Chapter 16

THE interior of Grand Folly Costume Shop glowed like a theater marquee as overhead pinpoint spotlights bounced and reflected off racks of glitzy, glamorous costumes. Sequins, spangles, and gold lamé seemed to be the watchwords here, along with velvet Venetian costumes and shimmering black witches’ gowns. On shelves overhead, plastic, faceless heads showcased hats, wigs, sparkly tiaras, and majestic crowns of every style and color. Amid all this faux splendor, the smell of mothballs, cigarettes, and cleaning fluid hung redolent in the air.

A slim young woman with pale skin and maroon-colored hair stood behind the front counter. She held a small sewing tool in one hand and appeared to be ripping the back seam out of a black taffeta vampire costume.

“Excuse me,” said Carmela. She’d dropped Ava off at her shop and hustled over here, hoping to find some answers.

The girl looked up and Carmela recognized her. In fact, the girl had worked here for a number of years. “You used to have blue hair, didn’t you?” asked Carmela.

The girl smiled faintly. “Not for a couple of years, but yeah. That was me. In my blue period.” She chuckled. “Just like Picasso.” Then she gave Carmela her full attention. “I’m Beth. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a costume,” said Carmela.

“Sure,” said Beth. She nodded toward the crowded racks that seemed to extend deep into the shop. “Pick out whatever you want. Or is there something specific you want me to pull?”

“How about a little information?”

“Pardon?” said Beth.

“Here’s the thing,” said Carmela. “A friend of mine rented a clown costume here recently. And I was wondering if it’s been returned yet.”

Beth’s brows knit together. “You want to rent it?”

“That’s right,” said Carmela. And I want to know who rented it.

“We’ve got a boatload of clown costumes,” said Beth. “Our Bozo and Clarabelle costumes are extremely popular.”

“This was a specific clown,” said Carmela. “An opera character by the name of Canio? Do you suppose you could check your records?” When Carmela had been here before, the shop had used a little ledger to check costumes in and out.

“Everything’s on computer now,” said Beth. “Listed by category.”

“Okay, so if you entered clown and last Wednesday’s date, the rental information might pop up?”

Beth frowned. “That should work. Theoretically.”

“Can you give it a try?”

Beth hit a few keys, waited for a list to come up on the screen, then hit another couple of keys. “Okay, I’ve got one rental here for a clown costume. Our number one thousand and forty-six.” She glanced up. “But it doesn’t say what type of clown.”

“When was it checked out?” asked Carmela.

“Checked out Wednesday morning and returned the following day.”

“Do you know who rented it?”

“Doesn’t say,” said Beth, “because they paid cash.”

“Do most people pay cash? Or do they put it on a credit card?”

Beth shrugged. “Usually a card, because we require a small deposit.”

“So that particular costume is back in stock?” asked Carmela. “Number one thousand and forty-six?”

Beth hit another couple of keys. “I don’t see that it was . . . yeah, it should be here.”

“Can you show me the rack?”

Beth led Carmela past racks of showgirl, cowboy, and vampire costumes. At a pile of fright masks, made even more terrifying by strands of long black and white goat hair, they hooked a left and ducked into a kind of alcove. Leering clown masks and floppy clown gloves hung on the walls. Oversized clown shoes littered the floor. An enormous rolling rack of clown costumes was jammed against the wall.

“The costumes look kind of creepy this way,” said Carmela. “Like any minute they might become . . . animated.”

“Clowns always scared me as a kid,” said Beth, giving a little shudder. “Maybe they still do. Anyway . . .” She backed away. “Just holler if you need help with anything.”

“Thanks.”

“And if you need any last-minute costumes,” said Beth, “we’re gonna be open until midnight every night up until Fat Tuesday.”

Carmela pawed through the rack for a few minutes until she found the Canio costume. It hung on its hanger looking limp and inert. Grabbing the hanger, Carmela hooked it onto the rack, then spread out the costume. Was it the same one? It sure looked the same. White with pompoms down the front, gathered at the wrists. And voluminous enough, Carmela thought, to hide any figure, large or small.

So who had worn this costume?

Had it been stashed in Zoe’s tote bag? Or had someone shucked into it while hidden in a nearby room or convenient broom closet? Maybe Durrell or Sullivan Finch or even Billy Laforge? And what about Joubert, who gave her the creeps and seemed so interested in all things horrifically odd? Or Whitney Geiger, whom she was still trying to track down? Lots of suspects, not much information.

Carmela reached up and pulled down the mask. Mirthful eyes stared at her along with an upturned mouth. Who wore you? she wondered. Who slipped inside your silky folds and turned you into a capering, creeping being?

And most important, Were you there when Kimber Breeze was killed?

