Parchment and Old Lace Page 15

  “That’s a nice idea,” Carmela said. “Very kind.”

  “Isn’t it? Of course, it wouldn’t work if something else got to them first.”

  “Like what?”

  Ava shrugged. “I don’t know. Raccoons? The homeless? Tourists?”

  Carmela poked her spoon toward Ava. “You make a good point there, lady.”

  “Oh,” Ava said. “And I took a look at that blog that Naomi writes. Haute to Trot?”

  “How is it?”

  Ava grabbed her phone, fiddled with it, and held it up for Carmela to see. “Pretty dang awful. Take a look at her latest post. It’s all about trends.”

  Carmela squinted at Ava’s phone and read out loud. “Says here, and I quote, ‘Oversized bows are destined to make a huge comeback next Spring.’”

  “Gag me,” Ava said.

  Carmela went on. “She also thinks that some designer named Stanislaw Efron is the new up-and-coming designer and that sports leggings will be worn instead of pants.”

  “Not if you have a fat butt,” Ava said.

  Carmela handed the phone back to Ava. “This is pretty awful stuff.”

  “It’s gibberish.”

  “I don’t think Naomi knows her Gucci from her Pucci.”

  “Ya got that right,” Ava said.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until after Ava had finished her dinner—and her second glass of wine—that she narrowed her eyes and said, “I want to pitch you something.”

  Carmela was immediately suspicious. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think we should go back to that cemetery. I mean tonight. Right now.”

  Carmela’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Bad idea.”

  “Hang on just a gol-dang minute,” Ava said. “Before you dismiss this idea entirely, please hear me out. You know that Ellie is more than a little psychic, right?”

  “C’mon, really?” Carmela said. “I figured all that hoodoo-voodoo card reading and I Ching forecasting was just for the benefit of all those eager, lookin’-for-a-good-time tourists.”

  “Absolutely not. Juju Voodoo is a totally legit operation and Ellie is a seriously gifted psychic.” Ava took another sip of wine as if to convince herself.

  “Okay,” Carmela said. “But where exactly is this conversation going? Because I’m not psychic.”

  “I just told you. I think we should go back to that cemetery.”

  “Whaaa . . . ?”

  Ava held up a hand. “Don’t go all postal. I already broached this idea to Ellie at the funeral luncheon and she’s gung ho in favor of it.”

  “All gung ho for what? Please define exactly what we’re talking about.”

  “She’s in favor of going back to the exact spot where Isabelle was murdered to see if she can pick up any auras or strange vibrations.”

  Carmela was shaking her head. “I doubt we’ll pick anything up, but we’re likely to get our pocket picked. That place is seriously dangerous at night.” As poor Isabelle found out.

  But Ava refused to be deterred. “What harm can there be? We’ll just let Ellie stand at the scene of her sister’s death for a few minutes. Maybe she’ll sense something and be able to divine a clue. If not, we’ll come home. Quick and simple. Easy in, easy out.”

  “Not so easy . . .”

  “You do still want to help, don’t you? I mean, Ellie is counting on you.”

  “You don’t have to guilt me, Ava. You know I want to help.”

  “Well . . . then we should do it.”

  They batted the idea back and forth for a few more minutes, but in the end, Carmela finally (and reluctantly) agreed to make a return trip to Lafayette Cemetery.

  “You won’t regret this,” Ava said. She grabbed her cell phone, quickly called Ellie, and said, “It’s a go. We’ll pick you up in front of your apartment.”

  “Why do I feel like I was just set up?” Carmela asked as she pulled on her denim jacket.

  Ava grinned. “Probably because you were.”

  * * *

  “Remember, this wasn’t my idea,” Carmela said to the two women as they stood at the cemetery’s front gate. Darkness had descended all around them, and there was a hint of dampness wafting in from the nearby Mississippi. She flicked her flashlight on and aimed the glossy circle of light at an uneven walkway.

  “It is scary in here,” Ellie admitted. Then she lifted her chin and said, “But it’s for a good cause.”

