Gossamer Ghost Read online

  “And we’ve got lavender potpourri as well as orange citrus,” said Gabby.

  “These would work beautifully as gifts,” said Baby.

  “That’s the general idea,” said Carmela. “Once you’ve tied your ribbon, you can add little embellishments like silk flowers or beads or small charms. And remember, cheesecloth can be dyed, too.” She pulled out a square of lavender cheesecloth, added the lavender potpourri, and tied it with a piece of pink silk ribbon. Then she attached a small, brass butterfly charm.

  “I want it,” said Tandy. “Pleeease?”

  Carmela smiled and handed the potpourri to Tandy.

  “The other thing you can do with cheesecloth,” said Carmela, “is make your own tea bags.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” said one of the women.

  “It works perfectly,” said Carmela. “Especially since we’re using food-grade cheesecloth.”

  They all stared at her, fascinated.

  “What you want to do,” said Carmela, “is cut your cheesecloth into a circle. You can freestyle it or use a template.” She picked up her scissors and cut a freestyle circle. Then she placed it on the table for all to see, and dipped a spoon into a bag of loose tea. “This tea is chamomile,” she said, dropping it into the center of the cheesecloth, “but you can use any type of loose tea that you like. Then you simply tie your homemade tea bag—very tightly, I might add—with a piece of string or thread.”

  “This has been eye-opening,” said Baby. “And lots of fun, too.”

  “Wait,” said Carmela, holding up a finger. “We’re not done yet.”

  “Huh?” said Tandy. She voiced what everyone else was wondering. What next?

  “Who doesn’t love a long, relaxing soak in the tub?” said Carmela. “But for that you need a bath bomb.”

  “Kaboom,” said Tandy. “You just said the magic words. I think I’m going to like this.”

  “We’ll make our bath bombs using eight-inch squares of cheesecloth,” said Carmela. She glanced up. “Gabby? You’ve got the herbs and things?”

  “Right here,” said Gabby. She set four medium-sized tins in the center of the table.

  “Here’s the thing,” said Carmela. “You want to add a scoop of dried lavender to aid with relaxation, two scoops of oat flakes to soothe your skin, dried parsley for cleansing, and dried chamomile for that extra zap of relaxation.”

  “I can feel the z’s coming on now,” joked Tandy.

  The room grew quiet then as all the women worked diligently, measuring, filling, and tying, seemingly pleased with the new crafts they’d learned.

  Carmela was pleased, too. It was fun coming up with new craft ideas, and she especially loved the teaching part of it—watching the lightbulb come on as her crafters decided to add a silver tassel here, a blue and white Chinese bead there.

  Tandy finished her bath bomb, plopped it down in front of her, and said, “Do you think my little ghost is dry yet?”

  Gabby reached a hand out and her fingertips brushed the cheesecloth. “He’s still a little damp. Give it another few minutes.”

  Baby passed around her cookies then, and they all chatted and munched and waited for their ghosts to dry.

  “Look at this,” said one of the ladies. “My ghost is almost dry and now I can kind of manipulate him. Make it look like his skirts are flying out to either side.”

  “You ghost is a he?” asked one of her friends.

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Wait a minute,” said Tandy. “What about faces?”

  “I was getting to that,” said Carmela. “If you want to give your ghost a little more personality, you simply take a black marker and draw on a pair of eyes and maybe a mouth.”

  Baby picked up a marker and drew two round ovals for eyes, then she filled them in. “Hmm,” she said, studying him. “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to moan or howl.” She added a flat oval for a mouth.

  “Teeth?” asked Tandy.

  “No,” said Baby. “I don’t think so.”

  “Now it’s like a mask,” Tandy said in a low voice. “Kind of like that Napoleon death mask that was stolen.”

  “Well, not quite,” said Carmela.

  Tandy’s brows knit together as she fingered her ghost. “How do they make those death masks, anyway?”

  Carmela glanced at Gabby, who looked suddenly concerned.

  “Basically, they take a mold of someone’s face,” said Carmela.