* * *

WITH HER QUESTIONS UNANSWERED AND HER MIND in a whir, Carmela sought out the familiar and the comforting. Her scrapbook shop on Governor Nicholls Street.

“What are you doing here?” asked Gabby, giving a start as Carmela walked through the front door. “I thought you went to Kimber’s funeral.”

“The operative word being went,” said Carmela.

“Okay. So how was it?”

“Strange,” said Carmela. “The entire KBEZ-TV contingent showed up and captured the entire service on film.”

Gabby’s face fell. “Are you serious? That’s just awful.” She shook her head dismissively. “Don’t you think the media’s gone plum crazy? And not just our local media, but national, too. I can’t stand all those talking heads spouting their own political manifestos or fawning over celebrities.”

“Take a number and get in line,” said Carmela. “You’re not the only one who thinks it’s nuts, that news isn’t really news anymore.” She glanced toward the back of the shop, where two women were working away on scrapbook pages. “Have we been busy?”

“Not too much,” said Gabby. “A little flurry of customers this morning, but now it feels like everybody’s taking a breather and gearing up for tonight. For a big Saturday night.”

“I suppose,” said Carmela, touching a finger to a packet of charms that included miniature keys and cameos.

“Do you have plans?” asked Gabby. “With Babcock, I would imagine?” She smiled shyly.

“Just coming back here,” said Carmela.

There was confusion on Gabby’s face, and then she said, “For . . . ? Oh, you mean the open house? At Oddities? You’re really going to that?”

Carmela nodded. “Ava’s all hot and bothered about it, so yeah, I guess I’m going.”

“For some reason I wish that shop weren’t smack-dab next to ours,” said Gabby. “It’s just way too creepy for my taste.”

“You mean creepy Joubert,” said Carmela. “You get a bad feeling from him.”

“Yes, I do,” said Gabby. “You know me, I’m pretty easy going and amenable. And I don’t usually take an instant dislike to someone. But that guy gives me the willies.”

“Interesting,” said Carmela. Gabby was a fairly decent judge of people. If she’d detected an odd vibration, there just might be something there.

“So please be careful tonight,” said Gabby.

“Don’t worry,” said Carmela. “It’s an open house, the joint will probably be mobbed, and we’re only staying for a short time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Gabby. “Just take care.”

* * *

“THIS IS LIKE DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN,” CARMELA joked. Just when she thought she’d escaped the weird vibes of the costume shop, Ava had brought over an armload of outfits for them to try on.

“Look at this one, cher,” said Ava, excited to the point of being practically breathless. “Midnight-blue velvet with a va-va-voom neckline. I think it’s the inner you!”

“You realize,” said Carmela, “this isn’t a costume party tonight. It’s merely an open house.”

“But we’re going to Oddities. Which means we really should dress the part.”

“Then we should be contemplating dead squirrel hides and finger bone earrings,” said Carmela. “Instead of glamour gowns.”

“You’re no fun,” grumped Ava. “You’re just not getting into this.” She dug through her mountain of dresses, pulled out a different one, and held it up for inspection. “Mmm, maybe this yellow taffeta number?”

Carmela gazed at the poufy sleeves, flouncy skirt, and black trim on a yellow bodice. “Maybe a trifle too saloon girl?”

But Ava wasn’t about to give up. “Try to pep it up, cher. After all, it’s Mardi Gras, our most favorite time of year. And we are gonna party! Perhaps if I put something on, you might catch a wee bit of spark?”

“Do that,” said Carmela, feeling bad that Ava was trying so hard. “And I’ll go get us each a glass of wine.” Happy to distance herself from the costume caravan for a short while, Carmela went to her kitchen and poured out two glasses of Merlot. While she really had very little interest in attending the Oddities open house, she did have a passing curiosity about Joubert, the owner. For some reason, he’d tweaked her inner early-warning radar. And he’d for sure raised Gabby’s hackles.

“Oh, cher!” Ava called from the other room. “Come take a look at this.”

Carmela padded back into her bedroom, followed by Boo and Poobah. The dogs were regarding this costume activity with great suspicion. Then again, dogs weren’t big on dressing up. In fact, whenever Carmela saw dogs sporting little coats and sweaters, they always looked embarrassed. As if they knew, deep down, that the grand creator of canines had never intended for them to wear Gucci or Burberry.

“What do you think?” asked Ava. She stood before the mirror in a floor-length black crepe dress with a V-cut, ruffled bodice. She’d added a black leather lace-up corset to accentuate her narrow waist and ample derriere.

“You look like you just stepped out of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” Carmela chuckled. When Ava frowned, she added, “You know, the character Esmeralda?”

“Think of a better analogy,” Ava replied in a slightly frosty tone.

Carmela didn’t miss a beat. “You look like Morgana, the gorgeous witch in Camelot.”

This time Ava smiled broadly. “Much better.”