  “Atta girl,” Ava said.

  Tentatively, as if they were starting down the yellow brick road to find the wizard, the three women walked into the cemetery. A chill night wind rustled the leaves overhead, somewhere off in the distance an owl hooted, and gravel crunched like dry bones beneath their feet.

  “Ellie, stay close,” Carmela cautioned. “This is exactly how the cemetery felt the night that . . . um, the last time I was here.” She waved the flashlight back and forth and then bounced the beam off graves and markers that stood directly in their path.

  “This is awful,” Ellie whispered. “I didn’t think it would be so scary.”

  Marble tombs loomed at them from out of the darkness, and the scrolled wrought-iron fences that enclosed many of the old family crypts seemed to elongate and reach out to them.

  They scrabbled along slowly for another three or four minutes and then Carmela said, “We’re pretty near the spot where Isabelle’s body was found. Ellie, are you positive you want to go through with this?” Carmela feared that the site would be so emotionally charged that Ellie might make herself sick.

  “I can do it,” Ellie said. But her voice sounded tentative and strained.

  Carmela flashed her light ahead, letting it land on a rounded marble tombstone. “There. That’s it. The exact spot.”

  Ava reached out to hold hands with Ellie, but Ellie just brushed her away and stepped forward. Then she knelt down on one knee and touched the ground with her right hand. She bent her head forward, closed her eyes tightly, and went completely motionless, as if in a deep trance.

  Ava gave a nervous sideways glance at Carmela.

  Carmela tilted her head as if to say, “Hey, this was your crazy idea.”

  Two minutes passed. Then five. Carmela was about to say something to break the silence when Ellie’s face suddenly crumpled and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Not tonight,” Ellie said. “It’s just not working. Isabelle will not speak to me tonight.”

  Ava gaped at her. “Wait a minute. You’re telling us you got through to her?”

  “I could feel her presence, yes,” Ellie said. “I’m positive it was her. But it’s like something was holding her back.”

  “She can’t rest,” Ava gasped. “She’ll never rest until her killer is found and brought to justice.”

  “I don’t think any of us will rest,” Carmela said, “until that happens.”

  “But you could feel her?” Ava pressed. “She was right here with us?”

  Ellie nodded. “I think . . . yes.”

  “Imagine that,” Ava said. “It was practically a séance.”

  But Carmela couldn’t share the positivity of the encounter, if that’s what you could call it. “We should get back. It’s cold and dangerous here.”

  “Sure,” Ava said. “Okay. But I’m really glad we came. Aren’t you, Ellie?”

  “Getting a fleeting glimpse of Isabelle’s spirit has renewed my desire to find her killer,” Ellie said.

  “Mine, too,” Ava said, as Carmela walked on ahead. “Hey, wait up!”

  But Carmela was suddenly on her own mission. “I need to make another stop.”

  “Huh?” Ava said.

  “Where?” Ellie asked.

  Carmela led them along a narrow path that threaded its way past dozens of dark, tippy gravestones. “Over this way, I think.�
� She was mentally retracing her steps from the other night.

  “What are we looking for?” Ava asked.

  Carmela pointed into the darkness. “Right there. That’s the mausoleum where someone knocked me in the head with the gate. I want to take a closer look.”

  “Be careful,” Ellie said.

  But Carmela was already in front of the large mausoleum and inspecting the gate. “Look at this,” she said. “The hasp on the lock is broken. That’s how someone—maybe even Isabelle’s killer—got inside and hid out.”

  “Holy crumb cake,” Ava said. “Does Babcock know about this?”

  Carmela frowned. “I told him that somebody clunked me in the head with a gate, but I’m afraid he kind of brushed it off. There was so much going on that night. Finding Isabelle’s body . . . and then Julian Drake was dragged in kicking and screaming as a possible suspect.”

  “But other than the broken hasp, there’s not much to see,” Ava said, inspecting it for herself. “There’s not really a clue, per se.”

