Tragic Magic Page 5

  But Shamus instantly heard her. “That’s the one! The sexy babe from KBEZ.”

  “It probably wasn’t me that Glory saw,” said Carmela, trying to ward off any potential trouble. “Just someone who looked like me. You know, choppy blond hair, really cute.” She glanced up, saw Gabby hovering in the doorway, accepted the large manila envelope Gabby held out to her. Carmela mouthed Shamus to Gabby, who nodded back.

  “Glory was pretty sure it was you,” Shamus continued. Now he paused to gather himself into a nice, tight ball of indignation. “Please don’t tell me you’re involved in some wacky murder investigation again!”

  “Shamus, sweetie,” Carmela purred into the phone. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. In fact, you’re not even allowed to drop so much as a lousy suggestion. You, my friend, have been dumped, discarded, and practically divorced. You are no longer necessary to my survival or my happiness. In other words, Shamus, you’re obsolete.”

  Gabby grinned at her. “Don’t sugarcoat it,” she said in a stage whisper. “Just tell Shamus how you really feel.”

  But Shamus had already assumed the personality of a whipped puppy. “Jeez, Carmela,” he whimpered. “You don’t have to be so snarky. I don’t deserve that!”

  “Snarky’s my new middle name,” said Carmela. “So getting back to the gestalt of our conversation, kindly tell your sister, Glory, to stuff it.”

  “Don’t try that shit with me, Carmela,” sneered Shamus. “I went to college; I can toss big words around, too.”

  “Shamus,” said Carmela, beginning to feel slightly worn down, “what do you want? Why did you call me, really?” She was pretty sure she knew why Shamus was gibbering away like a crazed chimpanzee. The envelope in her hand carried the return address of Willis B. Mortimer, Esquire, Shamus’s divorce lawyer.

  “Oh,” said Shamus. “Yeah. I wanted to tell you my attorney is messengering over a new offer to you. For the divorce settlement.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It’s so,” said Shamus.

  “But is it what I asked for?” said Carmela.

  Shamus snapped right back at her. “You’ll just have to read it and see, Carmela.”

  Carmela slammed the phone down and gazed at Gabby. “Ewww,” she said.

  Gabby gave her a sympathetic look. “Don’t let him drive you bonkers.”

  “Believe me, I won’t,” said Carmela. “Not when I’m so close to a clean getaway.”

  “Things have calmed down in the shop,” said Gabby. “Are you still thinking about running out to buy flowers? To drop off at Fire and Ice?”

  “Uh-huh. That’s where I was headed just as Shamus called.”

  Gabby tapped a finger on the manila envelope. “Are you going to open this?”

  Carmela shook her head and sighed. “Not right now. Why let Shamus spoil my entire afternoon?”

  Chapter 6

  “LILIES, asters, iris, cosmos,” murmured Carmela as she eased her way through the walk-in cooler at French Bouquet Florals. Shaggy heads on delicate stems bobbed gracefully at her while some tightly curled buds seemed to huddle in the chill air. The aroma was a symphony of heady and sweet, mingled with grasses and moist earth, a veritable flower buffet that appealed to the eyes as well as the nose.

  “See anything you like?” asked Cora Lou Connor, one of the owners. She was a tidy, middle-aged woman who wore a long denim apron over her clothes and green Wellington boots, the clumpy rubber ones favored by English gardeners.

  “Still working on it,” said Carmela, wondering how she could peruse thousands of paper designs and make smart inventory decisions, and then not be able to pick out a few flowers?

  After a few false starts, Carmela finally settled on a bouquet of asters, dahlias, and irises. As Cora Lou rang up her purchase and carefully wrapped the flowers in purple tissue, then again in purple plastic, Carmela jotted a short condolence note, signing her name and Gabby’s. Then she added Ava’s name, too.

  “You want these delivered?” Cora Lou asked.

  “Thanks, but I’m gonna take ’em myself,” said Carmela.

  With flowers in hand, she dashed to her car, which was double-parked out front on Ursuline Street, thanked the merciful heavens above that the parking Nazis who haunted the French Quarter hadn’t ticketed or towed her, then whipped around the corner and down the alley to Fire and Ice Jewelers.

