Chapter 5

LUCKILY, they got busy. Customers trickled into the shop looking for paper, charms, albums, and rubber stamps.

While Gabby rang up sales at the front counter, Carmela helped one of their regular customers, a woman named Mindy, find some rubber stamps and ephemera for her travel scrapbook project.

“You see,” said Mindy, “I’ve got all these great photos of Rome and Venice and I’m just not sure how to organize them.”

“You want an entire album devoted to your trip?” asked Carmela.

Mindy nodded as she fingered a small album. “I think so, yes.”

“Well, that album you have in your hand would work beautifully,” Carmela pointed out. The album had a pebbled brown cover and was eight-and-one-half inches by ten inches in size. “You could mount one of your photos on the front cover using a sheet of GlueFilm.”

“I’ve got a great photo of some Roman statuary,” said Mindy.

“Perfect,” said Carmela. “You mount the photo under GlueFilm to protect it and make it semi-permanent, then color the edges with bronze or gold paint to simulate the look of a frame. Then you simply glue it to the cover.”

“So that sets the tone for the interior, too?”

“It can,” said Carmela. “In fact, I’ve got some sheets of scrapbook paper with neat travel images on them. And I know we’ve got a packet of ephemera here that contains some Italian postage stamps.”

“Perfect!” said Mindy.

Carmela hummed to herself as she unpacked a box of rubber stamps. She was happy she could help inspire her customers. It was always gratifying to get them pointed in the right direction on a fun creative project.

On the other hand, some projects were not fun. Case in point, helping Margo Leland. If Babcock found out . . . well, he couldn’t find out! It was as simple as that. If he found out she was pussyfooting around the investigation, he’d blow a gasket. And that was never pretty.

“Carmela?” Gabby had tiptoed up behind her.

“Hmm?” She was still a little miffed at Gabby for insinuating herself in the Margo Leland conversation.

“Want me to run down to Pirate’s Alley Deli and get you a po-boy for lunch? One with fried oysters?”

Carmela gazed at Gabby. “That’s not really playing fair.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Gabby was suddenly all smiles and innocence.

“You know that’s my all-time fave.”

“Then that’s what I better pick up.” Gabby gestured toward the front of the shop. “You can keep an eye on things?”

“Natch,” said Carmela. It was hard staying mad at Gabby. She really was a terrific assistant. With good intentions and a heart as big as all outdoors.

By the time Carmela located a fleur-de-lis rubber stamp for a customer, cut a swath of purple velvet ribbon for another, and gave tips to two more women on how to create a fiber art collage, Gabby was back.

She thrust a brown paper bag into Carmela’s hands and dashed back up to the front counter.

Feeling a rumble in her stomach, knowing what juicy goodness was dripping away inside her paper sack, Carmela retreated to her office for a quick lunch. As she unwrapped the po-boy sandwich, she mulled over the events of the morning. Exactly how was she going to investigate Jerry Earl’s murder without alerting Babcock and throwing him into a tizzy? Her sandwich, dripping cole slaw and mayonnaise from beneath the toasted bun, was certainly a delicious mess. Just like poking her nose into the investigation would likely be.

Hmm.

Delicately lifting the top bun, Carmela popped a fried oyster into her mouth. And licked her fingers. Oh well, some things were just meant to be messy. Case in point, po-boys and murder investigations.

Nibbling at her sandwich, Carmela eyed the shaker box that sat on her desk. She hoped her class, which kicked off in just a few minutes, would intrigue her customers. She’d never done this kind of project before. Most of her previous classes had focused on paper, lettering, stitching, using brads and beads, or Paperclay. But this was new and different. So . . . fingers crossed.

Just as Carmela was enjoying the last bite of her sandwich, a loud voice cut through the normal clatter of the shop.

“Where is she?” came a cry.

“Probably huddled in her office,” said another voice, this one a little more strident and piercing.

Baby and Tandy? Carmela wondered. Here already? She glanced at her watch and realized that they weren’t early. Rather she was late. She swept the sandwich debris off her desk and into the wastebasket, then hurried out to greet her friends.

“You poor dear!” Baby Fontaine cried out when she saw Carmela. Her flawlessly coiffed pixie blond hair swung from side to side. Baby was fifty-something and luminous, gorgeously sporting designer jeans and a perfectly pressed pin-striped blouse with an Hermès scarf tied carelessly at the neck.

Tandy Bliss, who was short and skinnier than a cat left out in the rain, shrieked, “Poor dear nothing! Carmela loves getting caught up in these crazy investigations!”

“I do not!” Carmela said, more than a little offended.

“It must have been awful!” said Baby. “Finding that poor man stuffed inside a clothes dryer!”

“Was his tuxedo wet?” Tandy asked. “Or was it already perma-pressed by the time you found him? Then she snickered at the shocked expression on Baby’s face.

