWENTY MINUTES LATER THEY WERE UP TO THEIR ears in customers. A trio of women came tripping in and started grabbing packs of beads, colored brads, and stickers.

Another woman, a semi-regular named Amanda who’d just acquired a stash of antique paper dolls, cornered Carmela and inquired about the best way to display them.

“Display them?” asked Carmela. “Or showcase them in an album?”

“Hmm,” said Amanda. “Maybe I would rather put them in an album. If I did go that route, what would you recommend?”

Carmela reached up and grabbed an album off the shelf. It had a pebbly black leather finish that made it look old, like a vintage ledger or banker’s book. “This might work.” She carried it to the craft table in back. “How many paper dolls do you have?”

Amanda opened her portfolio and showed her. “A dozen.”

“So maybe give each paper doll her own page?”

“That’s a lot of pages,” said Amanda. “I don’t know if I can manage that many.” Her finger touched one of the dolls. “What I’m saying is, I don’t know that I’m that creative.”

“The thing is, we have a lot of antique-looking paper. So if you use that for background, you’re already halfway there.”

Amanda remained doubtful. “Can you show me? Just one example?”

“Sure.” Carmela spun around and grabbed a sheet of paper that was printed with a wonderful collage that included old newspapers, antique flower seed packets, and vintage postcards. “You see, this sets the vintage tone right away.”

“Neat. But what else?”

“You could also add a snippet of vintage fabric or lace, add some buttons, and even pressed flower petals.”

“I love it,” said Amanda. “What other papers do you have that would work?”

Carmela grabbed a handful of twelve-by-twelve-inch sheets of paper that featured designs of old sheet music, vintage wallpaper, Audubon prints, and butterfly designs.

“I get it,” said Amanda. “And I think I can figure out the rest.”

“I knew you could,” said Carmela.

Gabby seemed to have everything in the shop under control, so Carmela retreated to her office. She plopped down in her chair and studied the items she’d brought back yesterday from Margo’s house.

She leafed through some of the photos, then picked up Jerry Earl’s antique leather journal. As she carefully turned the pages, she was quickly mesmerized by all the notes and scrawls and diagrams. She could understand why Jerry Earl had found this little journal so fascinating. She wondered if he had regarded it as a sort of good luck talisman in his own search for treasure.

A discreet knock on the doorframe caused Carmela to lift her head and turn around. Gabby was standing there, a crooked smile on her face.

“What on earth are you reading?”

“A very fascinating little notebook,” said Carmela. “Did you know that all sorts of fossils and bones have been discovered in Louisiana?”

“No, I did not,” said Gabby.

“Well, according to Jerry Earl’s notes, this state is a hotbed for them.”

The phone suddenly rang, as if to punctuate her sentence. And Gabby, ever the good and mindful shopkeeper’s assistant, reached across the desk and grabbed it. She listened for a moment, then covered the receiver with her hand.

“Speaking of hot beds,” said Gabby, “your ex is on the phone.”

Carmela made a face.

“Now, now,” said Gabby, chiding her.

Carmela took the phone. “What?” she said.

“Babe,” said Shamus, “is that any way to say hello?”

“Hello,” said Carmela. “What?”

“I have a favor to ask,” said Shamus.

“No,” said Carmela.

“You don’t even know what it is!”

“The answer is still no,” said Carmela.

“Pleeease,” said Shamus. “I need your help. I need to tap that spark of creative genius that burns inside your pretty little head.”

“What are you talking about, Shamus? Spit it out.”

“I can’t. Not over the phone. Meet me for a drink after work, okay?”

“I don’t like this, Shamus, you’re being very mysterious.”

“Does that mean you’ll meet me?”

“Is this about money?” Carmela asked. “Because I have no intention of rehashing old—”

“It’s not,” said Shamus. “It’s just a teensy, tiny personal favor that’s right up your alley.”

Carmela sighed. “Okay, but this is against my better judgment . . .”

