Gossamer Ghost Page 10

  “Aw, they’re not even as good as Lord of the Dance,” Ava observed.

  They wandered back toward Jackson Square. Near the Pontalba Apartments they encountered a troupe of six zombies who were putting on a street performance. They tumbled and jumped, juggled, and one guy was even a fire-eater.

  “If downing buckets of Cajun food doesn’t give you heartburn,” said Ava, “then watching that guy swallow his flame burger surely will.”

  Fascinated by the act, they moved closer.

  “There’s their sign,” said Carmela, squinting. “The Post-Mortem Street Performers.” There was also a brown felt hat, turned upside down in front of their sign. Naturally, Carmela and Ava both tossed in a couple of dollar bills.

  “They’re not bad,” said Ava. “In fact, that one guy, the fire-eater, is kind of cute.”

  “If you don’t mind a certain crispy aesthetic,” said Carmela.

  “What I’m thinking,” said Ava, twirling of lock of hair, “is that we should go to the Zom Prom after all.” The Zom Prom was a late-night dance party being held in the ballroom at the Hotel Tremont. The Hotel Tremont was purported to be haunted and guests had been known to run screaming from their rooms in the middle of the night. Definitely Ava’s kind of place.

  “The Zom Prom’s not exactly in my plans,” said Carmela. “After all, this is a school night. We both have to get up tomorrow and work and . . . oh crap.” She took a step sideways, as if she wanted to disappear. And then hesitated. Caught like a rat in a trap!

  “What?” said Ava, seeing Carmela’s distress.

  Carmela sighed, knowing it was too late to duck into a bar or dash across the street.

  “I can’t believe this!” the countess trilled as she rushed up to greet her. “We meet again!” She wore a camel jacket with a black cashmere shawl thrown over it. The aroma that came off her was a mingle of Joy, once touted as the world’s most expensive perfume, and good old bourbon.

  “Hi,” said Carmela, showing a bare minimum of enthusiasm.

  “Excuse me, did you really just say countess?” Ava’s head spun in Carmela’s direction. She seemed just this side of intrigued.

  Carmela made hasty, albeit reluctant introductions. Then she turned to Ava and, enunciating carefully to send a clear message, said, “The countess is moving into the Oddities space next door to me.”

  “Ohhh,” said Ava. Smart girl that she was, she’d immediately figured out Carmela’s subtext. In other words, this lady standing in front of them was the cuckoo new neighbor. “And what sort of shop are you opening?” Ava asked, just to be polite.

  “Gems and jewels,” gushed the countess. “A mix of premier pieces handcrafted by contemporary designers, as well as a nice selection of estate jewelry.” She pointed to the silver bat-wing earrings that dangled from Ava’s ears. “You know, we’ll be offering a tasty collection of Victorian funeral jewelry, too. If that happens to be your cup of tea.”

  “I’ll have to check it out,” Ava said. “Nothing like fine design that’s been ripped from the crypt.”

  “Maybe you could come to my grand opening,” purred the countess.

  “Is your husband here tonight?” Carmela asked. She was curious as to why the countess was wandering the streets of the French Quarter all by her lonesome. After all, she was new in town and supposedly didn’t know very many people. On the other hand, that’s the reason why lots of people did wander the streets of the French Quarter. New in town and . . . well, you get the idea.

  The countess waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, François is around here somewhere.” She peered intently at Carmela. “It was so interesting meeting your boyfriend last night. The dedicated and rather intense Detective Babcock.”

  “The boy’s a real charmer,” said Ava. “A cross between Kojak and George Clooney.”

  “I was wondering,” continued the countess. “Has your handsome detective made any progress in solving the Joubert murder? Or the related case of that stolen death mask?”

  “I haven’t spoken with him today,” said Carmela. “But I’m confident Detective Babcock is working diligently on both investigations. He always does.” Why was she suddenly droning on like Jack Webb in Dragnet? And why was she getting that continued weird vibe from the countess? Was it just because the woman was incredibly obnoxious . . . or was something else going on?