“Murder is no laughing matter!” Baby admonished.

Tandy ran a hand across her tight crop of curled and hennaed hair, as if this gesture might mask her amusement.

“Does everybody know about Jerry Earl’s murder?” asked Carmela.

“Oh honey,” said Baby, “it’s been all over the TV. And tongues are definitely wagging all over town.”

“And you were there!” said Tandy. “It must have been a pretty gruesome scene, huh? Got any gory details you’d like to share with friends?”

“Tandy!” said Baby. “I never!”

“That’s right, you never like to hear the good stuff,” chuckled Tandy. She poked an index finger at Carmela and said, “So . . . you’re up to your eyeballs in this thing, huh?”

“Not exactly,” said Carmela. She was reluctant to spill too many details about the murder. It just seemed like . . . bad karma. To say nothing of bad manners.

“Ah,” said Tandy, “we already know what happened. The stabbing, the clothes dryer. Talk about a bad heat cycle.”

“Poor Margo,” said Baby. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the large back table they’d all dubbed Craft Central. “Just when she’d finally gotten Jerry Earl back home again.”

“Yeah,” said Tandy, “I’ll bet she’s really crazed and dazed.”

Baby nodded. “Margo likes to be . . . how shall I say it? In control at all times. But in a situation like this, a murder investigation, Margo’s not going to have much say at all.”

“Which is probably why she asked me to help,” said Carmela. Why not just throw it out there on the table? she decided.

“Whoa,” said Tandy. “Seriously? She asked for your help?”

Carmela nodded. “She was just here.”

“Well, why shouldn’t Carmela help?” piped up Baby. “She’s good at piecing things together. Remember when poor Byrle was killed? Over at the church?”

“Terrible,” muttered Tandy.

Baby continued. “Carmela pretty much figured out that whole scenario. Helped bring the killer to justice and everything.”

“Yes, she did,” said Tandy. “And God bless her for that.”

“Margo Leland is lucky to have Carmela looking into things,” said Baby. She swiveled her gaze to Carmela. “Do you have any leads yet, honey?”

Before Carmela could reply, Tandy said, “You gotta follow the money. There’s always something there. Greed always wins out. Oh, and I saw that guy Conrad Falcon on the news? He didn’t seem one bit sorry about Jerry Earl Leland. Of course, they were arch rivals when it came to business.”

“Falcon had no love for Jerry Earl,” agreed Baby. “He probably figured that, with Jerry Earl released from jail, he’d be faced with more competition again. And his business would suffer.”

“Not anymore it won’t,” said Carmela.

“Here’s the card stock and vellum you asked for,” said Gabby. She dropped an armload of supplies in the center of the table.

“And here’s something else you might like,” said Tandy. She dug into her scrapbook tote bag and pulled out a paper sack. Just like that, the fragrant smell of chocolate brownies wafted through the air.

“Treats!” said Baby as Tandy passed the brownies around.

“I can’t believe that Tandy can eat constantly and still be skinnier than a stick bug!” said Gabby.

“Tandy’s been blessed with a metabolism more powerful than a nuclear reactor,” said Carmela.

Tandy chuckled as several more ladies came in and joined them at the table. “It’s always been that way.” She reached out and rapped her bony knuckles against the table. “Knock on wood.”

Carmela stood at the head of the table and waited for chairs to be pulled out, customers to be seated, and tote bags to be stowed.

“Okay,” she said finally, calling her class to order. “We’re talking shaker boxes today.”

“This is so exciting,” one of the newcomers whispered. “I’ve never taken a class here before.”

“What I’m going to show you is just a quick example,” Carmela continued. She held up a sample of a finished shaker box. It was a semi-flat wedding bell shape made with a backing of silver card stock and a front piece of clear acetate.

“Why is it called a shaker box?” asked Tandy.

Carmela shook it and hundreds of small cream-colored beads made a whooshing sound.

“Ah,” everyone breathed. They got the idea.

“Shaker boxes are similar to flattened-out snow globes,” Carmela explained. “Basically see-through envelopes that have small bits of paper or beads inside. You start by cutting a piece of card stock into the shape of a circle, heart, or whatever, for the back. Then you cut a piece of clear acetate in the same shape to use as your front. The two sides are attached—stitched, glued, fastened with brads, or whatever your want—and then filled with punchies, beads, or seeds.”

“And we use them how?” asked Baby.

“It’s just a fun little craft item that adds a bit of motion to a scrapbook page or the inside of one of your homemade greeting cards,” said Carmela. “Plus you can make one in any shape or theme that you want.”

Gabby indicated the dozen or so stencils that sat in the middle of the table. “We have an umbrella-shaped stencil if you’re working on a scrapbook page about a rainy day. Or a heart-shaped stencil if you’re doing a Valentine’s Day. Wedding bell shapes if you’re doing a wedding or anniversary.” She riffled through the stencils and held one up in the shape of a turtle.