“Across the street from your shop,” said Shamus. “Glisande’s Courtyard Restaurant. See you at five.”

“This better be good, Shamus!”

• • •

TWO SECONDS AFTER SHE HUNG UP, THE PHONE rang again. This time Carmela snatched it up. “Memory Mine,” she said in a pleasant tone. “How can we help?”

“You can start by explaining a few things,” said a rich, baritone voice.

Babcock! Carmela felt a warm flutter of butterflies deep within her stomach. “How are things going?” she asked. “How’s your seminar? Are you learning lots of exciting new investigative techniques?”

“Never mind my seminar,” said Babcock. “What I want to know is why are you interfering so much in Gallant’s case?”

The butterflies stopped fluttering and took a nosedive. “I’m not.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“Um . . . he called you?”

“Yes, he called me. He works for me, remember?”

“I maybe asked him just a couple of little things, that’s all,” said Carmela.

“Are you being truthful?”

Carmela crossed her fingers to help mitigate her little white lie. “Sure.”

“Well, just take it easy on Gallant, okay? He’s tearing his hair out over this Jerry Earl Leland case.”

“It’s a tough nut to crack,” admitted Carmela.

“Just don’t you try to crack it,” said Babcock.

“Um,” said Carmela.

“Listen, Carmela. Margo Leland is really, really rich. And her husband, like it or not, has been a major political contributor in the past.”

“So what are you saying?” said Carmela.

“There’s some serious pressure to solve this thing,” said Babcock. “From the mayor’s office on up.”

“Got it,” said Carmela. She didn’t want to get into another big go-round with him, so she hastily changed the subject. “When will you be home?”

“Probably late Saturday.”

“Any chance you can make it to the Cakewalk Ball at NOMA? Um, the New Orleans Museum of Art?”

There was a pause and then Babcock said, “Cakewalk Ball? You never mentioned that before. What on earth is it?”

“Just your basic annual charity event. Big-buck donors, lavish cakes, dinner, dancing, schmoozing, and a de rigueur auction.”

“So it’s fancy. Does that mean I have to wear a monkey suit?”

“It would be quite appropriate if you did, yes.” This was a man who favored Hugo Boss, Zegna, and Armani, but was unhappy about wearing a tux? Gimme a break.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it in time.”

Carmela heard indecision in his voice. “I’d love it if you’d try,” she said. “I promise to wear something cute!” Nothing like trying to up the ante.

“You mean like a party dress?” Now Babcock sounded interested.

“Something like that, yes.”

“Well . . . I can try to make it, but don’t hold your breath.”

• • •

AFTER LUNCH, WITH ONE EYE ON THE CLOCK, Carmela got busy and pulled several more sheets of paper for her Paper Moon class. Since she was so intrigued by the little journal, she pulled a bunch of parchment paper, too.

“Parchment,” said Gabby, studying her choices. “That’s unusual. Usually you’re all gung-ho over sheets of handmade paper and Japanese rice paper.”

“Oh, we’ll have that, too,” said Carmela. Then the front door chimed, and Baby and Tandy came flying in. Baby, as usual, was dressed impeccably in a tailored black and white houndstooth jacket with slim-fitting designer jeans. Tandy looked snazzy in a fire red and orange top that matched her mop of hennaed hair.

They caromed through the shop and slung their scrapbook totes onto the table in back.

“Well,” said Baby, picking an invisible piece of lint from her blazer. “What’s new on the investigative front? Have you figured out who killed Jerry Earl?”

Carmela squinted at her. “I haven’t solved the case yet, if that’s what you’re asking. Then again, neither have the New Orleans Police. But there are more and more seedy details that keep coming to the surface.”

“Tell us!” Tandy squawked. She was always up for a choice tidbit of gossip. “What scandalous information did you find out?”

“Just the usual—betrayal, backstabbing, and shameful affairs,” Carmela said. She dropped her armload of craft supplies in the middle of the table, where it landed with a thunk.