  “I have a small tip I’d like to offer your Detective Babcock,” said the countess. “And I’d appreciate your passing it on.”

  “What’s that?” said Carmela.

  “That antique dealer that’s located just down the block?” said the countess. She gazed at Carmela with wide eyes and swinging earrings. “I’m afraid that person is highly unethical in his business dealings.”

  “You mean James Stanger?” Carmela was taken aback. She didn’t really think Stanger had anything to hide. He might act all prim and proper, but deep down he was an Iowa farm boy who’d spent six months in England, and come back with a fake accent and a hoity-toity sales shtick. The important thing, however, was that Stanger had never struck her as being unethical.

  The countess waggled a finger at Carmela. “I’ll have you know James Stanger has skirted the law multiple times.”

  Was this just a wild accusation, Carmela wondered, or did Countess Crazy really know something? There was only one way to find out, and that was to call her bluff. “Skirted the law. In what way?”

  The countess brightened, obviously eager to spill the beans as well as a little pent-up vitriol. “Stanger has been accused multiple times of bringing in illegal antiquities. Why, you probably don’t even know this, but your friend Stanger was involved in a huge flap with the Chinese government!”

  “And how would you know that?” Carmela didn’t put much stock in these blanket accusations. They amounted to nothing more than character assassination.

  “Oh, my dear,” said the countess, practically chortling now. “I may have just moved here from Palm Beach, but I do keep up with all the latest news in the world of art and antiquities.”

  “And you’re saying that Stanger made news?” said Carmela.

  “Absolutely, he did,” said the countess. “Which is why I wouldn’t put it past him to murder your friend Joubert. Stanger is unethical and highly dangerous. And you realize he desperately wanted that little piece of real estate for himself.”

  It was interesting, thought Carmela. The countess was furiously bad-mouthing Stanger, while just yesterday Stanger had pointed his finger at Joubert, accusing him of illegal and unsavory deals. What a round robin of wild accusations. Who should she believe? Everyone or no one?

  “I’m just putting the facts out there as best I can,” said the countess as she started to turn away. “Make of them what you will.” She hesitated and frowned. “But, seriously, Carmela, I’m convinced Stanger was willing to do just about anything to get his hands on that property.”

  “That may be true,” said Carmela. “But it’s your property now. So it sounds like you’re the one who’d better be careful.”

  * * *

  “Is she as crazy as she seems?” asked Ava as they strolled down Governor Nicholls Street.

  “Worse,” said Carmela. “I think she’s delusional.” On the other hand, maybe the countess was dumb like a fox. Who knew? Who could tell behind her façade of bravura and brashness?

  “She strikes me as the worst kind of Eurotrash.”

  “I hear you,” said Carmela. “But I’m not even sure she’s from Europe. There’s something unpleasant and inherently phony about her and her husband and their goofball titles.”

  “But she must have some money, right? After all, she is opening a high-end jewelry boutique. I’m guessing that requires some serious cash and inventory.”

  As Carmela was about to answer, the white KBEZ-TV van slid to a stop directly in front of them and a door popped open.


  “Hey there,” said Zoe. She sprang out of the passenger seat to greet Carmela and Ava.

  “What are you guys up to?” Ava asked with a broad smile and a toss of her head. She was never opposed to having her lovely face appear on TV. In fact, she could photo bomb with the best of them.

  “Raleigh and I are just cruising the Quarter,” Zoe explained. “Shooting zombies and the parade.” She shrugged. “Human interest stuff.”

  “Not human.” Ava chuckled. “Inhuman.”

  Zoe pointed a finger at her. “Ha, good one. Mind if I use that in my report?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Zoe switched her focus to Carmela. “What I’d really like is an update on that Marcus Joubert murder.”

  “I haven’t heard much,” said Carmela. She was reluctant to let too much slip for fear she’d end up a crazy sound bite.

  “You’re trying to turn KBEZ into a regular disaster channel,” said Ava.