  But Carmela wasn’t ready to settle for defeat. Not by a long shot. She shone her flashlight up and down the walls of the mausoleum and along the ground. Then she crept up close to a dusty stained glass window that, during the day, allowed a modicum of light to filter into the mausoleum. She stood on her tiptoes and shone her flashlight inside.

  “You’re not going to go in there, are you?” Ellie asked. She sounded scared.

  “No, I’m just taking a look,” Carmela said. She cranked her wrist and continued to shine her flashlight inside the mausoleum. All she saw were two wooden coffins with about an inch of dust on top of them. Eeeyew. Awful.

  “We really should go,” Ava said. Now she was the one who sounded jittery. She took six steps in the direction of the front gate, with Ellie following her.

  Carmela stood there and nodded. Yes, she supposed it was time to go. Pity they weren’t more productive.

  She made one last flick of her flashlight beam and suddenly noticed a glimmer of something.

  What’s that?

  She reached down and touched a small scrap of paper that was stuck just under the edge of the mausoleum door. She picked it up and rubbed it between her fingers. It felt thick and rich. Expensive, maybe, like good parchment paper.

  Ava turned. “What have you got there?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Carmela said. But I’m going to find out.

  * * *

  Once Ellie was dropped back at her apartment and Ava given a hug good night, Carmela retreated tiredly to her own apartment.

  Boo and Poobah were already curled up and snoring gently on their overpriced monogrammed dog beds, and Carmela’s comfy queen-sized bed beckoned as well.

  She shucked off her clothes and pulled a cozy flannel nightgown over her head. All she had to do was brush her teeth and . . .

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Somebody was knocking insistently at Carmela’s front door.

  What on earth? Ava? She should be snuggled in with her cat Isis by now.

  Carmela threw on her quilted bathrobe and hustled to the front door.

  “Ava?” she called out, without opening the door.

  “It’s me,” came a man’s voice.

  Who’s me?

  Was it Babcock? Carmela wondered. But no, it didn’t sound like him at all.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” came the male voice.

  This time Carmela cracked open the door, but kept the heavy-duty security chain on. “Hello?” she said.

  Hugo Delton peered at her through the narrow opening. “Carmela,” he said. “Hello there.”

  Carmela stared at him. “It’s a little late, isn’t it?” And a little creepy for you to just show up on my doorstep unannounced.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

  Creeping up behind Carmela now, Poobah let loose a low, throaty growl.

  Delton frowned. “You have a dog?”

  “I have two dogs.” Carmela’s heart was hammering inside her chest. “Guard dogs.”

  Delton stood a step back. “You’re not going to let them out, are you?”

  “It depends,” Carmela said. Good, he’s afraid of dogs. That makes me feel a little better about opening the door to this strange night visitor. Which I will never, ever again do.

  Delton made a hand gesture with his fingers splayed out. “I’m just trying to be friendly here.”

  And I just wish you’d go away.

  Delton offered her a garish smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Carmela.”

  “You didn’t,” Carmela said. Show no fear. Don’t let him see that your hands are shaking.

  Delton cocked his head. “But I startled you.”

  Carmela wondered where exactly this line of conversation was going. And then she had a sudden, mind-blowing thought. Had Delton followed her to the cemetery tonight? Had he been spying on the three of them? Had he been lurking and smirking among the tombstones? And if so, why? Oh dear. Was Hugo Delton Isabelle’s killer?

  “You’ll have to leave now,” Carmela said stiffly. Her cell phone was sitting on the dining room table. She wished she had it in her hand right now so she could punch in 911. Summon help.

  Delton gave a low chuckle. “I’m sorry, Carmela. I’ll leave now. I see my little intrusion has made you a bit paranoid.”

  Carmela closed the door without bothering to answer him and turned the latch firmly. Then she stood there, one ear pressed against the wooden door (the good, strong wooden door), and listened as his footsteps retreated across the courtyard.