“Since it’s a murder investigation,” Gabby chimed in, “there’s got to be betrayal.” She paused and poked a hank of blond hair behind her ear. “But what’s this about affairs?”

Baby inhaled sharply. “Was Margo having an affair?”

Tandy slammed a hand down on the table. “Holy buckets, that’s it, isn’t it! Margo murdered Jerry Earl so she could run off with her lover! So . . . who is he? Some nasty social climber who’s interested in her money or some misguided young swain?”

Carmela gave a Cheshire cat smile. “You’ve got half the equation right.”

Baby edged closer. “Which half?”

Carmela glanced around to make sure it was just the four of them who were in earshot. “It was Jerry Earl who was having the affair.”

Tandy whistled. “Hound doggin’ around. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“That rat,” said Baby.

“A total louse,” put in Gabby.

“So who was he carrying on with?” Tandy asked.

Carmela was about to clue them all in when the front door slammed open and two women pushed their way in.

“We’re here for the Paper Moon class,” a woman in an elegant feather hat called out. She had long curly blond hair that peeked out from beneath her hat and was dressed in a flouncy pink blouse and black skirt. Her friend shared similar facial features and the same honey-colored hair.

Carmela decided they had to be sisters. “Welcome,” she said and gave a friendly wave. “Come on back and meet the rest of the gang.”

“Fill us in later, okay?” whispered Tandy as two more women burst through the front door, eager to join their class.

• • •

CARMELA KICKED THINGS OFF WITH A QUICK INTRODUCTION on the different types of papers that were available, passing around sheets of vellum, crinkle paper, linen paper, batik papers, and others that she’d pulled earlier.

“Remember,” she told her class, “these types of paper aren’t just for scrapbooking. They’re perfect for journaling, card making, tags, booklets, shadow boxes, labels, and wherever else your creativity leads you.”

“But what are we going to work on today?” asked Tandy. She was a scrapper of the first magnitude, always eager to dig in and work on a new project.

“Who knows what gold leaf is?” Carmela asked.

Baby held up a hand. “You mean like the gold leaf you see on statues or fancy picture frames?”

“That’s right,” said Carmela. “But I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

The ladies seemed to strain forward en masse, in anticipation of Carmela’s words.

“Gold leaf is a snap to do,” said Carmela. She picked up a small package and pulled out a single, flimsy, glittering sheet. “It comes in these micro-thin sheets and can be easily applied over a simple adhesive.”

“Show us,” said one of the women.

Carmela grabbed a small picture frame that she’d already covered with a rich paisley paper. “You simply apply some adhesive . . .” She brushed on a coat of clear liquid. “Then you lay down a small piece of gold leaf . . .” She tore off a small piece and laid it down. “And then you brush it with a special brush.”

There were oohs and aahs as the gold leaf began to adhere.

“As you can see,” Carmela continued, “a few pieces flake off. But that’s okay, because then you achieve a slightly distressed look.” She showed her frame around for all to see.

“It looks gorgeous,” said Baby. “Antiqued but even better.”

“Gilded,” said Tandy.

“You can add gold leaf to just about anything,” said Carmela. “Invitations, greeting cards, papier-mâché boxes, notebook covers, even candles and beads. And if you’re nervous about handling this type of thin gold foil, there are also gold leaf paints and gold leaf pens.”

“Could you make your own gift wrap using that technique?” asked one of the women.

“Of course,” said Carmela. “Or your own stationery. Really, ladies, you can finally have gold on anything and everything your little heart desires!”

The class enjoyed a good laugh, then got to work gilding everything in sight—a small hexagonal-shaped kraft paper box, album covers, even some red lacquered beads that, when partially gilded, looked like something straight from the Ming Dynasty!

An hour into the class, Gabby cleared a space on the table and set out a tray of bars that she’d purchased from the Merci Beaucoup Bakery.

“Mmn,” said the lady with the feather hat. “What have we got here?”