  “How on earth would you do that?” asked one of the women.

  “It’s a fairly simple process,” said Carmela. “Today, instead of messing with wax, you’d probably mold plaster bandages dipped in water.”

  “We should do that,” said Tandy. “Have a class on making death masks.”

  “That sounds a little macabre,” said Baby.

  “Okay, so we’ll call them life masks,” said Tandy.

  “It sure would be timely,” said one of the women. “Because of Halloween, I mean.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Baby, slowly warming up to the idea. “If we made a few masks, I could use those as decorations for my party. I could even have my guests try to guess who it is. Kind of like pin the tail on the donkey, only creepier.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said Tandy. “We need to schedule an impromptu Death Mask class!”

  “Can we, Carmela?” asked one of the women. “Will you show us how to make them?”

  Carmela looked at her watch. “We don’t have any time left today. But maybe next Tuesday?” She glanced at Gabby, who seemed to be busy sorting out packets of charms.

  “Next Tuesday it is,” said Baby.

  Four of the women gathered up their ghosts and tea bags and bath bombs then, and toddled out the front door. They seemed delighted with their crafts and thinking ahead to next Tuesday.

  Finally, only Carmela, Gabby, Baby, and Tandy were left in the shop.

  “I think,” said Tandy, “I’m gonna make one more of those bath bombs. A big super bomb.”

  “Sure,” said Carmela. “And if you want, I can . . .”

  The front door suddenly swung open and Mavis Sweet rushed in. Dressed head to toe in black, her outfit was vaguely reminiscent of some of the steampunk attire that Joubert had sold at Oddities—a Victorian corset laced in front and a long black skirt with netting over it.

  As Mavis rushed headlong through the shop, sending papers flying, and slid to an ungraceful stop at the back table, the entire room went silent as a tomb.

  MAVIS’S darting eyes searched the table for Carmela. When she finally found her, Mavis’s lower lip began to tremble and her eyes filled with tears.

  Carmela dropped the bath bomb she was holding and rushed to comfort Mavis. She swept the girl into her arms and said, “What, honey? What’s the matter now? What are you even doing in this neighborhood today?” She figured the police were still at Oddities, searching for clues.

  Mavis’s eyes were getting redder by the second and her eyeliner had begun to smudge. She swayed slightly as she clutched a small, leather notebook to her chest.

  “Carmela!” Mavis sobbed. “The police . . . the police aren’t investigating Marcus’s death anymore!”

  “Why would you say that?” said Carmela, although she had a prickly feeling for what might be coming.

  “Now they’re accusing him of stealing the death mask!” cried Mavis. “From some collector in Dallas.”

  Carmela nodded. “Yes, I did hear something about that.”

  “But Marcus didn’t do that,” said Mavis. “He wouldn’t do that.” She looked slightly crazed with makeup dripping and her frizzy hair standing on end. “Because . . . look!” She thrust a notebook forward. “On the exact date the mask disappeared in Dallas, Marcus was right here.” She turned the book around so everyone could read the small, c
ramped handwriting. “See? Marcus had an appointment right here in New Orleans with Mr. Duval!”

  “Titus Duval?” said Carmela. She knew him. Or knew of him, anyway. Titus Duval was the head of the CBD Orleans Bank, a chain that was a business rival to the Crescent City Bank, owned by her ex-husband Shamus’s family. Titus Duval was also a bigwig in the arts community. He’d recently headed the capital fund drive for the New Orleans Art Institute. With his power and money he was not to be trifled with.

  “Titus Duval,” Mavis repeated. “That’s right. So you see, it’s perfectly clear that Marcus couldn’t have stolen that mask. He couldn’t have traveled to Dallas, grabbed the mask, and then made it back here in time for his meeting.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” said Carmela.

  Maybe the meeting with Duval does clear Joubert?

  “Did you show this book to Detective Babcock?” Carmela asked.

  “Absolutely I did,” said Mavis. “Only I could tell he didn’t believe me. He hemmed and hawed and said he’d have to check his facts with Mr. Duval.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do that,” Carmela soothed.