  Luckily, Fire and Ice had three reserved customer parking spaces in the rear of the building, and one of those spaces stood empty. Carmela offered another whispered prayer to the heavens, because parking spaces were a precious commodity in the French Quarter.

  Pressing the buzzer at the back door, Carmela shifted from one foot to the other, hoping one of Garth’s employees was there today, holding down the fort. Luck was with her, because the electronic door suddenly rasped then clicked loudly, gaining her admittance. But when Carmela pushed her way into the elegant little jewelry shop, she was stunned to find none other than Garth Mayfeldt himself!

  “Garth!” exclaimed Carmela, crossing a whisper of dove-gray carpeting to greet him. “I had no idea you’d be here.” She leaned forward and they gently exchanged double air kisses.

  “Neither did I,” said Garth, “but here I am anyway.” He smiled faintly, brushing the back of his hand against the five o’clock shadow that shaded his cheeks. Garth was five feet ten with the slight, somewhat underfed build of a long distance runner, which he was, and possessed a crooked smile and slightly egg-shaped head with sparse bits of blond hair. He also had kind gray eyes that corresponded to a gentle personality. When you were a customer in his shop, Garth had the ability to focus his attention completely on you, as though you were the only one who mattered.

  “Well . . . here,” said Carmela, thrusting the bouquet of flowers into his hands. “These are for you.”

  Garth looked genuinely touched. “You are such a sweetheart,” he cooed. “Thank you!” He peeled back the purple wrappings, saw the note, and took a few seconds to read it. “You’re just too dear, all of you,” he told her, and now his voice was heavy with emotion.

  Carmela walked slowly to the main counter with Garth as he cradled the flowers. “I really didn’t expect to see you,” she told him, repeating herself.

  Garth sighed deeply. “Ginny Hunsucker, my regular manager, is moving to a new house this week. Had the move planned for the last three months. So . . .” He shrugged.

  “When it rains it pours,” offered Carmela.

  “Something like that.” Garth laid the flowers down on the counter and fixed her with a wan smile. “I want to thank you again for being at Medusa Manor last night.”

  Carmela frowned and shook her head. “I wish I could have done something. But it was just . . . too late.”

  “I know that,” said Garth. He reached over and patted her hand. “But you did do something. You were there.”

  Carmela tried to give an encouraging smile, but the effort felt frozen on her face.

  “I understand from Olivia that you and Ava are going to continue working on Medusa Manor,” said Garth.

  “That’s still up for discussion,” said Carmela, deciding the two must have talked together within the last half hour. And judging from the gold bangles that had glittered on Olivia’s wrists, the woman must be an awfully good customer, too.

  “Melody would have appreciated your hanging in there,” said Garth, tears forming in his eyes.

  “Uh . . . thank you,” said Carmela, suddenly feeling more than a gentle amount of pressure being exerted.

  “Of course,” said Garth, “dear, dear Olivia has been an absolute rock through all of this. While I’ve turned into an emotional wet rag.”

  “You have good reason to be upset,” said Carmela.

  Garth shrugged. “Look at me, standing here like a lump when these lovely flowers probably need water.” He sniffled loudly then said, “I’ll go grab a vase.”

  Garth disappeared into the small office at the back of the shop. T
hen Carmela heard a door snick open, a metallic clink, and a water faucet being turned on. Okay, good, she decided. He’s sad, he’s morose, but he’s still functioning. That’s important. He’s not frozen with grief.

  Carmela glanced around the shop. Fire and Ice was small, tasteful, exquisitely done. The gray carpeting neatly complemented the sand-blasted beige brick walls and whitewashed wooden ceiling. Track lighting arranged in two languid S-curves focused pinpoint spotlights on the gleaming glass cases. A flat-screen TV, mounted on one wall, the sound low, played languid footage of an Italian jewelry fashion show.

  As Carmela waited for Garth to return, she wandered about, peering into the various jewelry cases, and was struck by the number of really gorgeous pieces that Fire and Ice carried.

  One glass case was stuffed with estate jewelry resting on puffy black velvet pillows. An old mine-cut diamond in a quatrefoil-pronged platinum setting caught her eye, as did a pair of square, deco-style earrings encrusted with diamonds and rubies.