“Coconut bars and marbled brownies,” said Gabby. “Help yourself.”

“Can you gild food?” asked Tandy, a twinkle dancing in her eye.

“Of course you can,” responded Baby. “Haven’t you ever had one of the desserts at Marvel’s Bistro? Their pastry chef creates delicately sculpted chocolate leaves and covers them with edible gold leaf!”

“Yum,” said Tandy.

• • •

WITH HER CLASS FOCUSED ON THEIR PROJECTS, Carmela decided to work on her own small commission—namely, the shadow box commemorating Jerry Earl. She gathered up the photos, notebook, and the rest of the items and carried them out to the craft table.

“Mmn,” said Tandy, suddenly noticing the geode. “What’s that pretty little rock?”

“It’s a geode,” said Carmela.

“What are you going to do with it, pray tell?” asked Baby.

“Margo Leland asked me to create a shadow box. To sort of commemorate Jerry Earl’s passing.”

One of the blond ladies perked up. “Jerry Earl Leland? The tycoon who was murdered at his own party?”

The table went silent as a tomb and all eyes turned toward Carmela.

“I’m doing it as a kind of favor,” she explained. “For his widow.”

One of the crafters, who went by the unfortunate name of Tootsie, said, “If he was a really rich guy who got murdered, then probably the butler did it.”

“I don’t think he had a butler,” said Carmela. “But he did have an assistant.” One who seems a little snarky and was definitely hiding something from me.

Tootsie winked at her. “It was the assistant then. Guilty as charged.”

“You know what,” said Tandy. “I wouldn’t mind making one of those shadow boxes, too.”

“Me, too,” said the feathered hat lady. “Those look kind of cool.”

“Are we done gilding, ladies?” Gabby asked.

“Mine for sure needs to dry now,” said Baby.

“So a second class?” said Carmela. To which they all gave enthusiastic nods.

To best explain how to create a shadow box, Carmela pulled out one of her finished projects. It was a shadow box with sheet music as the background, bouquets of dried flowers, a white ceramic angel statue, and a few silver stars suspended on nearly invisible nylon thread.

Then Gabby pulled out a stack of unfinished wooden shadow boxes and passed them around, and the women wandered through the shop, picking out paper, ribbon, and decorative items. The blond sister decided on a Parisian theme, while another of the women chose an African safari theme.

As her customers worked at painting and gluing paper to background their little shadow boxes, Carmela leafed through Jerry Earl’s notebook and tore out the page that intrigued her the most. It was a page that had a sketch of what looked to be a map of western Louisiana. The paper was a lovely, yellowed, aged parchment and the map was surrounded by a myriad of cryptic little notes in cramped handwriting. All in all, a perfect backdrop.

To add more interest, Carmela glued a piece of purple velvet ribbon around the edges of a photo of Jerry Earl. Then she brushed gilt paint around the edges of an old black-and-white image of the Garden District that had been taken at the turn of the century, and placed that inside. From there she only had to add two gold coins, a fossil, and the geode.

As she was positioning the geode, Carmela was suddenly aware of Baby looking over her shoulder.

“That’s just lovely,” Baby murmured. “You should take it over to Margo as soon as you can. I’m sure it will be a great comfort to her.”

“Let me see,” said Tandy, crowding in, too. “Oh yeah, that really is nice.”

“No matter what you think of Margo,” said Baby, “she doesn’t deserve all the bad luck she’s had of late.”

Unless Margo’s the killer, Carmela thought to herself.

Tandy was still studying Carmela’s little creation. “There’s something kind of familiar about that map in the background.”

“You think?” said Carmela.

“Yes, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“I think it’s some area around here,” said Carmela.

Tandy shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” Then, in a whisper the others couldn’t hear, she said, “Carmela, who was having the affair?”

Baby leaned in closer, the better to hear, as Carmela whispered, “Jerry Earl and Beetsie.”

“Oh!” said Baby.