“Oh!” one of the ladies squealed. “That’s perfect for me. I’m putting together my snaps from a trip to Cabo San Lucas and we got to observe sea turtles at night. It was beautiful!”

Carmela grabbed a basket that was filled with tiny bags of seeds and crystals. She grabbed one of the bags and set it down in front of her turtle-loving customer. “These are tiny seashells. They’d be perfect to use as your filling.”

The woman’s hand snaked out to grab the shells. “Thank you!”

All the crafters selected their supplies and got to work then. Carmela watched one woman cut heart shapes from hot pink cardstock and clear acetate. Then she selected red beads for the inside.

“Want to try the white beads?” Carmela asked. “It’d be more of a contrast to the paper.”

“No,” the woman said. “I want red.”

Carmela handed her the red beads, then watched as the woman quickly glued the sides of her shaker box. When she poured the red beads inside, Carmela turned away. The bright red was too reminiscent of blood. Of Jerry Earl being stabbed and flopping out of the dryer.

The killer must have been strong, Carmela thought to herself. And smart. Smart to have lured Jerry Earl away from that big crowd. Strong enough to kill him, manhandle him, and lift him into a machine. Unless there’d been more than one killer? Was that possible?

There had been that couple in the restroom nearby.

And where exactly had Jerry Earl been killed? Had it happened in the laundry room? Or in his office? She hadn’t seen any blood anywhere, though the killer could have easily concealed the mess.

Clearly, she needed a lot more information if she was going to help Margo in any way.

As Carmela mulled over the murder, a thought struck her. She eased into her office and quickly called Ava at her voodoo shop.

“Juju Voodoo,” said Ava. “In harm’s way? We got charms today.”

“Hey,” said Carmela. “You remember that crime-scene tech from last night? The one who was following you around like a lovesick puppy?”

“You mean Charlie?” said Ava.

“Was that his name? Okay, good. Could you please call him and work your prodigious female wiles on him? Flirt with him, then see if there’s anything more on the murder weapon?”

“I can do that,” said Ava. “But just so you know, that might make me beholden to him. I might have to go out with him. On an actual dress-up date.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Ava was basically a serial dater anyway.

“It’s just that I’ve been on so many blind dates lately, I’m probably entitled to a free dog.”

“But this would be for a very good cause,” said Carmela. “And just so you know, Margo stopped by the shop this morning and asked if I’d kind of look into things for her.”

“Of course she did,” said Ava, as if it were a purely logical thing. “Because you were the one who discovered Jerry Earl’s poor mangled little body.”

“That and because Jekyl’s been flapping his mouth all over town. Telling people what a clever little crime solver I am.”

“You are a clever little crime solver,” said Ava. “You’re the Nancy Drew of the Big Easy.”

“Well, it isn’t so easy these days,” said Carmela. “With Babcock out of town, we’re going to be privy to a lot less information. You know as well as I do that Bobby Gallant is playing this fairly close to the vest.”

“Eh, I’ll make the call,” said Ava.

“Good girl,” said Carmela. “Then come on over for dinner tonight, okay?”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Ava. “Whatcha gonna whip up, cher?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. What would you like?”

“I wouldn’t mind some of your shrimp étouffée. But anything’s great.”

“You got it,” said Carmela. She hung up, thought for a few moments, and dialed the phone again. It took a good five minutes to talk her way through all the gatekeepers, but finally she had Bobby Gallant on the phone.

“What?” he said, sounding brusque and none too friendly. “I’m busy.”

“I forgot to tell you something,” said Carmela.

“What?”

“I said I—”

“I heard you,” said Gallant. “I meant what did you forget to tell me?”

“Oh,” said Carmela. “The thing is, I kind of peeked inside Jerry Earl’s office last night.”

“What!”

“I said I—”

“Cut to the chase, Carmela.”

“I got turned around in the hallway,” said Carmela, “when I was looking for the laundry room. And I sort of stumbled into Jerry Earl’s office.”

“Okay,” said Gallant. “Is there a point to this? Is it leading somewhere?”

“The point is,” said Carmela, “I might have heard someone outside. At the window. Well, really, the French doors.”

“You did hear someone or you might have heard someone?” asked Gallant.

“It’s hard to say,” said Carmela. “But I had the strangest feeling that there was someone out there.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t just the wind? Or noise from guests?”

“Yes. No.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

Gallant sighed.

“There’s something I need to ask you,” said Carmela. “I noticed there were an awful lot of antiquities on display in Jerry Earl’s office. Do you know if any of them are missing?”

“We don’t have any idea on that yet.”

“When you do know, can you let me know?” asked Carmela.

“No!” said Gallant.

Stunned by his vehemence, Carmela hung on the phone for a few more moments. Until finally, she realized he’d hung up on her.