  “You poor thing,” Baby murmured. They were all watching the conversation between Carmela and Mavis and they all looked concerned.

  “What I’m wondering, though,” said Carmela, “is where the mask—the mask that was stolen last night—actually came from?”

  Mavis shook her head vigorously, her masses of hair shaking back and forth. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think Joubert had a certain customer in mind for it?” Carmela prodded.

  Mavis looked pained. “I wish I knew. Oh dear Lord, I wish I knew. Maybe that would help us figure out who murdered my poor Marcus.” She grasped Carmela’s hand and held it firmly. “Carmela, you’ll still help, won’t you? You’ll help figure out who killed Marcus?”

  Carmela’s chest felt heavy, as if she couldn’t breathe. She could barely stand to see Mavis in such pain. “Of course I will, honey. Shhh.” She wrapped her arms around Mavis again. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Mavis gazed up at her. “Can you talk to that detective?”

  “To Babcock? Yes, I will.”

  “Can you call him now?” asked Mavis.

  “Now?” said Carmela. She glanced over and saw collective pleading looks on Gabby’s, Baby’s, and Tandy’s faces. That did it. “Okay, I’ll call him right now.”

  Carmela ducked into her office and dialed Babcock’s private number. He picked up immediately.

  “Hello, hot stuff,” said Babcock. He’d obviously glanced at his caller ID. And his baritone voice, ringing in Carmela’s ears, sent a delicious tingle through her. “Are you calling to remind me about tonight?” he asked.

  “There’s that,” she said. “And one other thing.”

  Babcock moaned. “Uh-oh.”

  “I’ve got Mavis Sweet here in my shop . . .”

  “Yes?” His voice hardened slightly.

  “Anyway, she has Joubert’s calendar with her. Apparently he had a meeting with Titus Duval on the exact same day the death mask in Dallas was stolen . . .”

  “Yes, yes,” said Babcock. “We’re still checking out this so-called alibi.” He sounded like he’d uttered those words a million times. Probably had.

  “I’m not so sure it’s an alibi,” said Carmela. She gazed at Mavis and gave what she thought was a hopeful nod. “I think it might be fact.”

  Babcock snorted loudly.

  Carmela took a step back, not wanting Mavis to overhear Babcock’s rather negative reaction.

  “Here’s the thing,” said Carmela. “I think . . .”

  “You know what? You don’t have to concern yourself with this. We’re covered. I’m checking it out. In fact I’ve got an entire team of detectives and uniformed officers who can check this out. So you don’t have to.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” said Carmela, disappointed.

  “Hey,” said Babcock. “I’ll see you tonight. I’m really looking forward to this theatre thing.” And with that he hung up.

  Carmela put the phone down and smiled at Mavis. “They’re working on it,” she said, with far more assurance in her voice than she really felt.

  Mavis nodded and pressed a chubby hand to her heart. She fluttered her lashes, drew a deep breath, and said, “Thank you, Carmela, you’re an absolute lifesaver.”

  * * *

  Once Mavis had left the shop, the other three women pounced mightily on Carmela.

  “Is Babcock being an ass?” Tandy demanded.

  “How’s the investigation really going?” asked Baby.

  “Babcock’s working on it,” said Carmela.

  “Is he doing his best?” put in Gabby.

  “I’m sure he is,” said Carmela. Her mind was in a whirl and she was trying to figure out an angle or two. Then she looked at Baby and said, “Baby, do you know Titus Duval?”

  “Oh sure,” said Baby. “He lives right down the street from me.”

  “In that ginormous house with those two snooty-looking stone lions out front,” said Tandy.

  “That’s his house?” said Carmela. “The one with turrets and stained glass windows?” The place wasn’t just a landmark, it was a virtual castle.

  “That’s just one of his homes,” said Tandy. “He’s got another place up River Road near Destrehan. Supposedly he bought one of the old plantations and is working to restore it to its former grandeur.”

  “And he has a spiffy new condo in Aspen,” said Baby.

  “How’d he make so much money, anyhow?” asked Carmela.