  No, she thought as she gathered her bathrobe up around her chin, she wasn’t paranoid at all. She was freaked-out.

  Chapter 17

  THURSDAY morning dawned sunny and filled with promise. And Carmela had almost forgotten about the little scrap of paper she’d picked up from the cemetery the night before—as well as her creepy late-night visitor.

  Customers had been streaming into Memory Mine ever since they’d unlocked the front door, and Gabby was hard at it, manning the front desk, greeting customers with a friendly hello. In fact, Gabby’s heroic ability to multitask, to juggle any number of problems, reminded Carmela of the flair bartenders had who worked in the nightclubs over on Bourbon Street. The ones who created special signature cocktails by tossing alcohol, ice cubes, cherries, and orange slices high into the air, then spinning around, keeping time with the music, and catching everything in a glass with nary a spill nor splotch.

  Carmela located a packet of brass brads for one customer and three pieces of military-inspired scrapbook paper for another. Then she hustled over to help Jill, one of her regular scrapbookers. Jill had just returned from a trip to the Holy Land and was interested in assembling her one hundred plus photographs in a heartfelt and meaningful way.

  Carmela led her back to the paper racks and pulled out a number of sheets that featured motifs of vintage bibles, stained glass windows, tranquil waters, and inspirational quotes.

  “These are great,” Jill said. “But what about embellishments?”

  “We’ve got that covered, too,” Carmela said. She showed Jill their assortment of faith stickers and foil cross stickers. “Plus, we’ve got tons of angel stickers and tiny brass angels if you’d like to adhere them to your album cover.”

  “Okay,” Jill said. “Now I have to sit down and do some planning.”

  “Absolutely,” Carmela said. “And in case you need more supplies, we carry the entire Grateful Heart line, too.”

  Carmela worked with another woman named Abby, who was trying to figure out an Asian-themed travel scrapbook. For this Carmela pulled a handful of Japanese rice paper, some Asian-inspired decals, and some blue and white beads. As an afterthought, she dug out two small pieces of Japanese ephemera, one reminiscent of a Japanese woodblock print and the
other featuring Mount Fuji.

  It wasn’t until late morning that the pace slowed and Carmela remembered the little scrap of paper that she’d plucked from the ground last night. She pulled it from her pocket, set it on the front counter, and studied it carefully. The paper definitely looked like parchment. But what was it from? And could it have been dropped by her assailant—Isabelle’s killer—on Sunday night? Had the little scrap just been lying on the ground these last four days?

  “Whatcha got?” Gabby asked when there was a break in the action.

  When Carmela told her about the foray back into the cemetery last night, Gabby looked aghast.

  “Are you serious?” Gabby asked. “What were you three ladies thinking?” When Carmela didn’t answer, she said, “This going-out-on-a-limb investigation has got to stop.”

  “I know. And it will stop.”

  “You’ll stop when you’ve got Isabelle’s murder all figured out, is what you’re really saying,” Gabby huffed. “But what if you . . . ?” Her face carried a pained expression.

  “I won’t,” Carmela said. “I’ll be careful.”

  That quieted Gabby for all of two seconds. Then curiosity flickered in her eyes and she touched a manicured fingertip to the bit of paper. “It’s parchment paper, right?”

  “That’s my hunch, too,” Carmela said. “In fact, I was wondering if it matched any of our parchment paper.”

  “If it does, then you might be able to trace it back to one of our local suppliers.”

  “That’s pretty much what I was thinking.”

  Gabby hesitated. She wasn’t willing to jump in feetfirst, but she was certainly willing to dabble a toe. “Okay, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Gabby searched their rack of parchment paper and pulled out a half dozen sheets. She brought them back to the counter and spread them out. Then they both studied her selections.

  “Your paper scrap seems to be a much heavier stock than what we carry,” Gabby said.

  “In other words, no match,” Carmela said.

  Gabby touched the scrap again. “It’s definitely a heavier stock. It has that important look. Do you think it might have been torn off a fancy invitation of some sort?”