  The next case over contained ultracontemporary pieces. Carmela quickly became entranced with a large square silver pin inset with a single ruby, as well as a brushed-gold charm bracelet adorned with teardrop-shaped aquamarines and citrines.

  It had been a while since she’d been inside Fire and Ice. A while, really, since she could afford to buy fine jewelry for herself. But some of these pieces were quite spectacular.

  Maybe, if she and Ava really did decide to move ahead on Medusa Manor, she’d be able to afford one of these pieces. What a treat!

  Carmela edged toward a circular, stand-alone glass case. A large, black gleaming stone had caught her eye, and she was suddenly curious. But when she peered into the case for a closer look, she was surprised to see that the black stone capped a pendant that featured a miniature painting of two children surrounded by puffs of clouds.

  “Victorian mourning jewelry,” Garth murmured from behind her.

  Carmela jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach. His voice, low and gravelly, had startled her.

  “That large black stone is jet,” Garth pointed out. “And the pendant is edged with seed pearls. In Victorian times, seed pearls were supposed to represent tears.”

  “Mourning jewelry seems like a strange thing to carry,” said Carmela. “I can’t imagine there’s much demand for it.” She was staring at another pendant that portrayed a young girl cradling a lamb.

  “Oh,” said Garth, setting the vase of flowers onto one of the glass counters, “Melody was a big fan of mourning jewelry. And I’m an enormous fan. You’d be surprised how many collectors there are who are always on the hunt for a new piece of this stuff.”

  “Strange what people collect,” murmured Carmela. “What trips their fancy.”

  “Mmm,” said Garth. He pulled a keychain from his pocket, stuck a small key in the side of the case, and swung open a glass door. “Take a look at this.” He reached into the case, selected a small gold heart pendant, and dangled it in front of her.

  “Pretty,” said Carmela. Suspended from a twenty-inch gold box chain was a rounded, dimensional heart. A puffy heart, really. Probably a locket.

  Garth handed the necklace to Carmela.

  “Does it open?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Garth, in an almost encouraging tone. “In fact, it’s our most popular piece of cremation jewelry.”

  Time stood still for a few moments as Carmela stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Cremation jewelry,” repeated Garth. He nodded toward the case. “Fire and Ice has always carried a rather extensive selection. Hearts, crosses, angels, bells, stars, and dolphins. We’ve even special-ordered cats and dogs.”

  “So they’re really . . .” began Carmela. She’d just noticed the small, hand-lettered sign that rested inside the case. The one that read Cremation Jewelry.

  “They’re tiny urns,” said Garth. “Designed to hold a pinch of ashes. Some are even urn shaped.”

  “Interesting,” responded Carmela. It was the only neutral word she could dredge up at the moment.

  Garth reached back into the case and removed a necklace from a white satin pillow. “This one’s from the eighteen hundreds,” he told Carmela. It was a silver urn inlaid with miniature turquoise tiles and dark seed pearls. “Besides her crypt in Lafayette Cemetery, this will be the final resting place for a tiny bit of Melody’s ashes.”

  “Lovely,” said Carmela. Truth was, she didn’t find the piece particularly lovely at all. In fact, the whole concept of cremation or funeral jewelry seemed a bit unsettling. A trifle morbid. But she wasn’t about to call out Garth concerning his taste. To each his own.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” said Garth. With the silver urn dangling between his fingers, he seemed almost mesmerized. “There are even hollow bangles that can hold ashes, a lock of hair, whatever.”

  Carmela managed a smile, although she was finding this all quite strange. Between Melody, with her Medusa Manor, and Garth, with his collection of cremation jewelry, they seemed to have been a couple strangely obsessed with death.

  When the front door suddenly whooshed open and a security buzzer sounded, Carmela felt almost relieved. Until she glanced around and saw who’d just entered the shop.

  Kimber Breeze, tricked out in a cobalt-blue jacket, matching blue mini skirt, and black Gucci heels, was advancing on them like General George Patton headed for the Ardennes.

  “Oh no,” Carmela muttered to Garth. “You do not want to talk to this woman.”

  But Kimber’s intrepid cameraman, Harvey, was already rolling tape as he jammed his video camera in Garth’s face.