  “Business,” said Tandy.

  “Banking,” said Baby. “And investing. He was big into technology stocks during the go-go ’90s.”

  Tandy chuckled. “I was big into go-go during the ’90s.”

  “If Duval is your neighbor,” Carmela said to Baby, “then I’m guessing he’s been invited to your Halloween party?”

  “I invite all my neighbors,” said Baby. “It’s tradition.”

  “Just like your five city blocks lined with hundreds of carved, illuminated pumpkins,” said Tandy.

  “Absolutely,” said Baby. “It’s Halloween and we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, sitting alone in her office, Carmela put in a call to Ava.

  “What’s up, sweet cheeks?” said her friend.

  “I feel all balled up. Like I stepped on a bunch of flypaper.”

  “Whoa,” said Ava. “Rewind the tape and give me the sordid details, please.”

  “First I got roped into helping Mavis, and now some crazy countess lady dropped by this morning and wants a logo.”

  “A countess? For real? Does she have a crown and scepter?”

  “I have no idea. She could have gotten her title from a Cracker Jack box. Still, she claims she’s taking over the Oddities spot. Like immediately.”

  “I’m intrigued,” said Ava. “Tell me more.”

  There was a crash and a loud bang and Carmela said, “Ava? What just happened? Are you okay?”

  “Oops,” said Ava. “A minor emergency with Señor Muerte, one of my Day of the Dead characters. Gotta go.”

  THE Theatre du Marais was like something out of a novel by Flaubert. It was an impeccably restored Baroque theatre scrunched next to Beaufrain’s Oyster House in the French Quarter. Constructed in the late 1800s, probably as a bawdy dance hall, it was left to languish as a movie theatre and then as a slightly unsavory nightclub. Finally, two years ago, the theatre was lovingly purchased, carefully sandblasted, and completely refurbished by the Friends of Preservation for Architecture.

  Carmela squeezed Babcock’s hand as they hurried down Royal Street, joining any number of other couples who were also headed for the theatre.

&
nbsp; Babcock had come directly from work so he wore a camel hair jacket and dark slacks with a pair of John Lobb shoes that looked like heavy cop shoes but were really the same brand favored by British royalty.

  Carmela had pulled out all the stops and borrowed a flirty lace dress from Ava. The low-cut bodice was sleek and tight, the skirt a veritable cascade of ruffles. Every time a breeze came along and gently lifted her skirt, a peep show of breathtakingly hot pink lining was revealed.

  “You like my dress?” Carmela asked as they stood in line at the box office, collecting the tickets that had been held for them. Babcock hadn’t said anything, but his eyes had roved over her appreciatively.

  “Yes, I do, and I particularly like your cape,” said Babcock. “You don’t see much of that these days—women wearing capes, I mean.” He chuckled. “Only if you’re into Daphne du Maurier novels.”

  “It’s an opera cape,” said Carmela, giving a kind of half twirl. “I thought it would be perfect for tonight.”

  Babcock tucked the tickets into his jacket pocket and pulled open the heavy gilded theatre door. “Refresh my memory,” he said as he ushered her in. “Which comedy or drama are we here to see?”

  “It’s the Rue Morgue Theatre Company’s production of Frankenstein.”

  “Ah, culture at its finest.” He grimaced. “Seriously, Carmela? Frankenstein?”

  “It’s Halloween. Live a little.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” said Babcock. “Considering the play is about dead body parts.”

  “Right up your alley,” said Carmela, as she gripped his arm and they headed into the darkened theatre.

  They found their seats, sat down, snuggled a little, and looked around.

  “How many gallons of gold paint and freight cars of velvet do you think they used to refurbish this place?” asked Babcock.

  Carmela had to admit it, Babcock was right on. The walls were gilded, the chairs were upholstered in plum-colored velvet, velvet drapes were slung across all the doorways, and the stage curtain itself was a gigantic waterfall of tufted velvet.

  “Sure, it’s a little over the top,” Carmela agreed. “But it’s atmospheric, right?”