  “How about that Napoleon death mask thing?” Zoe pressed.

  “Nope.” Carmela decided the safest route was to play innocent.

  Zoe studied Carmela with a look of cool appraisal. “Are you sure about that? Because it seems to me you’re a fairly skilled investigator in your own right. And being so close to Detective Babcock, you might even pick up some inside information.”

  “Who me?” said Carmela. “No, no way. You really think Babcock’s going to let me elbow my way into his homicide investigation?”

  “Eh,” said Zoe as she flipped a hand. “Whatever. But let me know if you hear anything, okay?” She gestured to Raleigh, who nodded and shouldered his heavy camera with a sigh. “C’mon. Let’s go shoot that gang of zombies across the street.”

  Ava tugged at Carmela’s sleeve as the TV team headed out. “Cher, please don’t go home just yet. Let’s just peek in on the Zom Prom. After all, it’s the official kickoff for Halloween week!”

  “That’s funny,” said Carmela. “And here I thought the murder of Marcus Joubert was the kickoff.”

  Ava considered Carmela’s words for a moment. “Hmm, I guess it kind of was.”

  “You go and have fun,” Carmela urged. “Grab yourself a good-looking zombie dance partner and lurch your little heart out.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come along?”

  “I’m going to run home and grab the dogs. Take them for a quick walk.”

  “Okay,” said Ava, spinning on her heels. “See ya later!”

  * * *

  Boo and Poobah were delighted to see Carmela. They were even more thrilled when she clipped leashes to their collars and led them outside. The night air was cool and lush, with moonlight shining down through the live oak tree in the courtyard and creating interesting spatter patterns on the bricks. The small fountain burbled noisily as Boo stopped to take a drink.

  Then they walked through the porte cochere and out onto the street.

  It was quiet and fairly subdued in this part of the French Quarter. Most of the festivities were going on in the more touristy parts like Jackson Square, Pirate’s Alley, and all along Bourbon Street.

  Carmela and the dogs loped along, passing Buisson’s Deli, a tiny map shop, and Strutt’s Bakery. On impulse, she cut over to Conti Street, where she and Babcock had strolled just last night, when he’d taken her to Sparks Pawn Shop.

  Johnny Sparks, she thought. She should Google him and see what comes up. See how bad a guy he really . . .

  Carmela caught a hint of movement just ahead of her and stopped dead in her tracks. Boo and Poobah stopped, too, realizing in their doggy brains that something was up. She watched as, half a block away, a tall, lean figure loitered outside Sparks Pawn Shop, peering in the window.

  Ducking into a doorway, the doorway that led into a camera shop, Carmela yanked the dogs in after her. All the time wondering if the person on the sidewalk might be Johnny Sparks himself.

  Of course, she didn’t know what Sparks looked like. She’d never even seen a picture of him. Or, if she had, she didn’t remember.

  So . . . maybe she should try to catch a glimpse of him right now? What could it hurt?

  Slowly, methodically, moving in what could only be called extreme slow motion, Carmela stuck her head out. It was dark and the figure had his shoulders hunched forward and was glancing about almost furtively. Then, as the man turned, a sliver of light from the window fell across his face.

  Carmela was stunned by the flash of recognition that rocketed through her brain!

  That’s James Stanger. What on earth is he doing here?

  Stanger was fidgeting outside Sparks Pawn Shop, hands shoved deep inside his jacket pockets, peering anxiously through the front window.

  What was going on? Was Stanger waiting for some sort of meet-up? Did Johnny Sparks and James Stanger know each other?

  She turned this notion over and over in her head and decided that Stanger had to be waiting for Sparks. They must be hooking up for some sort of meeting. So . . . was it a business meeting?

  Carmela’s first inclination was to immediately rush home and call Babcock. Tell him exactly what she’d seen and what she thought might be going on.

  Then she stepped back into the shadows and considered her actions a little more carefully. Maybe she shouldn’t call Babcock. Maybe not just yet. Because she really didn’t know what was going on.