  Kimber, always a quick study, took one look at the jewelry and the hand-lettered calligraphy that read Cremation Jewelry and grinned the grin of a hungry great white shark. She knew a good story when she saw one. And this one had been dropped neatly into her lap.

  Carmela sat behind the wheel of her car, massaging her throbbing temples. Headache. A whopper of a Kimber Breeze headache. Even though she had managed to escape, Carmela hadn’t completely eluded her tormentor. As she’d backed out of Fire and Ice, shaking her head and refusing to make any sort of comment, she’d still been stalked, harassed, and harangued.

  Oh jeez. What a day.

  She wiggled her shoulders and drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel. What now? Stop by Juju Voodoo and talk to Ava? Present Olivia Wainwright’s offer to her? No, she’d already invited Ava over for dinner tonight. They could discuss it then.

  Besides, Carmela was pretty sure what Ava was going to say. Ava would mull it over for a millisecond, then agree they should continue working on Medusa Manor. Fifteen grand each was just too much money to pass up. Especially when most of the broad strokes at Medusa Manor had already been done. When all they really had to do was add a few finishing flourishes. Set-decorating touches. And when they put their heads together, as designers and BFFs, they were wickedly good at what they did.

  So . . . what now?

  Carmela started her car, cruised down the alley, and hooked a right on Burgundy Street.

  It was just a few minutes past four, so the smart thing to do would be to head over to Medusa Manor and, in the cold, clear, rational light of day, see what needed to be done. Scout the place so she and Ava could draw up their battle plans.

  Black-and-yellow POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape fluttered from the doorjamb. Carmela waved a hand and shooed it away, then stuck the brass key into the lock. And, like stepping inside Pandora’s box, she suddenly found herself enveloped by the cool dimness that was Medusa Manor.

  Oddly enough, she wasn’t scared. Or even nervous. Well, good, she thought to herself. That’s one hurdle crossed. She pulled a pen and notebook from her bag, determined to remain businesslike and focused.

  The first floor would be a snap, she decided. If they moved the coffin over to the window like they’d talked about last night, that would open up a ton of space to serve as a staging area for the groups that came through. There was even room for
a counter where Olivia could handle ticket sales and maybe even sell T-shirts and souvenirs. Or make a DVD of the tour and sell that. She jotted a note to herself. Good idea.

  To really set the scene and get customers in the mood, maybe they could place a pair of wing chairs near the fireplace. Occupied by grinning zombies, of course. Carmela made another notation, then glanced around. Ava’s wall of skulls would work beautifully. Probably add some spray-on cobwebs. They’d help diffuse the light and make the place look even more atmospheric.

  Carmela studied the fireplace. It was a large carved marble piece and the perfect spot to have a motorized head peer out. And above the fireplace, like hunters’ trophies, possibly hang mounted heads of a werewolf, a gargoyle, and maybe a dragon? No, wait a minute. This was Medusa Manor, so a giant Medusa head framed with wriggling snakes should go above the fireplace. Save the werewolf and other critters for . . . she grinned to herself . . . the Haunted Library? What else?

  Satisfied with the main room, Carmela headed for the stairs. But as she glanced back over her shoulder, Carmela decided that the coffin shouldn’t just be a static entity. Maybe it should open to reveal an animated female vampire? Sure, why not?

  The second floor needed a lot more work. There were four bedrooms and, upon touring them, Carmela found that archways had been cut between each room. Smart. That way guides could lead visitors from room to room, unimpeded, without having to return to the main hallway each time.

  One of the front bedrooms already had a four-poster bed, so that needed to be swagged with black net fabric and have some dangling spiders added. Or, since there were going to be actors in each room, portraying spooky characters, maybe they could do a sort of Exorcist theme. Rig the bed so it vibrated, pipe in organ music and scary voices.

  Carmela crossed under the archway to the next room, aware of the creaking floor beneath her feet. This room was empty, except for what looked like a pile of rags.

  Except the rags turned out to be green and blue rubber heads, all very witchy and warty looking, with hooked noses and long, matted hair. Okay, this was an excellent start. Call this room the Witches’ Lair. Suspend the heads, maybe install some fun-house mirrors on the walls, and . . . what?