  There was certainly no law against loitering. So maybe, just maybe, she should stand her ground and see if she could figure out if there was a meeting after all?

  Carmela stood in the gloom of the doorway as five minutes ticked by, then ten minutes. Meanwhile, Stanger bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, gyrating this way and that. It looked as if he was waiting for something big to happen.

  But what? Carmela wondered.

  Boo and Poobah tugged at their leashes, restless and bored. The night was growing colder and the lateness of the hour meant this part of the French Quarter was getting more and more deserted.

  Finally, when Stanger’s back was turned to her, Carmela slipped out of the doorway and hurried away. As she walked along, she came to what she thought were a couple of logical conclusions.

  Stanger had something weird going on.

  No one seemed to be in any immediate danger.

  So . . . she would definitely keep this sighting of him under her hat. That way, she’d be free to follow up on the Stanger-Sparks connection all on her own.

  “I thought you were going to wear a costume today,” said Carmela. It was Monday morning and she and Gabby were at Memory Mine, sipping cups of coffee that Gabby had thoughtfully picked up at the Café du Monde. She’d also grabbed an order of beignets, those legendary little New Orleans pastries that were deep fried, smothered in powdered sugar, and came three to an order. Carmela had eaten one, Gabby had eaten one, and now the third beignet sat between them like a ticking, sugar-coated time bomb.

  “Carmela, I am wearing a costume.” Gabby smirked. “I’m dressed as a volunteer for the Junior League.”

  Carmela pretended to study her assistant carefully. “Let’s see. Cashmere twinset, check. Tasteful gold and pearl earrings, check. Pencil skirt and loafers from Talbots . . .”

  “Oh you!” Gabby grabbed a package of black crepe paper and pretended to give Carmela a whack.

  “Ouch!” said Carmela, jumping up and almost spilling her coffee. “No harassment, please.”

  Gabby snorted. “Why? Because you’re the boss?”

  “Because we don’t have time for this stuff,” said Carmela. “We’re going to be busy today. Head-spinning busy, in fact, like that poor kid in The Exorcist.”

  Gabby had to agree. “Just four more days until Halloween means we’ll be inundated.”

  “Did our shipment of paper and charms arrive?”

  “Yes, and you were right, Frisky Creations did release s
ome wonderful new stuff. In fact . . .” Gabby ducked down and pulled a cardboard box out from below the front desk. “You should take a look at some of the charms and paper. Very cool.”

  “Let’s start unpacking and get everything on display then,” said Carmela.

  Gabby pulled out a plastic bag filled with smaller cellophane bags. “These are the Halloween brads and charms. What do you think?”

  “Cute. And what about the paper?”

  Gabby dug a shrink-wrapped stack of paper out of the box, grabbed a cutting tool, and slit the package open. “Refills on the Halloween stuff we ran out of and then packages of rice paper and some other fibers, all pretty neat stuff.”

  “Perfect.”

  Gabby narrowed her eyes and peered at Carmela. “Did you know that Mavis is next door packing things up?”

  “She is? Already?”

  “I think she got to her shop real early. I noticed that the lights were on and that she was working away when I arrived here. And you know I’m kind of an early bird.”

  “Ava and I paid a visit to Mavis last night,” said Carmela. “To kind of, you know . . .”

  “Pump her with questions?”

  “We tried to be a little more polite than that.”

  “Did you find out anything new?”

  “Not really. Just that Mavis is heartbroken, suffers from low self-esteem, and received an eviction notice from the landlord.”

  Gabby made a face. “Every single bit of that is just awful and downright unfair. But all three problems piled one on top of another . . .”

  “You can thank Boyd Bellamy for issuing that eviction notice.”

  “I hate that he’s our landlord, too,” said Gabby.

  “I hear you. And he’s apparently salivating until he can dump the Oddities merchandise and rent the newly improved space to that crazy countess lady.”

  “The whole situation is abhorrent,” said Gabby. “It’s always about the money, isn’t it? Remember when business used to be conducted in a far more genteel fashion?”